lyre

A pretty world made for us

[caratchronicles]

lyre | compsci major | '07 girlie | intj | avid listener of music | reader and occasional writer | fashion and business enthusiast

hello! welcome to my blog💗

artists i love : seventeen, katseye, lana del rey

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link to my other blog where i post non-fandom works : @lyrewrites

[gyuswhore]

the discontentment with dino's album is truly appalling bc i'm failing to see where this is even a fraction of the problem some of these people are making it out to be. everyone wants fresh and fun till it breaks the norm in a very non intrusive way, this is not the first time an alter ego has been used in music, or in Kpop. in fact I think its a really clever way around the uneven pairings and it's putting a genuinely refreshing twist that isn't manufactured just for this album.

also. I don't wanna hear JACK shit bc the way Wait was done dirty is something I'll never forget. people want something to be mad at and it shows bc it's anarchy anytime someone steps outside of the box. and again, HES BARELY TOEING OUT OF IT IN THE FIRST PLACE!!!!!! future of Kpop this future of Kpop that please do not speak if you can't handle the change being the future brings

[sailorsoons]

Until Death (x.mh)

PAIRING: Minghao x f. reader SUMMARY: As the second daughter to one of the most powerful businesses under the Choi Syndicate, you’ve always lived your life free of responsibility - until your sister dies and you become the heir. So when your family announces one of your new responsibilities as heir is an engagement to the son of a powerful shipping conglomerate, it comes should come as no shock. Minghao, however, is full of surprises, each one of them more deadly than the last. WC: 33,779 AU: Mafiaverse, Cyberpunk, Arranged Marriage GENRE: Smut, Angst RATING: 18+ Minors are strictly prohibited from engaging in and reading this content. It contains explicit content and any minors discovered reading or engaging with this work will be blocked immediately. WARNINGS: Graphic violence and assassination attempts, descriptions of blood and on screen murder (two with a knife, one with a garrote), mentions of off page deaths of a sibling and a parent (one via suicide), references to organized crime/syndicates with political marriages, power plays, and illegal activities, references to physical abuse from a family member but honestly very vague and ambiguous, hemes of grief, trauma, deception, and identity secrets, some power imbalances throughout, lots of showcasing of disparity of wealth throughout, some angst and a lot of lying, reader is kidnapped, explicit language, explicit sexual content featuring oral (f. receiving), vaginal fingering, unprotected penetrative sex, multiple orgasms/positions, uhhhhh I think that's it. It's a Syndicates fic y'all, as always read with caution. A/N: I have been working on this chapter since November 2025 and it is finally here. I'm going to apologize in advanced if the plot seems a bit twisty turny or if the motives are a bit weak - taking that long between the first 15k I wrote for this fic and the second 15k I wrote for this resulted in me writing a completely different story than what I started with. Also - reader was supposed to be a lot more mystical but it's just sort of vague in this. She is not literally magical in a fantasy sense, but rather the same way that there are mysteries of the universe and energies etc. i really hope this makes sense - thank you for being patient with me as I put this chapter out. I think I like this one... maybe. Also, we are introduced to three new characters who are relevant in the rest of the series - especially Kero :) This fic takes place during the events of Baby for your timeline purposes. A/N 2: It is recommend you read the other works of the Syndicates collection before you read this fic - specifically Baby. You don't have to read the others to understand the fic as I try to sum up the world and plot well, but I'm not perfect so ready this totally separate of the other stories might not be as easy as I crack it up to be! A/N 3: This is un-beta'd we die like men.

COLLECTION | ASK | NOW PLAYING: UNTIL DEATH | SYNDICATES WORLD GUIDE

THE EVENING OF YOUR SISTER'S DEATH, YOU HAD DRAWN THE WORLD, REVERSED FROM YOUR TAROT DECK. You remember staring at it, unsettled, tracing the details as if the lines themselves could tell you what was coming.

It was one of those rare, hand-crafted decks, a fragment of the old world, tangible and delicate. In a world with so little physical art and so little understanding of the universe, you'd cherished the deck, a small luxury in a world where most people wouldn't have understood.

You remember knowing the card was a warning. The only trouble was you didn't know what for. You left the card face up on the desk and blew out your candles, your mother's voice calling through the estate's intercom again, impatient and angry because you were late.

Again.

To her, being late was a condition, not a habit. To you on that rainy November evening, it had been a kind of salvation, though perhaps salvation wasn't the right word. You didn't believe in gods or higher beings, but you did believe in the strange, quiet ways of the universe.

Strange, like how lingering over a single tarot reading could keep you from stepping into the restaurant when the gas explosion tore through the back of the block - when your sister, waiting at your usual table, became the first member of your family to die.

Gone in a moment, the entire direction of your life rearranged.

The world, reversed.

-

The rain over the Upper District is thin and metallic. It sheets off the glass buildings in vertical lines, turning each tower into a waterfall of neon and water. You watch the rain from the back of the car, forehead pressed to the cold window. The city slides past, a smudge of light.

Nexus Capital rises ahead of you, a monolith of glass punch through the low cloud ceiling. You stare at the building that's a feat of architecture with a list of awards and features in architectural magazines. You don't understand why a banking building needs to be an architectural work of art.

You don't find it to be very artistic anyway. Nexus Capital is one hundred and twelve floors of smoked glass and carbon fiber, no logos and no name, but a solid black tower threaded with light that everyone knows when they see it glow against the horizon.

Most nights, it turns invisible, like a trick of the light. If it weren't for the purple LEDs pulsing through the building's framework now, lighting it up to make air travel safe, you wouldn't even see it, though you know exactly where to look.

The car turns into the private ramp beneath the plaza, the security gates opening slowly. The car pauses as the driver cracks the window to state your business and clearance information. You wait, staring dully out the window as the scanners read the car for weapons and trace the plates. When it clears, the driver pulls through, continuing down the spiraling ramp toward the sub-level reserved for people who don't use the public lobby.

People like you.

You step out into a cold, concrete garage. Security guards are waiting on either side of the elevator for you, their charcoal suites pristine. They nod politely as you approach, heels clicking. One presses his palm to the panel, the lift doors opening with a soft hiss.

Your ride is eighty-nine floors, no stops. You breathe slowly, in through the nose, out through the mouth. Four counts in, hold for four, exhale eight. Even numbers. Good numbers. Your pulse steadies.

The reflection in the glass wall of the elevator is jarring: black dress, black blazer, hair tamed, heels, minimal jewelry. The girl who used to sneak out of charity galas to stare up at the moon and fill jars of water to collect its energy is nowhere in sight.

A chime indicates your arrival and you stiffen. The lift opens directly into an executive corridor of basalt floors and recessed lightly. It smells faintly of cedar in the hall, no doubt pumped in by an unseen air filtration system, meant to give the offices an old, serious feel.

The eighty-ninth floor is nothing but meeting rooms and executive spaces. You walk along the network of empty rooms now, knowing the way by heart - you'd practiced the route a million times. Normally, even after hours, the meeting rooms would be full of people. This evening's meeting is high profile though, so the entire floor has been reserved and dismissed.

Double doors greet you as you turn a corner. A security guard is outside, tipping his head to greet you before opening the door to let you in. Inside is a massive board room full of people.

One entire wall is made up of glass, Hyperion glittering on the other side: neon arteries, ribbons of traffic, the distant strobe of a casino in the Pearl District. The table in the center of the room is a massive rectangle of smoked quartz, lit from beneath so it looks frozen.

You go straight to your side of the table where your father and board members sit. There's a single, high-back chair for you next to your father - it used to be your mother's, but after she'd killed herself a few months ago, she bequeathed the chair to you.

Her ghost clings to you every time you sit in the chair, a coolness sticking to your skin. You grit your teeth. This room needs sage and perhaps some selenite. It has neither, so you ignore the way a shiver slides up your spine, phantom fingers reminding you of the heaviness of her absence. Ghosts don't like to be ignored, but no one else in this room can feel the way spirit lingers, the way memories have a way of clinging to a place.

Today is not a day for fear and superstition. Today is the kind of day where you have to ignore all of your instincts in favor of being practical and analytical - the kind of girl your sister would have been, instead of you, the strange one who believed in the energies of the universe and its strange higher powers.

Lifting your eyes, you peer across the table as your father clears his throat to settle the room. Xu Minghao is seated directly across from you, the polished surface of the crystal table stretching like eons between you. He's narrower than the file photos, dressed in a suit so dark that it seems to eat the light around him. His hair is longer too, styled neatly around his ears to rest against his collar bones. It suits him, you think.

He's prettier than you realized, too. His face is exquisitely balanced between sharp and soft, his eyes fierce and burning as he stares at you, his mouth soft and supple. His equally sharp jawline is offset by a gentle nose, a blend of contrasts that make him breathtaking to look at.

And extremely intimidating.

"Shall we begin?" Your father asks. He's using his calm voice, the one he likes to use to show he isn't intimidated.

The Xu side inclines heads in near-perfect synchrony. Minghao's father, Xu Jian, sits at the center opposite your father, his hair dark and long like his son, threading with silver at the temples. Odd, you think. In a world where showing age is so rare, you find it fascinating that the Xu family's patriarch has deliberately decided to show his age. A powerplay, perhaps, that he does not fear how fast the world around him is moving, nor is he influenced by the trends of appearing young.

Xu Luli is the opposite. Minghao's mother is a radiance of youth, dressed in immaculate dove silk with a single jade pendant the size of a small egg pinned to her blazer. Her face has no obvious lines, full and flushed with color like she's still in her twenties. It's unsettling, and when your eyes flick to Minghao, you realize how much he looks like her with his full lips and sharp eyes. He's nearly her mirror, save for his eyes are dark and near-black where hers are uncanny stormy grey.

Across the table, Minghao sits perfectly upright, his hands folded loosely on the table. No rings, no watch, no jewelry at all. There's just a faint scare across the first knuckle of his right hand, pale against otherwise flawless skin.

Your father gestures to the lead counsel on your side to begin. She taps the table and a holo screen blooms above the quartz, rotating for all to see. It's a splitting of proposed assets, tallied net and financial worth, assets both tangible and liquid, and everything else about you both true and not splayed for everyone to see.

"Xu Worldwide Logistics currently moves forty-three percent of all container freight through Hyperion's docks in the Civ District," the lead counsel begins. "Post-marraige, joint control of the merged entity will be split sixty-forty in favor of Xu Worldwide Logistics, with veto rights retained by Nexus Capital."

Xu Jian smiles. "Forty-three percent is a conservative assessment of our business. Perhaps seventy-thirty would be more appropriate."

"Sixty-five," your father answers, smiling. "Thirty-five. That feels more appropriate. Our assumptions of your capital are conservative, as you say."

Jian bows his head and agrees.

You watch in silence as your assets are debated for you - assets you didn't have until a year ago, when your sister had been blown apart in a freak accident. Your hands sweat looking at the figures and numbers that shouldn't belong to you, the endless amount of credits, properties, offshore accounts and liquid assets you don't even understand.

Swallowing past a dry patch in your throat, you glance at Minghao. He doesn't look at the rotating holograms of your entire net worth reflected for a room full of suits - he looks directly at you. He's not staring, exactly, but you fight the urge to shiver anyway. His gaze is intense and cataloging, like he's reading every tiny expression on your face.

In fact, he probably is. Minghao's family isn't from Hyperion, but they've clawed their way to the top with the money and empire they've built in Hyperion, which means they know how to play the game. After all, if they didn't know how to play, they wouldn't be sitting at this table negotiating a political marriage to gain access to the one of the city's most powerful Syndicates.

"Along with the marriage comes guarantees," your father says, catching your attention. "Of additional security for shipments."

No one says Choi Syndicate. No one has to. This entire marriage is for the Choi Syndicate, who are seeking an advantage in the Yong Syndicate-owned shipping yards in the Civ District. While the Xu family has remained neutral thus far, the fact that you're all sitting in a room discussing your legal marriage to the heir of their business is an aggressive move for the Xu family.

"Additionally," your father adds, as though sensing the unsaid danger in the room, "Nexus Capital is partnered with Aegis Security Corp. They're a long-standing client of ours, and are happy to provide additional support, both personal and professional to the Xu family and clients."

You can't help the way you start to roll your eyes. Aegis Security Corporation is a legitimate business portfolio pledged to Nexus Capital, but that certainly isn't the security your father is promising. He's promising the Xu family Choi Syndicate protection, a silent acknowledgement that by being here in this room, they are agreeing to the risk of being targeted by other Syndicates but will be offered the protections of guns, money and blood that the Choi Syndicate can offer.

The smile the Xu patriarch gives assures you that he is right where he wants to be, though his son remains expressionless, eyes unreadable.

Minghao's mother leans forward, her jade pendant catching the light. "And the personal union? We understand the principal heirs will co-own the new holding company directly. We would like the details of residence, public representation, and succession details clarified."

This time, you do cringe. You can't help it. The word succession details crawls inside of your ribcage and threatens to start corroding. She means where will you live, who gets to be the press's shining star, and who inherits if someone dies inconveniently.

Or conveniently, depending on if you die and all your assets default to the man across the table. Which is a real threat that you've talked about with your father, knowing that he could be signing you over for someone to assassinate you and claim rights to all that you own. It is exactly why the proposal keeps the shipping assets in favor of the Xu family and the banking assets in favor of your family, a shared split but a majority of both residing with the original shareholder.

Your father looks to you to answer Minghao's mother. The message is clear: you’re the woman of the family. Speak to your counterpart.

"Residence will be the penthouse at the Observatory," you answer. "It's at the edge of the Upper District near the Estate District."

"The Observatory?"

"A starter home for us to settle. When we decide to have a family, there is a private residence left to me in the Estate District as dictated by my mother's will." She leans back, pleased. Your eyes drift to Minghao. "I assume Mr. Xu has no objection to living above the clouds to start."

"Height has never bothered me," he answers. His voice is soft, but the way he says it makes the hair on your arms raise. "It's a generous gift."

You learn forward, resting your forearms on the cold table top. The sleeves of your dress ride up just enough to show the faint bruise on your left wrist, fingermarks from last week when your father decided punctuality required emphasis. You adjust the sleeve, but when you look up, you see Minghao's eyes latched to the spot.

"Public representation," you continue quickly, trying to keep him engaged, "will be joint. Galas, council meetings, the usual. We smile, we shake hands, we let the photographers snap pictures. Public image is a joint effort and a joint success."

Both of his parents nod, pleased. Minghao is still staring at your covered wrist. "As far as succession, if one of us dies, the surviving spouse inherits full voting control of the merged entity for a minimum of five years. After that, it reverts to the strongest board proxy. Standard widow's clause."

"What is your security like?"

Minghao's question catches you offguard. You're unsure if he means the traditional security you use as the heir to one of the city's richest families, or the Choi Syndicate security you use to ward people away from you. You're sure he doesn't mean the spell jars hidden in the drawers of your room or the spell oils you tinker with.

"Standard," you offer. It seems like a safe answer.

"Standard." He frowns. "I find that the standard rarely does the job."

His father starts to speak, but Minghao lifts a finger, barely a centimeter. You watch in shock as it silences his father. It's so subtle you're unsure if anyone else notices it. Strange, for a son to dictate what a father does. You file that bit of information away for later.

"Do you have a recommendation, then?" You ask. "Feel free to propose something less standard."

His mouth twitches, a ghost of amusement. "Security protocols should be put in place. Travel routes, choices of driver, general schedules, should all have a shared veto. If one of us believes a risk is unacceptable, the other yields. No appeal."

Your father makes an angry sound. "You're asking for the right to countermand my daughter's security detail? That's entirely too controlling and rather convenient if you wanted her assets."

The accusation ruffles the feathers on the other side of the table, but Minghao remains nonplussed, eyes flicking to your father. His expression has barely shifted, but there's something subtle there, something sharp.

"I'm asking," he corrects, voice soft, "That neither of us dies stupidly because the other was too proud to listen. I find that joint decisions on matters of travel and security are often best, especially considering that this marriage will be highly publicized."

"Fine," you answer before your father can object. "Shard veto, with the amendment that our security teams are jointly chosen. You may not employ any member of security who has not been vetted and agreed upon by me personally."

Minghao inclines his head. "Agreed."

Above the table, a redline version of the agreement drafts as you trade amendments. Your eyes drop down to the scar on his knuckle again. It's thin and precise, the kind of mark left by a wire garotte or a very sharp knife. Not the sort of scar you get from yachting around the world like you've been told he does frequently.

Strange. In just a short manner of time, the list of strange things about Minghao grows longer. Something about him tugs at your tuition, a feeling of premonition you can't place. 

When you look back up, Minghao is watching you. His mouth twitches and your skin burns like you've been caught. You try to work out the expression on his face, but as his mother brings up the section regarding children, it's like dunking your head into ice cold water.

"Two," she says smoothly, fixing you with a pointed stare. "Minimum. More is fine. Bloodline continuity is non-negotiable. Two is safe, should the other-"

She cuts herself off, face going white. No one speaks. Your father is stiff next to you - you don't even think he's even breathing. Luli looks like she doesn't know what to do, caught between needing to apologize and the terrible of making such a bad social faux pas.

It's a reminder that the Xu family isn't from here. Arkos isn't a city that far away, but it's foreign enough in social structure, political makeup and culture that you're reminded how hard the Xu family must have worked to adapt to Hyperion's complex pecking order and social norms, and Luli has just made a terrible mistake. Were she in a room of Hyperion socialites or Syndicate women, she'd probably never recover.

"Should the other die," you finish for her. "Yes, we're quite familiar with the concept. Two minimum makes sense. Do you have a preference on gender?"

The silence in the room is so complete you can hear the faint echo of the city outside. You wait, staring across the table, trying to do anything but think about how intimately familiar you are with parents needing an heir and a spare, especially in a city like Hyperion. Luli's lips part, then close, surprised at how quickly you've addressed her concern and moved on.

"So do you?" You ask again, eyes flicking between Minghao and his mother who glance at one another. "I'm only asking because some families still care about sons carrying the name. Saves awkward paperwork later."

"Gender is irrelevant," Minghao answers. "Healthy heirs are all that matters."

"Yes," his mother agrees. "Healthy. And timing?"

You lean back in a dead woman's chair. Not for the first time, you wonder if this is what your sister had to sit through. Though you were only a few years apart, your sister is alien to you. Unfamiliar. Did she have to sit through board rooms and negotiate terms and rights to her womb? She did have to pledge herself to a total stranger and promise to pop out heirs?"

Of course she did. You wonder if she was any good at it. You never asked her. You'd been too busy hiding away from your family in the gardens, watching butterflies land on the water lilies while the house keeper told you about craft and how certain herbs had metaphysical properties. You’d been fascinated by her and her practice, an ancient, earthy belief that most people thought was nonsense.

"Five years," you tell her. "Minimum. Our data shows that the city's current climate is not ideal for infants." You pause as the lead counsel shows the data in question. "After that, we can revisit timelines. Medical oversight may be split eighty-twenty, with my priorities and preferences emphasized."

"I would prefer-"

"Accepted," Minghao says softly, cutting off his mother. She leans back, pursing her lips. You don't know much about Xu Luli, but she looks like someone who would prefer far more control over the birth of her grandchildren. Minghao's eyes slide back to you. "A final item, if you will."

Your father gestures for him to continue. Minghao reaches inside of his pocket and produces a matte-black rectangle no larger than one of your tarot cards. There's no logo or text, so dark that it drinks the light in like his suit does. He sets it on the table and flicks it with a finger, sliding it across the table like oil slick.

You blink in surprise when you realize it's a comm device, thin enough to slice paper with the faintest holo-sheen on it. You've never seen its make before, and you look back up at him, questioning.

"A private channel," Minghao says, addressing you. "Encrypted. Off-grid. Not monitored by family, counsel, or security. For discussions that do not belong in the meeting minutes."

Next to you, your father's scoff is immediate and sharp. "She doesn't need-"

"Voluntary, of course," Minghao assures. "Either party may choose never to use it. It exists, though. Personal devices will be the main point of contact."

Xu Jian's smile is thin. "A gesture of good faith and a family tradition. The Xu family places emphasis on having direct contact with our partners in times of turmoil."

"And what turmoil do you predict to befall this city?"

Minghao's father spreads his hands. "The world is ever-changing. It is not a reactionary practice, but perhaps a proactive one."

Your father's fingers drum on the table. The rhythm is familiar - you've heard it in the back of cars, against the arm of the couch, on the top of a desk. It's the telltale sign of his increasing irritation, the need to do something with his fingers before he strikes.

After a long beat, your father nods. "Voluntary."

Minghao dips his head. "We have no other amendments."

The lead counsel taps the table. The contract above ripples, red lines bleeding into final black. A soft chime confirms transmission, and you look down to see the new draft appearing in the table's interface in front of you. Your name is already glowing in the signature line, waiting for your official sign off.

Swallowing hurts. Your throat is desert-dry as you pick up the stylus, hating the way it shakes in your hand. You grip it tighter, fighting off the tremor as you glance up instinctively.

Minghao is no longer watching you. His head is bowed, stylus moving in a single, fluid stroke that ends in a flourish. He sets the stylus down with deliberate care, aligning it parallel to the edge of the table before he looks up at you again, expectant.

You look down and sign, a nervous trickle of fear cutting through you. Once executed, the documents appear across the interface in rotation, allowing for the room to sign as witnesses. You keep your gaze fixed to the document rather than him, but you can feel the eight of his stare settle on you like a blade pressed to the hollow of your throat.

"Ajourned," your father says as soon as the final signature is to document.

Chairs roll back in a sudden rush of sound. Quiet chatter rises, the polite and rehearsed gratitude backtracking the soft shaking of hands. A side door you hadn't noticed opens and two white-gloved staff glide in with trays of chilled plum-infused water, coffee, and tiny plates of yuzu macarons dusted with gold leaf.

You cringe. The refreshments are small but you know they cost more per bite than most people in the Lower District make in a week, the display of wealth so suddenly unfamiliar to you that you feel your stomach flip.

People begin to mingle. Your father is already shaking Xu Jian's hand, voice pitched politely again. Luli is laughing at something one of the lead counsel members is saying bright and lilting.

You stand, knees shaking. The air feels a little too thick for you, your pulse a frantic bird trapped inside your ribcade. You don't bother excusing yourself verbally - no one in the room notices you. They never do. So no one stops you when you slip through the door into the corridor.

Outside the boardroom the air is cooler. You breathe in the cedar-scent, walking away from the room. Your heels are too loud and you soften your steps, making it feel like you're sneaking off. And you kind of are, honestly. You need a break, a breather from the formality and the cage of formality.

You find a smaller meeting room, windowless and lit only by a single strip of amber light along the ceiling. There's a narrow table with four chairs and nothing else. You lean back against the door for a moment, letting out the breath you'd been holding the entire meeting.

Reaching into the pocket of your blazer, you produce a silk-wrapped bundle. The cards are warm from your body heat, the silk falling away as you unwrap the tarot set. You walk toward the table, shuffling the cards. You feel your anxiety ease with the familiar weight of them in your hand, the soft schk as they shift in your fingers.

You don't even ask the deck a question. You just need the feel of them, need something familiar in this strange building with these strange people. The cards speak anyway, three cards slipping from the deck to clatter on the table, face-up.

The Tower, upright. The Moon, reversed. Death, upright.

It feels cold in the room. You stare at them, teeth working your bottom lip as you process, your eyes dragging over each guard. Lightning splitting stone. Lies and illusion dissolvering. And ending that's a beginning. It's the usual trio that's been haunting you since you drew the World, reversed a year ago.

You don't hear the door open as you look over them. It isn't until you see a shadow fall over them that you flinch, whirling around with your hand flying to your chest.

Minghao stands just inside the threshold, one hand still on the handle, the other loose at his side. He closes the door without a sound, tilting his head to peer around you at the table of cards. You step to block his line of sight, vision pounding.

"Oh, it's you-" You break off, unsure what to say. He probably has no concept of tarot cards anyway. "It's a… hobby of mine."

Minghao says nothing. He approaches with deliberate, lithe steps until he's standing next to you but with a respectable distance between you. You catch the faint scent of pine and cold air clinging to his jacket, refreshing.

"What do they mean?" He asks, voice soft. "When they fall like this? What do you see?"

"You know what they are?"

"I know it's strange that you have them. You don't strike me as a wicked woman." You frown at the term wicked woman. It's slang for the women who work backdoor craft and ritual practices - you're curious how someone of his status knows the word at all. He points to the cards on the table. "Tell me, please."

You step forward, fingers tightening around the deck. "The Tower means sudden change. The collapse of something that was supposed to be stable. Violence, sometimes."

"The Tower like the rulers of the Syndicates?"

"Yes."

He hums. "Keep going."

"The Moon reversed is lies coming undone. Secrets dragging into the light whether one wants them to or not."

"I see. And Death?"

"Death isn't always literal." You don't know why you feel the need to clarify, but you do. "It's transformation. The end of one thing so another can begin. You can fight it or you can walk through it, but you never stay the same."

Minghao is quiet for a long moment. The light bathes him half in shadow, half in light, like a dark angel. He's so beautiful it's hard to think straight for a moment, hard to realize this is the man you're going to marry.

"You're practiced at reading these, then?"

"Very. I trust very few things, but these have never lied to me."

"You're too honest," Minghao's gaze lingers on the Death card before he turns to leave, not sparing you a glance. "It will hurt you one day."

—

The night of your engagement part, the party planning committee led by Xu Luli outdoes itself. The Sky Venue at The Elysian is an architectural wonder - one hundred and thirty-three floors up, the entire top level has been gutted and rebuilt into a single floating garden suspended beneath a retractable dome of smart glass.

Tonight, the dome is open to the stars. The air is warm despite the cooling season, the climate controlled by tiny micro-drones flying around the open dome, naked to the eye. The air tastes faintly of night-blooming jasmine, and guests wander through the garden with glasses of champagne.

Waterfalls pour from above into man-made koi ponds, night lilies floating on the rippling surfaces. Servers in white silk glide past, careful to avoid the ponds as they serve golf leaf canapes and cocktails served in what you think might be diamonds. In the corner, a string quartet plays on a platform of transparent glass suspended thirty meters above the ground, music cascading down and over the crowd.

Spared no expense, someone mutters as you walk by. Of course you didn't. This is the night that your family alongside the Xu's are selling you to the city and showing off their wealth.

A statement night, really.

You stand near one of the koi pongs in a gown of liquid obsidian. There are thousands of microscopic diamonds hand-stitched into the dress, making it look like you bend the light the same way as your fiancée's suit. Your neckline plunges just enough to be daring, and the back is open to the base of your spine.

A single strand of black tourmaline beads is loped around your wrist. To anyone not paying attention, it looks like diamonds. To you, it's grounding, steadying you against the thousand eyes currently cataloguing you.

Minghao finds you before you find him. He appears at your left shoulder without a sound, a flute of champagne in his hand. You flinch when you see him - over the last two months, you've been entirely unable to adjust to the way he materializes out of thin air.

"You look like a dark priestess," he murmurs. "Very on-brand, wicked woman."

You turn to him, trying to control your pointed smile. "Call me that again and I'll make your mornings quite unpleasant. I will hide hex bags where you will never find them."

His mouth twitches. He doesn't look at you, his eyes scanning the crowd, sharp as ever. He hands you the glass and you take it, knowing better than to dismiss him in public.

"Threats already," he observes. "We're not even married yet."

"I'm not a wicked woman," you say. "It's rude to call me one. I'm a practitioner. Kind of. I wanted to be. I don't sell phony fixalls from behind a Rose Room in the Lower District."

"And what is it you practice?"

"None of your business."

He hums. "You smell of incense and herbs, wicked woman. It's nice."

"If you're trying to upset me-"

"I'm trying to distract you." He glances at you, dark eyes glittering. "You have an angry resting face. It makes people think you're unhappy to be here."

"I am unhappy."

He lets out a small sound. You realize it's amusement and you feel an odd twitch behind your ribs. "I told you already, you are too honest."

In the last two months since your engagement, your interactions with Minghao have been minimal. He is doggedly polite, formal, and stiff, saying all the right things and smiling at all the right times, but none of it is real. He's so practiced and rehearsed that at first, you thought it might be real. But the more you watch him, the more you realize that Minghao is the perfect imitator.

Except now. His poking and prodding seems in jest, though you know there's certainly something more to it, something important that you're missing. This light banter is new to you, and you dislike that he asks questions about your practice. The elite don't often take kindly to those who believe in powers beyond money and Syndicates, but Minghao seems more amused than disturbed.

You glance beyond Minghao, eyes settling on the Tower of the Choi Syndicate. You feel your mouth go dry at the sight of Choi Moojin. He stands a distance away with his wife, dressed in a bespoke midnight suit, the mountain emblem embroidered in a threat of silver at his cuff.

The Tower of the Syndicate is the single most powerful person in the room, if not the city. Though there are two other Syndicates in the city, the Choi Syndicate has been strong the last few years, gaining a slight power foothold both politically and economically.

Not territorially, though. Their loss of the Port of Hyperion being located in the Choi-dominated Warehouse District to the Yong family had been a blow, and was the entire reason that your wedding to Minghao was happening at all.

As long standing patrons dedicated to the Choi family, your union to Minghao guarantees better assurances for Choi-owned shipping freight and better sway and management with the shipping authority.

A smart match. A political one. All dictated because the Tower of the Choi Syndicate needed it. Strange, that your entire life has shifted at the command of a man you've never personally met because he needs something from you that he'll never pay you back for.

A little ways away from the Tower and his wife, their children argue. At least, that's what it looks like they're doing. Seungcheol leans against a pillar nearby, murmuring something to his sister, expression heated. She ignores him, staring out into the crowd as though she can't hear him at all.

The Choi heiress is the kind of beauty that commands the attention of the entire room, even now as her brother mutters urgently to her. Recently engaged herself, you're surprised you don't see her fiancée lurking about. You're sure that Kim Yijun was on the guest list. Instead, she ignores Seungcheol, a haunted look on her face, a beautiful dove with a broken wing. She'd looked like that the last time you'd seen her too, an empty shell of the girl you'd gone to etiquette school with.

"Strange," Minghao murmurs, drawing your attention back to him. "To see them in person."

"Why?"

"They seem normal."

"They are."

Minghao hums but doesn't answer. Perhaps he has a point - they do seem normal. But why shouldn't they? They're two of the most privileged people in the room, growing up under a banner of Syndicate peace and prosperity. Had he expected obvious criminality? Knives and guns, threats of violence?

The way he observes them with his mouth slightly downturned tells you he might have expected exactly that. He's unfamiliar with the Syndicates, and you think belatedly of the scar on his knuckles, the one you often wonder after.

You drain your champagne in one swallow. "They're here to make sure this is a union they support, not cause violence."

"The union was their idea." You cut a glance at Minghao. It's a truth that no one says outloud, least of all here. He returns your stare, his eyes inky and unreadable. "They wouldn't suggest it if they didn't support it."

"You told me being too honest would get me hurt one day. Maybe you should consider that as well."

"Should a husband not be honest with his wife?"

A passing server offers caviar on mother-of-pearl spoons. You ignore him, your eyes on the Choi heiress who turns to her brother and says something that shuts him up. Minghao gives the server a single look and sends him scurrying away, your fiancée sliding a step closer to you.

"You strike me as someone who uses truths to hide other truths," you note, looking him up and down. "You'll tell me one honest thing to make me confident while you hide six others."

Something flickers behind Minghao's eyes. It's that same flare of something like that first day you met him. Maybe surprise or recognition. You're not entirely sure, but it does something to you that you can't name, a little tug right behind your ribcage.

"Observant."

"I have to be."

"What have your cards told you about tonight?" You give Minghao a sharp look. He doesn't look at you but he sighs. "It wasn't a barb. I'm not sparring with you- not anymore, anyway. I’m trying to get to know you."

He laces his hands behind his back, waiting. Minghao is good at waiting, you've noticed. He doesn't ask for things twice, and he never clarifies himself - save for you. There is power in silence and waiting others out, and Minghao maneuvers that silence like a carefully sharpened blade that he's intimately familiar with.

"The same three cards," you tell him eventually. "The Tower. The Moon, reversed. Death."

Minghao hums. "Violent change. Illusions stripped away. Transformation."

"You don't have to pretend to believe in it for my sake."

"I don't know what I believe in. Perhaps there is some truth to your tarot and the spell jars you keep hidden in your pockets. Who is to say?"

Before you can answer, a ripple moves through the crowd. You watch as heads turn and you find the source. The Tower is moving, slow and inevitable toward you. Your heart lurches and you glance around, looking for your father, who should be here to receive this conversation, but he's nowhere to be found.

Minghao's hand settles at the small of your back, making you swallow thickly. The heat of his palm against your skin is an inferno, but it grounds you as the Tower approaches with his wife, children and Wisdom in tow.

You glance at Yoon Minji, the Wisdom of the Choi Syndicate. You hadn't noticed her at first, the woman a near imperceptible shadow lurking behind the Tower's wife. She's dressed in a blue so dark that it's almost black, hair pulled back and slick as oil. Her son is at her side, a twin shadow that you have heard is her image in more than just physical likeness.

Choi Moojin stops an arm's length away. Up close, he's larger than you remember, the kind of presence that fills up a room and makes you feel small. His eyes are fathomless, but surprisingly warm, a weird offset to the danger you know he poses.

"You look beautiful," he says, voice soft. "Congratulations on your engagement. Your families must be proud, you're an exquisite couple with good taste."

You dip at the knees and lower your head, bowing as deep as decorum for the moment demands. "Thank you, Tower. Your blessing is appreciated."

Seungcheol steps around his father, offering his hand to Minghao while his sister lingers behind him, a strange look on her face as she watches you, almost like panic. Her brother shakes Minghao's hand firmly before he takes yours and kisses the top politely. "Congratulations."

Minghao's fingers flex against your spine, the tiniest pressure before you drop Seungcheol's hand and the Choi's drift away. You feel yourself exhale as they do, relief flooding your system at their obvious approval. The Mountain will stand behind your marriage, which is as good as signing the paper and saying your vows.

The Wisdom goes with the Choi's, dipping her head toward you with a small smile that unsettles you, but her son lingers, drifting closer with a lazy grin.

Jeonghan offers a hand to Minghao. "A union of banking and shipping. Tell me, does love come standard with the merger, or is that an optional upgrade?

It's crass. From what you know of Yoon Jeonghan, it isn't surprising that he likes to see you squirm. Though he's next in line to be the Wisdom of the Choi Syndicate when his mother steps down from the title, you're unsure if he's suited for it if he can't help but make inappropriate barbs at an engagement party.

You have half the mind to tell him so, but it's Minghao who answers, a sharp smile on his face as he shakes Jeonghan's hand. "We prefer equity over love."

Jeonghan laughs, delighted. "Enjoy the party. Congratulations on your union."

With a final wink, Jeonghan drifts away, chasing after Seungcheol who is arguing with his sister again. The Tower ignores his children, clapping someone on the back from Nexus Capital's board of directors.

Minghao's hand slides from your back to your wrist, thumb brushing the tourmaline bracelet once before he drops his hand entirely. You don't dare look at him. The touch is intimate and softer than you expect. It unsettles you that it’s the softest bit of warmth anyone has shown you in years.

Your fiancée waves to a group of people familiar to him but not to you. You expect him to lead you over and introduce you, but he doesn't, drifting away from you with a final look that you can't read. You watch him go, the place where his hand rested burning like a brand.

-

Your new penthouse is too large for two people. You knew that before you moved in, but with someone as quiet and absent as Minghao, it feels like you're on your own most days.

The penthouse occupies the entire crown of the residences at The Observatory in the northeast corner of the Upper District. Your new home is four thousand square feet of smoked glass, matte black steel, and pale ash wood that leaves the home cold.

The main living space is a single open expanse, the kitchen bleeding into the dining room and lounger. Floor to ceiling windows frame the open space on three sides, letting in the spill of city flights on a clear night. Tonight, it's cloudy, the fog on the glass pressing close and obscuring the world. It makes you feel like you're in your own dimension far away from Hyperion.

Your bedroom is in the east wing of the apartment, Minghao's is in the west. Two totally opposite ends of the space you're supposed to share together. Live in together. Be married in together. He'd requested your rooms remain separate, and though it hadn't bothered you at first, it does now.

It doesn't matter what bothers you, though. There's no one around to complain to. Your days have settled into a brittle sort of rhythm: you get up at seven to go to the gym to find him already gone. You never see him leave but when you make your mugwort and lemon tea, the kettle is always warm. He returns sometime between nine and noon, hair damp, expression icy. He gives you a polite nod, then vanishes to his wing of the apartment.

No words. Nothing.

You spend the hours alone learning the layout of your home. It's different from the rolling estate of your family. Smaller and bigger all at once, lacking the intricacies and oddities of a home that has been in a family for generations.

The windows never open - you suppose that makes sense, this high up. The air is triple-filtered and scent-neutralised, making the rooms feel dead and clinical. You decide to combat this every Wednesday after the cleaners have gone.

As soon as they're gone, you begin your work. The routine is simple, nothing extravagant. You take a small bundle of palo santo from the tin you keep with your tea and light one end, letting the sweet smoke rise. With the woody smoke drifting from the lit end, you walk the apartment slowly, clockwise while thinking on your intentions.

You trail the smoke along the windows, under the sofa, around the legs of the stools at the island. You grow hesitant when you near Minghao's room, but you let the smoke drift toward his door anyway. You don't open it, but your hands trace the doorframe, a small peace offering.

As you work, your mind empties save for your little intentions: peace, protection, harmony. You're kneeling in the middle of the living room, passing the palo santo beneath the low coffee table one last time when the front door opens without warning. You sit rod straight, turning to see Minghao come into the apartment. Your eyes flick to the clock and you frown. He's early today.

He's dressed in black workout clothes, hair damp, a bottle of water dangling in one hand. He stops the moment he sees you.

Smoke curls between you. He says nothing and neither do you. You half expect a question, a raised brow, anything. He looks at the palo santo in your hand, the thin ribbon of smoke, and then back to you. Something shifts in his expression that you can't place, but he doesn't say anything.

Instead, he steps carefully to the kitchen, giving you a wide berth despite the physical distance already between you, and opens the fridge. He takes out a second bottle of water, and sets it on the island counter top toward you.

"You look dehydrated," is all he says before he tips his head and walks back to his wing.

You remain on your knees, staring at him, lips parted a little. His bedroom door shuts with a distant click, leaving you in the silence and the curling smoke.

Eventually, you get up, knees cracking as you do. You feel a little dizzy and realize you are thirsty. You have no idea how he was able to clock that you're dehydrated by simply looking at you, but you file it away as one of Minghao's oddities, a neverending list that points to him not being the arrogant rich kid you expected.

Heading to the counter, you grab the water, the condensation on the bottle cold and exactly what you needed. As you drink it, Minghao surprises you by coming back out, a bag over his shoulder. You frown, eyes dropping to the bag.

"I'll be gone for three days," he tells you. "I'll see you on the morning of the third day."

"Where are you going?"

"Business." You don't like the ambiguity, but he's already halfway out the door. He hesitates and turns to you, mouth opening and closing as he chooses his next words carefully. "This is your home. Practice how you'd like."

"Pardon?"

"Your… practice. You don't need to hide it from me, Wicked."

You scowl. "I told you not to call me a wicked woman."

His mouth tilts. "I'm not. Simply wicked, is all. Not quite a wicked woman, not quite a practitioner, hmm?"

You glare through his logic and he shrugs, heading for the door and slipping through like smoke.

-

"Here," you say softly, shoving a bundle into Minghao's hand. He raises his brows, eyes skirting the crowd around you. "This is for you."

It's not the best time to give him the gift, but Minghao is never at the penthouse and keeps hours strange enough that you almost never see him despite living with him. The charity auction for the Archaeology Restoration Fund swells around you under the floating sky of the Lumina Tower, but as a moment of quiet opens up while you're standing next to the orchid walls, you take your change.

His dark eyes flick to your face, then back to the offering. He unwraps the silk with careful fingers, revealing the bracelet nestled inside. It is a deep blood-red cord, braided deliberately by your own hands over several quiet nights in the penthouse. Woven into the threads are three fine strands of your own hair, unmistakeable. At the center hangs a small, polished azabache charm, a piece of jet stone you sourced a few days ago. The stone is smooth and cool, carved with subtle protective sigils only visible under the right light.

He stares at it for a long moment, thumb brushing over the braided cord and the jet stone. Something unreadable flickers across his features before he quickly schools it away.

“You made this?” His voice is low, almost cautious.

"Yes."

"What is it?"

"The red is for strength and safety. The azabache is for warding off the evil eye. The hair binds my intention."

"It's not a curse?" You scowl and his mouth twitches. "You threatened to hex me, forgive my hesitation."

Minghao turns the bracelet slowly in his fingers, the azabache catching the soft light. He runs his thumb over the braided strands of your hair, expression softening by the smallest degree. "You continue to surprise me."

"Yeah, well. You don't have to wear it if you don't want to."

Minghao is quiet for another long beat. Then, without a word, he slips the red bracelet onto his right wrist. The contrast of the vivid red cord against his black suit and pale skin is striking. He flexes his hand once, as if testing how it feels, then looks back at you.

"Thank you." There's no mockery or deflection as he lowers his hand. "I'll wear it."

"Don't read too much into it."

"Hm. Too late. Thank you, Wicked."

For a moment, the nickname sounds fond instead of teasing, and the noise of the gala fades. The glowing orchids, the drifting lanterns, the murmur of high society - all of it recedes and leaves the two of you standing in this small pocket of quiet among the spectacle.

-

When you were a little girl, you always imagined that your wedding might be somewhere in a forest, somewhere where forests still legitimately existed. You'd be barefoot, feet planted firmly on a mossy ground, and your hands would be bound in red ribbon to your lover, covered binding oil distilled from flowers and herbs over your wrists until the ribbons were saturated and heavy with the smell of herbs.

This wedding is not that.

The air in the bridal suite is scented heavily with orchids and warm vanilla, the florals spilling over their vases and decorating every surface even here when no one can see them. You stand motionless before the towering mirror, the weight of your gown weighing you down as attendants move around you, adjusting the train of your dress and the butterfly-delicate gossamer of your veil.

Thankfully, the gown is a little like what you imagined. Forgoing the traditional white, it's made of layers of midnight silk, covered in thousands of hand-stitched obsidian beats and microscopic diamonds that fracture in the recessed lighting, turning it into layers of constellations. It spills dramatically into a trail of inky fabric.

You'd commissioned the dress six weeks ago, requesting the design to echo the deep, light-devouring suits Minghao favored. It was a deliberate statement of unity, power, and ultimately, ownership. You'd done it on purpose, and your father had approved when he'd seen it for the first time this morning.

A small win.

Your fingers drift beneath the long sleeve on your left wrist, tracing the black tourmaline and jasper cord hidden against your skin. The cord feels warm, a quiet tether to something older and more certain than the spectacle awaiting you. You breathe deliberately - four counts in, four out. It calms the frantic bird trapped behind your ribs, but only barely.

The reflection in the mirror is alien to you. You've never seen yourself look more elegant and composed, but inside you still feel like the little girl who collected moon water in jars and whispered secrets into manifestation journals.

Beyond the heavy double doors, the ceremony garden waits. The Garden of Eden is one of the city's finest venues, a floral dream suspended three hundred floors above Hyperion's rain-slicked streets. Real, living soil fills massive engineered beds through the space with towering tropical ferns planted, their glossy fronds glinting with dew. Multiple water falls cascade from tiered rock formations into koi ponds, the splash audible even from behind closed doors.

You'd chosen the venue because it was the closest thing you could get to the living earth in Hyperion. Minghao's mother had chosen it because it was the most luxurious venue she'd ever had access to up until now, a haven reserved for the elite. The commonfolk of Hyperion didn't have access to house plants, much less the night-blooming jasmine climbing up trellises and arches or the deep blood-red roses and exotic orchids dotting the aisles.

Hundreds of guests are already seated under the domed ceiling with an engineered twilight sky. Hidden audio systems weave strings and the resonant hum of crystal bowls through the space, frequencies chosen to evoke harmony and solemnity. You can hear the din of the crowd over the sounds, the Upper District elites shimmering in jewels and silks worth more than entire city blocks.

A soft knock interrupts your thoughts. Mina, your lead attendant, slips inside. She's only a few years older than you, but she's sharp-eyed and had years of service with your family, previously working with your sister. You don't mind her - she's not a friend, but she's also not unfriendly, which you'll take.

“It’s time, miss," she informs you. "The Tower and his family are seated and the Xu family is positioned. The garden is ready."

You nod once, throat tight and dry. There is no escape. The contracts were signed in that cold boardroom months ago. You'd known since the moment your sister died that this is what your life was now - the Tower upright, sudden change. The moon reversed, lies coming undone. Death, upright, great transformation. You'd been pulling the same cards for months, each the same thing.

It was the universe's way of telling you that this was your fate, as inescapable as any hard law or scientific rule.

Fragrant air greets you in the corridor. The staircase is full of flowers and dripping in vines, the steps covered in moss and trailing ivy that release sweet smells with every step. Swallowing, you walk down the stairs carefully, attendants behind you and ensuring you don't trip until you're at the bottom of the staircase behind a private screen, preparing to turn the corner and walk down the aisle.

Taking a breath, you turn the corner. Your heart pounds in rhythm with the distant music as the aisle comes into full view. The aisle stretches in front of you, a pathway edge with living white orchids. The ceremony cuts right through the heart of a lush garden, mist curling around the guests feet as they rise, hundreds of them moving in a wave of silk and murmurs.

Eyes track you from every angle - envy, calculation, hunger, approval, curiosity - but you keep your gaze fixed forward, suddenly latching to the man waiting beneath the grand arch of vines and cascading blooms.

Minghao is a shadow given form. He's dressed in black on black, the fabric so absolutely it seems to absorb the light and color from the greenery. His hair is styled longer, framing the exquisite balance of his face. His eyes find yours instantly, intense and unreadable, a stillness that calls to you.

Your pulse thunders as you start the walk. The train trails behind, gently managed by two young attendants as mist from the nearest waterfall kisses your skin, cooling the heat rising in your cheeks. Anxiety coils tight in your stomach, a living serpent, but you move with the trained grace of someone who has practiced this exact path in rehearsals. Future matriarch. Bride. Pawn in a larger game of shipping lanes, banking power, and Syndicate alliances. You wonder if your sister felt this same suffocating weight on her own path or if it was cut too short to ever consider it.

When you reach the altar platform, Minghao extends his hand. You offer him yours, hating the way your hands shake. He grips your hand firmly, and the contact sends a subtle spark up your arm, grounding amid the overwhelming sensory storm of the garden. For a single heartbeat, the hundreds of eyes, the cameras, and everything else recedes, leaving only you and Minghao.

His eyes are fathomless, easy to lose yourself in. His hand tightens a fraction around yours, his eyes only for you. "Temperance upright," he murmurs, only to you. "Patience. Balance. You embody those qualities. I appreciate them."

You blink in surprise when you realize he's talking about the tarot cards. You don't know what to say, the compliment stunning you, but Minghao doesn't wait for you to respond. His eyes flick to the officiant, a respected and neutral legal arbiter provided by Hyperion's council for this special occasion. She's dressed formally, her face perfect and impassive, making it impossible to tell how old she is.

Her voice is solemn but commanding as she urges the guests to sit, the ceremony beginning. Your hand remains in Minghao's, dropped between your waists as you stare ahead with unseeing eyes. You hear the officiant's voice, but you barely hear the words, your pulse loud in your ears as your heart hammers, each word spoken another piece of your sealed fate.

Ahead, the officiant speaks of alliance between houses and the merging of love and families. When you exchange rings, your hands are shaking again, stilled only by Minghao's gentle fingers as he clasps your hand to steady you, helping you slide the plain obsidian band onto his fingers, his sleeve pulling up just slightly to reveal his red bracelet.

Your ring is just as dark, inlaid with gold leaf and precious black stones that make it glimmer and flash dangerously. It feels heavy. Permanent. You watch as his nimble fingers slide it onto your hand, the single scar on his finger catching the light.

"Say the vows," the officiant instructs softly.

"I take you as my husband," you start, nearly whispering. You glance up at him and he nods a fraction, urging you to continue. You continue, voice clearer. "I vow to stand beside you in shadow and in light, in power and in duty, in prosperity and in peril, until this union is dissolved by law or by death."

Minghao doesn't miss a beat. "I take you as my wife. I vow to stand beside you in shadow and in light, in power and in duty, in prosperity and in peril, until death."

"It's-"

He cuts off the officiant's correction. "I know the words."

Your heart flutters, Minghao's choice to skip until this union is dissolved by law or by death a deliberate choice. Somehow it feels more powerful the way he's said it, like he's promising only death can tear you away from him. You think perhaps it's just the last bits of you clinging to the idea of romance, the idea of love that makes you feel that way.

The officiant pronounces you husband and wife and thunderous applause erupts, mixing with the hush of the waterfalls. Minghao lifts your face toward his with careful fingers, his touch lingering at your jaw, fingers gentle as they tilt your face upward. His eyes flicker with something so quickly you don't catch the emotion, and then he's leaning forward, pressing a brief, chaste kiss to your lips. He tastes faintly of wine, the touch lingering as he pulls away quickly.

Husband and wife. The words sink deep, heavy as the rings now on your fingers.

-

The reception is an ode to extravagance that most people cannot fathom. Spanning across three floors, each level opens into cascading terraces of real gardens with multi-tiered waterfalls feeding into glowing pools where rare bioluminescent koi swirl and swim. Walls of ferns, flowering vines, and fruit-bearing trees create alcoves with glass benches and trickling fountains. Each table is overflowing with food that won't be eaten, servers passing by with platters of rare chocolates dusted in edible gold and endless flutes of vintage wines and champagnes.

You navigate the crowd at Minghao’s side, his hand a near-constant presence at the small of your back. The contact is grounding for you but probably possessive in the eyes of your onlookers - and there are many. But only a single onlooker matters tonight, and as Choi Moojin approaches with his wife, you feel your spine go rigid until he offers his formal congratulations and blessing. As always, his daughter lingers nearby with that familiar haunted expression, her brother behind her like a shadowed gargoyle.

You smile until your cheeks ache. You exchange pleasantries with board members, accept compliments on the dress, the venue, the fabricated love story fed to the press. The floral scents grow heavier, the constant murmur of voices and music pressing against your temples. The bird in your chest flutters more desperately with every passing minute, and after nearly an hour and a half of relentless performance, you need a break.

"I need a moment," you murmur to him. "I'm just going to go to the upper powder room terrace. I'll be brief."

He studies your face carefully, then nods. “Take Mina and let security know where you're going."

You slip away with your attendant after telling security where you're going and getting their nod of affirmation before they mutter instructions into an earpiece. Mist from a nearby waterfall cools you off as you walk up the stairs, Mina helping with the heavy train. When you're finally alone on a private terrace, security just outside, you let yourself relax against a stone fountain, drawing in deep breaths of the mineral-rich air.

For the first time since the ceremony began, your practiced smile slips. Your feet hurt, your neck and shoulders ache, and you're starving, wishing you could stop the pleasantries for a moment to just eat. 

A small, wet gasp cuts through the peaceful trickle of the fountain and you spin around, startled. Time fractures as you try to put the pieces together of the image in front of you. A man dressed as a server with the lower half of his face obscured by a mask stands directly behind Mina, a gloved hand clamped over her mouth while she screams into his palm. He draws a sharp blade across the softness of her throat, scarlet spraying.

Mina's eyes widen in terror, locking onto yours for a single, agonizing heartbeat before they glaze over, her body convulsing once before she goes limp. Blood pours down the attacker's arm and down the front of her uniform, spilling red onto the terrace floor.

A scream rips from your throat, raw and primal, echoing off the stone walls. "Security!"

No footsteps thunder toward you. No shouts of alarm. The doors remain closed. The posted guards don't answer your call, and the music and laughter from the reception floors below continue uninterrupted, as if the universe itself has muted you.

Terror floods your system like ice water. Your heart slams against your ribs so violently you feel it in your throat. Adrenaline surges, sharpening every sense while simultaneously making your limbs feel distant and heavy.

Your right hand dives into the hidden slit of your gown, fingers closing around the small, discreet knife you've kept on your person since your sister's death. You yank it free, gripping the handle with enough force that your knuckles hurt as you pivot from the fountain, putting it at your back for a sliver of protection.

The attacker releases Mina’s collapsing body and he crumples to the ground in a heap of blood-soaked fabric, her eyes open and staring. The masked figure turns toward you with predatory calm.

"Security!" You scream again, the sound of your voice bouncing off the terrace walls.

No one answers, and a single, horrifying realization crashes over you - either the guards have been compromised or they're dead, and this attack was timed with terrifying precision.

There's no time to think as the attacker lunges.

You twist desperately to the side, the blade whistling past your ribs by inches. The movement throws you off balance on the wet stone, but you slash out wildly with your own knife, catching the attacker’s sleeve and drawing a thin line of blood. He grunts angrily and pivots, his knife slashing at you again. You duck and stumble backward, the fountain’s stone foundation scraping painfully against your hip as you use it to keep distance.

Fear is a living thing inside you now, clawing at your lungs, making every breath sharp and ragged. I’m going to die here. On my wedding night. In front of a fucking fountain while people drink and celebrate without knowing. The thought fuels a desperate surge of fury and you lunge at him this time, catching him off guard as you stab upward.

You manage to nick him, but you don't know how to fight and his retaliation of your anger is brutal as his knife flashes against and slices across your forearm, cutting through silk and skin in a burning line of pure agony. Blood pours instantly, hot and slick down your wrist and hand, making your grip on your own knife slippery and you scream out in pain.

A second strike follows before you can recover, a deep gash opening up across your upper left arm as you turn away from him. The pain is white-hot and blinding, and you let out another choked, animal sound as your vision narrows, blood roaring in your ear.

Every heartbeat sends fresh agony through the gashes, but terror keeps you moving. You kick out hard, your heel connecting with the attacker’s knee and he staggers but recovers easily, closing the distance to kill.

And then Minghao is there, exploding onto the terrace like a force of nature. One moment he's at the door, the next he's a blur of controlled violence as the killer turns to face the more immediate threat. Minghao is fast, stepping inside the man's guard, hand shooting out to grip his wrist and twist with bone-cracking force. A sickening crunch echoes and the man screams, the blade clattering to the ground.

The man swings with his free hand, but Minghao ducks under the wild punch with fluid precision, driving his elbow upward into the man’s throat in a devastating strike. The sound is wet and choked, the cartilage shattering under Minghao's elbow.

You stumble backward against the fountain’s stone foundation, left arm hanging useless and burning, blood streaming down your fingers in hot rivulets. Your own small knife trembles in your right hand, slick with blood. Fear still claws at your throat, tight and awful as Minghao - your husband for less than two hours - moves like something trained for this exact kind of violence. The polished, soft-spoken heir from the boardroom is gone. In his place is something sharper, darker, and far more dangerous.

The attacker tries to recover, lashing out with a desperate kick, but Minghao catches the leg, yanks it forward, and slams his knee into the man’s inner thigh with brutal force, dropping him to one knee. Then Minghao is behind him, a single arm snaking around the attacker's neck. For a second, your eyes meet Minghao's, his gaze ice and fire all at once. Then, he snaps the man's neck hard, the crack loud and final.

The attacker’s body goes limp instantly, collapsing in a heap beside Mina’s body. Blood pools beneath both bodies, mixing with the water from the fountain and staining the delicate white orchids that edge the stone paving.

Minghao is heaving, catching his breath as he stares at you across the violent terrace. He takes a single step toward you before chaos erupts in the doorway, heavy footsteps thundering across the stone as members of the Choi Syndicate flood the space. Seungcheol is in the room first, face like thunder and gun in hand. Jeonghan is behind him, the lazy smirk gone and replaced with deadly focus, armed and gun raised over Seungcheol's shoulder.

Seeing Soonyoung surprises you - you hadn't realized the Sword of the Choi family was here. You'd heard he'd been unpredictable and unhinged as of late, but from what little you knew of him, he was Seungcheol's first line of defense and probably went everywhere the Tower's son did.

Behind him, you vaguely recognize another Sword of the Choi family speaking into a comm at his wrist. You've met Joshua several times at galas and parties, his family high up enough in the Choi Syndicate to run in the elite circles - you even remember them being disappointed he'd become a Sword instead of a socialite or something less violent.

More personnel pour in behind them, your father’s security, Nexus Capital executives, event staff in panicked disarray. The peaceful mist of the terrace turns thick with the metallic stench of blood and the overlapping shouts of orders while you lean against the fountain, light-headed and bleeding.

Your father’s voice cuts through the noise like a whip. “Shut it down! Shut the entire fucking wedding down! Seal the floors now!" He pushes through the growing crowd, face flushed with fury. “I want this building locked. Find out how the hell this happened under our security! Someone’s head will roll for this!”

The chaos swells. Guests from the lower levels begin to murmur and push upward as rumors spread like wildfire. Security teams from both families clash in their attempts to take control, voices rising in overlapping commands. Someone is already photographing the bodies. Another is calling for medical extraction.

Through it all, Minghao moves straight to you.

“Everyone back!” he barks, voice sharp as Nexus Capital security moves toward you. "I will handle my wife. Get away from her."

Minghao sits you on the edge of the fountain, the water spraying your back and soaking through your dress. He drops to his knees in front of you, shrugging off his jacket in one fluid motion and pressing the expensive fabric hard against the deep gashes on your left arm. The pressure sends fresh waves of white-hot pain radiating through your shoulder and chest, but you bite back a cry.

“Breathe," he instructs, voice soft. "In for four, out for four."

You look at him sharply. "How do you know that?"

"You did it the entire time we were at the altar, Wicked. Where are you hurt?"

"Cuts on my arms."

"Deep? Tell me ba-"

Your father pushes closer, still shouting as he interupts whatever Minghao was about to say. “Minghao, let my people handle this. We need to get her to a secure-"

“No,” Minghao snaps, rising to his full height while pulling you to his side, hands pressed against your wounds to staunch the bleeding. “No one touches her except me right now. This is my wife. My responsibility.”

The possessiveness in his tone sends a strange shiver through you, mixing with the adrenaline and pain. He begins guiding you slowly away from the fountain, toward the far side of the terrace where the chaos is slightly less suffocating, his hands never leaving the wounds, applying constant, firm pressure.

Joshua separates himself from the Syndicate group and approaches carefully, hands raised in a clear non-threatening gesture. Minghao pulls you away but you squeeze his arm and whisper, "Syndicate. High up. Don't offend him."

"I don't care-"

"I can help," Joshua cuts in, earnest and gentle. "My fiancée is here tonight. She’s an ER nurse and is always prepared because I'm a bit of a disaster. She has supplies in her bag. Let her patch your wife quickly and privately. We can move to the adjacent private lounge. It’s secure.”

Minghao’s jaw tightens and his eyes flick to you, assessing the amount of blood still soaking through his jacket and the way your legs are beginning to tremble. For a long second, he seems ready to refuse. Then he gives a single, curt nod. “Briefly. Privately. No one else comes near her.”

Joshua signals quickly. A moment later, a woman in an elegant deep emerald gown slips through the crowd, escorted by a man you don't know. Her expression is focused and professional, despite the surrounding chaos. She doesn't waste time with introductions, marching toward the small, adjoining private lounge just off the terrace.

Inside, the space is quiet, dimly lit with warm amber lighting, furnished with low couches and lush potted plants. She works with swift efficiency, focused on helping instead of introducing herself. She orders Minghao to keep pressure on your wounds while she cuts away parts of your dress to clean the gashes with antiseptic. The sting makes you hiss through your teeth, fresh tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. Minghao’s free hand finds yours, squeezing gently, surprising you.

"Cuts are deep but clean," she says, voice clinical. "No major vessels hit. You’ll need proper stitches and antibiotics soon, but this will hold for now."

She applies quick-acting clotting powder, then wraps your forearm and upper arm in tight bandages. The pressure is firm, immediate relief against the constant bleeding. Throughout it all, Minghao stays close, one hand on your back, the other assisting where needed.

Your mind spins. Mina’s lifeless eyes flash behind your eyelids every time you blink. The wet sound of her gasp. The way the attacker moved, professional, silent, deadly. This wasn’t random. This was targeted. On your wedding night. In the middle of the most public spectacle Hyperion has seen in years with some of the heaviest security you've ever been around.

You glance up at Minghao. His face is a mask of controlled fury, but his touch on you remains careful, almost tender as the woman finishes securing the last bandage.

"That'll hold until you get her to her own private care."

“Thank you,” you manage, voice hoarse and shaky. The pain is still there, a deep, throbbing burn, but it is no longer actively bleeding you out.

Minghao helps you to your feet, keeping his arm securely around your waist. He nods once at Joshua and his fiancée. "We're leaving."

Joshua nods and opens the door, letting you back into the chaos.

Outside, your father is still shouting orders to shut everything down, demanding answers, threatening careers. Syndicate members move through the growing crowd like shadows, securing perimeters. Soonyoung and Seungcheol stand guard near the doors, expressions grim while Jeonghan leans against a wall, watching everything with those sharp, unreadable eyes.

Minghao keeps you tucked firmly against his side as he guides you out of the private lounge and through the swelling chaos of the upper terrace. His arm around your waist is unyielding, taking most of your weight while his other hand maintains relentless pressure on your bandaged left arm.

Every step sends fresh throbs of pain radiating through the deep gashes, but the clotting powder and tight wraps are holding. Still, warm blood seeps slowly through the bandages, staining the sleeve of your ruined obsidian gown. The once-beautiful dress now hangs heavy and ruined, torn silk clinging wetly to your skin.

“Clear a path,” Minghao growls, cutting through the crowd.

Syndicate members fall in around you without question, creating a protective bubble as he steers you toward a discreet service corridor hidden behind a wall of flowering vines. The lush greenery brushes against your shoulders, leaving faint pollen and the sweet scent of jasmine on your skin. Mist from the waterfalls still clings to the air, now carrying the unmistakable metallic tang of blood.

Your head spins. The adrenaline that kept you upright during the fight is crashing hard, leaving your legs unsteady and your vision edged with black spots. You lean heavier into Minghao’s side, inhaling the faint pine and rain scent that always seems to cling to him. He doesn’t falter. His grip only tightens, steady and sure.

The private exit corridor is dimly lit with recessed amber lighting, two armed guards stationed at the end snapping to attention when they see Minghao, stepping aside instantly. A reinforced service elevator waits. Inside, the space feels claustrophobic, the mirrored walls reflecting your bloodied, disheveled appearance back to you.

Minghao says nothing. He simply helps you out when the elevator doors open directly into an underground private garage reserved for the highest tier of guests. . An armored black car idles, its engine humming. The driver steps out briefly to open the rear door and Minghao helps you inside first, easing you onto the leather seat with surprising care before sliding in beside you. The door seals with a heavy, reassuring thunk, and the car pulls away smoothly.

Minghao leans forward toward the driver and speaks in a fluid, melodic language you have never heard before, making you frown. It doesn’t sound like any of the common trade tongues used in Hyperion or Arkos, but the syllables roll off his tongue with effortless familiarity, carrying the weight of something old. One of the dead languages, you think. The driver responds in the same tongue, short and affirmative, before accelerating.

You stare at Minghao, startled. He settles back against the seat. His suit is ruined with your blood, the dark black of his shirt somehow darker. His hair is slightly disheveled for the first time since you met him, a few strands falling across his forehead. His eyes are sharp and unblinking, fixed entirely on you. He hasn’t relaxed. Not even slightly. His posture remains coiled, ready, one hand resting on his knee while the other occasionally flexes as if wanting to reach for a weapon.

You swallow hard, meeting his gaze head-on. “Was that your people? Did your family arrange this? To test me? To test the alliance?”

Minghao doesn’t look away. His expression remains unreadable, but something flickers behind his dark eyes. “I’m not sure."

The honesty lands like a stone in still water. No deflection. No smooth corporate reassurance. Just the stark truth that unsettles you more than any lie could have. In a world built on calculated performances and half-truths, his directness feels dangerous and alien.

You let out a shaky breath, leaning your head back against the cool leather. The city lights streak across his face in shifting patterns of neon violet and electric blue.

“Thank you,” you whisper after a long moment. “For saving me."

Minghao’s jaw tightens. "You’re no use to my family dead.”

The words aren't kind or romantic. They carry no warmth, no reassurance. Still, they're true. In this transactional marriage of power, your survival is an asset. The bluntness stings a little, and it unsettles you. He's repeatedly told you that honesty would get you killed, and hear he is being honest himself.

Well. Honest to hide other truths, you're sure, as is his way.

You study him in the shifting light. The scar on his right knuckle stands out pale against the dried blood on his hands and you're reminded of the way he dismantled the attacker. It wasn't a survival reflex like your clumsy attempt had been - it was the training of someone who practiced and who fought efficiently, someone professional.

"Who are you?" You ask, narrowing your eyes. The car glides through a tunnel, plunging you both into momentary shadow before neon lights wash over you again. “You’re not who my family was led to believe. That wasn’t the fighting style of a logistics prince. You killed him like you’ve done it before.”

Minghao’s gaze hardens. He leans forward slightly, elbows on his knees, watching you with that intense, cataloguing stare that makes your skin prickle. “Don’t ask questions you don’t want the answers to.”

The warning hangs between you and you can feel the weight of his hidden truths again. None of it makes sense - the scar, the ancient-sounding language, the way his father deferred to him with a single finger twitch in that boardroom. Something isn't right with Xu Minghao, but you don't know what.

"I think I deserve to know who I just married," you say evenly. You ignore the warning, the throbbing in your arm. "My family thought they were allying with a neutral shipping empire from Arkos but you fight like someone who was trained to kill. You played into being an idiot party boy. You are not."

Minghao exhales slowly through his nose. For the first time, you see a flicker of something almost like weariness cross his features. He leans back again, eyes never leaving yours.

“This marriage is transactional,” he says evenly. “You don’t need to know everything about me. You only need to know that you're my wife and I would go through great pains to keep you alive. It has to be enough.”

The finality in his tone closes the subject like a door slamming shut. You want to argue, to demand more, but the pain in your arm is sharpening as adrenaline fully ebbs, and exhaustion is pulling at the fraying edges of your patience.

Minghao continues watching you, tense and alert, as if expecting another threat to emerge from the shadows at any moment. His hands, still stained red, rest on his thighs as the armored car glides through the upper levels of Hyperion’s streets, the neon sprawl of the city reduced to blurred streaks of violet, crimson, and electric blue beyond the tinted windows.

The car eventually slows and turns into a private underground entrance beneath a sleek, unmarked residential spire in the Upper District. Not the Observatory penthouse you selected as your starter home, but something else. A contingency location, you realize. One of the secure safehouses that must have been part of the joint security protocols you both negotiated and approved during those long, tense meetings.

When the vehicle comes to a stop, Minghao exits first, then reaches in to help you out with careful hands. His arm slides around your waist again, supporting your weight as your legs threaten to buckle on the polished concrete. Two figures step forward immediately from the shadows of the garage, security personnel you recognize from the joint vetting process you and Minghao conducted weeks ago.

A woman named Elara with sharp eyes and a calm demeanor, and a man named Kai, broad-shouldered and quiet. They were among the handful both of you had personally approved after rigorous background checks and interviews. Neutral. Capable. Unaligned with either family’s deeper entanglements.

“Status?” Minghao asks them.

“All clear, sir,” Elara replies. “The building is locked down. Three additional teams on the perimeter. No unauthorized movement.”

Minghao nods once, satisfied, and guides you toward the private elevator. The ride upward is silent except for the soft hum of machinery. When the doors open, you step into a spacious, fortified apartment that is elegant but deliberately understated compared to the Observatory penthouse.

Minghao leads you straight to a wide, low couch in the main living area, easing you down with surprising gentleness. Elara and Kai take up positions near the entrance, professional and unobtrusive. A medical attendant has already been prepared in an adjoining room, but Minghao waves off immediate further treatment for now.

He kneels in front of you, his bloodstained hands resting lightly on your knees as he studies your face. For a long moment, the only sound is the soft hum of the building’s air filtration system and the distant murmur of the city far below.

“I need one of your little wicked jars,” he says quietly. “The one you’re still hiding on yourself.”

You blink, startled despite the fog of pain and exhaustion. "Why? And how do you even know I have one?”

Minghao’s mouth twitches, the faintest bit of amusement. “I’m observant.” He glances meaningfully at the torn sleeve of your gown where the bandages peek through, then back to your eyes. “And considering you’re still alive after what just happened, they must work. I would like to keep one with me for what I’m about to go do.”

"What are you about to go do?"

"Something very violent."

The request hangs between you and you hesitate before you lift your trembling fingers to reach into the hidden inner pocket sewn deep into the bodice of your dress. The small glass jar is still there, warm from your body heat. Black salt, rosemary, hematite, sealed with wax and a drop of your blood. You press it into his waiting palm. The glass looks small against his bloodstained fingers.

Minghao closes his hand around it carefully before tucking it into the inner pocket of his ruined suit jacket. "Thank you."

He rises to his feet, but doesn’t step away immediately. Instead, he looks down at you with that intense, unreadable gaze. “Do not leave this safehouse until I return. Elara and Kai have their orders and they answer to us both. Doctor Tzintzun is here - I understand she is your family doctor."

You nod. "Be careful. Please."

Minghao lingers one final second. His thumb brushes a stray strand of hair from your forehead in a gesture so unexpectedly gentle it contrasts sharply with the violence you witnessed barely an hour ago. It makes your heart skip, the breath getting stuck in your lungs for a moment. Then the mask slips back into place, the familiar cool and controlled calm you know.

He lifts his wrist, flashing the bracelet you gave him. "You’re protecting me, right? I'll be fine. I’ll return before dawn. Rest. Let the doctor fix your arm, Wicked."

He turns and walks toward the entrance without another word. Elara and Kai acknowledge him with respectful nods as he passes, and the door seals behind him with a solid, final sound.

The silence that follows feels immense. You lean back against the couch, staring out the windows where the city’s distant lights glitter like cold stars. Your left arm pulses with deep, aching fire, but the bandages hold. Mina’s face flashes behind your eyes again, her wet gasp and spray of blood, the way her body crumbled. You swallow hard against the rising nausea.

Doctor Tzintzun sticks her head out of the adjoining room. "Ma'am? Whenever you're ready."

You nod and allow her to come out and help you to your feet. She guides you toward the adjoining room to clean, stitch and re-bandage you again. As she does, your mind drifts back to the car ride and specifically, your new husband.

None of it makes sense. The ancient language. The brutal efficiency with which Minghao ended the attacker. His unflinching honesty when you asked if it was his people. The blunt truth about your value to his family. And now, the small spell jar resting against his chest as he walks into whatever shadows he’s about to confront.

You close your eyes as fresh antiseptic stings the wounds, tourmaline cord still warm around your wrist. The universe had warned you with its cards. The Tower falling. Illusions stripped bare. Death and transformation. Tonight, it delivered all three in blood and violence, but a steady sense of foreboding had been building all night, like the cards aren't done with you yet.

You wonder, as the pain dulls under medication and exhaustion finally pulls you under, what exactly Minghao is doing out there and what background taught him to be this way. As you fall asleep, you hope the small jar of salt, herb and intention will be enough to bring him back so you can find out.

-

Minghao moves through the rain-slicked unverbelly of the Civ District like a shadow. The neon glow from distant shipping cranes reflects off puddles stained with oil and blood, turning the narrow alley into a fractured mirror of Hyperion’s endless hunger. He's swapped the ruined wedding suit out for something more form fitting and breathable - and more importantly, free of your blood.

He'd scrubbed his hands free of your blood a few hours ago, but now someone else taints his knuckles as he presses his hand to his chest, ensuring the small spell jar that is tucked there is undamaged. It's a strange talisman, this jar that you've given him. He doesn't think they work, exactly, but it's a fascinating little practice, this stuff of yours. He's since looked into practitioners and the culture of women who practice craft, but he still can't understand how or why you came to it.

Still, he likes to wear the bracelet you gave him, often looking at it before going into a room to add another body to his list or before he has to do something he needs strength for. He's never thought much about luck, fate, or the universe, but now he carries the jar and bracelet on him like personal tokens of faith and protection.

Of all the things that Minghao finds most surprising, how often he thinks of you now is number one on the list. This marriage between you is purely transactional, a bridge between Nexus Capital's banking power and the Xu family's growing logistics empire. A calculated move to secure favor with the Choi Syndicate as instructed by the Virate to expand foothold in Hyperion.

But, strangely enough, he is fascinated by you. He's not fascinated by much, but when he'd seen you in that board room hiding bruises beneath your sleeves and drawing your peculiar tarot cards in secret, he felt a slight crack in his plan to use you and push you to the side. You were not the sheltered, obedient heiress they described. You were something sharper. Something that watched the universe with quiet, stubborn belief.

And tonight, someone tried to kill you.

He'd been shocked to find you with a knife in your hand despite the terror in your face. He'd heard you scream - he still doesn't know how, considering how far he had to run to get to you. The universe, perhaps. It impressed him to see that you'd fought back despite how bad you were at it, and the steadiness in your voice when you asked him point-blank in the car, whether his people had tried to kill you had nearly cowed him.

Most heirs in this city would have crumbled. You fought. You pushed. You handed him the spell jar without fully understanding why he wanted it, just that he did. He doesn't know what he wanted either, but it's warm against his chest and it's nice to have. Perhaps if a little jar of rocks and dirt and blood can save you from an assassination attempt, it can save him from whatever plot is unraveling in the shadows.

Minghao’s jaw tightens as he reaches the service door of the nondescript warehouse. The man inside - Strakos - is a mid-level fixer who'd coordinated the attacker's movement tonight. He'd been sloppy, though, and Minghao was incredibly good at finding out information in a city that didn't understand the nuances of the Virate.

He slips inside without sound. The interior is dimly lit by hanging work lamps, the air thick with the smell of rust, seawater, and cheap synth-cigarettes. Strakos sits at table, back to the door, reviewing holo-feeds of some shitty porno that makes Minghao's blood boil. This man had helped plan your death, and he's sitting in the middle of a warehouse, fully clothed watching someone get fucked over a couch.

Minghao strikes before Strakos has time to react.

One hand clamps over Strakos's mouth, yanking his head back while the other loops a thin wire garrote around his throat. Strakos thrashes, hands scrabbling at the wire as Minghao gathers it in his hand and pulls, his mouth brushing against Strakos's ears.

"You ruined my wedding," he murmurs.

The wire cuts through flesh and blood wells instantly, hot and dark. Strakos bucks wildly, knocking over the table as he gurgles, hands clawing at his throat. Minghao holds firm, knees braced against the chair as he pulls, gritting his teeth. Strakos's struggle is ugly and desperate, his feet kicking as the chair legs scrape against concrete, wet chokes escaping despite the crushing pressure.

Minghao’s mind remains clear, detached. This is not rage. This is correction. The Virate taught him long ago that hesitation kills empires.

He thinks of your face in the car, exhausted but determined, eyes wide with pain as you demanded the truth anyway. He thinks of the way you pressed the spell jar into his palm without hesitation. Of the faint scent of incense and herbs that always clings to you, the quiet rebellion of your tarot cards and hidden rituals. You are not soft. You are not simple.

You are as unexpected to him as he is to you, he thinks. And he's been very sloppy around you, unguarded and far too honest in the way that he keeps thinking will get you killed.

The wire sinks deeper. Strakos's struggles weaken, then cease entirely. Minghao holds the tension a few seconds longer, ensuring Strakos is dead before he finally releases, the body slumping forward onto the table with a dull thud. Blood drips onto the concrete floor, and Minghao smashes the phone to stop the crude holo from playing.

Minghao wipes the garrote clean on the dead man’s sleeve and tucks it away. He scans the room quickly, deleting the holo-feeds and pocketing a small data chip that might contain further connections. Only then does he pull out his encrypted comm device - the same matte-black rectangle he gave you all those months ago - and dials his father.

Xu Jian answers on the second ring. "Son."

“It’s done,” Minghao says quietly. He stares at the corpse, expression impassive. "Now to trace the loose threads of the web to the spider."

A long exhale on the other end. “Be careful. Your little display at the reception has the Choi’ curious.”

Minghao’s mouth curves into something that isn’t quite a smile. “Let them wonder. The message is clear: she is under my protection now."

"They don't know we're Virate. You could have exposed us."

"I made a calculated decision and you'll say nothing more of it. The Choi Syndicate has other things to worry about than wondering if we're Virate. I want you to look into who hired these scum. If it was Virate, we have a problem."

"It will be done."

In Arkos, under the old laws of the Virate - a loose but iron-bound confederation of family lineages bound by blood oaths far older than the Syndicates - Minghao isn't the quiet heir he is in Hyperion. He's the patriarch, the lead of his family, raised from childhood within the Virate's hidden ranks and trained in their shadows, a hidden member loyal to the Triptych.

Jian might appear to be the head of the family in Hyperion, but Minghao's elevation through blood and merit in the Virate is where the Xu family truly gets their power. While his father played the public face of Xu Worldwide Logistics here in Hyperion, planting seeds and building legitimate fronts, Minghao had been the blade ensuring those seeds took root. The true power behind the throne.

Of course what he did tonight was a risk. He knows that. Honestly, if he was doing what the Virate asked of him, he would have let them kill you. You weren't actually a necessary piece to the puzzle, but he knows that with you alive, he has a better narrative with the Choi Syndicate and it's annoyingly perceptive Wisdom and her son.

Minghao grimaces at the thought of Jeonghan and his eyes that see far too much. He knows that tonight will be a grave error and that the Wisdom's son will dig his teeth into Minghao and ask questions and prod, but it can't be helped now. What's done is done and Minghao had taken a calculated risk that he could keep the Choi's away from the Virate ties in favor of saving your life.

His father sighs on the other end like he can hear Minghao's thoughts. "This marriage is already more complicated than we anticipated."

"She is not what we expected,” Minghao admits. "She fought tonight, though she doesn't know how. Most heirs would have just screamed and died."

"You sound fond."

Minghao exhales slowly. Fond. The word feels too small, which unsettles him. From the first boardroom meeting, something had shifted. What was meant to be a strategic union already matters more than it should, and just meeting you has complicated Minghao's world when Minghao has never had complications before.

He killed for you tonight without hesitation. Not just because you are a valuable asset, but because the sight of your blood on the terrace floor had ignited something cold and possessive in his chest. He's unused to the feeling.

"I protect what belongs to me," Minghao says eventually. "She is Virate now, though she doesn't know it. I'm committed to her safety as I would be for you or mother."

His father chuckles softly. “You always did prefer the old ways. Be careful, son. You cannot lean on the Virate. We're in the shadows.”

"I know the rules. I was forged by them.”

Minghao ends the call and slips the comm back into his pocket. For a long moment he stands over the body, rain drumming steadily against the warehouse roof. His thoughts return to you again and again, like a current he cannot escape.

You, sitting across from him in the car, shaken and unflinching as you asked whether his people had tried to kill you. The quiet strength in your voice when you thanked him even after his blunt reply. The way you fought with that small knife, desperate and untrained.

This marriage was never supposed to matter beyond its utility. Yet tonight, watching your blood spill, something fundamental had shifted. You're no longer simply the Nexus heiress - you're his wife, and in the old customs of the Virate, that bond carries weight far heavier than any corporate contract.

Minghao straightens his jacket and leaves the warehouse the same way he entered. The rain washes away the last traces of blood from his hands as he walks toward the car, ready to shower and sleep.

He'll return before dawn, as promised. And later, he'll find the remaining threads of tonight's violence and cut them clean. And perhaps, in the quiet of whatever time he finds, he'll decide how exactly he's going to be a husband to a woman who believes in tarot cards and moon water in a city that only worships power, violence and credit.

For now, the head of the Xu family has done his honor bound duty to his wife, and somewhere across the glowing city, you're probably sleeping. Bandaged but alive, carrying the barest hints and pieces of Minghao's secrets and your strange, annoying charm with you.

Minghao touches the small jar in his pocket once more, feeling its faint warmth against his chest, and allows himself the smallest ghost of a smile in the darkness.

-

Minghao steps out of the armored car into the private underground garage of the safehouse, the rain from the Civ District still clinging to him like second skin. The neon glow of the city filters down in muted streaks, casting long, fractured shadows across the concrete.

He moves on autopilot, muscles aching from the night's violence. His mind is still razor sharp though, cycling through every detail of the kill, every loose thread he'd severed tonight.

Elara and Kai materialize from their posts near the elevator, postures alert. They relax when they see Minghao and bow respectfully, straightening as he approaches. They're among the few personnel both you and Minghao jointly vetted, neutral enough to serve the new union without picking sides.

“Report,” he asks, walking into the kitchen.

“All secure, sir,” Elara replies immediately. "Doctor Tzintzun treated her and gave her something for the pain and to sleep. She’s resting in the east wing suite. She did ask about you."

Minghao’s chest tightens at the words. She asked about you. Of course you did. Even bleeding and exhausted, you pushed for answers, for truth. He nods once.

"No one comes in or out. Not even her father or anyone from Nexus Capital."

Kai inclines his head. “Understood. The Choi Syndicate has sent discreet inquiries. Mr. Kwon personally. They’re offering additional support.”

“Let them offer,” Minghao replies. “We accept the appearance of cooperation, nothing more."

Minghao dismisses them with a wave and heads toward the east wing, leaving them back at their posts. He finds you in the master suite, tucked beneath dark sheets. Your face is relaxed in sleep, but tension still lingers in between your brows and your jaw as you frown. The black tourmaline cord peeks from beneath the edge of the bandages on your wrist. Minghao stands in the doorway for a long time, simply watching the steady rise and fall of your chest.

Something unfamiliar and dangerous twists behind his ribs. He had not anticipated this complication. The scales feel tipped out of balance, like something new has taken root, and he doesn't know what to do about it.

Minghao finally turns away and moves to the bedroom across the hall to strip off his tactical gear with mechanical, practiced movements in the bathroom. He's careful with your little spell jar, setting it down gingerly on the counter where the low bathroom light catches the glass.

He lets the scalding water melt everything but his thoughts away. He stands under the spray, watching the water swirl around his fink and fade from pink to clear. The heat feels good, unwinding his muscles and burning him to the point that the only thing left are thoughts of you and this new predicament he's in.

When he can't take the heat anymore, he steps out and changes into something soft and comfortable before settling in the middle of his bed with his computer in front of him. With the tap of a key, the screen projects holograms around him in a circle, broken only by his arm as he inserts the data chip from Strakos' warehouse into the computer.

He finds limited information on it - remnants of someone referencing the union of Nexus Capital and Xu Worldwide Logistics. He taps his fingers on his knees. The enemies in Hyperion are endless, but few of them have killing power. Most of the people in the city who hate his family are business competitors, minor patrons of various Syndicates in Hyperion. None of them have the power to send a Syndicate-sanctioned attack on his wife, which means this hit is higher up than simple city corporations.

It could be Syndicate, he supposes. He's still learning about the nuances of the three powerhouses that sit at the top of the food chain in Hyperion, but he's not convinced the Kim or Yong family would be moved enough by the marriage to do something so public about it - especially not with Choi Moojin's daughter engaged to Kim Yijun as a sign of union.

A sour feeling settles in Minghao's stomach. The easiest conclusion to make is that the threat is from the Virate. A finger of dread traces his spine at the thought. In a way, families of the Virate were similar to families of the Syndicate - they vied for power, it was always at war, and the most powerful family was always the one that was ten steps ahead. Unlike the Syndicates of Hyperion though, the families of the Virate collectively answered to the three heads of the Virate, the Triptych.

Except members of the Virate didn't know the Xu families were members. Outside of the Triptych, the Virate didn't even know Minghao existed. To them, Xu Jian was a retired member who had moved to Hyperion when he was seventeen after being honorably discharged and given the blessing of the Virate. Even with their blessing, Jian had given up all ties, powers, assets and favors from the Virate for life. That was the way it worked. His wife Luli, who had tried to leave the Virate once before, had joined him.

They'd left a key part of them there, though. Their son. The Triptych was in need of a family with old ties to be removed and relocated elsewhere, someone they could trust and that could believably sever ties with the Virate. The Xu family had been just that, and they'd given their only son to the Triptych to raise in the shadows, nameless and unclaimed as a Shade, forged in the Triptych's perfect image of an assassin before sending him to do the single thing he'd been created for: win over a Syndicate in Hyperion.

He sighs. He's tired - he's always tired these days, even more so than when he was a teenager learning how to become a shadowed killer. The lying and scheming is often harder than the killing, and trying to uncover his enemy hiding in the dark without access to real Virate influence and pull is a challenge.

An email to his personal catches his attention. It's one of the Trustees of Nexus Capital with more of Minghao's access to his new assets - your assets that are now his. It's overwhelming. Nexus Capital’s vast banking networks, offshore accounts, silent partnerships, voting proxies. Pages of sensitive data scroll past full of liquidity reports, hidden holdings in Syndicate-adjacent ventures, influence maps.

Minghao swallows. It's exactly what he wanted. With this level of access, the family can begin weaving influence deeper into Hyperion's financial arteries, and through the Choi alliance, they can steer shipping lanes and capital flows without the Syndicates ever realizing a new, quieter power is embedding itself beneath their foundations. The Choi's believe this is nothing more than a political marriage for port advantages. They have no idea what the Virate is capable of.

Minghao should feel satisfied. This is entirely the reason he was given to the Triptych and raised as a Shade, a nameless member in the shadows, someone without influence and without a name, but one of the most valuable members of their society. Everything is proceeding according to plan, and yet for the first time in his life, he feels sharp, unwelcome conflict like the edge of an enemy's blade.

His gaze drifts again toward the door where you sleep just across the hall. You were never part of the equation. You were meant to be kept at a distance, polite and useful, a spoiled brat who would go to parties and be the socialite Minghao was told you were. Instead, you have lodged yourself under his skin and you haven't even done anything - you'd simply looked at him after he'd killed the attacker tonight not in fear, but wary recognition that Minghao was also not what he seemed.

Protecting you tonight had felt instinctive. Necessary. The thought of you lying dead beside Mina had ignited a cold fury he rarely permits himself. And that realization terrifies him.

Loyalty to the family and to the old ways has defined Minghao's entire life - every choice he has ever made. It gave him purpose when his father focused on building the legitimate Hyperion front, it forged him into steel when he was being wiped and cut and tested. Attachments were always meant to be managed, never indulged, and yet here he is sitting in a safehouse, conflicted over a wife he doesn't really know.

If future objectives ever require sacrificing your safety, or keeping truths from you that could destroy the fragile trust beginning to form - what then? A few months ago, Minghao would have said he'd cut you away no problem. Now, he thinks he might need to cut you out like cancer, nearly killing himself in the process to sever the tie.

How unsettling. He isn't sure how he's gotten here, but as always, it's up to him to figure it out. Right now is not the time, though, so he rolls his shoulders and continues working through the remaining hours of darkness, mapping pressure points within Nexus Capital, noting which Choi figures might be influenced over time. Every new door opened by the marriage is another step into Hyperion's core, his entire purpose.

The first hints of dawn begin to lighten the sky beyond the glass of the bedroom. He glances up and realizes his current work has no business being done in the light of day, so he powers down the computer, the cyan numbers and screens vanishing. He stands and shuffles across the hall to check on you, opening the door as quietly as he can.

You're still asleep, breathing steadily in the same position he left you in. Sighing, he sits down in one of the chairs, leaning so his elbows are on his knees and his chin rests in his elbows, staring at you as you sleep.

For the first time in his life, the sharp edge of his purpose feels negotiable. Not abandoned or broken, but rather complicated by the strange, stubborn woman sleeping in front of him.

Perhaps you are wicked, but rather for the things you do to him instead of your actual deeds.

-

The last place you want to be tonight is the Eternal Bloom Gala at the Celestial Atrium in the Pearl District. The atrium is a floating marvel suspended between three interconnected spirals, gardens far more exquisite than even your wedding dominating every space. Though it looks nothing like your wedding, it's close enough to make your stomach turn, your fingers brushing across the closed wounds, still healing since the attack three weeks prior.

Massive domed ceilings of smart glass reveal the night sky above Hyperion, projected stars mingling with the real ones when the clouds part. Tiered terraces overflow with tropical foliage and cascading waterfuls that tumble into artificially glowing pools full of night-blooming lilies the size of dinner plates.

Crystal lanterns drift lazily overhead like captive moons, casting warm golden light that softens every sharp edge of wealth on display as women glide through the gardens in gowns of liquid silk and embroidered starlight. Servants in white move like ghosts, offering flutes of shimmering vintage and tiny edible sculptures dusted with real gold leaf.

Tonight, you're playing the part of socialite perfectly despite the bone-deep exhaustion that clings to you even now. Your gown is a deep forest green this evening, chosen to complement the venue’s living opulence and because it has sleeves that high the healing scars on your arm. Minghao stands a few paces away, devastating in a green so dark that it's almost black, his presence a dark anchor amid the glittering crowd.

Your husband is a startlingly good date. He's attentive in public, close enough for appearances, but never quite warm. He speaks to you more than he used to, small observations about the room, quiet comments on people passing by, but the deeper questions you ask still meet that same polite, impenetrable wall.

Despite asking multiple times, he still won't tell you who trained him to kill with such clinical efficiency. Won't explain the ancient language he used with the drive that night. It doesn't matter how much he dances around your questions - you still probe, willing to chip away at his armor with every conversation if you have to.

You turn your attention back to the circle of high society ladies surrounding you. As much as you hate it, they're the gatekeepers of Hyperion's upper echelons, wives and daughters of banking dynasties, shipping magnates, and Syndicate families. Their gowns shimmer in jewel tones, their smiles sharp as broken glass.

Though exhausted, you have spent the last hour slowly weaving Minghao into their world, dropping careful mentions of his insights on logistics and neutral trade routes, painting him as a valuable new addition to the delicate balance of power.

Lin stands at the center, as she usually does. She's always been a ring-leader, now married to a mid-level Sword whose name you forget. She carries herself with the confidence of someone whose family has hovered near the inner circle for generations. You've known her since you were teens, your circles overlapping heavily enough that she feels almost like an old yet complicated acquaintance.

Tonight, she's in deep crimson silk that catches the lantern lights like fresh blood, her smile sweet on the surface but sharp underneath You don't miss the way her eyes linger on Yoon Jeonghan as he glides by, bowing politely to the women and giving them all his dashing smile. You don't think it's dashing at all, feeling your spine stiffen as the Wisdom's son winks at you and Minghao before vanishing into the crowd.

Suianne is next to her, and you're surprised to see her. She'd married into the Yong family and though the Syndicate's were currently at peace, the Yong family and the Choi family had been fighting at the docks which was the entire reason you got married to Minghao. Neither of you speak of business tonight, instead focusing on her pretty, navy gown that flowers like water.

Eva stands to Lin’s other side, beautiful and brittle in shimmering silver, still nursing the very public sting of being discarded by Kwon Soonyoung after she let him into her bed. From what you'd heard, he's not spoken to her since and as you watch her eyes flick around the gala, you can see the humiliation that still clings to her.

The three of them form a petty but influential ring, always watching and always trading secrets. They're not your favorite women to spend time with, but you don't have friends. Not really. Your sister had always been the one to establish the relationships, and you'd only started after she'd died, making for awkward conversations and learning social queues clumsily.

Lin leans in slightly, lowering her voice as a drift of jasmine-scented mist curls toward you. "You have to tell us - honestly. How are you really finding married life with your mysterious Xu heir? The whole city is still rumbling about your wedding. I'm so glad you're alright."

You offer a measured, slightly tired smile, letting them see the exhaustion beneath the polish to make the performance more authentic. "Minghao is quieter than most men, but there's a steadiness to him I enjoy. He remembers small details."

"He certainly watches you closely," Suianne notes, tilting her head. "A man in love, I suppose."

You glance across the garden where Minghao stands speaking with a small cluster of neutral businessmen. His dark eyes find yours almost instantly, holding for a heartbeat too long. He tilts his head as if to ask are you okay and you nod back. He seems appeased, eyes flicking back to the men he's speaking to.

The two of you have moved back into the Observatory penthouse full time. The space no longer feels quite so vast and empty now that he joins you for breakfast some mornings. He even is willing to sit in the living room while you light palo santo, watching you warily. He still deflects every real question about his past, but the silence between you has grown less brittle.

"He's attentative," you agree, turning back to them. "Last week he remembered I prefer lemon-mugwort tea in the mornings without me saying anything. We’ve settled back into the penthouse, just the two of us above the clouds. It’s peaceful. We're still learning."

Eva lets out a soft, bitter laugh, swirling the liquid in her glass. “At least he comes home to you. Kwon Soonyoung fucked me senseless for three weeks straight and now pretends I don’t exist when we’re in the same room. The man is a ghost after he gets what he wants.”

Lina's smile turns knowing. "That's what you get for fucking the mad dog and thinking you could mend him after she left him."

Eva looks put out by Lin's comment, but Suianne drops her voice to a whisper. "Speaking of her - no one has seen her in weeks. Not since her engagement party. You used to be close with her, weren't you Lin?"

"We're still close," Lin sniffs. "She's simply busy with her fiancée. Kim Yijun is a demanding man." She waves a hand and turns to you. "Enough about Baby. Tell us more about your husband. Is he as intense in the bedroom as he looks in public?"

Eva shouts Lin's name as the question lands like spark on dry tinder. Heat floods your face instantly and your mouth opens and closes. For a moment, all your carefully practiced poise deserts you and you're left staring at Lin who looks rather smug, like she's caught you in a lie.

"Um," you manage. The women burst into delighted laughter, clearly pleased to have cracked your composure. “He is considerate. But that's not something I'm going to discuss in detail."

A smooth voice interrupts from just behind you. “Oh, Lin, you terrible thing. Must you scandalize the poor girl in public?”

You turn, grateful for the interruption, as a woman you don’t recognize steps into the circle with effortless confidence. She's utterly striking, tall and elegant in midnight blue silk that pools around her like shadows, her dark hair swept up with silver pins.

“Minael,” Lin says warmly, reaching out to clasp the woman’s hand. “I didn’t know you were coming tonight. And with your husband, no less.”

Minael’s husband steps forward beside her, a tall, well-built man in impeccably cut black. His features are sharp, with cool grey eyes that seem to take in everything at once.

"Sato Ken," he introduces himself, offering his hand with a polite smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

You extend your hand to shake his, and the moment your palms meet, your gaze drops down involuntarily to his hand. There, across the first knuckle, is a thin, precise scar, nearly identical to the one on Minghao’s hand. Pale, deliberate, the kind left by wire or a very sharp blade. Not the sort of mark one expects on a society husband.

A chill slides down your spine. Ken's grip is firm, lingering just a fraction too long, and when you meet his eyes again, he's studying you with an intensity that feels uncomfortably familiar, As if he is cataloguing you the same way Minghao does.

Something in your gut turns rotten. A chill settles over you as you stare at Ken. Beyond him, something catches your eye. Near the top of the trees, a black bird lands, shuffling its wings. It's so black it's almost blue, oil-slick feathers shining in the light as it shuffles, craning its head until it blinks two beady eyes at you. You stare at it for a moment - you don't think you've ever seen a crow in the city before.

And then it flutters its wings and flies away through the open roof, vanishing into the inky sky like it was never there at all.

“Pleasure to finally meet you,” Ken says smoothly, bringing your attention back to him. “We’ve heard much about the new Xu-Nexus union.”

Minael laughs lightly, linking her arm with Lin’s. “Darling, you must tell me everything later. I’ve been dying to hear how the mysterious Arkos heir is settling into our little ecosystem.”

The conversation shifts around you, but you remain hyper-aware of Ken. He stands slightly behind his wife, eyes occasionally drifting back to you with that same probing focus. Something isn't right about Sato Ken. His wife seems perfectly well and good at socializing and you can tell Lira and the others are doting on her, but her husband is bad at this, his presence a palpable edge to the softness of his wife.

A tingle prods at the back of your neck, and instinct tells you to be wary of him. You engage with him little, ensuring that his wife is positioned between the two of you at all times. Your finger brushes against your bracelet, warm from your skin and grounding.

Thankfully, Minael and Ken don't linger long. After a few minutes of polite exchange, they drift away toward another group, the eerie man casting one final, lingering glance over his shoulder at you before disappearing into the foliage.

Moments later, Minghao appears at your side, moving with that silent grace you have come to expect. His hand settles lightly at the small of your back, warm through the silk. You suck in a breath, glancing at him, a little startled by his nearness.

“Are you ready to go home?” he asks quietly, voice pitched so the others can hear. “We were supposed to stay another hour, but you look exhausted.”

“Yes,” you murmur. “Please.”

He nods once and excuses you both from the group with polished grace, and guides you through the gardens toward a private exit. As you walk, you glance back one final time to see Ken watching you from across the atrium, half hidden behind a curtain of jasmine vines. An odd, unsettled feeling twists in your stomach and you turn away, leaning slightly into Minghao.

The armored car waits in the secure bay below. Once inside, the doors close behind you and the vehicle glides smoothly onto the road. You don't hesitate, getting onto your knees and reaching into your dress for the wrapped tarot deck you'd hidden in your pocket.

Minghao watches you from across the seat, eyebrow slightly raised. “Now?”

"Hush."

You shuffle the cards, the soft shck of the cards familiar. You don’t ask a specific question out loud. You rarely need to anymore. The deck knows, and three cards slip from the deck and fall face up onto the seat as you shuffle.

The Devil, upright. Ace of Swords, reversed. Nine of Wands, upright.

You stare at them, heart sinking. Chains and bondage. Blocked clarity. A wounded warrior still standing guard, exhausted but defiant. The message feels heavy, layered with warning. Something binding. Something obscured. Something that requires continued vigilance despite deep fatigue.

Minghao leans forward slightly, studying the cards with open curiosity. “What do they mean?”

You don’t answer immediately, tracing the edges of The Devil with one fingertip. The image of chained figures stares back at you. Your mind drifts to Ken's scar, to the way he studied you.

"Well?" Minghao asks again.

You glance at him. "Do you know Sato Ken?"

"Who?"

You frown. "The man I just met at the party. He had a scar like yours, and grey eyes."

Minghao goes unnaturally still. "What scar?"

"You have a scar on your finger." You reach out and grab his hands. He lets you, frowning as you lift his hand to the light and point to the faint scar on his knuckle, thin as can be. His hands are warm in yours, the fingers rough against your skin. "This one."

Minghao stares at where your hands are linked. "That scar specifically?"

"Yes."

A vein in his temple twitches before he shrugs a shoulder. "I don't know a Sato Ken."

Not for the first time, it sounds like Minghao is telling the truth. But you think about the way he uses truth to hide other things, and as you drop his hands and look back to the cards, you wonder which card is Minghao. The man in chains or the wounded warrior still standing guard. Maybe both.

-

Being in the Lower District alone is a bad idea. You have no choice, though. Hours in the library in the Legal District have led you here, an impossible lead buried in nonsense files. It hadn't been easy to find - Sato Ken hadn't brought up any solid leads, nor had his wife. But your search had revealed a Sato Rhia who had died in a car crash a decade ago with her husband and adopted son, a young boy who was named Zhi Yuan, not Sato Ken, but who had the same uncanny grey eyes and the beginnings of a face like the man you remember from the gala.

Pulling your coat hood up against the drizzle, you begin walking toward the nearest transit hub that will take you down to the Lower District where your research indicated the shelter was. If Zhi Yuan passed through the system, someone might remember him. Someone might know how a boy with grey eyes and a future scar ended up.

You get lost twice trying to find the train to take you to the Lower District. You've never been there without security personnel, and when you finally board the train, you feel a sense of apprehension as the car rocks back and forth, neon smearing by on the windows before it shoots underground.

Sitting near the head of the car, you settle with your hand tucked inside your coat, finger brushing the hilt of your small knife. The other rests against the tiny vial of protective oil in your inner pocket, its glass warm and grounding.

Through the scratched windows, the city becomes visible briefly as the train dives in and out of subterranean tracks. People huddle under leaking overhangs, begging for credits or hovering near fires for warmth. When the train stops, you step out and cringe, the smell of too many bodies living close together hitting you all at once.

Climbing the stairs is dangerous, the grime and rain making the ascent slippery. You hesitate to touch the rail when you see the rusted filth, and instead ask the universe to keep you from busting your ass.

The streets here are narrow and chaotic, slick with oily rain that reflects stuttering neon signs in iridescent puddles. Real rain falls harder at this level, drumming against rusted metal awnings and corroded pipes. Gang tags in glowing spray-paint pulse on every wall, though above them are the looming symbols of the Syndicates.

Street vendors hawk bootleg data pads, hacked implants, and vials of questionable stims from flickering stalls. The air grows thicker, heavier, carrying the unmistakable smells of unfiltered rain, and fried street meat. You feel painfully exposed, your coat too clean and posture too refined for this district.

Eyes follow you - some curious, some calculating. You keep your head down but your sens sharp, hand never far from your knife as you navigate the rain-slicked streets.

The shelter squats at the end of a dimly lit side street, a squat brutalist building reinforced with bolted steel plates and outdated security cams that flicker with static. Faded holographic signage above the entrance flickers with the building name, though it's broken and half on so none of the letters seem to make sense.

Rain drips steadily from the overhang as you push open the reinforced door. Inside, the air is warm and stale. You curl your nose, immediately missing the freshness of recycled air. You hadn't realized what a privilege it was until now.

Rows of cramped cots line the main hall. A few residents glancing at you curiously. A man mopping the floor with water that doesn't look any cleaner than the sticky tile nods politely at you. You approach the front desk where a middle-aged woman in a worn uniform flicks through data on a tablet under the weak glow of a buzzing fluorescent bar.

“Excuse me,” you say, keeping your voice low. “I’m looking for information about someone who might have stayed here as a child. His name was Zhi Yuan. This would have been around twenty to twenty-five years ago. I think he was adopted by Sato Rhia and her husband Amar.”

The woman studies your face, noting how obviously out of place you are before she ignores you and goes back to reading whatever is on her tablet. You grit your teeth and pull out your phone, tapping the small tile on the desk to transfer credits.

"Try again," you say through your teeth.

She glances at the credits and stiffens, rolling her shoulders as she begins typing. "Zhi Yuan?" She repeats, voice raspy. "Might not have the records that far back."

"That far? It was only twenty something years ago."

She huffs. "Listen lady, we don't got fancy storage here. We delete shit."

"Are you going to do the search or not?"

She grumbles and hits a few keys. "All I've got is some random kid from Arkos here for a few weeks. That's it."

"That's it?"

"You can transfer me more credits, but it won't do shit."

You think about leaving a handful of rusty nails, but you force a sharp smile. "Thank you so much for your help."

As you reach the door, the older man in stained janitorial coveralls pauses his mopping. He's weathered with deep lines around his eyes and hands scarred from years of hard labor. He glances at you, then at the woman behind the desk.

"You shouldn't be chasing ghosts down, miss," he whispers. "Not that one."

You pause, turning back. “What do you mean?”

"The boy. Let him stay dead. Virate operates that way."

The word lands like cold steel against your spine. Virate.

It's an unfamiliar word to you, but it tugs at your gut, like something is telling you it's important. “What is the Virate?”

The man’s expression shutters immediately. He looks over his shoulder toward the back rooms, then back at you. For a moment, genuine concern flickers across his weathered face.

Better that you don’t know,” he says quietly, almost urgently. “Go home, miss. The Lower District isn't for you."

He returns to mopping without another word, the wet slap of the mop against cracked tile the only sound between you. You stand frozen for a long second, heart hammering, before pushing open the door and stepping back into the relentless rain.

-

Minghao sits across the table from his mother in the private tearoom of the Xu family residence in the Upper District. The space is deliberately designed, a copy of old Arkos interior design and architecture. Low tables of dark lacquered wood rest on mats woven from rare fibers imported at great expense, and the walls are paneled in warm cedar that release a faint, woody smell.

Soft paper lanterns hang at varying heights from the ceiling, their golden light diffused and flickering gently, mimicking the old-world illumination of ancestral estates back in Arkos. Outside the reinforced floor-to-ceiling windows, Hyperion sprawls in an endless, restless web of neon arteries, flickering holograms, and rain-streaked towers piercing the low cloud ceiling.

Rain taps steadily against the glass, a metallic percussion that Minghao has long since learned to tune out since moving here. Inside, the air is warm and fragrant with the steam rising from the teapot and the subtle notes of jasmine.

It should feel peaceful. Instead, it feels like the calm before a storm he himself is about to unleash.

Xu Luli pours the tea with the same graceful precision she has always possessed, her movements fluid, the delicate porcelain cup gliding silently across the surface of the table as she pushes it toward him. Her grey eyes catch the lantern light as she lifts her cup, sipping.

Luli looks eternally young. It's always unsettling to Minghao that his mother doesn't look like she ages, while his father lets himself age freely. He knows it's a status and power play, but he hates the way he looks at his mother and sees someone frozen in time, someone he will eventually surpass because augmentation and longevity is not for him.

Minghao watches her hands. Elegant. Steady. The same hands that once ran through his hair when he was a young boy, before the Virate claimed the rest of his childhood and turned him into a trained weapon, a blade at their beck and call.

He takes a slow sip of the tea, letting the rare Arkos blend warm his chest and ground him. The flavor is complex, floral and slightly bitter, with an underlying earthiness that reminds him of the herbs you roll into handles and distill into oils that you like to spray across doors and clothes and objects.

"You look well," Minghao offers, sipping his tea.

Luli smiles at him softly, the kind of smile she reserves only for him. "You look tired. The marriage has been… eventful."

“Eventful,” Minghao echoes, a dry note threading through his voice. He studies her face in the golden lantern light, noting every micro-expression. "My wife and I have not had an easy start."

"All marriages are complicated. Your father and I were not always easy, either."

“Now that you've mentioned it, I’ve been thinking about your life before Father. Before the Xu name became yours.”

Her fingers pause for the briefest moment on the teapot handle. Minghao catches it, the tiny tightening at the corner of her mouth, the way her stormy grey eyes flicker once toward the reinforced window overlooking the glowing, rain-streaked city below. The lanterns cast shifting golden patterns across her flawless face, highlighting the elegant line of her jaw.

“It was a difficult time,” she says lightly. "Your father and I found each other at the right time."

"You were out of the public eye for a while. Why was that?"

"Youthful rebellion," she snorts. "I thought I could escape the expectations placed on me. Your wife has done a better job at hers, I will admit."

"And yet you think she's wicked."

"I never said wicked. She's just strange."

Minghao tilts his head, watching her with the same intense, cataloguing focus he once used on targets in shadowed rooms. The lantern light plays across her features, softening nothing.

"Was there someone before my father?" The question catches her off guard and her cup clinks sharply against the plate when she sets it down. "I always wondered. I never could figure out what made you leave."

"Minghao-"

"The Triptych always told me you wanted to leave," Minghao continues, nodding. He puts his chin in his palm, watching his mother keenly. "And that's why they were willing to part ways publically, that you'd asked for it. But your first departure from the Virate wasn't after you received permission. So what was it?"

"Son…"

"I'm not angry. I'm just looking for some answers."

Luli is quiet for a long moment. She lifts her own cup, takes a slow sip as if buying time, and sets it down with deliberate grace. The soft clink of porcelain against lacquer sounds unnaturally loud in the quiet room. Outside, the rain intensifies, drumming harder against the glass.

“Yes,” she admits at last. “I ran away with a lover.”

The admission hangs heavy in the air between them. Minghao nods, mind racing ahead. His eyes drop down to the red bracelet you'd given him, the azabache charm cool against his skin.

"Who was he?" He asks.

"Someone unsuitable. From outside the Virate. He was very charismatic, brillitan in his own way. I thought I could disappear and live outside the rules."

“And then?” he prompts when his mother falls silent again.

“I became pregnant.”

The words land like a blade between his ribs. Minghao goes very still. The lantern light suddenly feels too warm, the cedar scent too heavy. His mother continues, her voice trembling only slightly now, each word pulled from somewhere deep and painful she has clearly tried to bury for decades.

“I carried the child to term. A boy. We lived happily for a year before he decided that the child and I were too much. So I went back." She swallows. "The child wasn't Virate, though. So they took him and offered to place him somewhere safe and give me a new start, a single offer of mercy.”

"A safe start," Minghao echoes. "They offered to let you part with the Virate publicly if you did favors for them privately, didn't they?"

She chews her lip and nods. "I married your father and then we had you. You know the rest from there. We had you until you were five. Then we moved and you were theirs."

Minghao’s mind races, pieces clicking together with brutal, crystalline clarity. Grey eyes. The thin, precise scar. The way Sato Ken had studied you at the gala. You'd been unsettled by Ken, though Minghao had neither seen the man nor heard of him. None of his contacts knew of the name Sato Ken, and a quick online search had simply told the story of a businessman who married into a wealthy family.

In any other circumstance, Minghao might have disregarded it. But you'd been unsettled more than usual, insisting that the man with grey eyes - a Lin family trait from his mother's side - had the same scar as him. He trusted your instincts.

It was the same scar the initiated members of the Virate had, one where a finger had been severed during interrogation only to be later surgically added back on. The scar was always a reminder that members had passed, that they'd like the Virate take a part of them during an interrogation that felt realer than anything else Minghao has ever gone through, and that they could take it just as easily again.

He rubs his finger now, fingers brushing over the scar, remembering the snap of the bone and the way he'd nearly bit through his tongue. He'd not given up the information, though, and that had been enough to pass and earn the digit back.

If you were unsettled by a man with grey eyes and the same scar… well, Minghao didn't believe coincidences. Not since he had started watching you read your tarot and scribble into dream journals when you thought he wasn't paying attention.

“Does father know?” he asks eventually, voice low and tightly controlled.

“No. No one does. Only the Triptych."

Minghao exhales slowly, mind already spinning through the implications. If this Sato Ken was Minghao's brother - either by blood or initiation - he existed only in the dark. Which meant he was a Shade, and no one but the Triptych knew he existed. It unsettles Minghao more than he would like, mind scrambling to find a motive. Jealousy? Resentment? A move within a move by the Virate? It could be anything.

As a Shade himself, Ken shouldn't know Minghao existed. Not even the most coveted of the assassins belonging to the Virate knew the identity of one another, which was why Minghao thought nothing of Ken at the gala - hadn't even seen him. It makes him feel shaken, a ghost slipping by him that Minghao was trained to find, to see.

Worse was that Ken had seen you. Approached you. Shaken your hand. He'd done all that and Minghao simply hadn't noticed him. Years of Virate training had failed him, and he'd let something as dangerous as a Shade get close to you. It not only wounds his pride, but it wounds him.

Minghao feels the red bracelet you gave him shift against his wrist again. The azabache charm feels heavier suddenly, a small weight of your strange faith pressing against his skin.

He stands abruptly, the low table creaking as his knees push against it. Rain continues to lash the windows, the sound growing louder as the storm intensifies outside.

"I have to handle this," he mutters.

"What?" She asks, slipping into Zhenwen, a language dead to the world for generations but kept alive by the oldest families of Arkos. "What's happening?"

"Your illegitimate son tried to kill my wife."

"No," Luli shakes her head. "He was adopted into a family, outside of the Virate."

Minghao tsks. "You think the Virate gave away your child without training him? The Shade is born in darkness and has no name. I would know."

Luli closes her eyes, a single tear slipping down her eternal face. Minghao turns away before the sight can soften him. He cannot afford softness right now. Not when the delicate balance he has spent years maintaining is suddenly threatening to shatter around him for a haphazardly protected secret.

"I will do what I must for my family," Minghao tells her, steeling himself. "Blood for blood."

"Blood for blood," she agrees.

As he walks out of the room, he touches the red bracelet on his wrist, thumb brushing over the braided strands of your hair woven into the cord. The small protective charm you made for him feels both absurd and strangely vital at this moment. He wonders what you would say if you knew the truth, that the man you married carries blood older and darker than anything you have imagined. That the secrets he keeps are not just his own.

Whatever game is being played either by this half-brother of his or by the Triptych, Minghao will end it.

But for the first time, the thought of collateral damage makes his stomach turn because now, the collateral has a name, and she sleeps in the east wing of his penthouse and sticks her nose where it doesn't belong because she's too smart for her own good.

-

Thick, metallic air swallows you the moment you step into the bar. Sweet smoke chokes the room, the neon bleed of alternate reality systems flickering from behind closed doors. A few patrons sit slumped over table tops, nursing drinks lazily as though they're half in a dream. Most of the doors are shut, the private alternate reality rooms cutting them off from the bar and everything else in the real world.

Energy shifts immediately. Your skin prickles, and you scan the room, sensing the way energy here is a vacuum, like these rooms that offer everything but reality suck the essence of the soul out of the body.

The rain from outside clings to your coat in silver beads, but the oppressive warmth in the bar immediately makes your back and neck start to sweat. You step into the bar further, letting the door shut close behind you, cutting off the sound from the Pearl District. Neon from the district streets leaks through frosted windows in fractured violet and electric blue, painting the high wooden beams in shifting colors.

A few figures who move with the careful grace of people who have stepped between realities one too many times. You scan them all without making it obvious, your fingers brushing the black tourmaline cord hidden beneath your sleeve. The small knife in the hidden slit of your coat presses reassuringly against your ribs as your gaze settles on the woman behind the bar.

She's pretty, pouring someone a drink as she laughs at something the customer says. A simple black tank top shows toned arms covered in faint tattoos that seem to shift when the light hits them at the right angle. Her features are difficult to hold onto, like she's someone you might forget the moment you turn away while being strangely magnetic.

You drive toward the bar, hyperaware of the way the bartender notices you. Based on the description, you think she's who the Tower's daughter told you to find.

Kero, she'd said, eyeing you warily. Kero is good at information. Are you okay, though? I can help if you're in danger, you know that, right?

It had been a kind offer whispered at a gala last week, a rare moment where the two of you had been in the powder room and you'd been insane enough to ask her for a good source of information in the Syndicate.

Your heart pounds thinking about it again, remember the way she'd raised her brows and urge you to tell her if there was something wrong. Her kindness was a rarity in the Syndicate, and though you were somewhat familiar with her, facing her full on had been nearly overwhelming.

The bartender turns toward you as you slide onto a stool, her lips curving into a grin as she leans one hip against the bar.

"Hi," he drawls, eyes flicking up and down as she drinks you in. "New face. You look very expensive, sweetheart. What can I pour you?"

“I’m not here for a drink,” you say evenly. “I’m looking for Kero.”

Her smile doesn’t falter, but something sharp flickers behind her eyes. She tilts her head, studying you more carefully now, as if reassessing the woman standing in front of her.

"Kero is around. What do you need?" She asks eventually, fingers tapping the top of the bar.

"The Tower's daughter told me Kero might be able to help me with some information."

The words land with weight. She straightens slightly, the playful curve of her mouth diminishing. Mentioning the Tower’s daughter commands absolute authority here, you realize. She gives you a long, measured look, dark eyes tracing over your face, your coat, the way you hold yourself, drinking in every detail.

"I'm nothing if not a humble servant to the Tower and his children," she says eventually. "I'm Kero. You can come with me, sweetheart. Keep your pretty hands where I can see them, yeah? Baby is a good friend of mine, but I don't know you."

She slips out from behind the bar fluidly, exchanging a quick, wordless nod with the burly bartender who steps in to cover her station seamlessly. You follow, weaving between tables. No one notices you as you walk by, each customer staring off into nothingness with a glazed over expression that makes you shiver.

Kero leads you to a narrow hallway, the walls covered in flickering frames of alternate reality landscapes. You glance at them as you walk by, looking into lush forests, empty beaches, and night skies. At the end of the hall, she stops and presses her balm to a hidden scanner, a heavy wooden door hissing open after her clearance passes. She gestures for you to enter first, grinning and winking as you pass by her.

The private room beyond is small but surprisingly comfortable, a storage space turned lounger. Dim amber sconces cast warm, flickering light across two worn leather armchairs and a low table. A plush couch sits against one wall, and shelves hold bottles of rare liquor, scattered data pads, and a few precious paper books.

Kero closes the door behind you, engages the lock with a soft click, then turns with that same half-smile. She gestures to one of the armchairs, leaning casually against the table’s edge. You sit gracefully, unwilling to let her know that she makes you feel off keel.

Something about her unsettles you. In the dimmer room, her features are even harder to latch on to, like her eyes change everytime you look away or her hair is a shade adjusted. She watches you like a cat watches a mouse as you sit, and though you know mentioning the Tower's daughter has awarded you some power, you're not sure it's given you immunity here.

“So,” she says lightly. "What kind of trouble are you in, hmm?"

"Who says I'm in trouble?"

"It's written all over your face. You're tense as shit."

You give a small, knowing smile. “I’m not used to the Pearl District. That doesn’t mean I’m lost.”

Kero cocks her head. “Damn, no VR for you, huh? You rich types don’t really need to escape reality. You have everything you could ever want.”

“Not everything.”

"Unless you're trying to escape that fancy marriage."

"So you know who I am?"

Kero pushes off the table and walks over to a chair, dropping into it unceremoniously before pivoting sideways to hook the backs of her knees over the arm.

“Of course I do,” she snorts, dropping into the opposite chair and hooking her knees over the arm. “Big wedding. I wasn’t invited. Not high enough up the ladder, you know what I mean?”

"No."

"You're very honest, Mrs. Xu."

You meet her eyes without hesitation. “I’m very honest, yes.”

The name Mrs. Xu still feels foreign, but you no longer flinch. You so rarely hear people use your new legal name - most people still often see you as the heiress to Nexus Capital, content to use your family name because in this city, Minghao has married into your family, not the other way around.

"I met a man a few days ago at a gala and he left me with questions," you start slowly. Kero raises her brows. "No one really seems to know who he is, which isn't common among the elite."

She snorts. "You came here because someone isn't as well known as you?"

You ignore the barb, continuing, "He gave me the name Sato Ken. He doesn't seem to be much - just a mid-level businessman who married the daughter of a Patron of the Choi Syndicate. I think he might have a second name, though. Do you know anyone by the name of Zhi Yuan?"

Kero shakes her head. "Should I?"

"I don't know. Do you know what the Virate is?”

Kero’s entire posture changes in an instant. The lazy sprawl vanishes. She unhooks her legs and plants her boots on the floor with a quiet thud, leaning forward sharply and the playful glint in her eyes hardens into something guarded and alert.

“Virate,” she repeats, voice low and sharp. “What are you doing with the Virate?”

"I don't know what the Virate is."

"Of course you don't." She stands in one fluid motion, pacing a tight circle behind her chair, one hand dragging through her hair. “Tell me how you came across the Virate. Explain in detail."

You do. You tell her about the man from the gala, how something about his energy felt misaligned, your instincts screaming. How your research led you to the foster home in the Lower District where the cleaner had given you the strange, ominous warning about the Virate. About how you think Sato Ken and Zhi Yuan might be the same person.

Kero stops pacing. She steps closer, extending her right hand under the nearest sconce, palm down. You're not sure what you're supposed to be looking at until your eyes catch the smallest little scar, silver and right over the knuckle. Just like Sato Ken. Just like Minghao.

"Did he have a scar like this? Do you know?" She asks.

"Yes."

Kero pulls her hand back, flexing it once before sinking into her chair with heavier grace. The leather creaks as she rubs her temple, staring at the low table for a long beat while distant bass throbs from the bar’s VR rooms and rain drums steadily against the outer walls.

“Alright,” she says at last, voice quieter. "The Virate isn’t some street gang or Syndicate. They're like the Syndicate's here in the city but the structure is very different and they're a lot more complex. Think generations of bloodlines that build a shadow confederation that works in the cracks most people never see. They pull kids through foster systems, adoptions, quiet placements. Forge them. Shades, they call the ones with no names. Ghosts trained from blood and bone to serve the Triptych - the three who sit at the top.”

"Okay," you say slowly. "So you're saying maybe Sato Ken was Zhi Yuan previously, and now he's Sato Ken and he's a member of the Virate."

She shows her hand again, the silver scar making you shiver. "Virate initiation. They take the same finger during interrogation to see if you break. If you don't, they give you the finger back. If you break, you die."

You sit frozen, the weight of her words pressing down like cold rain. Minghao has that scar. You think of Minghao’s brutal efficiency on the terrace, the dead language in the car, the way he always deflects with half-truths. Your heart beats hard, frantic.

"If Sato Ken isn't a real name, you might be dealing with a Shade. It's hard to say. Shades are hard to find and are usually found only if they want to be… being uncovered for them is like death. They're the hidden assassins the Triptych likes to raise. Not even standard members of the Virate know who they are." Kero leans back. "Did he make any threats or have you seen him before?"

"No," you tell her. Your mind is on Minghao and not Ken - Yuan, whatever his name is. "Just met him at a party. My gut tells me he's important."

"If your gut managed to find an assassin for the Virate, that's a pretty good stomach."

You hum, noncommittal. "So you're a member of the Virate?"

"Was," she corrects. "Left when I was thirteen."

Both of you sit in silence as your mind races through fragments that feel too sharp to ignore. The scar on Kero’s knuckle. The identical mark on Sato Ken - Zhi Yuan. And Minghao. That thin, precise line across his first knuckle that you’d noticed from the very first boardroom meeting. The way his father deferred to him with a single finger twitch. The ancient language he spoke in the car after the wedding attack. The effortless violence on the terrace. The way he knew about your practice without you ever showing him.

The realization settles heavy in your chest. Your husband - the man who pressed his jacket to your bleeding arm, who wears the red bracelet you braided with your own hair - is not who anyone thinks he is.

Kero doesn’t mention the Xu family once. Doesn’t connect Minghao to any of this. Her ignorance of your husband’s involvement is louder than any confirmation could be- Minghao is an unknown member of the Virate. A Shade, Kero had called it. A ghost wearing the face of a logistics heir, planted here for purposes far beyond shipping contracts and political marriages. You keep your expression neutral, swallowing the storm of questions and fears that you can't let consume you - not here, not with this stranger.

“Thank you,” you say quietly. "This helps."

You reach into the inner pocket of your coat and pull out two things: the sleek, matte-black digital card and a small silk pouch you’d prepared weeks ago during one of your quiet Wednesday rituals. You set the card on the low table first, then slide the pouch toward her with careful fingers.

“If you ever want a new private account set up, use this," you tell her. "It's completely clean and untraceable, with access to resources most people here only dream about in these AR rooms you run." You point at the pouch. "This is for protection. Black salt, rosemary, a bit of hematite. I made it myself. It’s nothing fancy, but… it's my way of showing gratitude."

Kero stares at the offerings, genuine surprise flickering across her face. She picks up the silk pouch, turning it over in her scarred hand. “You made this?” Her eyes lift to yours, sharper now. “Are you a practitioner?”

“I dabble. It was something I started as a kid to pass time. I.. didn’t have much of a childhood and some of the housemaids practiced.”

Kero’s lips curve into a faint, knowing smile, but she doesn’t press. She tucks the pouch into her pocket with surprising care. “If you ever want to apprentice with real practitioners, go to the Silver Thorn Apothecary in the Lower District, near the old canal bridge. Tell them Kero sent you. They don’t take just anyone, but they might make an exception.”

“I appreciate it.”

Kero leans back, studying you for a long moment. The amber light softens the edges of her shifting features. “Watch yourself with the Virate. They don’t play by Syndicate rules. They bind blood, erase names, and turn children into weapons. Once you’re in their sights, it’s hard to get out.” She pauses, tilting her head. “Still… there’s something about your energy. Stubborn. Grounded. I like it."

A small grin tugs at your lips. “I’m trying. I should go. Thank you again, Kero. For everything."

You stand and she rises with you, holding the digital card in her hand. "Don't be a stranger, Mrs. Xu. Try to stay alive."

Rain hisses down on you as you leave, your boots splashing softly in the shallow puddles pooling in the concrete. The Pearl District is alive with partygoers, tourists and socialites heading to clubs, casinos and more, their laughter harsh against the churning of your mind.

Minghao is a Shade. You know with utter certainty, somehow. He's a ghost - a weapon, and you have no idea what it means that he married you or what he wants. He'd told you that you were no use to his family dead and you still believe that, but now you want to know for what.

In an alley between buildings, you dig around in your pocket for your cards. You shuffle them quickly, rain beading on their glossy surface as you do. Three cards slip out one by one, catching on your wet hands until you pull them out of the deck and flip them over.

The Tower. The Moon reversed. Death.

Thoughts of the cards haunt you all the way to the train. Your hood is pulled low, the black fabric of your coat blending into the sea of weary commuters. The bracelet on your wrist feels heavier than usual, a quiet anchor against the unease crawling up your spine.

Pressed between a businessman muttering into his phone and a woman clutching a synthetic flower bouquet, a sense of unease creeps up on you. Eyes on you. Not the casual glances of strangers, but something deliberate and predatory.

The doors hiss shut and the train lurches forward, accelerating into the tunnel with a low whine that vibrates through your bones. You keep your gaze fixed on the scratched window, watching the blur of service lights streak past like dying stars. Your hand slips into your coat pocket, fingers brushing the matte-black comm device Minghao gave you months ago. The private channel. Encrypted. Off-grid. You haven’t used it yet, but it feels good to have in your hand.

You shift your weight, scanning the car without turning your head. Faces blur in peripheral vision, a sea of tired eyes, downturned mouths, and people asleep in seats. No one stands out. No one meets your eyes for too long. Yet the sensation builds, a slow pressure like storm clouds gathering before lightning splits the Tower.

Two stops pass and your pulse quickens with each one. At the third, you make a split-second decision to get off that's nowhere near your intended route toward the Observatory. You elbow your way toward the doors as they open, stepping onto the platform and into the sub-level station, ait thick with the scent of damp rot and the distant rumble of freight loaders. Neon signs flicker overhead, advertising cheap stim-packs and off-grid betting dens.

You don’t look back. Not immediately. You weave through the sparse crowd, heels clicking against cracked concrete, and take the exit stairs two at a time. The streets above are narrower, hemmed in by crooked buildings and powerlines that spark intermittently in the thin rain. You turn left, then right, cutting through a market alley where vendors hawk sticky buns and meat skewers, fat sizzling.

Still, the feeling follows.

Your breath comes sharper now and you pause at a corner stall, pretending to examine a rack of knockoff jade pendants while your eyes flick across reflections in a rain-streaked metal panel. Nothing. A shadow shifts two stalls down, but it's gone when you focus. Your instincts, honed by years of the universe’s subtle nudges, scream a single name.

Sato Ken.

The thought lands like a cold blade between your ribs. The scar on his knuckle flashes in your memory. So does his polished smile and the way his gaze had lingered too long at the last charity function, heavy with something unreadable. You’d felt it then too. The Devil.

You quicken your pace, ducking down a narrower side street. The rain intensifies, sheeting off overhangs and turning the ground into a slick mirror of fractured neon. Your coat clings to your skin, heavy and cold. Heart hammering, you slip into a shadowed alley between two derelict storage units where it smells of rust and urine.

Crates are stacked haphazardly against one wall, providing meager cover where you press your back to the damp brick, breathing through your mouth to stay quiet. Water drips from a rusted pipe overhead, steady as a metronome. For a moment, only the distant train rumbles and your own pulse fills the space.

A splash confirms you're being followed and you don't hesitate. Your fingers close around the comm device, pulling it free with trembling hands. The surface is cool, almost alive under your touch, drinking in the faint alley light. You activate it with a press of your thumb, the faint holo-sheen blooming like starlight in the dark. The private channel connects with a soft chime that feels too loud in the confined space.

It rings once. Twice.

“Come on,” you whisper, voice barely audible over the rain.

Your free hand grips the small knife in your other pocket, though the blade feels inadequate against whatever waits in the shadows. The universe had warned you. The cards had warned you. Death upright. Transformation through violence.

The line clicks open and Minghao's voice comes through, low and immediate. "What's wrong?"

You've never been happier to hear his voice. The sound of his calm and controlled voice nearly buckles your knees. You lean harder into the wall, eyes darting to the alley mouth where a silhouette might appear any second. Rain sluices down your face, mixing with the cold sweat on your skin. The feeling of being watched intensifies, a prickling heat at your nape like fingers hovering just above your spine.

"I need you to find me," you tell him, voice barely audible. "I'm about to get taken or killed."

"Wicked-"

"You have access to my medical records," you interrupt. "You should have been emailed how to access. I have a subcutaneous tracking chip. Activate the emergency beacon with the password given to you - it pings your private network. Do it now."

Footsteps again, deliberate now, closing in from the alley’s entrance. A shadow detaches from the gloom, tall and masked.

“I know you’re a Shade,” you whisper. “Maybe I mean nothing to you at all, but you saved me on our wedding night and if I’m still important to your family, you need to find me. Or at least my body."

Minghao says your name - not wicked woman, not wicked - just your name. You say nothing else, swallowing as you drop the comm in the rain and crush it under your heel, the sharp crack lost to the sound of increasing downpour.

When the figure steps out of the shadows, all you can see are the grey eyes. You stare at him head on, refusing to show him fear despite the way your hands tremble in the cold rain.

"Is your husband coming?"

"Yes."

He nods. "Good."

-

Thunder shakes the penthouse. It's not loud enough to drown out the hammering of Minghao's heart as he gets dressed frantically. For once, Minghao feels like he might be panicking. He's not entirely sure - panic is a foreign concept to him. As a Shade of the Virate, he doesn't operate in adrenaline and panic - he simply exists in the detachment of calm and deliberate decision making.

This doesn't feel like that. He has no idea when he started caring about you so much - can't even really figure out when it happened. He supposes between the random late night dinners, the rare instances of breakfast, and the weekends when he watched you sit at the coffee table with your little herbs and candles muttering to yourself, he decided he liked you.

Had you been the elitist, snobby socialite he assumed you were going to be, he wouldn't be in this situation. Yet fate - because he's starting to believe in fate - had put you into your position - unprepared and woefully unjaded - through the violence of your sister's death, and put you directly into Minghao's path. He doesn't know what else to call it, because only destiny could be this specific.

Rain crawls in silver streaks down the windows, turning Hyperion into a smeared galaxy beneath the clouds. Minghao stands in front of the open wardrobe in a black compression shirt and tactical trousers, fingers gone motionless around the clasp of his chest holder as the information he'd requested through your instructions appears across the retinal display he'd put over his right eye.

PATIENT STATUS: ELEVATED STRESS RESPONSE WARNING: HEART RATE EXCEEDING SAFE BASELINE WARNING: ADRENALINE EXCEEDING SAFE BASELINE WARNING: CONCUSSION DETECTED LOCATION PING: ACTIVE LOCATION: 908 LOWER WATER STREET, WAREHOUSE DISTRICT, HYPERION 3094304

Minghao watches as your biometrics spike violently across the lens. Oxygen levels unstable, cortisol flooding yourself, neutral activity elevated. Nothing in your current vitals tells him that you're dying, which is the single positive news he has while he finishes buckling the holster before he opens another hidden compartment in his room, revealing weapons.

He takes the knives and two guns. They charge at his touch, the pulse letting him know they're primed as he holsters them. The red cord around his wrist slides with his hand movement, the azabache charm clicks against the gun as he removes his hand.

You'd looked so serious when you handed it to him, like you were testing him. He hadn't seen it then for what it was - a leap of faith to see if he was serious about you practicing your little customs without fear from him. Now he knows that he'd passed the test, because you'd start being more open around him. Not hiding things. Calling him and telling him you needed his help.

Minghao yanks a jacket over the holsters and accesses the medical feed again with a blink of his eyes. Nothing has changed, and your location still pings in an abandoned shipping corridor near Pier Nine. It's in Xu territory, a dock that belongs exclusively to Minghao's father, and by extension, Choi Moojin.

The hours Minghao has spent trying to track down his half brother have gone to waste. It appears that his brother has the jump on him, and why shouldn't he? Zhi Yuan or whatever the name he goes by now has known Minghao existed for far longer than Minghao has known he had a sibling, and it's clear that you've been in his sights for a while as an obvious attempt to get to Minghao.

Minghao is going to kill him. He made the decision long before you'd called him. He had decided before his mother even finished telling him about Yuan, about the first born son she naively thought the Virate gave away. It doesn't matter if Yuan is blood, though. He'd spilled the blood of those under the protection of the Xu family, and Minghao was bound by honor to pay him back.

Blood for blood.

It's not an easy situation. Minghao doesn't know if his brother is here by authorization of the Virate, or if he's gone rogue. The right thing to do would be to contact the Triptych, but Minghao has no plans of doing that. It's too much of a risk if they've sanctioned whatever attack this is, so he's decided to do what he wants. He knows it'll have consequences - he has carried out the punishment for this kind of thing plenty of times.

"Fuck," Minghao sighs, running a hand over his face.

As much as he wants to do this alone, he knows that the odds will be better if he has leverage. Everything with the Virate and the Triptych especially is above leverage and moves within moves, and Minghao doesn't have any right now. So he picks up the phone and dials a number he's never called before, heart hammering as the phone rings.

"Xu Minghao," Jeonghan answers softly. "What can I do for our favorite shipping heir on a rainy Thursday evening?"

Minghao slips a knife into the sheath at the base of his spine as he speaks. “I need a deal.”

Jeonghan pauses. "Oh?"

"In exchange for leverage and information on the Virate."

"I'm listening."

"I need protection and support from the Choi Syndicate if the Virate comes knocking at my door."

Jeonghan's no longer amused or joking when he says, "And why would they do that?"

"Agree to it before I say anything."

Jeonghan pauses. "Why'd you call me?"

"You're the heir to the Wisdom and you're smart. You'll know whether I'm lying or you'll figure it out yourself. Now I want a deal before I say anything."

The Observatory feels too high, too isolated tonight, suspended above the storm like a fragile glass cage. Neon from the distant Pearl District bleeds through the fog in fractured violet and electric blue, painting the matte black steel beams in shifting hues that do nothing to calm the unfamiliar knot twisting in his chest.

The line is silent for a beat too long. Jeonghan’s voice returns, stripped of its usual lazy amusement. “A deal, how bold. Alright - I, Yoon Jeonghan, Second to the Wisdom, affirm that the verbally negotiated agreement between us is valid and binding, and will be upheld by the Choi Syndicate under penalty of death or exile. Talk."

“The Virate,” Minghao starts, running a hand through his hair. "I'm a member. They raised me as a Shade. Nameless. Trained for killing and secret work. My family’s move to Hyperion, the logistics empire, this marriage - it isn't just business moves, it’s for the Virate. They wanted someone nameless but loyal to sow seeds and gain influence with one of the Syndicates of the city, ideally the Choi Syndicate."

A soft whistle from the other end. “And here I thought you were just another pretty Arkos heir playing at power. Continue.”

Minghao’s jaw tightens. He moves to the bedroom door, glancing once toward the east wing where you should be safe. The biometric feed in his retinal display pulses steadily, your location fixed, stress elevated but alive. For now.

“I have an unexpected target on my back,” he says, already striding toward the private elevator. “A Shade operative. One I didn’t know existed until recently. He orchestrated the wedding attack. Tonight, he has her. I’m on my way to eliminate him. It might blow back. If the Virate decides I’ve gone rogue or exposed too much, they’ll come for cleanup. I need Choi Syndicate support if that happens - protection, resources, a buffer. In exchange, I’ll give you information useful for leveraging a partnership with the Virate in Arkos. Real leverage. Names. Structures. Weak points the Triptych would rather keep buried.”

The elevator doors hiss open. Minghao steps inside, the mirrored walls reflecting a man dressed for violence. His hair is still damp from the earlier rain, eyes sharp and unblinking. Jeonghan is quiet again, but Minghao can hear the calculation in the silence, the Wisdom's son weighing angles, risks, opportunities.

"Hm," Jeonghan hums. "Interesting. You know this verbal agreement could be void based on your intent to threaten the safety of the Syndicate, right?" Minghao doesn't answer as the elevator plunges downward. "Why trust me with this?"

“Because you’re useful,” Minghao answers flatly. “And because my wife is bleeding time in a warehouse while we talk. Agree or don’t. But if I walk into this alone and don’t come back, you lose the chance at whatever game you’re playing with the docks.”

“You’re more interesting than I gave you credit for, Minghao. Fine. Deal. Choi support if the Virate comes calling. You deliver on the information. And try not to die, Baby would be devastated if the lead she gave your wife ended up with her dying."

Minghao pauses. "We'll discuss what you mean later."

"Sure."

Minghao pockets the phone. His mind cycles through possibilities of Yuan’s training, the scar, the grey eyes that matched his mother’s. Blood for blood. The old laws demanded it, but something sharper cuts beneath the duty now. Your voice on the comm, steady even in terror. The way you’d crushed the device rather than let it lead danger straight back here. Stubborn. Honest. Wicked in ways that had nothing to do with tarot cards.

The doors open into the cold concrete expanse. Elara and Kai snap to attention near the armored car, but Minghao waves them off with a sharp gesture. “Stay here. Guard the penthouse. No one in or out. If I’m not back by dawn, call Yoon Jeonghan."

“Understood, sir.”

Minghao slides into the driver’s seat himself, the engine humming to life. Rain hammers the garage ramp as he accelerates upward, the city’s neon arteries blurring past. His grip on the wheel is steady, but the red cord around his wrist catches the dashboard light.

His hands tighten on the wheel. He's ending this game of shadows tonight.

-

Your head throbs with a deep, nauseating pulse that radiates from the back of your skull down through your jaw. The world tilts when you try to lift it, the edges of the dim warehouse blurring like wet ink on parchment. The concussion is surely courtesy of the desperate headbutt you'd delivered when Zhi Yuan had grabbed you in that alley. The satisfying crunch of his nose breaking still echoes faintly in your memory, a small, defiant victory amid the terror.

Thick ropes bite into your wrists and ankles, securing you to a heavy metal chair bolted to the floor. The warehouse is vast and derelict, one of the many abandoned husks along the Lower Water Street docks where Xu shipping containers sit in rows.

Rain hammers on the corrugated roof overhead, leaking in thin streams through gaps in the panels to form oily puddles on the concrete. Dim emergency lights cast long, sickly yellow shadows across stacked crates and rusted forklift skeletons.

You test the ropes around you subtly, keeping your movements small, but there's no give. Your small knife is long gone, though the black tourmaline bracelet is still there, warm against your skin, a fragile tether.

Across from you, Zhi Yuan is seated casually on an overturned crate. Blood has dried in dark rivulets from his broken nose down over his mouth and chin, staining the collar of his shirt. The injury makes his sharp, balanced features turn grotesque, his grey eyes eery in the low light. He holds a stained cloth in his hand, dabbing occasionally at the swelling in his face.

"You're not what I expected," he admits. "Though I suppose any woman associated with the Choi family fights back."

You lift your chin, ignoring the way the motion sends fresh dizziness spiraling through you. Fear coils tight in your gut, but you refuse to let it show. You meet his gaze evenly, challenging every boardroom lesson your father ever drilled into you since your sister's death.

"Headbutting you was worth the headache," you mutter. "Though I imagine it hurts worse on your end."

His mouth twitches into something like a smile. "I've endured worse. You know, most heiresses would be sobbing by now. Begging. Offering credits or Syndicate favors."

"I'm not worried."

"You think your husband is coming?"

"I know so."

He leans back and sighs. "I know so too." His eyes watch you carefully. "I saw the way you looked at my scar at the gala. Same as his. You don't miss much, do you?"

“Enough to know you're a threat. What do you want, Zhi Yuan? Or is it Ken? Does the Virate let you keep any name at all?"

His grey eyes narrow slightly, but the amusement doesn't fade. "Names are fluid for us. Tools. Zhi Yuan was the boy the system forgot. Sato Ken was the man who married well and smiled at galas. Neither is real. But you can call me Yuan. It's... familiar."

“Familiar because of whatever connection you have to my husband.”

Yuan stops dabbing his nose and watches you for a long moment. He rises slowly, pacing a few steps through the puddle-streaked space. His boots splash softly. Yuan drags another crate closer and sits across from you again, legs stretched out casually.

“Tell me,” he drawls. “How does it feel to be married to a man who was never meant to have a wife? A real one, anyway.”

“It feels like he's going to kill you." You stare at him. "And if he doesn't, the Choi Syndicate will. I'm not some random woman you can steal away in the middle of the night. Your turn - why me if this is about him or the Virate?"

"I was at your wedding, you know?" He cocks his head. "You made a beautiful bride. The intent was to kill you and turn the Choi Syndicate against him, but once I saw that he cared, I knew that wouldn't work. They would see his honestly. So now you're just bait. My brother owes me a conversation."

The revelation hits you like a physical blow. Your breath catches sharply in your throat. Brother. You look into Yuan's eyes and don't know how you missed it - Luli looks right back at you, the cool grey, the calm eye of the storm.

Yuan watches your reaction with dark satisfaction, leaning back slowly. “Yes. Luli’s firstborn. The one she tried to hide. I found out about him by accident, you know? There he was, golden second son, raised by our mother and Jian in relative comfort, given a public name and legit empire to inherit while being a Shade for the Virate. All while I rotted in foster homes and training cells, learning how to kill before I could read properly. It wasn’t fair. He got life, the light, the illusion of choice. I got the shadows and the scars."

The Devil upright. A man in chains, who cannot escape what he is bound to. The tarot cards make sense, suddenly. You're looking at the devil, a man who cannot or will not escape the fate he thinks he's tethered to. You think of the Nine of Wands upright - a wounded warrior still standing guard, exhausted but defiant - and realize it's Minghao. Someone stuck between two worlds.

"I don't care where you're from or who you're related to," you spit out. "Only a weak man pities himself to this degree."

It hits a nerve. Yuan stands, violence written all over his face, but a device on the table a few feet away chimes and shows a hologram of a map, a red dot pinging as it approaches. Your heart lurches when you realize it's Minghao, throat tightening as the dot speeds through the roads of the Warehouse District.

"Finally," Yuan sighs. "I get to meet my brother."

Thunder rolls in the distance. Your heart hammers in your chest as you watch the entrance door, hearing the hiss of tires and the slamming of a car door. You can barely breath until the heavy metal door is being ripped open, rain pouring in as a dark silhouette slips through. Minghao shuts the door behind him, water streaming off of his black jacket, hair plastered to his forehead and neck. His eyes are unreadable, scanning the room before they fall on you.

Minghao strides forward, ignoring Yuan entirely. Your heart stutters, the violence in his eyes like nothing you've seen.

"Are you okay?" His voice cuts through the rain, low and steady.

You manage a nod, the motion sending fresh spikes of pain through your skull. The ropes bite deeper as you shift, but you hold his gaze. “I’m alive.”

Minghao’s jaw tightens, a muscle feathering along his cheek. For a heartbeat, the polished heir you met in the boardroom vanishes completely. This is the man who snapped an assassin’s neck on your wedding night. This is the Shade.

"Good. I'll be just a moment, okay?"

You nod and only then does he turn to his brother. Yuan is standing, clearly annoyed. The resemblance is unmistakable now that you know to look for it - the same sharp-soft balance in their features, the same predatory grace. But where Minghao carries a coiled stillness, Yuan vibrates with resentment, grey eyes burning with untapped rage.

“Brother,” Yuan greets. “Took you long enough.”

Minghao doesn’t waste words on pleasantries. “You’re no family of mine. We cull men weak enough to be driven by petty jealousies.” Minghao gestures to him. “Knives only. Old way. No guns. No tricks. You and me."

Yuan’s smile widens, splitting the dried blood on his lip. “You still cling to the old customs? You're a little princeling here - you aren't Virate.”

“I honor what I am,” Minghao replies. He shrugs off his jacket, letting it fall to the wet floor. Beneath it, the compression shirt clings to his frame, revealing the holster straps and the faint outline of the small spell jar you gave him, still tucked against his chest. The red bracelet on his wrist stands out like a slash of blood against pale skin. “Do you?”

Yuan laughs, low and bitter and strips down to a similar compression shirt as Minghao. Two blades appear in his hands, thin, wickedly curved karambits that catch the light. “I was forged in the same dark you were. Let’s see which of us the Triptych favored more.”

Minghao draws his own knives. No flourish. Just efficient, practiced motion. One in each hand, shorter than Yuan’s but perfectly balanced. He rolls his shoulders once, eyes never leaving his brother’s face as the rain hammers the roof in relentless sheets and water drips from cracks overhead, plinking into puddles that spread across the concrete like spilled ink.

You test the ropes again, heart hammering against your ribs. The black tourmaline bracelet feels warm against your skin, a small circle of your own intention. You close your eyes, sucking in a short breath as you center yourself and focus on the single intention you have: Minghao living.

The fight begins without warning and you flinch. Yuan lunges first, a blur of motion across the wet floor, his karambit slashing in a wide arc meant to open Minghao’s throat. Minghao twists inside the reach, blades flashing up to parry. Metal screams against metal and sparks fly, tiny and bright in the dimness. They separate, circling each other like lions.

Yuan attacks again, faster this time, feinting low before slicing high. Minghao ducks, but not quite fast enough as the blade catches his shoulder, opening a shallow line of red. Blood wells immediately, mixing with rainwater. Minghao doesn’t flinch. He counters with a vicious upward thrust that forces Yuan to leap back, boots splashing.

Each collision is brutal, knives cutting air. Feet slide on the slick concrete, searching for purchase. Yuan is slightly taller, leveraging reach, but Minghao is faster and more economical with his movements, his efficiency brutal as he slashes Yuan across the rib, tearing fabric and flesh.

Minghao presses the advantage, driving Yuan backward with a series of rapid strikes. Their blades lock, faces inches apart, and for a moment, they strain against each other, muscles corded, breath visible in the damp air. Yuan’s grey eyes gleam with something like joy.

"I knew you liked the girl," Yuan goads. "This isn't business for you. This is emotional."

Minghao headbutts him hard and Yuan's face explodes in blood again, the damage you'd done earlier doubling. He stumps and Minghao follows, his knives dancing in a pattern too fast for you to track as he cuts open Yuan's shoulder, his forearm, his thigh. Minghao moves like pain is irrelevant, cutting Yuan until the man is screaming and kicking at Minghao for distance.

Yuan feints left, then spins, driving a blade toward Minghao’s kidney. You suck in a sharp breath but Minghao pivots and catches Yuan's wrist, twisting violently with a sickening pop. Yuan roars, dropping one karambit while swinging wildly with the other. Minghao takes a cut across the chest for it, but he doesn't let go. Instead, he yanks Yuan forward and drives his own knife upward where it sinks into Yuan's side, just under his ribs.

Yuan gasps, eyes widening. He tries to pull away, but Minghao holds him close, almost intimate. Their faces are inches apart, rain dripping from Minghao's hair onto Yuan's cheek.

"Blood for blood," he says, voice hard. He says something to Yuan in that same language you don't understand before he twists the knife.

Yuan’s mouth opens in a silent scream while his free hand claws at Minghao’s shoulder, leaving bloody streaks. His grey eyes lock onto Minghao’s for one long, terrible second. Then the light in them gutters out. Minghao yanks the blade free and Yuan collapses to the wet concrete with a heavy splash. Blood spreads beneath him, dark and final, mixing with rainwater and oil. The body twitches once, twice, then stills.

Minghao stands over his brother for a long moment, chest heaving, blood running down his arms and torso. Then he turns to you. The shift in him is immediate and devastating as the killer melts away into something soft. He crosses the distance in three strides, dropping to his knees in the puddle before your chair

His hands are trembling as he unties the ropes at your wrist, careful as he cuts through them with the knife slicked in his brother's blood. His dark eyes search your face frantically, cataloguing every bruise, the swelling at your temple, the way you’re favoring your head.

"Are you hurt?" He murmurs. "Tell me where. Please."

Please. You don't think you've ever heard him say that. Not to you. The way he says it is devastatingly soft, his sharp eyes round as he looks up at you, hands hovering like he doesn't know what to do.

“I’m okay," you whisper.

Minghao cuts away at the ropes around your ankle before tossing the knife and pulling you forward, careful not to press against any injuries. His embrace is fierce and gentle at once, one hand cradling the back of your head, the other spanning your back. You can feel his heart hammering against yours, fast and terrified in a way his face never shows.

It's the first time he's touched you - honestly touched you - since your brief kiss at the altar and the night you were almost killed. His touch is grounding and warm, the smell of him comforting but laced with the metallic tang of blood. You pull away, your hands hovering as you look at all the places he's bleeding.

“You’re bleeding-"

“It doesn’t matter.” He pulls you back in, his voice muffled by your hair. "You are nosey and you are stubborn and you are fascinating. Thank you for calling me."

"Minghao, you need stitches."

“Later.” He presses his forehead to yours, eyes closed. Rain drips from his lashes. “You’re safe. That’s all that matters right now.”

The spell jar is still pressed between you, warm against his chest. You can feel its faint outline. The red bracelet on his wrist brushes your skin as he cups your face again. Something inside your chest cracks open, relief, fear, the strange blooming warmth you’ve been trying to ignore for months.

“I knew you’d come,” you whisper.

“I will always come for you.” The words are quiet, almost reverent. He kisses your forehead, then your temple, avoiding the bruise, then the corner of your mouth. Not possessive. Just desperate reassurance. “I’m sorry you had to face him alone."

“I headbutted him. Broke his nose.”

A soft, startled laugh escapes him. “Of course you did.” His thumb traces your jaw. “My wicked, impossible wife.”

He helps you stand, supporting most of your weight when your legs threaten to buckle. The warehouse spins for a moment, but his arm around your waist anchors you. He keeps you turned away from Yuan’s body, shielding you with his own as he guides you toward the broken door.

Outside, the rain is still falling in torrents. Minghao’s car idles just beyond the entrance, lights off, engine humming low. He helps you into the passenger seat with painstaking care, buckling you in, checking the angle of your head, murmuring soft instructions to breathe slowly. Then he rounds the car and slides behind the wheel.

For a long moment, neither of you speaks. Rain lashes the windshield. Minghao’s hands grip the wheel, knuckles white. Blood still trickles from the cut on his chest, but he ignores it, eyes fixed on you.

“I killed my brother tonight,” he says eventually, voice hollow. “For you. I need you to know I would do it again. I understand I have not been forthcoming or warm, but I care for you.”

You reach across the console and take his hand. His fingers curl around yours immediately, tight enough to hurt. The red bracelet shifts between you.

“I know,” you whisper. “Thank you.”

He lifts your joined hands and presses a kiss to your knuckles, eyes closing again. When they open, the intensity is back, but softer now. Protective. Possessive in a way that feels like safety rather than the chains you'd felt that first meeting in the boardroom.

“Let’s go home,” he says. 

You nod, exhaustion crashing over you like the rain outside.

-

Doctor Tzintzun finally steps back, wiping her hands on a sterile cloth. The Observatory penthouse is quiet except for the low hum of the air filtration system and the distant patter of rain against the floor-to-ceiling windows. Fog presses close outside, turning Hyperion into a muted glow far below

The doctor packs her kit with efficient movements, glancing between you and Minghao. “The stitches on your arm will hold, but keep them dry. Concussion protocol is in place - rest, dim lights, no screens. As for you, Mr. Xu, those cuts were deep. Change the dressings in six hours. Pain management is on the bedside table. Call if anything worsens.”

Minghao nods once, voice low. “Thank you. Elara will see you out.”

The door seals behind them with a soft click, leaving the two of you alone in the low-lit living room. Your body aches in new and old places, your temple tender from the concussion. But you’re alive. He’s alive.

Minghao sits on the wide, low couch beside you, closer than he’s ever been in this space. The black silk robe he wears hangs open at the chest, revealing the edge of white bandages and the hard planes of muscle beneath. His hair is damp, falling across his forehead in dark strands. The red bracelet you made him still circles his right wrist, the azabache charm catching the soft amber light from the single lamp. He hasn’t taken it off.

You shift slightly, the oversized shirt you wear - his, you realize - riding up your thighs. The silence stretches, thick with everything unsaid. The fight. The blood. The truth of what he is. Your eyes trace the line of his jaw, the faint scar on his knuckle, the way his chest rises and falls with careful, controlled breaths.

He turns toward you, dark eyes intense in the dimness. For once, there’s no polished mask, no deflection. Just raw, unguarded focus on your face.

“I don’t know why you get under my skin,” he says quietly. "I was trained not to let anyone close. Attachments were liabilities. You were supposed to be a transaction - a bridge that was useful and controllable."

He reaches out, fingers brushing a strand of hair from your cheek with surprising gentleness. The touch lingers, callused fingertips tracing your jaw. “But you fight back when you should crumble. You read the universe in cards and smoke and believe in it so stubbornly it makes me question everything I was forged to be. You called me when you were terrified and trusted me to come.”

His thumb strokes your lower lip, eyes dropping to watch the motion. The air between you crackles, charged like the moments before lightning. Your pulse quickens, heat blooming low in your belly despite the exhaustion and pain. You can smell him, clean skin, faint pine.

“I don’t understand it,” he murmurs, leaning closer. "You affect me. You make me want things I was never meant to have.”

"So have them," you murmur.

He laughs and kisses you. It’s not the chaste brush from your wedding. This is real and hungry, months of restrained tension exploding between you. His mouth claims yours, tongue sweeping in to taste you deeply. You moan softly into him, hands fisting in the front of his robe, pulling him closer. He tastes like mint and rain and something darker, needier. His hand cups the back of your neck, tilting your head to deepen the kiss, the other sliding down your side to grip your hip.

The world narrows to the wet slide of tongues, the soft sounds of breath and need, the heat of his body pressing you back against the couch cushions. Your bandages pull slightly but the pain is distant, drowned in sensation. His scent envelops you. The low groan vibrating from his chest makes your pussy clench.

He breaks the kiss only to trail his mouth down your neck, sucking lightly at your pulse point. “Tell me to stop,” he rasps against your skin, voice wrecked. “If this is too much after I lied-"

“Don’t you dare,” you whisper, threading fingers through his damp hair and tugging him back up for another searing kiss.

Minghao makes a low sound and shifts you both, pulling you into his lap so you straddle him. The robe falls open completely, revealing his bandaged torso and the hard length of him pressing against you through thin fabric. Your shirt rides up, bare thighs against his hips. He’s already hard, thick and hot, and the realization sends a fresh wave of arousal flooding through you.

He kisses you like a man starving, hands roaming under your shirt to cup your breasts, thumbs circling your nipples until they pebble tight and you let out a shaky sound, overwhelmed.

“So fucking perfect,” he growls, breaking the kiss to yank the shirt over your head.

Cool air kisses your skin, then his hot mouth is on you, sucking one nipple deep while his fingers pinch and roll the other. The wet heat of his tongue, the gentle scrape of teeth, the suction - all of it pulls desperate whimpers from your throat. You arch into him, grinding down against his cock, feeling the thick ridge slide against your dampening folds through your panties.

“Minghao-" His name breaks off on a moan.

He switches sides, lavishing the other breast with the same filthy attention, sucking hard enough to leave imprints of his teeth on your skin. One hand slides down your stomach, dipping beneath the waistband of your panties, fingers finding you soaked.

“This wet for me already?” he murmurs. “My wicked wife.”

Two thick fingers push inside you without warning, curling deep. You cry out, hips rocking instinctively as he starts to pump them slowly at first, then faster, thumb finding your clit and circling with devastating pressure. The wet, obscene sounds of his fingers working in and out of your pussy fill the room, mixing with your gasps and his low groans. He kisses you again, swallowing your moans as he finger-fucks you harder, scissoring and curling until you’re trembling on the edge.

“Come for me, baby,” he demands against your mouth. “Let me feel it.”

The orgasm crashes over you, sharp and sudden, and you clamp down hard around his fingers, thighs shaking as it rips through you. He doesn’t stop, working you through it with deep, steady strokes until you’re whimpering his name.

He pulls his fingers free, bringing them to his mouth and sucking them clean with a groan. “Taste so good. Need more.”

Before you can catch your breath, he lifts you effortlessly, ignoring the way you yelp, hands hovering near his injuries. He lays you back against the wide couch and kneels between your spread thighs, peeling your soaked panties down your legs and tossing them aside. The cool air hits your exposed, dripping pussy, making you shiver. Minghao stares like a man possessed, eyes dark, lips parted.

He spreads your thighs wider, hooking your legs over his shoulders, and buries his face between them. The first long, slow lick from your entrance to your clit draws a broken cry from you, his tongue parting you like velvet.

“Fuck, you’re dripping for me,” he mutters, voice muffled.

He sucks your clit between his lips, tongue flicking rapidly while two fingers plunge back inside you, fucking you in time with his mouth. It makes you suck in a sharp gasp, lost to the heat of his tongue, the stretch of his fingers. You fist his hair, hips grinding against his face as another orgasm builds fast and brutal. He curls his fingers against that perfect spot inside you, sucking hard on your clit, and you shatter again with a sharp scream, thighs clamping around his head as you come again.

He laps you through it, gentler now, until you’re twitching and oversensitive. Only then does he rise, wiping his glistening mouth with the back of his hand. His cock strains against his pants, a wet spot forming at the front that makes you eager. You reach for him, tugging the fabric down, freeing his thick, heavy length to reveal a flushed dark head slick with precum. You wrap your hand around him, stroking once, and he hisses, hips jerking.

“Need to be inside you,” he rasps, voice wrecked. “Now.”

He sits back on the couch, pulling you into his lap again so you can straddle him with your knees sinking into the cushions on either side of his hips. His cock slides hot and bare against your soaked folds as you grind down, coating him in your arousal.

“Fuck me,” you whisper lips dragging against his. "Like you mean it. Like I'm yours. Like you should have on our wedding night"

Minghao grips your hips, eyes locked on yours, and pulls you down onto him in one smooth, relentless thrust that has you gasping into his mouth, your hands cradling his face.

The stretch is exquisite, burning pleasure as he fills you completely, bottoming out with a shared groan. You’re so wet he slides in easily, but the fullness makes your breath hitch. You can feel every ridge, every throb of his cock buried deep enough to make you shiver.

"Fuck," he hisses. His hands knead your ass, guiding you to rock on him. “So fucking hot and wet around me.”

You start moving, riding him slow at first, savoring the drag of his thick cock against your walls. He floods your senses - his scent, the taste of him still on your lips from earlier kisses, the sight of his bandaged, muscled torso flexing beneath you, the feel of his hands guiding you harder, faster.

He surges up, capturing your mouth in a messy kiss as he thrusts up to meet you. The angle hits deep, grinding against that spot inside of you that has you twitching. Sweat slicks your bodies where they press together, his heart pounding against yours.

“Ride me harder,” he growls, one hand pressing your lower belly, feeling the bulge of his cock inside you. “Want to feel you come on my cock.”

You do, grinding down with fluid rolls of your hips until the pressure builds again. He sucks harshly against your neck then lower, biting and licking his way toward your chest. The feeling of his teeth scraping against you sends you over, coming around him as you hide your face in his neck, crying his name.

Minghao curses, flipping you onto your side gently with your back to his chest. He's careful as he lifts one of your thighs and hooks it over his, and he slowly thrusts back into you from behind in a single, fluid stroke. His arm wraps around you, hand cupping your breast, pinching the nipple as he fucks you with long, drawn out thrusts that have you panting.

"My pretty wife," he pants against the shell of your ear, nipping lightly. "Fate brought you to me. I know it. I never believed before until you."

You moan helplessly, pushing back to meet every thrust. Another orgasm crashes over you, vision whitening as your walls flutter and squeeze him. Minghao groans deeply, pace faltering until he buries himself to the hilt, hips jerking as he spills inside you.

You stay locked together, panting, bodies slick with sweat. His cock softens slowly inside you but he doesn’t pull out, holding you close. His hand strokes lazily over your stomach, down to where you’re still joined, feeling the mess of your combined release leaking out.

After long minutes, he presses soft kisses to your neck, your shoulder, your jaw. Turning your head, he kisses you properly again.

“I never intended this,” he murmurs against your lips, breaking the kiss. “I was supposed to use this marriage, keep my distance, and fulfill the Virate’s purpose. But you deserve better. You deserve a real husband. Protection, honesty, partnership. I promise you that - until death, like I said. No more shadows between us."

"I would like that," you whisper, looking up into his eyes - open and honest for the first time. "Thank you."

Rain taps against the window as you lay there, tired and safe in his arms. For once, you don't worry about anything - there is nothing to worry about. The Tower has already fallen. The illusions are gone. All that remains is what you choose to build from the wreckage.

- The wedding you always imagined is better than your first one. Late afternoon light filters through the canopy of trees in soft, dappled gold, catching on the mist that clings to ferns and low-hanging moss. The air carries the scent of damp earth, pine resin, crushed herbs, and night-blooming jasmine. For once, the rain has paused, like the earth is letting you have this brief moment among the trees.

This is nothing like the extravagent wedding suspended three hundred floors above the city. No cameras. No political theater. Just earth. Just intention. Just truth.

You're barefoot on a small clearing of soft moss and fallen petals, wearing a simple slip of midnight silk that brushes your ankles. Minghao stands across from you, barefoot and dressed in loose black linen that makes him look less like a Shade and something softer. More solid. Something yours.

A length of hand-dyed red silk binds your hands together, soaked through with oils, saturated with the smell of rose and mugwart and something bitter. Baby stands a respectful distance away beside Seungcheol, her haunted expression gentler today, almost peaceful. Jeonghan leans against a tree with his usual lazy smirk while Kero grins, all teeth.

“This is the one that matters,” Minghao murmurs. "Until death."

You smile. "Until death, Xu Minghao."

[caratchronicles]

And the plot thickenssss, I’m so excited to see where the syndicate series goes from here. Very nicely written once again Hali, I love it!!!

[choco-scoups]

Love, Intertwined | l.ch (Part II)

Summary : When a series of unfortunate circumstances leaves the stranger you fell in love with, holding a bad impression of you, you decide that maybe love wasn't in your cards yet and try to move on. But what happens when your path keeps intertwining, taunting you to cross the line? Will you dare again? Or will you not?

Pairing : Lee Chan x Fem! Reader

AU : Business Proposal AU

Word count : 17, 100 (part two)

Genre : Romcom, Fluff, Slow Burn, Angst, Smut

Warnings : Emotional breakdowns, Stalker (not chan), Reader works through her trauma later, they both are idiots in love, slow burn, reader has severe daddy issues.

Smut Warnings : Breast play, Nipple play, Praise kink, Choking, Doggy style, p in v penetration, cunnilingus, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it, people) I'm probably forgetting something. It's my first time writing smut, so i hope you'll treat me kind.

Author's Note : This fic has been written as part of blockbusters collab hosted by the amazing @nerdycheol, @jakedustry and @belovedgyu. Go and check out works of the other wonderful writers!! And absolutely grateful to meet wonderful humans and writers, @livmarauder, @hopecutie, @caratchronicles, @cherrymayz, @chogiwaw, @paradiseonthemoon, @onionhassayyo, @cxffecoupx, @pomegranate-teardrop, @mellowamour, @gentleisa, @luvrung through this collab. It was the best thing that happened to me and I could not thank everybody enough for supporting me, helping me throughout.

I never actually thought I'd write long fics and my first one being for a collab was such a fun way to start. This has been such a wonderful journey and I am going to miss these characters a lot, Thank you to everyone who has been on this journey with me, I love you loads!!!

Part one | Playlist | Character Mood Boards | Main Masterlist |

Your excitement about moving into your own apartment was about to run out. You're holding onto the last box of clothes you left in your car—the furniture already delivered by a moving company—you did not trust anyone with your clothes. They needed to be treated gently and you were afraid those men would not know how to do that.

You walk towards the elevator in the parking lot, the soft breeze of early morning wind brushing your hair. Any other day you'd have closed your eyes feeling the breeze on your skin but not today, you were sweating through your clothes and anything that was not a bath was not helping. But you are not going to let it get to you, you are gonna get through this and spend the entire day locked in your room taking an hour long bath and catching wonderful sleep or maybe watch a movie with Jieun.

A plan definitely devised with ulterior motives, as you started the moving in process yesterday evening. The furniture started coming in first, you were busy putting everything together when the night has fallen. You fell asleep on the couch for a while before your best friend came over at the crack of dawn to help you unpack.

The elevator dings and you get in laying down the box to catch a breath.

"Wait!" You hear a loud thump and a shoe stopping the doors as they halt.

You look up to see the person and are startled watching Chan panting trying to catch his breath as the doors open up for him.

He was wearing casual clothes, his hair messy and unkept, sweat on his forehead indicating he was either working out or doing a strenous activity. You did not want to know what it was.

Wait, what was he doing here?

As if he finally took in his surroundings, Chan gets into the elevator. But the shock on his face as he sees you is palpable, it crosses his features for a second before changing into a blank expression. Nobody would've known about it.

You do though, unfortunately.

The entire ride neither of you talk, while you were itching to talk something you didn't know if he wanted to.

Soon, the elevator stops at your floor and he gets out first reminding you that he never actually pressed a button to his floor and got down at yours. You follow him your mind racing with possibilities like you are connecting dots at a crime scene and that's when it happens, the sound of electronic lock beeping and you swear you hear your heart beating so loud it feels like it might fall out of your chest.

He lives right next door to you. He is your neighbor.

As if the realization dawned him as you open up your door he looks at you with a look you can't pinpoint to be exact and goes in shutting it behind him loudly.

Okay, rude.

As soon as your door is closed you lean against it falling onto the floor. Your heart doesn't help neither does your body. You were going to move on from him. You were going to go on a date on your own accord and get over him.

It has been 13 days since you last saw him and you were sure that your plan was working. And now, he is here? Living right next door? You did not know if you were supposed to be happy or sad.

"Are you good?" Jieun asks looking at you from the living room, the show she was watching paused on the laptop.

"No?" You were honestly confused. So you do the best thing to get rid of your stuffy chest. You cry it out.

Chan crushes the paper in his hands aiming it towards Seungcheol's head, who was currently sleeping on his couch like a fucking baby.

It has been a few days since he ran into you. And as if that wasn't enough, he heard you cry the sound so loud it broke something in him. He brushed it off thinking it wasn't because of him, that maybe you were just crying because the moving in — he guessed by the box in your hand and the empty apartment beside his which you went into — was stressful, but his hand that almost reached your door bell with worry said otherwise.

And now, watching Seungcheol on his couch, in his apartment, sleeping on his favorite pillow and Chan did not know what else to do other than find a way to get rid of his frustration than finding an escape.

He did not hate you, but he did not know what he felt either. And if he ever tried to confront himself, all he could do was remember that your actions hurt Seungcheol—which sometimes felt like an excuse he was trying to make up if he was being honest. So, he never tried to wonder what exactly he was feeling.

But now you were his neighbor, and if not now when else would he be confronting himself? Because having you so close and yet so far away every single day, Chan was losing his fucking mind around you. He so desperately wanted to talk to you, or was he just feeling guilty for hurting you the last time you saw each other? What exactly was he feeling?

Yeah, he had to figure out his shit.

The paper ball Chan threw, fell far away from his aim and Seungcheol just stirred in his place, no sign of waking up. There was one more option left, that would help him relieve whatever is going on in his mind —something that always helped him clear his mind — so he woke Seungcheol up with an offer the grumpy man could not refuse.

The sound of grunts fill the air, sweat permeating through as Seungcheol did not stop holding back, a wicked gleam on his face as he threw another punch.

Chan huffs out a laugh dodging him, and hits him right across his jaw making him lose his balance for a second before throwing another hit. Seungcheol, who spits out some blood just goes ahead smiling like a maniac—which he was—and takes down Chan with a punch to his ribs.

This was their getaway. Boxing.

Their shared love for a fight to relieve some muscles and clear the mind never reduced over the years. In fact, they were sure the amount of injuries they had along the years somehow made them more stronger.

Mingyu blows a whistle, signaling them to take a break. Chan and Seungcheol just fall on their backs in middle of the ring, groaning because of the pain while also laughing, because it has certainly been a while since they did this.

"You beasts," Mingyu curses throwing water bottles at both of them while taking a seat in the ring.

Kim Mingyu was the doctor they befriended after Chan 'accidentally' broke 2 of Seungcheol's ribs. Their grandfather was furious at them for fighting in general, and since then they found a secret place for their little activity so the old man would not get a whiff of it. He would just get mad again, and they did not want to lose this.

Mingyu figured out stuff quickly, and wanted in on it for reasons unknown and Seungcheol welcomed him immediately because he was always ready to prove to anyone who watched, that he was the best at this.

"So, what's your trouble this time?" He asks looking at Seungcheol who just shrugs.

"I am fine, this kid on the other hand—" He throws an hand over Chan's shoulders pulling him ruffling his hair while the younger tries to get out of his hold, Seungcheol just glares at him making Chan stay and not try to get out.

"I am fine. Just work stress and this old man—" Chan continues to lie while Seungcheol rolls his eyes.

"He's not telling the truth," Seungcheol cuts him off looking at Mingyu.

"I can see that." Mingyu answers, his gaze unwavering on Chan.

Silence passes for a few minutes and Chan sighs telling them everything on his mind. He thought he would just figure this out by himself, but seems like he was going to get help.

Nobody says a damn thing as Chan continues speaking, while Seungcheol sometimes just scoffs or laughs he doesn't say anything much either.

"—And I started to give up on the idea of pursuing her because it felt wrong to go after a woman who hurt you." He looks at Seungcheol, who just raises a brow at him.

"That's just bullshit," Seungcheol scoffs, catching him off guard.

"If you wanted to pursue a girl, go for it. If I have any issues, fight me about it. Fight for her. You are just making up excuses because the last time you opened up your heart it got crushed." Seungcheol just outright scolds him, looking at him like he had the audacity to get a batshit crazy excuse.

"Yes, she did hurt me. But it is was just a lie to get out of that damn sham of blind date, I was just mad I never had the Idea of sending someone instead of me to the dates," Seungcheol continues.

"Wait, then why are you still 'dating' her friend?" Chan was confused. Seungcheol was the last one who would say things like fighting for love, brushing of someone who betrayed him and everything. What was he on?

"That's our business to take care of,"

"I never thought I'd say this but Seungcheol is right. He just could've phrased that a lot better," Mingyu looks at Seungcheol who gets defensive immediately and picks a fight with the doctor. Their fight looked like two ducks blabbering to each other, while the sight made Chan laugh their statements did not leave his mind.

Seungcheol was all about tough love, while what he said was harsh and confusing, Chan felt like that was what he needed to hear. And considering that Seungcheol didn't really have any qualms about the person Chan had a crush on—it being you, but was just mad about how his methods to approach it cleared a lot of stuff on his mind.

It has been 2 weeks since he saw you, while it seemed for the best of everyone's sanity. Chan did not know any kind of rest since then. He was worried he lost you, while that was what he was trying to do, he still felt like an asshole to miss your presence and hoped he would run into you at some point because you were living in the same place as him.

And that day seeing you move in made his heart feel lighter than it did in weeks, because you were here. Right beside him. He would be a fool to not go after you — even after Seungcheol wanted him to go— after almost losing sleep every night wondering if pushing you away was right or wrong.

Work took away lot of your sanity leaving you nothing but a shell of a person. No one in your team survived the new product line launch. After what seemed like a whole lifetime, the crucial period was over and it has been almost 2 months since your last team dinner. Despite the work being a bit easier than before in the recent few weeks, nobody was into the idea of a dinner so soon.

But you still suggested the idea and this time everyone agreed that they really need a break. The smiles and carefree attitude from everyone after a long while filled your heart to the brim, even though you would never admit it to them—because Yunjin will hold that moment of cheesiness over your head till you were six feet deep in ground—they were people you really cared about a lot. Having a boss who was around their age was something new, but they respected you and gave you the benefit of doubt when you became the head despite whatever people had to say about it. Those days in the beginning when you started, they even defended you to people. It always motivated you to work harder to prove that their trust in you was never going to fail them.

"How are you going to get home, Boss?" Seungkwan asks, the only sober one tonight. Apparently, he needed to get home sober because his girlfriend was done with his drunk antics, which intrigued everyone but he didn't spill the beans when asked why. So you became his black knight downing the drinks in games he lost. Safe to say, you shouldn't have done that.

"I live a block away, I will just walk." Seungkwan looks conflicted but lets you go on the premise of you texting him immediately after you reach. You wave to everyone and leave while he takes care of getting them into cabs.

Your place—where you were starting to realize you needed to start being smart about your money, where you were often staying awake at nights with Jieun working together and falling asleep in the living room, where you daily run into the one person you did not want to—was near to your work and the regular restaurant your team frequented.

Including that damn convenience store that you keep trying to forget.

That day after your burst of emotions against your door you realized that everything in your life was weighing on you. Especially Lee Chan.

While your friend convinced you that he is a good person, which she knew because of her "dates" with Seungcheol, you did not want to feel like a goddamn child again. Waiting for love that closed doors on you long ago while you were just a fool to not see it.

Despite seeing him almost daily while going to work, you never spared more than a glance or never talked to him either.

You're plan to move on still going on solid.

How were you going to do that? No idea. But, since work finally let you take a breath without making you feel like you were going to die, you were going to get on those damn dating apps or maybe hop bars? How does someone even find a person to date? You were a bit rusted in the area since it has been a while since you went on a date, willingly. You were going to get your friend's help and figure out a way.

You sigh walking into your gated community, the walk tiring you out because of your drunken state. The giggles of kids who were playing in the park welcomes you, a sense of relief that your decision to move out wasn't a bad one fills you whenever you hear those giggles.

Your block comes into view, you were skipping on your feet now. Glad to finally be home after an exhausting day, ready to hit the bed and not wake up till Monday.

But when did anything ever go your way?

Just when you reach the elevator, your ankle twists. Your reflexes save you as you end up catching onto something for control, but then you hear a loud rip of fabric and gasp looking at what you did. You ripped someone's tote bag, their files falling onto the floor.

"I'm so sorry." You repetitively chant the apology, scooping up everything you can.

"Its okay. I was about to catch you, glad you didn't fall." You hand them their files and finally get a proper look. It was a man who was smiling at you, while he looked your age he had some kind of air surrounding him that you couldn't pinpoint.

"I'm Kyumin," You exchange greetings and promise to pay him back for his bag, to which completely refuses.

"That's completely fine it wasn't intentional. Just let's greet each other when our paths cross. I am new here and I don't really know anybody yet." He whispers the last part making you smile.

"Me neither."

"You sure you can get home safe?"

"I will be fine, thank you for the help. I am so sorry about your bag." He just waves you off and tells you he got some work and leaves.

Feeling a bit dazed you get onto the elevator the encounter making you smile that you finally made an acquaintance. You go trying to press your floor just to see that it's already taken care of and look back to see none other than Chan looking at you with his hands crossed. You jump back with a yelp.

"I'm sorry, I didn't notice you." You tell him, your voice slurring, you were not a lightweight but the alcohol took its sweet time to make you feel like you were one. It found the perfect time to make you dazed, because now you needed to rush to your place before you could vomit.

"I did," He mutters, his eyes just straight up glaring at you.

"Did you say something?" He shrugs when you ask, just looking at his watch as you narrow your eyes at him.

What was his deal?

The elevator halts to a stop, the ground beneath you shaking as you fall to hold onto the ledge.

"Fuck," You hear him curse as he holds you, taking you in to see if you were fine. It reminds you of the day he saved you from a car, he looked just as worried.

"I'm fine," you brush him off finding your footing, he looks at you but doesn't say anything before moving to press on the emergency button. A female voice filters in, she and Chan exchange a few words about getting the elevator to run soon. But you tune them out, not really feeling so good.

The sudden jolt of the elevator and the ankle that almost got twisted had your body shaken and now you are so close to puking your guts out. You really shouldn't have lifted your alcohol ban you had since a few months, but you got your own place and everything felt nice you wanted to celebrate.

You sink on your knees resting your head low as you try breathe slowly.

You are going to be fine. You will be fine.

"Are you okay?" Chan is again beside you, bellowing out a few curses and calling the emergency people to get to opening up the elevator soon.

Why was he so worried about you?

"I feel sick," you mumble out.

"Do you have water with you?" You nod at him. He searches through your bag handing you the bottle, helping you take small sips nothing big.

You feel it then. The warmth.

He had you in his arms, asking you if it was okay as he rubbed your back gently in a soothing manner.

You slowly nod, and look up at him.

His hair was a bit longer than the last time you've properly seen him, his eyes those chocolate swirls had you enchanted just as the day you first saw him. And his brows were furrowed in worry, you brush them out with your fingers before you know it.

"Don't frown much, it'll ruin your pretty face." You tell him and a little smile spreads on his face.

The same smile that knocked wind out of your chest. Fuck, moving on from him is going to be quite hard if he smiled at you like that.

"Don't frown much, it'll ruin your pretty face." You tell him and a little smile spreads on his face.

The same smile that knocked wind out of your chest. Fuck, moving on from him is going to be quite hard if he smiled at you like that.

"Don't frown much, it'll ruin your pretty face." You say, a silly smile on your face as you push away the frown on his face. Chan smells the alcohol from your breathe and realizes your drunk. No wonder you were sick.

The emergency team responded that earliest they can get to work would take about an hour so, so he had to make sure you weren't going to get sick again in meanwhile.

"Your smile looks so pretty," your voice drops an octave, it sounds so sad yet you still have that silly smile on your face. It just doesn't reach your eyes anymore.

"Thank you," Chan replies.

The lavender scent of yours embraces him pulling him in but the hazel eyes of yours were just filled with sadness.

Why were you so sad?

"I'm sorry," you mumble. Before he can ask why, you sit up straight and he moves away giving you space as he watches you shake your head leaning against the wall of the elevator just looking ahead before falling asleep. He doesn't wake you up, just makes sure that you won't fall if you shift.

He lifts you up as the rescue team comes and soon both of you get out of the place, an entire hour he spent playing games on his phone while holding your head so you wouldn't fall.

The jerk of being picked up must've woken you, you look up at him and smile before nuzzling into his neck, his body warming up at the action. He almost loses his grip on you, but holds you tight.

Reaching your door, he lets you down. You tell him to look away and type in the code as he does and drag him in holding his hand.

"Look at my house, is not so pretty?" You look back at him with an expectant face and he nods walking in making sure to not get further than the shoe area.

You go around showing him your furniture, giggling to yourself about some jokes and almost trip but catch yourself before walking into another room.

And when you don't come out for a while, he walks in to make sure you didn't fall or hit yourself only to find you on your bed holding onto a shirt of yours he recognized as the one you wore when he first met you at the convenience store.

"Why is this so hard?" You mumble to yourself as you let your tears fall, he wonders what was making you feel this way and just slowly rubs circles on your palm.

He shouldn't be staying in here for this long. With one look at you he walks out into the kitchen and writes down a note to remind you to take care of yourself when you wake up and gets out of your apartment, the lock clicking in place making him sigh in relief.

It was a sight to watch you sound so excited about furniture, your eyes shining —the sadness he saw before nowhere to be found— that almost resembled the stars and your hands moving around as you spoke.

But seeing you look just as sad and exhausted worried him to say nonetheless.

After talking to his friends the other day, Chan since then tried to make a move, or even strike up a conversation with you. But you were always busy, and actively ignoring him. He didn't think he'd ever get the chance again. He thought that maybe the chance was gone and he went out of his way to not cross paths with you again, not make you uncomfortable anymore by being in the same space as you. It was hard because you were his neighbor, but who was Chan if he was not just a guy trying to make sure the person he liked was comfortable. He found out a way to do that.

But today, it got so late and he could not walk around the entire place before catching another elevator, so he took the one at the parking lot, and then you got in at the upper ground floor smiling to yourself and looking a bit drunk.

He didn't want to disturb you but the situation kept escalating and all he wanted to do was make sure you were okay and safe. That was how he ended up taking care of you. And the fact that you unconsciously felt safe with him to talk or act the way you did made him feel bittersweet.

Because if you were indeed comfortable as you did, why were you ignoring him?

That was a question he had to ask the sober you.

Chan was an hopeless romantic. Finding love in the tiniest things but what he wasn't was someone who believed in miracles, or even coincidences. But maybe it was a miracle that you both found your way to each other again. Maybe it was a second chance that he was being given.

But what if you did not feel the same way? What was he going to do then?

You groan your limbs aching as you stretch on your bed, the silk sheets feeling odd under you.

Silk sheets?

You wake up quickly making your head spin because of the force as you take in the room. It was indeed your room, the pictures hanging on the walls and the stupid band poster says so.

You look down and see that the silk sheet was just a shirt you hugged to sleep.

You get out of your room and find a mess of a living room, everything thrown around cursing yourself to not drink again.

You remember being drunk, you remember almost tearing up someone's bag but after that you had no memory of the night. This was also why you really didn't drink much, you were crazy when the alcohol hit you. It was slower to kick in than it did to others but god, did it have long lasting effects.

You see a paper folded into a triangle in the kitchen and walk up to it. And find a note written for you.

Do not forget to take medications for sobering up.

-Lee Chan : )

What in the ever loving fuck does that mean? Was Chan the one who dropped you at your place? How did that even happen?

You remember absolutely nothing else from last night and it is starting to kill you.

Why did he leave a smiley face? What have you done?

"So, you remember nothing?" Seungkwan asks as he moves around to play. The racket in his hand seemed like it was part of his body with the way he moved it so flawlessly. You were an average player, but a player nonetheless.

Seungkwan wanted to meet you over for coffee, a treat because of you drinking instead of him last night. His girlfriend dropped him off, whom you met and realized she is someone from your company itself and Seungkwan just laughed awkwardly. You didn't pry anymore.

After coffee, Seungkwan suggested that to wake your mind it'd be fun to go play badminton for a while so you wouldn't feel so tired, but it just feels the opposite now.

The sound of the rackets hitting the shuttlecock fills the area, and you try so hard to match up with his pace but you end up losing. Again.

"Yeah, nothing." You tell him as he helps you up from the floor, both of you walking together to take a seat on a bench for a breather. You were talking to Kwan about problems from last night, while he definitely wasn't the best guy around to talk about secrets, he had honest answers which you always welcomed.

"Did you see him again?"

"No, I'll probably run into him soon."

"How do you feel about it? You must have some kind of gut feeling or sixth sense about it, right?" One more reason why you were talking to Seungkwan of all people. He had many women in his life making him experienced in giving advice in some things you couldn't possibly ask someone who was not a woman. But because you didn't really have many friends or acquaintances, except for Tzuyu, Yunjin who were busy today. And Jieun, who was out of town on a "date" with her boss.

At this point you wonder if she did fall in love with him with the way she never stops mentioning his name.

"There was nothing alarming about the incident, I feel warm at the mention of it? I'm guessing it's a good sign?" Kwan gets into thinking as you continue, and soon he asks you a question throwing you off into deeper thinking.

"Do you still like him?"

"I'm trying to move o—"

"Do you still like him?"

"I feel dumb remembering the incidents—"

"Do. You. Still. Like. Him? It's a yes or no question, boss."

You didn't admit this to yourself either, admitting it felt like you were going to manifest it into reality. A reality where he was just kind to you, but also where he saw you as someone who lied, you had your own reasons for doing so and you did not regret that. But that didn't matter anymore, because you were going to run into him daily even if you try to avoid him and you are going to get tensed and feel sad trying to move on. Because—

"I do, I like him so much it physically hurts not to talk to him."

"Well, there's your answer and from everything that you told me—." He holds your shoulders making you look at him, "—It seems like you have to stop running away, even if running away seems like the best thing to do at present, it wouldn't give you any kind of peace later."

You just stare at him, his words sinking into you. He was honest about it, telling you something you didn't dare look in the face as if it was a demon you were scared to look at. But even if it scared you, you realize you had to do something about your feelings towards Chan.

Most importantly start talking to him, make it a normal thing so your heart would stop jumping at the mention of him.

Chan was exhausted to say the least. He could not feel his legs even though his body moved on auto-pilot. He had packages to take upstairs and mail to grab but he didn't know if he'd make it to his apartment without collapsing.

Seungcheol started acting weird since morning, while it was just the usual, the air around him felt so otherwise. It just did not feel right, whatever he was doing. And worst of all, he 'fired' his girlfriend for reasons he wouldn't tell Chan about and the younger was just glad the fake relationship was just finally over because the acting whenever he saw their grandfather was getting on his nerves. The blow out of it hanging at the back of his head and nightmares of him going to Switzerland for Seungcheol's blind date, if their grandfather finds it was fake all along haunted him.

A laugh cuts his thoughts as he reaches his floor, and sees you standing outside your apartment looking at a guy and laughing.

Who the fuck was this guy?

"Thank you," You stop when you find Chan looking at you, and the stranger in front of you looks over too.

"I should get going," He bows leaving. Chan makes a note to figure out who this guy was and looks back at you.

To say you were beaming would be less of a statement, and seeing you finally smile at him after what seemed like a lifetime Chan feels his heart race. He wondered if you knew the power you had over him, he wondered if you knew that your smile could wipe out darkness so vast it would be light all over.

"How are you?" You look surprised as if you really asked that, a habit he realized you had when you were nervous —You would blurt out things and get shock, your eyes widening. He just nods at you, thanking the heavens that whatever bought you back to the way you were before you began avoiding him, and that you were speaking with him, in sober state of mind.

"How is your hangover? Did you rest well?" You nod the smile never going away. And he sees it then, the dimple he had the blessing of seeing the other day when you were drunk, it shows again.

He was going to die at this state. He had to calm down.

"I apologize for inconveniencing you the other day, I usually never drink and that day it was just one accident after another—"

"Accident? Were you hurt anywhere?" Chan didn't mean to, but his voice came out strained at the thought of you getting hurt.

"Oh, no. No, not that way. Accident in the sense where I seemed to have just slipped once."

"Were. You. Hurt?"

Your cheeks go red the blush spreading across your face, despite being concerned over you he could not stop smiling as he sees the affect he has over you. Is this really happening?

He takes a step back from when he came into your space few seconds ago, and clears his throat.

"I am fine, thanks for being concerned." You tell him and you do something that Chan never in his lifetime would've thought would get to see. You wink at him shocking yourself doing so, and you just wave your hand before excusing yourself and getting inside your place.

Chan could not move an inch from where he stood at your door, his heart thundering against his chest as he felt his own body get hot.

It seems you were also attracted to him, just the way he did.

Despite having your own place to go now, Jieun's parents wanted you to come over and stay for a day because they missed you. While your own father did not even bother to call, not that you expected anything from him anyway.

As you drive back home, after many attempts by Jieun's mother to make you stay for one more day, you feel your heart full looking over to see bags of side dishes she prepared for you and the amount of concern she had when she got to know you were losing weight because of stress from work. You tried so hard not to cry, and hugged her tight making a promise to take good care of yourself and she kissed your cheek.

A mother's love was always wonderful, despite it being taken away from you quite early in your life, you were glad to have found two people who cared for you like one. You make a note to check on Mrs. Chae and call her frequently during weekdays to make sure your father would not find out about it.

Locking your car you grab onto the bags from Jieun's mom, which were quite heavy now that you hold them, and walk towards the elevator slowly and put them down waiting for it to show up when you feel a tap on your shoulder.

"Good Morning," Kyumin, the guy whose tote bag you tore accidentally the other day was smiling at you widely. You would've returned it, hell you would've even given him a box of a side dish from your bag but since the other day when he somehow found the exact flat you lived in made you a little wary of him.

Maybe he just saw your name on the mail that got mixed up in his and found your flat or he stalked you, was a question you had no answers to. You could not go around accusing someone of something. But the smile he gave when he greeted you, never seemed to have reached his eyes, just like at this moment, where they looked odd.

"Hello," you reply curtly and watch his smile fall.

"Do you need help carrying these bags?" Before you could say anything he already had a bag in his hand and when you tried to protest he almost took the other one before his hand was swatted away. You wish you did that.

The bags are taken away from him and you look up to see a very mad Lee Chan who is just outright glaring at Kyumin, his jaw clenched. His face was neutral but his eyes held something akin to rage and that somehow soothed you.

Maybe because you were just as angry but were holding yourself back from making a scene.

"I got them," He replies to the man behind you, who you watch nod and walk away without a complaint. You turn to your neighbor who now looked at you with an intensity that made you warm and smiled.

"You good?" You were a puddle was what you were.

"Do you know him?" He asks you.

"Not really," Chan hums as he looks over to where Kyumin ran off once again.

"Thanks for saving me, again.—" The elevator dings and both of you enter, "—at this point I should just call you my knight in shinning armor with the amount of times you swooped in and rescued me," you joked.

You saw from your front door camera the other day when Chan came to see you after your drunken shenanigans and you closed the door with an involuntary wink at him—he blushed so much he resembled a tomato and smiled walking away unbuttoning his jacket.

Since the beginning, you had a hunch or maybe a gut feeling that the attraction you felt towards him was mutual. Maybe that was why moving on seemed so hard. And now, since the universe intertwined your fates as neighbors, and he smiled at you every time he saw you making you nothing but a puddle or warm you realized you were not going to lose this chance.

So, shooting your shot it was. Even if it meant finding the cheesiest line you could throw at him just to make him laugh at the silliness of it. You were actually a natural flirt when you weren't being melted like ice because of someone's gaze on you.

His lips twitch before he shakes his head, "Knight in shining armor," he mutters to himself before looking at you with a smirk.

You reach your floor and get out first and he quietly follows you not saying a word as he watches you fumble with the password twice and enter your place. You welcome him in, ignoring the mess as if he hadn't seen it before in a state far worse and guide him to leave the bags in your kitchen counter.

"Thank you for carrying these," you hold out two boxes of side dishes as a sign of gratitude but he lays them on the counter behind you before caging you between his arms.

"If I am your knight in shining armor,—" he leans in being so close yet so far away as he speaks in whispers, "— does that make you my princess?"

"I believe so,"

And for what feels like hours he just stays there right in front of you, his eyes taking you in and you do the same. His darkened eyes and the little freckles on his face that you almost wouldn't have seen unless you were this close to him. And his lips? They look so plump that makes you want to bite them, and you really might.

"You should do it then sometime," He says and you realize you said the last part out loud.

God, you wish the earth would just swallow you now.

But his eyes never leave your lips as he says before coming back to your eyes.

"Will do," you answer trying so hard to hold your ground and not blush. And with a smile that tickles you everywhere making you smile too, he leaves. Already out the door but not before he says something that has you falling on to your floor holding your chest so tightly.

"See you soon, Princess."

Oh, he was playing back the tricks. He was flirting back.

Sweet heavens, you are going to fall hard and heavy with this man. Because not only does he have a personality and the smile you admire and adore, he knew how to flirt just the way you liked it, like he was made for you.

Seeing that man in front of your place and making you laugh so heartily ticked Chan off that he almost kissed you right infront of him. It was bullshit and he knew, but he somehow did know you were not going to push him away. If he understood anything since the last few days of spending maybe a few minutes with you, those accidental brushing off hands, those shy glances and most importantly the way your breath hitched when he came close to you, he knew you liked him back.

But after that day Chan had no way to talk to you as he was stuck at work since two days reaching home at odd timings because of some mood swings Seungcheol was going through. The intense wave of emotions from his boss was something he had never seen.

Angry, rule following and maybe a tad bit obssessed with himself was his usual but not where he was so emotional coming towards making his research team work their ass off on making a dish he was not taking a likening towards.

Especially an researcher named Kang Jieun.

Chan did not know the beef between them but he hoped that his brother stoped being an asshole towards her because she made the dish right on her 1st try.

"Why are you doing this?"

"Because they need to know the consequences of lying to someone," Seungcheol said looking out the window. The sun set a few minutes ago and it looks like he was going to make her stay for a while. Again, something he never saw Seungcheol do. Even talking in riddles like he was doing now.

He was on edge since his breakup with his "girlfriend" but his attitude was just not it.

"St—"

"Go home, Chan."

"Bu—"

"Go. Home."

"Alright, lay off of her though."

"You brat," Chan was out of his cabin before Seungcheol threw the ball on his desk at him not before he ran into the one and only Kang Jieun who looked so exhausted bringing over another set of dish for taste testing.

"Good luck," She freezes hearing Chan and says nothing before rushing inside.

"What is with this people today?" He mutters to himself before shaking his head to let it go just go home.

It was a bit late than usual when he usually runs into you after work, so Chan rushes as soon as he can after getting to his car only to find you in front of the apartment block wearing a coat larger than your size clutching it tight to yourself.

He leaves his car to a side running towards you, to see you literally shaking despite the sweat on your forehead.

"Hey, Is everything alright?"

You choke out something but shake your head, your eyes were filled with tears and you were biting your cheeks.

"Someone tried to open my door, I.. I chalked it up to them finding wrong apartment—" A tear slips from your eyes, he wipes it away, "—But they tried to do it again and again," he watches your throat tighten and you take a gulp of water he hands over to you making you sit on a bench nearby before you can continue.

"Did you see who it was?" Chan was holding himself back from running out to find who it was and smash them against a wall for scaring you this much.

"Kyumin, the guy who tried to take my bags the other day," He saw your eyes now burn with the kind of anger that reflected his own. You looked hurt, sad and also so angry you were crushing the bottle in your grip. It must be your fight or flight response, rushing you through both.

"Do you know where he is?" Despite knowing you were just as angry and mad to take down that man, Chan softened his tone towards you, to make you feel safe and comfortable talking to him.

You shake your head at him, telling him that when you saw that it was Kyumin from your front door camera and tried to open the door holding onto your baseball bat, that bastard ran away. And you came down to the play area immediately because you did not feel safe staying there anymore.

"I know a way to find him,—" Chan stands up holding out his hand towards you, "— Do you want to do this?"

You look at him, the simmering rage in your eyes reminding him of the moment when he thought that if you committed a murder he would've gotten behind it.

He still would make sure you get away with it if it meant you were going to not shiver and not be scared again because of that bastard.

You were sitting in the police station giving the detective a statement of the incident that happened two hours ago.

Your hands were still shivering and you could not talk properly because of the tears lodged at the back of your throat. The fear does not seem to leave you and you were scared. You did not know what was going through your mind when you ran downstairs taking steps instead of elevator and stood near the guards, the sounds of children giggling and playing around gave you a bit of calm but you could not stop crying at all.

And then Chan found you. He held you as you were breaking. Just as he promised, Chan found Kyumin from the security footage of your community hiding not so far away and he took you along letting you kick the man as long as you pleased before calling the cops. He didn't let Kyumin get to you at all before he punched his nose. You were grateful for Chan about this.

You hear your name being called and turn to see Jieun running towards you with a very angry looking Seungcheol walking in behind her.

What the fuck?

Jieun just sighs and doesn't say anything about her cover being blown as she scoops you into a hug immediately. The familiar scent of your best friend tips off everything for you. The very exhausting and tiring evening wearing down on you as you cry on her shoulder and she holds you through it.

After what seems to be another long hour of collecting statements from you—through out which Jieun holds your hand—and Chan regarding Kyumin, the cops finally let everyone go.

You had so many questions you wanted to ask Jieun about how Seungcheol found out about her, you wanted to thank Chan for swooping in and saving you again. But exhaustion makes your body ache, and darkness consumes you before you know it.

"She will stay with me," Jieun who was none other than the Jiwon aka the fake girlfriend of Seungcheol now stands before Chan and Seungcheol as she looks over to you sleeping inside Chan's car after you passed out.

"I will take care of everything," Seungcheol tells her, no sign of being mad at her for hiding her identity in his eyes as he promises her. Jieun must've found it confusing too but she didn't say anything as Chan hands his car keys to her.

"Take my car. Hyung will give me a ride back home after we are done." Chan tells her and Jieun just gives him an appreciating smile before taking the keys. He watches as they drive away, a bit of relief spreading through him that you were in his car with a person you knew very well to be your emergency contact.

"What do you want to do?" Seungcheol asks his eyes not off of Chan's car.

"Put this bastard behind bars,"

"This is my area of expertise,—"Seungcheol cracks his knuckles before smiling at Chan,"— that fuck is going to rot behind the bars."

Seungcheol wasn't called "The Devil" for a reason, and Chan wasn't his right hand man if they weren't very well known to be dangerous since the moment they became adults. Seungcheol walks away laughing making Chan smile at that. He was going to have fun torturing that guy for everything he had done.

It has been two weeks since the incident at your place and you got know from Jieun the next day, that Kyumin was being booked under so many cases that there would be no way he was going to get out of prison unless he was dead. You wished everyone who went through this psychological torture because of him finally get to have the relief of him being behind the bars. You had to go in for testifying once and that was it you were done, you did not want to hear anymore about him unless if the news was that he was in prison.

The moments were not that noticeable and you blamed yourself for not noticing the signs that he was a stalker with the way he acted.

Knowing he was going to rot with the amount of cases someone dig up to keep him down in prison for the rest of his life gave you a semblance of relief. Yet, going back to your place scared you more than you liked to admit. But the longer you stayed with your best friend, the more she would start treating you with fragility and you didn't want that, you didn't want to worry her that she called you at any moment she was free to see if you were feeling okay or if you were eating well.

So after a week you told her everything was fine and got back to your place, it reminding you of everything no less than an house of horrors.

You would get through this, you can't make everyone worry sick because you did not want to see that sympathy in their eyes when they looked at you. No, you were not going to be weak.

Throwing yourself in work seemed like the best option, while you felt the need to face a few things, you just did not have the heart to go out and meet people only for them to see your hands shiver and —

"Boss, the reports regarding—"

"Yeah, leave it here." You cut Seungkwan off who just nods, the air in the room off. You sense it and see that everyone is staring at you, worried about you. Fuck.

"It's pretty late, you guys should leave."

"What about y—"

"I'll be fine," They hesitate for a while but when you glare at them they immediately move. The sounds of chairs being pushed back and computers being shut with hurry as everyone tries to pack up makes you huff out a laugh making everyone freeze.

"We love you, boss!" All of them yell at once, the people passing through watch it and it makes you laugh so hard you give them a thumbs up as they leave.

The laugh builds up and up for a moment before you burst out into tears on your desk.

Why weren't you strong enough to move on? Why were you still scared of going home? Fuck, you were supposed to be strong, but it hurts you so much to try and act like you can get through this. Why was this haunting you even in waking hours?

Fuck!

You pack up and get out of your office, the traffic not helping your mood a bit nor does the sound of your stomach rumbling that echoes in your car as you park. You check the time and groan seeing its almost 9'O clock. Instead of going back to your place you get out and decide to walk to the nearby restaurant, hoping that maybe the evening walk would help.

The cool evening air embraces you softly as you make your way out of the apartment blocks, kids playing around soothing you like it always does. You liked kids, until a certain decibels maybe. Walking into a lane full of restaurants, you see a line of people waiting to get into one of them that looks new. You decide to skip the wait to get to the one beside it, a hole in the wall place that you knew would have the best food and service.

To prove you right, it was completely filled with chatter, hearty laughs from students and adults. You needed normality to forget everything, to move on. And you couldn't breakdown again, you have to hold yourself together like you always do.

"Alone?" An old lady asks you as you walk in, you nod and she just smiles pointing you towards a spot that is just perfect. Against the window you can look outside as people cross the place and most importantly the fan overhead along with pretty lights.

After giving her your order and her pinching your cheeks for reason unknown but making you smile like a child, you walk towards your place and take a seat.

"Had a good day?" You almost tumble out of your chair when you hear the voice as you curse out loud.

"Fuck, you scared me." Chan just laughs at you, his hand on yours to make sure you weren't actually falling out of your chair.

It has been two weeks since you last saw him and it somehow feels like a lifetime. His hair grew a bit resembling a mullet, strands of it falling on his face, his eyes looked a bit tired but shined as they took you in. He was wearing a his usual suit the jacket thrown over his chair, his black shirt stretched over his chest and you immediately look away.

"How are you?" His voice was softer now, gentle just the way Jieun talked to you nowadays, you were sick of it.

"I'm perfectly fine," you reply curtly, the tone being more cold than you initially tried to convey. You did not want one more person to treat you like you were made of glass. It was getting tiring and you so badly wanted people to treat you like they usually did.

"Okay," And the rest of the night he doesn't say anything, except pouring water into your glass from the pitcher, sliding over a pair of chopsticks. Giving you tissues when the food almost makes you cry when it gets so spicy.

He was silently present, making sure you could lean on him despite your little cold answer just now and it hurts you. Seeing Chan again was not supposed to go this way. You were supposed to thank him for listening to you that day. For letting you kick that bastard without getting a scratch on yourself. For making sure you were safe the entire time. But instead you were acting the wrong way. Like he was the one who wronged you.

You did not like this at all. Why were you making a mess of things when they were perfectly fine? Why were you crying at everything?

"I think that's a lot," Chan's voice jerks you out of your thoughts, his hand on yours as he stops you from downing another glass of soju. You look around to see almost 4 empty of bottles of it, the restaurant you were in now almost empty and your bowls of foods were cleaned thoroughly by you.

Your limit was 1 bottle, but you drank 4? Oh fuck you were going to be a mess. You had to call Jieun. You try to get your phone out and call her but it slips from your hand and clatters on the ground with your screen getting cracked.

"Oh god," you feel water droplets on your hand, and realize you are crying. No, not again. You were getting tired of crying for everything. You sit down, closing your eyes to hold them back and do so successfully but it all goes to vain when you open your eyes to see Chan kneeling in front of you on the floor, his eyes filled with concern and hand holding out tissues for you.

Chan did not know what he did that made you act so curtly, but that did not hold him back from helping you throughout the night. Your act of drinking did concern him, but when you started blabbering words that made no sense, he decided it was time to step in even of you did not want him too.

The signs were there, you were hurting and pushing anyone away if they showed you slight concern. He knew it well, he acted the same way when people talked shit about him poaching off of Seungcheol's family as if that was true in any way. Seungcheol had his back glaring at people whenever he was around and heard shit like that but Chan could not say anything without it back firing again. It broke him just like you were breaking right now.

He shakes his head and sees you on the floor holding your phone that was cracked and crying. You stop a second later though, biting your cheeks to stop crying. That breaks his heart so much that he wishs he could get back into that holding cell to break that bastard's bones again.

The day after he was apprehended, Seungcheol helped him pull out all the previous crimes he committed and got away with, many of his victims were ready to get that bastard in if it meant he would stop torturing them the way they did to you too, and because of Seungcheol's little connections Chan would go in to that holding cell every night and take out every ounce of his stress on him.

Was it right? No.

Would that change anything? A little.

Would that make Chan see red a little less than he was seeing? Absolutely.

So he did not stop until Seungcheol stepped in and told him that prison was not going to be fun for that fucker and Chan should lay off if he did not want to kill him.

While the idea was entertaining to Chan, it was messy. So, he left the rest of it to Seungcheol who took his sweet time to make sure that idiot was stuck in prison for the rest of his life.

"I'm sorry," you were talking pretty calmly for a person who was blabbering just a moment ago, Chan did not know if he had to be concerned or relieved about it though.

"There is nothing to be sorry about," he helps you up, grabbing your bag and his jacket to walk you home. You do not protest, trying your best to walk in your heels but you do almost trip twice.

"Hold on a second," he leans you against a wall before making you wear his jacket and throwing your bag onto his neck before sliding his arms under your knees and head to lift you up.

"Woah," you react, your hands around his neck holding tight at that moment before you relax against him.

"You good?" You just nod and stay like that, having you in his arms giving him a sense of calmness he did not have since the day you left to stay at your friend's. Jieun was kind enough to fill Chan in on details on how you were doing whenever their paths crossed at work, but she never asked why he was interested in knowing though. Even if she suspected anything, she did not say.

That was how he knew you came back to your place a week ago, but he somehow never ran into you. You moved in shadows and when he did see you once and tried to approach you, you were gone in a split second

The guards just smile at Chan as he walks in, your breathes become a bit shallow as you fall asleep in his arms. He moves slowly not to wake you up but also mostly not to lose the feeling of you in his arms too quickly. He liked the warmth you gave him, the lavender scent of yours that became a part of relaxing him too.

Getting to your door he slowly lays you down on your feet, you stumble for a moment but just stand there against your door not going in and just looking at him, your head tilted a sign of you drunk making him laugh like a silly man.

"Thank you for saving me that day,"

"I would've done anything if you asked me, princess—" he says trying to lighten your mood, "—It is my job as your knight, is it not?" You smile at him as he says that. A giddy smile and it strikes his heart as those dimples pop out.

"Anything?" Chan nods and you take a step towards him, looking up at him with those hazel eyes.

"Kiss me." You whisper, his heart racing as he realizes what you just said.

"You're drunk,"

"You said you'd do anything I ask," you pout. Chan almost scoffs at you for pouting, weakening his stance every second just by standing so close to him and asking him to kiss you.

"Well, I guess I should ask someone els—"

He bends closer to you, your eyes go wide as your words drop out of your mouth.

"You will not." Chan says, his eyes not leaving yours.

"And who are you to tell me what to do?"

"You're testing me,"

"Yes, so?"

You just stare at him, defiance in your stance making him wonder if you were actually sober. While he knows if he doesn't kiss you, you would not ask anyone else, but who was he to not play your game.

But then in a split second you drop to your knees, holding your head in your hands as you take heavy breaths.

"I might be getting sick."

"What's your door code?" He asks as you stand up to enter it yourself but fumble it twice before shaking your head. You must not be able to see well.

"Can I take you to my place?" You were now covering your mouth, and nod.

He holds you, taking you to his place guiding you to the washroom. He comes in to hold your hair, but your short hair keeps slipping from his loose grip that he ends up keeping a shower cap on your head so it won't fall out as you puke your guts out.

"Are you feeling better?" You nod and then you just lay against the wall making Chan sigh. He helps you up and laying you down on his couch, worrying you would not like to fall asleep in his bed.

"You think I'll be okay?" You try to talk to him. There were tears in your eyes as you look at Chan from the couch. He brushes the hair falling on your face back as he nods.

"Yes, I do."

"Even if I'm not strong?"

"You are the strongest person I know,"

"I missed you, my knight in shining armor," you give him a tired smile, making him smile too. What would he not do to just see you smile everyday, he was whipped and he did not know if he would find this kind of peace anywhere else other than when he was beside you.

"I missed you too, my princess."

Listen, you weren't the best at holding your alcohol but you did not think you would get yourself embarrassed, twice in front of the man you were actively crushing on. When you woke up you almost screamed taking on the unfamiliar surroundings. The photo frame on the table beside the couch told you that this was Chan's place.

Oh boy.

And as if it could not get any worse with your head blasting, you realize you remember nothing from last night except one thing. You asked him to kiss you. But you do not know if he did indeed. You were going to stop drinking now from now on.

Waking up on his house, Where he put you to sleep on his couch, with a blanket draped over you, you think he might have not kissed you. But you did not trust yourself.

"Good morning," Chan greets you walking in to the living room from what you guess must be where he slept. He is also wearing nothing but sweatpants that hang low on his hips. He is killing you first thing in morning.

"Breakfast?"

"Yes," you slowly get out of the couch trudging yourself over to the kitchen. His apartment had the same layout as yours, and he decorated it so well. You were glad to be here in his own space, because you would have otherwise never guessed Chan was into musicals unless you saw the posters hanging in his bedroom.

Yes, you peeked a little in to what looked like his bedroom before he could catch you.

He doesn't say anything as you take a seat at the table pouring yourself a glass of water. He moves around the kitchen with an expertise of someone who cooked their whole life and was always known to make the best dishes.

"How's your head?" He grabs plates and lays them on the table before getting the eggs he made to place in front of you, you help him grab glasses on the other side of the table along with spoons and forks. It felt domestic, the way both of you moved around together.

"Exploding." You watch his lips twitch at your description.

"Look, I am so sorry I keep bothering you all the time, it is not what it looks—"

"You are never a bother to me," he says it so easily as if it was breathing. And he doesn't even look up from serving the breakfast on to your plate as he does.

"Yes, the situations we end up in are often crazy but I never regretted being in them—" His gaze comes to yours now, warmth rushing over your body, "—especially if it means I get to spend it with you."

Wow. Flirting was not new to you, it was just a game of push and pull until someone ended up in others bed. But when you flirted with Chan, you knew it wasn't just attraction, you wanted to always see his eyes that comforted you and that laugh that rushed through you.

And seeing him admit it out loud changes things. In a good way.

"Did I…. You know… ki—" He interrupts as you look so uncomfortable asking him the question. You weren't new to it, but you were new to everything when it came to him.

"No, I did not. You were drunk and I did not want to take advantage of it."

"What if I was sober?"

"I would've done it." He admits it quickly making you wish you hadn't asked the question.

"Take me out before you do that, Mr. Gentleman." You try to joke but he doesn't laugh.

"Well, since it's Saturday."

"No, I was just joking—"

"Will you go on a date with me."

"Yes," You shock yourself with answering so quickly as if you weren't just trying to convince him that you were joking but he doesn't seem to be shocked nor does he look like he was going to judge you for that.

"Thank you for the breakfast," You make a run towards the couch and grab your things.

"I'll meet you at 5 in the evening, and make sure to dress comfortably!"

You just yell back an "Okay" running out of his place but stop in front of yours listening to his laugh flowing out of his own to the entire floor.

You just slowly hit your head against your apartment door after you get in.

You felt like a schoolgirl reliving her first love and you do not regret feeling that way.

Listen, you weren't the best at holding your alcohol but you did not think you would get yourself embarrassed, twice in front of the man you were actively crushing on. When you woke up you almost screamed taking on the unfamiliar surroundings. The photo frame on the table beside the couch told you that this was Chan's place.

Oh boy.

And as if it could not get any worse with your head blasting, you realize you remember nothing from last night except one thing. You asked him to kiss you. But you do not know if he did indeed. You were going to stop drinking now from now on.

Waking up on his house, Where he put you to sleep on his couch, with a blanket draped over you, you think he might have not kissed you. But you did not trust yourself.

"Good morning," Chan greets you walking in to the living room from what you guess must be where he slept. He is also wearing nothing but sweatpants that hang low on his hips. He is killing you first thing in morning.

"Breakfast?"

"Yes," you slowly get out of the couch trudging yourself over to the kitchen. His apartment had the same layout as yours, and he decorated it so well. You were glad to be here in his own space, because you would have otherwise never guessed Chan was into musicals unless you saw the posters hanging in his bedroom.

Yes, you peeked a little in to what looked like his bedroom before he could catch you.

He doesn't say anything as you take a seat at the table pouring yourself a glass of water. He moves around the kitchen with an expertise of someone who cooked their whole life and was always known to make the best dishes.

"How's your head?" He grabs plates and lays them on the table before getting the eggs he made to place in front of you, you help him grab glasses on the other side of the table along with spoons and forks. It felt domestic, the way both of you moved around together.

"Exploding." You watch his lips twitch at your description.

"Look, I am so sorry I keep bothering you all the time, it is not what it looks—"

"You are never a bother to me," he says it so easily as if it was breathing. And he doesn't even look up from serving the breakfast on to your plate as he does.

"Yes, the situations we end up in are often crazy but I never regretted being in them—" His gaze comes to yours now, warmth rushing over your body, "—especially if it means I get to spend it with you."

Wow. Flirting was not new to you, it was just a game of push and pull until someone ended up in others bed. But when you flirted with Chan, you knew it wasn't just attraction, you wanted to always see his eyes that comforted you and that laugh that rushed through you.

And seeing him admit it out loud changes things. In a good way.

"Did I…. You know… ki—" He interrupts as you look so uncomfortable asking him the question. You weren't new to it, but you were new to everything when it came to him.

"No, I did not. You were drunk and I did not want to take advantage of it."

"What if I was sober?"

"I would've done it." He admits it quickly making you wish you hadn't asked the question.

"Take me out before you do that, Mr. Gentleman." You try to joke but he doesn't laugh.

"Well, since it's Saturday."

"No, I was just joking—"

"Will you go on a date with me."

"Yes," You shock yourself with answering so quickly as if you weren't just trying to convince him that you were joking but he doesn't seem to be shocked nor does he look like he was going to judge you for that.

"Thank you for the breakfast," You make a run towards the couch and grab your things.

"I'll meet you at 5 in the evening, and make sure to dress comfortably!"

You just yell back an "Okay" running out of his place but stop in front of yours listening to his laugh flowing out of his own to the entire floor.

You just slowly hit your head against your apartment door after you get in.

You felt like a schoolgirl reliving her first love and you do not regret feeling that way.

To say you were nervous would be an understatement, you had no idea where he was going to take you and that just meant you had to dress in a way that would suit wherever he did take you.

But you also recognize it as soon as you get back to your place, the fear that drowned you whenever you stepped here was now replaced with an excitement that was not going to let you feel that fear again. You were thankful to Chan for that, and also Jieun who was on the call since last two hours making sure you were safe but not talking to you like you were fragile anymore.

She was back to throwing orders and gushing over you for going on a date with someone you liked for the first time in a while. Because this was all you wanted.

After seeing that it's already 5:00, you tell her you are going to update her on how it goes and cut the call as you look yourself into the mirror checking your outfit.

You were wearing an white off shoulder knit top with low rise jeans, you topped it off with throwing on a printed scarf and a bunch of your regular accessories — your vintage watch and a bracelet along with a few rings. It was comfortable, as he asked you to dress and you felt pretty.

The door bell goes off freezing you for a moment before you take a deep breathe in to calm and remind yourself that the person on the other side of the door was not going to hurt you as you walk to slowly open the door.

"Hey," You greet him locking the door behind you and finally take him in. He is wearing a pair of black shirt and pants, his sleeves rolled up, revealing his veined arms that were crossed as he leaned against the wall waiting for you.

"You look pretty," he says taking you in, you really stop yourself from turning so red as he does.

"You don't look so bad yourself," he just laughs holding out his hand for you to take. You slip yours into his and he squeezes it.

"Where are we going?"

"On a date,"

"So funny,"

"I try to be,"

"Just tell me, Chan." He doesn't say anything after that, no matter all the threats you make to go back home or get out of the car. He just drives pop songs filling the car as you forget about asking him about destination for a minute as you sing along to them but remember again to ask. He doesn't answer no matter what with a wicked smile on his face, and soon drives to a familiar road and then you see it, the movie theater you frequently visited.

"It was Jieun, was it not?" You ask as he parks the car and opens the door for you. He signals for you to hold his hand, and you do.

"Yes, but I guessed the movie. She just gave me the idea."

"Points for you, Mr. Lee."

"Stop taunting me, now."

"What are you going to do?" You tease him and he just squeezes your hand before smirking at you as an answer. And nothing more. You feel your insides getting hot at that.

Chan never thought he would ever love going to watch movies as much as he was doing with you. You were so immersed, your cheeks red whenever you realized he was looking at you instead of watching Ryan Gosling figure out how to talk to an alien being.

You cried a few times, you were in awe during the scenes that were filmed so beautifully, but he was in awe of how beautiful you looked falling in love with the movie.

Jieun told him you loved watching movies. Photography was something you always adored about them and the first thought that crossed Chan's mind was Project Hail Mary that was running in theaters. Jieun visually patted his back at the idea and threatened to take him down if he even made you cry and Chan was just happy you had someone so wonderful like her in your corner.

He had to later cut the call because Seungcheol was glaring at him through the video call, he was always a bit moody in the mornings. His brother was so in love with Jieun that the fact that there was a whole drama about her faking her identity did not matter to him anymore because he was afraid of losing the best thing he ever found. Chan could relate.

"She was never fake, it was just a different name," was what Seungcheol said looking lovesick because apparently at the time he lectured Chan to go and fight for you was around when he fell in love with Jieun.

You were now talking about how good the movie was as you continued eating your food. Each point well made that just made him admire you more and respect you for remembering things about something you loved despite it not being a part of your daily life as you kept saying.

"I really don't get to watch good movies anymore because of work, so this was a breathe of fresh air."

"I'm glad I made a good choice,"

"Yes, you did."

"Did you like the movie?" You asked him.

"I enjoyed it very much too, especially watching Ryan Gosling in glasses."

"He looked good, did he not?"

"He did." Chan answered raising a brow at you and you just turn red again finding the leftover pasta sauce on your plate so interesting, making him laugh at how reactive and open you were about how you felt.

You were headstrong, flirting with him all the time and he got hard whenever you did that, not that he would admit it yet. But when you blushed at everything and smiled so wide, it made him want to fall on his knees for you. Like you were something so precious he would rather die than ever hurt you. He realized he missed that smile the last two weeks.

"Where to now?" You ask, strapping yourself in and giggling like a kid as he drives out of the theater. Chan just looks at you with a smirk and doesn't say anything because he really loved the way you pouted whenever he kept you in the dark. Your lower lip jutted out while your eyes resembled boba, it was the most adorable thing he has ever seen and if to see that he had to be difficult with you, he would. Unfortunately, he cannot for longer periods of time.

Because the second he drives inside the parking lot and sees you looking at him like he is an interesting case you were trying to solve, or try reading into his mind just by staring at him, Chan leans over pecking your nose watching your jaw drop.

And then he runs out, you follow huffing at him because now you were turning red with each passing second and Chan knew he had to make up to the promise he made early in the morning. He tries to make you look at him, but you don't making him hold back his laugh that was bubbling out of him as he sees you look so shy.

"Look at me," He finally holds your hand again and this time you do not slip yours from his. But when he looks at you, he sees you raising a brow, your tongue poking your cheek as you pull him closer. He watches your eyes look at his lips, and then you are pushing him against your door and kissing him stupid.

Chan feels like he is in heaven. Because he knew pushing you to a certain point you were a completely different person, someone who would kiss him stupid like he wanted.

Chan tastes your strawberry lip gloss, the taste being so yourself and he does not hold himself back. Your hands were now holding his shoulders trying to reach his face, while Chan's roam around your waist, drawing maps on your back. You were nothing but an exquisite taste, and he fights with your tongue feeling you smile against his face, as you pull back to catch your breath.

Your face looking totally flushed, and your lips looking so plump from kissing him. You looked like an angel.

Oh, you were going to be the death of him.

It was hot, everything was hot and you did not wait as you nodding as he asked if you wanted to go to your place or his. Yours was a mess, so his it was. Once he opened the door, he had you against it, his hands holding you tight to himself as your tongues danced to a rhythm that moved both of your bodies. It was wonderful and everything you's every dreamed of.

But what you did not dream of was him asking you to jump into his arms, wrapping your legs around his waist asking if you really wanted to do this in most softest way. You replied kissing him hard, completely opposite of how he was holding you and treating you.

He walked towards his bedroom holding you like you weighed nothing. Laying you down on his bed and you immediately moved back towards the headboard, your cheeks hurting with the way you could not stop smiling because of him. Within seconds he was on you again, kissing you like he was a dying man and you were the answer to all of his prayers. It was messy, wet and just the way you liked it.

"Just so you know—" you tell him when he pulls back once to look at you, "—I don't sleep with anybody on the first date."

"I am honored to be breaking your rules then, Princess." He smiles against your mouth.

"Up," He taps on your arms and pulls your top over your head as you raise your hands, his eyes darkening as he takes you in. You help him pull out your jeans too, his clothes joining the pile of yours a second later. You were left in nothing but a pair of panties sticking to you the wetness so obvious to him and his hard member aching to be set free against his boxers.

"You are so gorgeous," He whispers before holding your hands above your head, his path of kisses trailing to your neck finding the sweet spot as he sucks over it and kisses on it again making sure to leave a mark before doing the same thing again and again at every place he finds.

But soon his attention gets completely stolen by your breasts, his hands leaving yours to focus on them, his tongue darts out sucking one while his thumb flicks playing with the other. Your hands drift into his long hair tugging them as the sensation gets too much and he responds with curses but doesn't stop and keeps on doing the same thing alternating his mouth and hands on one and the other never leaving them alone.

"Chan, Please." You plead him. To stop or to keep going? You did not know either.

"What do you want, princess?" His asks, his voice raspy as he looks at you. The string of saliva from his lips to your breasts destroying any sense of sanity your mind had left making you nothing but a putty in his arms.

"Want you...." He pinches your nipples making your eyes roll back and you let out a moan your back arching as you come.

Fuck, you were embarrassed to find your release just by being played with your nipples.

"Look here," He holds your chin before you try to look away, his chocolate brown eyes were now nothing just darkness that swallowed you in like it was black hole.

"That was hot," You just give him an awkward smile at that and he smiles at you before leaning and kissing your forehead. He gets down and takes down his boxers immediately, his cock stands up and almost hitting his stomach making you clench your thighs. And you see him, as he sees you do that.

He jumps on you like an animal, kissing you stupid as you feel his hand trail to your thighs, the other one holding them apart.

"I am going to make you cum on my tongue and then on my fingers before I put my cock in. You good with that, Princess?" You nod and he disappears between your thighs. His tongue sucking on your clit while he pushes in a finger.

"Fuck, you're so tight." God, he had such a nasty mouth.

He adds another finger in, his face never looking up even when you tug on his hair hardly, your thighs wrapped around his face almost suffocating him. If anything, he soon adds a third finger and you feel yourself getting closer even though you just came a moment ago. His ministrations make your eyes roll, the moans spilling out of you would have been a big problem to your neighbors but it doesn't look that bad because it was neighbor indeed, who was the cause behind your sounds.

"I'm close, fuck."

"Come on my tongue. You're doing so good," And he looks up, his fingers pushing in and out of you but his gaze never wavering as he makes you come again and again just as he promised. You pull him up, unable to hold on any longer as your hands start stroking his cock and he curses his head falling on your shoulder.

"Stop doing that," He grunts at you but you just smile and keep stroking him, whatever you can fit into your single hand, he was quite big.

"Fuck," He flips you on your stomach, the slap on your ass making you moan and arch your back at him.

"You like that?" He does it again leaning over your shoulder as he whispers in her your ear. You nod unable to form any words anymore, you vocabulary being nothing but sounds and his being nothing but grunts. He pushes his cock into your hole at once, without any warning making you arch your back gasping at the sudden intrusion and he laughs. He goes slow teasing you, your mind becomes a puddle as you want him to go faster and just use you instead.

No one ever made you feel this way in bed and you really liked this.

"Faster. Chan," His slow pace comes to a halt as he looks at you.

"You sure?" You nod pushing your hips against his and he curses before going as you asked.

He picks up his pace, leaning over your shoulder to grunt right into your ears, the sound throwing you off the edge just like everything he does. His hands sneaks up on you catching your throat, the grip tightening just enough and his other finds your clit.

"You like this?"

"Fuck, you are taking me so well."

"Say my name."

He has a dirty mouth thing. He says them as he goes faster, neither of his hands moving nor does he as he continues making noises near your ear.

"I'm coming,"

"Come inside," You plead him, your voice was not something you recognized anymore.

"You are going to be the death of me," he grunts out working his fingers on your clit as he makes sure you both can come together, and then you feel the air whooshing out of your lungs as you come and fall against the pillows, him following you a beat later. He removes the pillow he set under your stomach—which you did not notice him keeping there, and lays you down kissing your forehead before pulling out of you and getting down. You start missing his warmth not even a moment after.

He moves with precise movements as he brings out a wet cloth cleaning you thoroughly as you lay exhausted in his bed. He later joins you, pulling the covers over both of you and tucking you close to his heart, you feel it thumping against his chest so heavily.

"You were wonderful, baby." He kisses your forehead and you sigh smiling and laying on his chest. You feel so full, literally and figuratively, feel so happy and comfortable as he hugs you that you could not make what he was saying anymore as the tiredness consumed you making you fall asleep against the now steady beating of his heart.

When he woke up and saw the bed empty beside him, he thought you left. So, he ran out to the living room just to find you wearing your pajamas, which you must've gone out to your place and came back in. Seeing your hair being wet and looking fresh, he assumed you took a bath.

You look at him from the kitchen, holding bread in one hand and peanut butter in other. You place them on the counter, opening your arms for him and he runs to you, tackling you into a hug.

Kissing you was always the plan, but everything that followed was just him unable to hold back after touching you. He was addicted to you, like a drug that kept him alive. Your moans, the dazed look in your eyes and most importantly the way you trusted him. It made him hard again to think about it.

He pushed you against his kitchen counter kissing you slow, your hands over his neck pulling him closer as he does.

"Good morning," you whisper against his lips, a smile blossoming on yours and it spreads to him.

"Good morning."

"You look cute," He tells you pointing at the cherry pajamas now you were wearing.

"Thank you."

"Breakfast?" He asks ready to cook something but you just pull him back, hugging him tight shaking your head.

"After the marathon last night, you need to eat something that is not bread and peanut butter, princess."

"We could order in instead, lay down on the couch and….." you drawl out.

"And?" Chan tilted his head, liking your idea of a morning after a wonderful night.

"And maybe I'll let you eat me out?" You lean and whisper it in his ear and he immediately picks you up throwing you over his shoulders. You giggle, kicking your feet as he lays you down on the couch and unlocks his phone and gives it to you.

"Order the food, princess." Chan orders you, as he pulls down your pants to find you wear nothing. He smiles diving in as he feels your hands hold and tug his hair, his phone long forgotten as he eats dessert.

He did not know any other way to spend his morning with anything better than eating you out and listening to the sounds you make.

Good Morning to him, indeed.

To say you were insatiable would not be enough because you did not want to be separated from Chan or not have his mouth on you at any given time to the point it was getting concerning.

You lost count of the places he took you against. His place or yours? Did not matter anymore.

The shower, the kitchen counter, right against your door after work when you run into each other, the couches, the dining tables. And especially whenever he came back from running, because you loved how handsome he looked when he was breathless.

And Chan ate you out solely for his pleasure and god, that kind of men were the dangerous of all because he had you wrapped around his fingers, literally every day and night.

It has been three months since your first date and the wonderful events that followed, and life was getting better to say the least.

You were feeling a lot better after everything that happened, thanks to the people around you. You were also regularly having team dinners, your members spirits getting high. The usual banter, karaoke sessions and drunk nights when Chan came to pick you up and Seungkwan just gave you a thumbs up every time he saw the both of you while the others teased you about it.

But also most importantly, you had Chan — who planned such thoughtful dates you pinched yourself every single day to have him as yours. And whenever you planned dates for him, he would always show his gratitude by fucking you so good, that you would see the stars.

And the best part of having Chan as your boyfriend was dancing in the kitchen at midnights, laughing at Seungcheol whenever you and Jieun planned double dates— Seungcheol would just glare at you both or pout shocking you sometimes but he doesn't say anything else and you swear you once saw something akin to happiness in his eyes when he looked at Chan. The both of you were still scared of him though.

It was also nice have someone who would hold you tight after a very long exhausting day and whisper sweet nothings to you.

When you asked Chan about what was the best thing about having you as his girlfriend, he looked you dead in your eyes and said, "I get to see those dimples when you smile so wide," and went on to kiss you on your cheek before driving off to work. Leaving you stunned in front of your work place.

Safe to say, he was just as deep as you in this shit.

As usual, life cannot be rainbows and sunshine for so long because you were standing in front of your home, Chan squeezing your hand as you contemplated meeting your father.

"I can come along if you want," he offers, kissing your hand.

"This is my battle, Chan. I can't have him hurt you when we get inside, I would not let him breathe if he does so."

Chan was the best thing that happened to you. You were not going to let your father take him away from you.

"Okay, My queen—," He kisses you the taste of strawberry lip balm of yours he keeps stealing evident on his lips,"—Give them hell."

You watch as he walks back into his car and signaling you to walk in before he drives away. He called you his queen nowadays, and while you really liked being called princess, queen just hits different.

You look back at the looming door of doom of your house. You did not need to be a mastermind to figure out why your father called you to meet. The tail he put on you—yes, he was capable of doing that shit—must've been giving him information about you living a happy life, and just like the party popper he was, your father did not like it when you were living a happy life without his hand in it. It was some kind of shitty way to control you by holding things over your head if he had a hand in your happiness so you would not act out and since when you did not give him the chance to do so, he would throw a tantrum like a fuckin' child.

"How are you?" Mrs. Chae greets you as you enter in, she starts gushing over you, saying that you were glowing and asking who was it that was behind it.

"I will introduce him when the time is right,"

"Okay, stay mysterious."

"You're here," Your dad breaks the conversation between you and Mrs. Chae as you were talking about life in general, and the mood of the room immediately dampens as he steps in.

"You must really know how to behave with people who are not of your status," He says and you know what and who exactly he was referring to, it just makes your blood boil.

You are going to find exactly who his tail was, because you were not going to let your dad hurt Chan at all.

"You called me to talk about something important, I presume? Or did you want to hear yourself talk?" You ask him with a lethal calmness, your tone sharp.

"You're behavior is not going to be tolerated anymore. Whatever this little rebellion was, put an end to it."

"No." You look at your nails, bored.

"Break up with him," he orders you.

"And if I won't?"

"I will make sure he gets hurt for even looking at something that he does not deserve,"

"I am not an object you own, father. And you dare hurt him, you are going to die without an heir to your legacy."

"How dare you threaten your own father? This is what you become when you whore yourself too people not—"

"Fucking hell, stop talking about status and levels for god's sake. You are going to be buried in the same piece of land they would be buried in."

Your father's face turns red with anger and it makes you smile.

"Stop living in the air castles you keep building, father. When you fall down, there is going to be no one to catch you. Not even me."

"So, you are not going to break up with him?"

"Not a chance."

"Then resign the position you hold in my company." You expected this, he loved his company more than he ever loved you. And if he was going to threaten someone you loved, it was only fair you did the same.

"And people will know you do not have an heir to give your legacy over to—" you lean back in your chair as you continue, "— as a businessman as cruel and cunning as you are, I don't think I need to explain what that means now, do I?"

"Hong—"

"Keep your threats to yourself. If you hurt so much as an hair strand on the man I love, I will break away your empire until there would remain nothing but ash."

You were holding yourself back so much. The tears that were at the back of your throat could not be shown to the monster in front of you. Any sign of weakness and he would call you a child and make you feel small.

"You are sure this man is the one?"

"I swear on your life, I do."

"You are no less than a monster for hurting your own father,"

"I take after you, it would be a shock if I wasn't one." You were done here, you decide you need to get out of this place before the darkness you inherited consumes you whole that you would not see the light on the other side.

You walk out of the place and far away from the estate towards a crowded sidewalk before realizing you were far away from him, from his shadows and it is when you let yourself cry as the feeling of loosing a home finally dawns on you.

This was inevitable. But god, did it not break your heart.

You were sure your father would leave you his legacy, despite him controlling his expressions you saw him looking at you with fear. His clenched jaw a sign of it as something you recognized from his body language, since he never was someone who showed emotions. He considered it to be weak.

That was why you always laughed around with Mrs. Chae, because you were never going to be weak. No matter how much he tried to make you change or lose parts of yourself.

There were moments in your life when everything you dreamed of was your father looking at you with anything but hatred for being the only thing that reminded him of your dead mother. But then you grew up.

Taking away his legacy, the empire he built would not be easy. But being his heir had its perks. And when he decided to be alongside the monsters in hell and leaving you as the heir, you would be ready to make it something you love.

You were going to prove that having a heart does not make anyone weak. And the rest was to be dealt when you crossed that bridge but for now all you wanted to do was go home and hug Chan tightly watching Brooklyn 99 again and laugh together.

Because home is where your heart is, and Chan made a home for you in his.

ONE YEAR LATER

"Do you not like wine anymore?" Seungcheol asked Chan swirling his own glass as he took a sip, tasting it. Chan just looks at him confused.

"I drank wine yesterday?"

"You are not drinking it now,"

"Bullshit," Seungcheol was indeed talking bullshit as Chan suggested because the man was always worried whenever the girls — you and Jieun were out and did not allow him or Chan to tag along. He grew a likening towards you, as someone who always wanted a sister, he wondered if they would be like you if he had one.

It was getting late at night, while he knew Jieun was completely capable of taking care of herself especially with you by her side Seungcheol had no reason to worry but it always slipped through cracks and spread like a virus infecting Chan too.

Now both the men were watching National geography, a specific documentary about animals as they keep stealing glances at their phones on the table in front of them waiting for a call or a text.

"Camels are said to be—" Chan laughs immediately, Seungcheol takes a moment to register but just hits his brother when he realizes what made him laugh.

"It was one time, okay?" Seungcheol tries to defend himself about Jieun saying he looked and ate like a camel once.

"I said nothing," Chan raises his hands.

"You laughed though," Chan looked like he was going to laugh again, but before the oldest could argue his phone rings and he picks it up immediately, clearing his throat before answering.

"Yes,—" he looks at Chan as he answers and after a moment he says, "—we will be there, Thank you."

He cuts the call grabbing his keys and his jacket Chan following him behind as he tosses the keys to the younger.

"It is a rescue call, they are drunk at a restaurant."

Chan huffs out a laugh as he gets into the car to drive and Seungcheol just taps against the dashboard the entire ride. He runs inside as soon as Chan parks the car, making him shake his head at how lovesick the older was. He wasn't any better to be honest.

It has been over an year since they started dating, and not only did Seungcheol's love for Jieun grow exponentially, Chan has seen his grandfather dote on her solely because she made Seungcheol finally want to settle down. While the old man did know about the drama, he brushed it off saying that he did not care about the lengths Jieun went to make sure Seungcheol really loved her or not. It wasn't what it was, but no one wanted to correct him because his believes were completely harmless.

Chan saw you sleeping on the table as Seungcheol tried to wake his girlfriend up but could not to no avail.

Chan gently patted on your shoulder to see you wake up and look at him, the recognition flashing through your eyes as you take him in. Even though it has been over an year, your hazel brown eyes always did a number on his heart. The dimples that pop out when you smile wide too, a common occurrence nowadays and despite you complaining that your cheeks hurt whenever he made you laugh to see those dimples, he never stopped.

He would never.

"Hey," You greet him, voice soft leaving Jieun's hand who was actually a bad drunk just like Seungcheol because Jieun would start crying out of nowhere, but that did not mean the oldest never let her drink. He liked watching her act that way, he liked her in general that was another thing.

You stand up pretty good by yourself for a moment before falling into his arms. He picks you up, and you nuzzle into his neck instinctively just the way you always did before you even got together. The trust you had in him since before that had him wrapped around your fingers.

He lays you down in the backseat beside Jieun who is already asleep. Seungcheol just looks at Jieun and looks ahead the smile on his face never going away. Seungcheol smiling which was a rarity before, was now just something that your friend brought out in him easily. Both of them loving each other whole heartedly. Chan once wondered if his brother would ever find love, he was quite happy seeing them both together now.

You pinch Chan's cheeks before kissing him. "I love you,"

"I love you too," He kisses your forehead as he gets in, followed by Seungcheol. Ready to get back home. He looks at you in the rear view mirror, sleeping so peacefully it warms his heart.

You fought your father for him, who came around a few months later. Chan never knew what exactly happened but that day after you came home, you cried in his arms like you lost someone you loved and he could do nothing but just hold you through it.

And for a woman who fought everything she had to stand beside him and still look at him with so much love, Chan would bring down the world if asked.

Your fates intertwining was the best thing the universe could have done for him. Because without that he never even imagined the alternative of not being by your side, falling in love everyday with all versions of yourself.

You felt the same way too. Looking at your knight who shined like a star, you did not know the alternative of not being by his side, falling in love with him everyday like breathing.

The fate intertwined you two and you couldn't ask for anything better than this love you had. Your love, intertwined like your souls.

Thank you for reading this story and loving this with me!! I'd appreciate to know your thoughts through comments, reblogs. It helps me understand your thoughts and you too.

Taglist : @churrochanie, @coupsalchemy, @chogiwaw

[caratchronicles]

how do you deal with this? like you have a wip which you started when you were in a very burntout stage in your life, now you're not in that place anymore and do not hold the negative emotions that are actually required for the story and you aren't even able to channel them

[notgreatbob]

''i wasted those years'' who cares. you lived the only life you could've lived in those moments

[callmezeemonic]

You did the best you could with all you had and knew. That was then. Here is now

[castaras]

prev tags correct

[caratchronicles]

the only reason you think like this is because you lived through those moments and that particular experience shaped you and taught you

[lynxindisguise]

[avalonjoan]

hey now...

[tundrakatiebean]

[thebibliosphere]

Couldn't have nailed me any harder to the floor if you had a fucking hammer.

[the-wonderer-of-the-web]

YES!! I am a HUGE advocate for the concept of “their are no bad ideas, just bad executions”

[twicemallow]

mostly real i, too, wonder how I've managed to make it this far, but my mom debates I more..... (#loredrop) (do NOT ask further about my mom)

💟 no pressure tags bcs i need to see my moots n their tropes : @woniefication @shyoko @yooniso @myuviis @koiiq @chrrific @blooddlusts @seobluuu @luvmahae etc

[koiiq]

CRAZY IM GAGGEDDDD I'll take it 😻😻

Np tags : @wonsoire @yewwwaaahhh @b4echo @wonroha idk TT

[b4echo]

WAYYY too accurate people on this app srsly need to stop taking shit so serious and stop hating all the time 😭‼️‼️

@hyvnesangel @kirbray04 @satorisoup @quokkaine @channlust @yawwni @stryscribbles @hrtbamgyuuu @hnsbxby @hanjinology @ninisei @gyuzies @moch3rii @kloversung @sugarkiiss @jektaev @skzcodered @strrykais

no pressure !!

[gyuzies]

huzzah???

@izzyy-stuff @nanilis @yawngnab @heedimples more i cant be assed lowk just do it idfk

[izzyy-stuff]

quick everyone, act surprised!

@filmsbyun @livmarauder @nerdycheol @belovedgyu if yall wanna do this <3

[livmarauder]

erm no comment…

no pressure tags: @gentleisa @luvrung @orbitondgtl @dollhoonki @jayflrt

[gentleisa]

EL EM AY OH

tags: @aeristudios @hopecutie @choco-scoups @haologram (no pressure)

[choco-scoups]

CAN'T A GIRL BREATHE FOR A SECOND IN ALTERNATE UNIVERSE AT LEAST!???

its funny tho lol

No pressure tags : @coupsalchemy @caratchronicles @chogiwaw @slut4kwon @hanniehaeo

[caratchronicles]

thanks for the tag jayy<33

lmao what

No pressure tags: @cherrymayz @mellowamour

[caratchronicles]

how does this tumblr snake game work even and why is the snake eating my following list

[cherrymayz]

Every thorn has its twilight (Part 1)

Pairing: Spy!Jihoon x Assassin!Fem!Reader

Wordcount: 16k for this part.

Warnings: graphic descriptions of violence and death, mentions of blood, possession and usage of weapons such as guns and blades, multiple breakdowns(yes, these characters go through a lot), mentions of abandonment of children, mentions of war, murder, threats, betrayal, inaccurate depictions of spy x family characters/plot devices(for plot convenience), mentions of criminal organisations, self-condemnation and self-blame, slow burn, lots and lots of angst (im sorry if i missed anything, please let me know)

Synopsis: You and Jihoon have been living a peaceful married life for the past year. One fine morning, WISE and The Garden assign the two of you with the same mission, unbeknownst to either organisation. What happens when the spy and the assassin end up finding out each other's identities? Will you be able to keep the peace you so desperately long for or will you ruin it with your own hands?

a/n: hi everyone, this is part one of my fic for the blockbuster collab and this if my first long fic? I might as well just call it my first fic and god I'm honestly so nervous. I'm so sorry it took so long and thank you for waiting. First of all, big big big thank you to @belovedgyu, @jakedustry and @nerdycheol for hosting this collab and for having me participate in it(and also for being such sweethearts and extending my deadline). Also a huge thank you to my lovely darling @mellowamour for being there for me throughout this journey and for beta-reading, and my lovely cutie @livmarauder for helping with the banner and the title, like seriously, I could not have finished this without you both(thanks for being there when I was crashing out and quite literally scrapped more than half of my original draft and rewrote the story). Last but not the least, thank you to all my fellow lovelies @choco-scoups, @caratchronicles, @gentleisa, @luvrung, @hopecutie, @pomegranate-teardrop, @onionhassayyo, @chogiwaw, @paradiseonthemoon, @cxffecoupx who were a part of the collab and made me feel so welcomed and excited about this. I got to make so many friends and finally gathered the courage to start writing so yeah, this has been wonderful and i am so immensely proud of everyone. I hope you enjoy reading this!

One Sunday morning, Jihoon wakes up expecting to go through his weekend routine — making breakfast, waking up his daughter, eating together and spending the rest of the day trying to get Anya to study. He freshens up and goes to the kitchen wondering how to make studying better for Anya when he pauses to see his wife awake and trying to cook; he immediately knows that this day was not going to go as usual.

You, his wife as of last year, are panicking over the breakfast you seem to be trying to salvage, desperately. Jihoon sees the hoard of dishes in the sink from your failed attempts, and as always, he goes over to help soothe you while making sure that there's edible food for everyone. He calls your name, seeing you flinch and look at him apologetically. "I'm so sorry, I was just trying to make a simple breakfast since you always cook but I can't seem to get it right. I didn't mean to wake you up or make such a mess." You start apologizing profusely, but he stops you by calling your name softly. "You don't have to cook when I can, you already do so much for this family, it's only right that you don't have to worry about this." He says, and thanks you for trying anyway.

Since he took over the cooking, you go to wake Anya in the meantime. By the time breakfast's ready, Jihoon sets the table to see that the two of you have come out of the room. After a peaceful breakfast, he thinks his day will proceed as expected after he fixed the fiasco this morning. He's interrupted by Becky, Anya's friend, who comes knocking at their door followed by her bodyguard, Martha. "Surprise!!! Anya! Let's go shopping today!" Jihoon sees his daughter eager to escape his nagging and lets her go for today, deciding it beneficial for her to bond with the Blackbell heiress.

Now that his routine of trying to get his daughter to study is out of the sequence, Jihoon thinks it a good thing, maybe I can get some paperwork done. He's interrupted from his thoughts when the phone rings, and he goes to pick it up since you're doing the dishes. "Jihoon, it's an emergency, your presence is required immediately." When he hears The Handler say, he informs you that he has an emergency at the hospital and rushes to meet with her.

Meanwhile, you are in the middle of doing the dishes when the phone rings again. When you pick it up, you realise it's a call from The Garden. A high priority mission, they say, an escort job like the last time on the cruise. Except this time, neither the client nor anyone else can know about your presence since it is going to be at the airport, the client will be departing on a "business trip" to leave the country. The client is reportedly a spy, which confuses you as to why The Garden would try to protect a spy. When you voice your confusion, they tell you, "She may be a spy, but the Red Circus should not get their hands on her as they will use her death as a political instigation to start a war against Westalis." The prospect of a war makes you determined to ensure this mission goes well, after all, the very reason you do this work is to prevent a war from hurting your family. It's different from your previous missions though, it requires you to be in disguise. "Additionally, you will have a team of three with you, all in disguise. It's a very sensitive mission and we cannot compromise our people or the client, so make sure no one recognizes you. No one should know any of you were there. She's leaving tomorrow." Those words keep playing inside your head as you try to figure out how to handle this.

At the WISE hideout, Jihoon is in the middle of a meeting where they are discussing the details of the new mission. "This mission is different from our previous ones, it's an escort mission." What? Jihoon questions if he heard that correctly. As if seeing right through him, The Handler looks right at him as she says, "That's right. An escort mission. The woman you see on the screen is one of our aides, Maya, who has been compromised. By that, I don't mean that she was discovered by the State Security, it is the Red Circus." That revelation catches Jihoon off-guard. "How?" He hears one of his colleagues question, as he wonders the same. "You see, she is an official with a family that no one would have suspected. As it turns out, her husband is part of the Red Circus and the two found out about each other's identities during the recent ruckus caused by the Red Circus, when she warned us about their activity." Once again, Jihoon is baffled. "How is that possible? Did she not see any signs during the time they were together?" The same colleague questions again. "He seems to have been with them since the very beginning and concealed his identity far better than any of us could have expected. We cannot always account for all the variables in life." Everyone seems stunned by The Handler's words, to think that the Red Circus had people that were so capable to fool a WISE aide for that long, it made Jihoon shiver just imagining the kind of damage they could do.

"Your mission is to ensure that she is escorted safely out of Ostalis, we cannot leave our aides to fend for themselves in times of danger like these. Leaving her in the hands of the Red Circus could cause the very war we're trying to prevent. They will use her death as the turning point to achieve their goals, painting it as Westalis' job and destroy this fragile peace between the two countries. You will be a team of four, with Twilight leading the mission. She will be leaving tomorrow for a "business trip", ensure that she boards her flight safely." With that, The Handler dismisses everyone. On the way home, Jihoon's mind is plagued by the weight of the situation, as it dawns on him just how badly the situation could escalate if anything goes wrong tomorrow.

When he gets home, he sees you cooking, again, despite his words this morning. Surprisingly though, his worries vanish when he sees that you managed to make something edible this time. "You look tired, I wanted to lessen your workload since you were called in for an emergency even during the weekend." Hearing your words, he smiles at you, thanking you for doing this for him. By the time you both are done eating, the bell rings and you see Anya in Martha's arms, in deep sleep. When Jihoon sighs at the sight, you just smile, endeared by them. Jihoon apologises to Martha, taking Anya in his arms and puts her to bed. Later, when both of you are in your rooms trying to sleep, you realise that even though the normalcy in your lives distracted you for a bit, the two of you are very much wide awake thinking about the severity of the mission tomorrow.

Monday morning arrives, with the two of you alert and awake. Jihoon goes to make breakfast while you wake up Anya and get her ready for school. Despite the mission ahead, you manage to maintain pleasantries the whole morning. You both send Anya off to school and part ways to get to work yourselves.

Anya, sitting in her school bus, is worried. She couldn't read her parents' minds today, it was a full moon after all. Even though everything seemed normal, both her father and mother seemed distracted. It bothered her that she didn't know the reason. She soon forgets about this once she gets to school and meets her friend, Becky.

You reach the City Hall on time as if you were here on your everyday work. Once inside though, your superior calls you in for an "errand".

"You will be disguised as Kira Blair, an American here on a vacation returning home this afternoon." Says your manager, pointing at the wig, scarf, mask, lenses and clothes.

Once you get changed into your disguise and step out, you are met with the sight of your teammates all in disguise, similar to you. This may be a different mission, but it's nothing you can't handle. You repeat those words in your head as you head to the airport.

Jihoon's team arrives at the airport around the same time your team is queuing up to enter the airport. As you enter, you discreetly look for your client and any possible attackers. Ironically, Jihoon stands a few steps away from you doing the same. When you pass by him at the security, Jihoon pauses, taken aback. Something about you feels so familiar but he cannot put a name on it. Before he can think about this more, you move further down the line while Jihoon finally spots the target. She's on the other side of the security check, alert and cautious of her surroundings.

You finish your security check when you spot Maya, making your way into a clothing store nearby while keeping your eye on her. Once Jihoon finishes his check in, he moves towards a restaurant close to the seating area where Maya is waiting for her flight.

You see your teammates moving around when you spot someone glancing at your client. At the same time, Jihoon spots someone moving towards her. This causes both of you to be on high alert, ready to move when you see the two passengers slip past Maya and head towards the gate open for a flight that is about to take off.

However, the two of you remain on high alert with that incident, keeping an eye on the surroundings while ensuring you don't make it obvious. Just then, Jihoon spots one of your teammates, nothing about him screams danger but to his trained eye, it is obvious that this person is not an ordinary passenger. He immediately straightens up, even more cautious, keeping an eye on him while trying to scope out the area to see if there are any more people like him.

You, on the other hand, spot one of Jihoon's teammates. Your gut screams at you that something is off, and when you look at your surroundings, a chill runs through your spine. Your senses alert, making you realise that the atmosphere is weirdly calm. Almost as if everyone is at complete ease but when you focus, none of them really are.

While you think of what your next course of action can be, Jihoon senses that the entire waiting area seems subtly alert. He couldn't pick up on this earlier, didn't think of this as soon as he walked in. He sharpens when he realises that the people here are far more skilled than he imagined.

You tap into your in ear monitor informing your team about your realisation. "There is a suspicious individual, he's wearing blue and is hovering around the sofa where Maya is seated." Having only identified one suspicious individual, you decide to lure him out to a closed space. "Kai, lure him into the washrooms and try to test him but do not alert anyone, please be careful not to involve anyone else."

Jihoon observes Kai moving towards his teammate, Lar and informs his team. "One suspicious individual identified, he's wearing a pink shirt and is currently moving towards Lar. Everyone, remain alert, we cannot cause a commotion here. Lar, be careful not to involve any civilians, we need to handle this carefully." While both sides trust their teammates to handle this, the teams still remain on high alert. You and Jihoon watch as your colleagues head inside an empty washroom, waiting with bated breath for them to come out safely.

A few minutes pass and when neither of you see your comrade come out, you both immediately spring into action. The moment both of your teams move, is when everyone recognizes there are more people. Apart from you and Jihoon, who are hidden in the restaurant and the clothing store, the rest of your teammates are exposed to each other due to their positions. With the realisation that your teams are exposed, you and Jihoon, as the leaders, take charge to keep your teams safe while keeping your positions in the dark.

Directing your teams to move, you and Jihoon check to see that Maya hasn't caught onto the commotion yet, nor has anyone else, thankfully. With no one having any weapons on their person, it all depends upon their physical combat. However, none can afford to draw attention towards themselves.

As you give instructions to your teammates, you realise that your every move is being countered, as if someone else was watching and instructing them too. Every time someone moves from your side, the enemy is already moving away. This fact has you looking around to find the other person, to see if your intuition was right, yet, you cannot find them.

At the restaurant, Jihoon is in a similar position, having observed how every move they make was countered, he could tell that there must be another person on their opponent's team instructing their teammates. He too, tries to find them to no avail.

Deciding to retreat for now, both teams move discreetly, enough to still keep an eye on the target but away from each other to not raise any suspicion. When your team is safe, you instruct them to lay low, deciding that the safety of the client is more important than eliminating the enemy. Jihoon too, instructs his team to focus on ensuring the target is safe over prioritising the enemy's defeat.

After the bitter withdrawal from the team fight, both teams refocus on their mission—escorting Maya safely out of this country. Still, everyone is extremely cautious, believing the other to be the enemy, all remain in complete awareness of Maya's movements as well as the enemy's movements.

Just as you and Jihoon contemplate how to proceed with the mission, an announcement interrupts you. "The flight to France departing at 14:30, boarding starts in ten minutes." You just have to keep her safe for these ten minutes and ensure she boards the flight safely. With the boarding time about to start, your teams are once again on the lookout for any threats near the target.

Seeing Maya move to get in line, Nora, one of your teammates, and Posie, one of Jihoon's teammtes, move closer to remain in the vicinity to protect her in case of any attacks. While they move, you and Jihoon remain in your spots, concealed from the enemy while trying to search for each other. Boarding starts in two minutes and the mission will soon be over, yet, neither of you can relax knowing that there are so many people here for reasons unknown.

A sound makes you and Jihoon pause, as the both of you turn towards the noise, realising it was just a child crying out loud, you both lock eyes. In that moment, both of you realise that you have found the person you were looking for. No one else would have reacted with that speed, but the fact that you did, gave you away to each other. Now knowing each other's positions, the two of you move to get away, because you cannot afford to confront each other and cause chaos in that critical moment.

"I've been exposed, I'm moving towards a quieter area, keep me updated with the progress of the mission." you say to your team.

"I've been compromised, I'll be farther away, keep me posted with the mission progress." Jihoon relays to his team as he continues to wonder why your eyes keep bugging him, almost as if something on the back of his mind is trying to remind him who you are.

You quietly move towards the restricted area, choosing a quieter place in case you are found again. Jihoon too, swiftly moves to the same area. You both are turning corners from the opposite sides when you, once again, lock eyes with each other. That is when Jihoon realises who you are, the person he saw at the entrance. He thought there was something so familiar about you, looking at you now, he wonders why he still feels that way, maybe because she's the enemy and my instincts recognised that, he reasons. Still, there's something about your eyes that feels so familiar and yet, he cannot tell because it looks like you have colored lenses on.

Knowing you have nowhere to go now, the two of you walk towards each other, sizing each other up, trying to decide how to go about this whole ordeal without airport security catching you. Once you get close enough to attack, you take out your hair pin to strike him while Jihoon tries to knock you out, only for both of your attacks to be useless against the other. When you realise this and change tactics, Jihoon manages to land an attack that has your mask slipping from the tips of your ears and your scarf tumbling down, exposing your face to him. In that moment, he is stunned, completely immobile; while you, despite being confused over his sudden inability to move, take the chance to strike at him, your hairpin accidentally hitting his face. The next moment, his disguise falls apart too, revealing the face of your enemy.

The two of you pause, a million questions running through your minds, confused and shocked beyond words. You think to yourself, what the hell is your husband doing here? All the while Jihoon is trying to understand the situation, because really, what in the world is his wife doing in front of him at this place? You both are brought back to reality when you hear your teammates reporting that Maya has successfully boarded the plane and it took off safely. With your teams urging for you to get back, you turn around, fix your disguises and revert because at that moment, it's all either of you can think of doing.

Getting back to your teams, both you and Jihoon stay silent, not answering your teams' questions. Still in shock, neither of you know how to move forward, but you're both keeping quiet about the whole situation, subconsciously. It is then that the thought hits you, you don't want to expose Jihoon. At the same time, he too realises that he does not wish to reveal your identity. That realisation keeps you both numb through the journey back to report to your organisations.

At WISE hideout, Jihoon and his team are gathered in front of The Handler, running through the course of events. When one of his colleagues mentions the other team discovering his position, Jihoon explains that he took cover in a restricted area and left the premises when his team reported the mission to be complete. On the way back home, he realises the weight of the lie he just told his comrades. If they were to find out what he did, not only would your life be in danger, but his too. After all, he would be suspected of treason. Still, he can't bring himself to expose the information that he, unfortunately, gained today.

At The Garden headquarters, you stand before The Shopkeeper while the rest of the team recaps the incident to him. Your coworkers mention that you were discovered, and The Shopkeeper turns to you to explain further. Your brain autopilots and launches into an explanation where you omit the confrontation altogether. On your way back, you realise that you hid the fact that your husband was the enemy from all of The Garden without hesitation. It dawns on you that your decision to do so could cost you both yours and your husband's lives, with you branded as the very traitor you so desperately tried to avoid being named as.

You reach home earlier than he does, seeing Anya watching her cartoons, your heart aches for her. Your thoughts spiral as you think of who he works for, why he does what he does and what this means for the two of you and for Anya, what happens to this family that you've built. If he truly is part of the Red Circus, why? Is there no way to make him turn away? Just then, the bell rings and your spine straightens as you prepare yourself for what might come. Anya rushes to the door, opening it and welcoming her father with a bright smile. He smiles at her as he walks in, then proceeds to scold her for not studying like she should be.

It feels surreal, the way everything seemed normal at that moment, like nothing happened, as if the two of you did not just discover something life changing about each other a few hours ago. When he looks up and meets your eyes, his gaze lacks the usual warmth, you realise. Of course, that is to be expected and yet, why does it hurt so much? Why does him looking at you like you're a stranger pinch at your heart so bad?

Standing in front of you, Jihoon sees the anger and pain in your eyes. It makes him see his own feelings mirroring yours. He should never have hidden the truth from his team, he should have killed you the moment he realised who you were, the moment you found out who he was. Yet, here he is, standing in front of you, in this place he has called home for the past year, feeling hopeless at the mere thought of you. He questions himself again, because why does the sight of you in front of him like this feel like betrayal? Why does seeing the pain in your eyes make him feel as if his heart has been ripped apart?

Anya sees the expressions on her parents' faces and is frustrated she cannot read their minds, not knowing the reason behind their discomfort makes her upset. Seeing how your daughter seems down, you both do your best to put her to sleep since you both know you can't have this confrontation in her presence. Once Anya's asleep, the two of you step outside her room, turning around immediately, pointing weapons at each other. You smirk to yourself wryly, wondering how you ended up in this position, with a gun to your head while you point one to your husband's.

"Who are you?" Jihoon asks, that question plagued his mind throughout the day, ruining him.

"I could ask you the same." You reply, having had the same thought mess with your mind for the entire day.

Jihoon presses closer, his patience running thin as he thinks of how wrong the mission could have gone. Seeing his aggression, you push against his chest with your gun, just the thought of a possible war making the rage in you explode.

The tension in the room is so thick it could cut through mountains. You stand in place, staring at each other as if it could give you all the answers you seek. It's only when the power suddenly goes off that you realise what you were doing, neither of you pulled the trigger when you both could have done so easily. Instead, you were still, as if time stopped while you desperately search for answers in each other's faces.

With the room now pitch black, you could no longer see each other's faces causing you to be alarmed. Immediately taking a defensive position, since you now know you're enemies, both of you assume this was a situation planned by the other to eliminate you. No longer being able to use your guns without causing a commotion, you abandon them to lunge at each other like you did earlier today. Except this time, he knows you use blades and dodges your attack just as you dodge his arm trying to tackle you. As you and Jihoon continue to attack each other to no avail, you curse in your minds at how difficult it is to even land a single hit.

Right, she's always been abnormally strong, Jihoon thinks to himself. He remembers the first time you two met, no wonder I couldn't sense her presence back then, it was because she's trained to hide it. He berates himself for not questioning it sooner, for not being more cautious while observing how swift and strong you truly are in this moment.

As you continue to attack him, you too realise just how quick he is and how it seems like he can read your moves, it pisses you off more than you already are. A thought pops into your mind, I let my guard down around him to the point I never realised how strong he was. That night where you both rescued Anya from the military forces and he flew a jet saying he once had a part time job that taught him to, you believed him, you believed him. Every single time, you trusted him without hesitation. It hits you how foolish you've been, not identifying any of the signs, letting him play you for a fool and your anger surges again.

When you lunge at him harder this time, Jihoon can feel it, the raw rage behind the attack, and the shock locks him in place as you manage to tackle him to the ground. Falling on his back, Jihoon braces himself for the impact of your blade against his skin but feels none. After what feels like an hour, he opens his eyes and is met with the sight of your trembling hand holding your blade against his neck but not cutting. You had the chance to kill him but didn't, the realisation has him stunned yet again.

You, on the other hand, are struggling with the torment of your conflicting emotions. Your mind says to kill, he is a traitor, the enemy, but your heart aches at the thought of killing your husband. With your mind in turmoil, you struggle to keep your grip on Jihoon. Your body betrays your exhaustion when the blade slips from your grasp and falls to the ground. Once again, you and Jihoon are frozen in place, trying to piece the situation together. It's at that moment when the lights turn back on and you can see each other's expressions clearly. The anger, the pain, the confusion, the shock, they all mix together as you try to figure out your next step.

You both rise to your feet immediately when you hear the door opening, Anya walks out rubbing her eyes. When she sees you both standing there looking all awkward, she frowns and asks, "Mama, Papa, what are you doing here?" As you both fumble to come up with an explanation, she yawns and proceeds to go to the washroom, deciding it's just you two being your weird selves. Seeing her walk away, you both sigh in relief but immediately turn to glare at each other. It's insane how Anya makes you forget your situation, making you realise how deeply involved you both have become in this family.

Knowing Anya will come back out any moment, you both stay in place, not wanting to involve an innocent child in your affairs. Once she comes back, she uncharacteristically asks to sleep with you. Unable to refuse her, you take her to bed giving Jihoon a look that signals this is far from over. Deciding to continue this tomorrow, Jihoon moves back to his room. Anya is in deep sleep while you're wide awake, questioning how your life has turned upside down within the span of twenty four hours. Jihoon too, cannot find it in him to sleep for the second night in a row because you plague his thoughts, refusing to let his guard down.

At this point, neither of you have realised that you have not reported each other to your organisations, both assuming that you did and that your organisations assigned you to eliminate the other.

Morning comes and you are both wide awake, having not slept a wink the previous night. Knowing you have to send Anya to school, you and Jihoon pretend everything is exactly how it was yesterday, using the normalcy of your lives in this family as an excuse to avoid the inevitable. He makes breakfast while you get Anya ready, that's how everyday goes and you both try to keep it that way today too.

Anya wakes up to you gently calling her, she rubs her eyes adjusting to the morning light when she hears you think, because it hits you now, the chaos of yesterday did not allow time for you to think about it but now, looking at Anya, you wonder, what will happen to Anya if you kill Jihoon? She would be devastated, surely. You question how Anya ended up under his care, slowly starting to wonder if anything you've known was ever true. As Anya hears your train of thoughts, she pales. The very thing she's spent a year trying to prevent, her parents finding out each others' identities, has come true. You see Anya's complexion looking haggard and worry, "Anya, are you okay? Do you feel sick? Are you hurt anywhere?" However, Anya cannot hear any of your words right now. She is panicking at the thought of what this could mean to your family, terrified she'll be abandoned again.

When you see her not responding to you despite you calling her name multiple times, your insticts kick in as you yell for Jihoon. "JIHOON!" He, who was in the middle of cooking, startles to hear you cry out for him, but his body moves before his mind can catch up. He runs to the room on reflex, and when he sees Anya, he understands immediately. His daughter looks as if she saw a ghost, you explain to him that she's not responding and he can see you losing your mind over it. You've always been very cautious around Anya, taking care of her like she's made of glass, he's seen you freak out over smaller things before and he realises why you yelled out for him so desperately. You love and adore Anya and seeing her unresponsive sent you into a state of panic that he's never seen you in before. He goes over to Anya, taking her into his arms while you try your best to keep yourself from crying. He tries talking to Anya when she suddenly bursts into tears, and it stuns both of you into silence. She weeps like never before and you have no idea what caused her so much pain but it breaks you heart to see your daughter break down like that.

As she continues to sob, you and Jihoon try your best to placate her the best you can.

"What's wrong, Anya? Why are you crying?" Jihoon tries to ask but receives no reply.

"How about this? I'll make you your favorite hamburger steak tonight, okay?" He tries to calm her with food but unlike every other time, his daughter doesn't react. Seeing this, Jihoon panics because because neither of you know how to make her stop crying. Just as he's racking his brain for a solution, he hears Anya mumble.

"A-Anya's scared."

Her words confuse you, what got her so scared that she's crying so much? Did she have a nightmare? That would explain it.

"W-will you l-leave Anya?"

Her words shock you, and you immediately ask, "Why would you think that?"

"B-because y-you," Anya pauses when she remembers she can't say that she knows your identities.

"Because Mama and Papa are fighting."

You and Jihoon immediately look at each other, wondering if she accidentally saw you battling each other. No, she was asleep and neither of you made a single sound that could have woken her up. Anya watches you two, reading your thoughts as her worries increase with your reactions.

"Why do you think we're fighting?" You ask her.

"You both look so serious and scary."

Hearing her say that, you both berate yourselves for not concealing your emotions better. Even though she is probably more sensitive to the tension between you as she is attuned to living with you, if a child can sense the difference, anyone can. Immediately, Jihoon tries to reassure her that's not the case.

"We're not fighting Anya, and we won't leave you. Don't worry about it, okay?"

Even though she knows he's lying about you not fighting, she wants to trust his words of not leaving her.

She looks at you as if asking you if that's true, and you soften. "He's right Anya, we won't leave you."

It's only then that she decides to trust you both.

"Promise?"

You and Jihoon look at each other and then at her, "Promise."

She reads your thoughts and realises you mean it, she cannot undo the fact that you now know each other's identities and she knows you will probably fight each other but she can tell, neither of you plan to abandon her.

"Do you want to go to school?" You ask, wondering if she can go in this state.

Anya shakes her head, she doesn't want to leave you two alone, scared you might kill each other.

You look at Jihoon, "I can stay and take care of her."

"I want to stay with both of you." You hear Anya say.

Jihoon looks conflicted, both of you staying together and pretending everything is fine is not something either of you wish to do. He sighs, softening when he sees the look on Anya's face.

"Okay, we can stay home today. I'll make your favorite and you can watch cartoons. Will that make you feel better?"

Anya brightens, nodding with a smile when she hears your thoughts, Will we be able to convince her that we're okay? Anya makes it her mission to make you both reconcile by the end of the day.

Now that all of you are going to stay home for the day, you and Jihoon make calls to let your superiors know that you won't be coming in today. They're surprised to say the least, especially when you mention that it is because your daughter is not feeling well.

Meanwhile, Anya tries her best to think of ways to make you and Jihoon reconcile. She finds Jihoon cooking the steak as he promised and rushes over to him. She looks up at him and says the words that make his world stop, "Anya doesn't want Mama and Papa to break up."

At the moment she says these words, you walk in to the hall and pause. Sensing your presence, Jihoon looks at you and sees the conflict in your eyes. He's sure his own eyes reflect the same turmoil. How are you supposed to continue to pretend to be a couple? The betrayal you both feel is impossible to leave behind and continue with your lives.

He must have reported yesterday's incident, if he doesn't kill me, his people will probably show up to do it instead. Anya hears you think, I should have done the same, what was I thinking hiding the fact that my husband was the enemy on the field?

At the same time, Jihoon wonders how long it would take before your people decide to eliminate him if you don't. Trying to think of places where they would probably try to intercept him, he plans to avoid them all. If he is killed, his team would be in danger, not knowing who found out his identity since he did not report the situation.

Anya, having heard both of your thoughts, realises that neither of you have revealed each other's identities to anyone else. It also seems like neither of you plan to do so anytime soon. It makes her overjoyed, even more determined to make you both reconcile.

You both break out of your thoughts when you hear Anya say, "I want to watch cartoons with Mama and Papa."

As you all sit on the sofa watching her favorite cartoon, with the two of you side by side as per Anya's request, you try your best to keep calm. However, the thoughts never subside, keeping you distracted and it shows when Anya looks at you both again. She sees how hard you're trying and failing to pretend all is well.

She makes you both play games with her, eat with her and spend the day as you would before this tension arose. By the end of the day, you both have managed to convince your daughter that you're not going to abandon her but Anya goes to bed disappointed that she could not make you both reconcile. She could hear you both thinking and she knew that your argument was far from over.

Once you made sure Anya was asleep, you turn to each other just like you did the previous night, except this time, neither of you make a move to fight. Having just spent the entire day with Anya, you don't have it in you to continue your argument from last night. You and Jihoon return to your own rooms, deciding to leave it be for now. It's only when you're both lying in bed, exhausted from having not slept for the past two days along with all the emotional stress you felt, that you remember you just turned your back to your enemy. He could have killed me at that moment, I let my guard down again even after knowing what he's capable of, you realise with horror. In his room, Jihoon is struck with the same thought, I've gotten used to this life, to her, I have to be more careful. Yet, neither you nor Jihoon realise that the other did the same, that you're both equally immersed in this family you've built.

It's Wednesday morning, and this time, everything seems normal when you get Anya ready while Jihoon makes breakfast. You eat together and see Anya off, but you don't greet each other like you usually do. You have been trying to ignore each other's presence while also being hyper aware the entire morning. You both get to work, going through the day as usual while trying to fight the thoughts that threaten to plague your minds.

When you get home, you go through the same routine, ignore each other's existence while pretending nothing has changed. That night, you lie awake again, this time, your anger rising again as you think about all the signs that you missed. The time he came dripping with blood to your colleague's party, it was only your second time meeting and yet, you didn't question him. The amount of times he had "emergencies" at the hospital, when he came home with injuries and claimed he had difficult patients, now that you think about it, what psychiatrist faces so many injuries so often? You feel angry at yourself for letting yourself be tricked so easily, he didn't even bother to try to make himself less suspicious. The thought irritates you, to think he thought you so easy to fool.

Jihoon is in a very similar position, thinking of all the times he thought you were suspicious but brushed it off as nothing. The times you came home so late, your unbelievable strength, he wonders how he was so stupid. He has always been two steps ahead, he was the one who fooled others, not the other way round. Yet, you got him this time, seeing you at one of his missions standing opposite to him as an enemy was something he never even imagined could happen. He feels angry at himself for putting his people in danger, it's his fault he didn't see through you. Another thought pops into his mind that makes him sit up straight, your brother, Yuri. He's a State Security Service agent, he always thought you didn't know about his job, but now he wonders, what if you did? If you tell your brother about him, Jihoon and his entire team would be compromised. With this thought, he makes up his mind to disclose your identity to The Handler tomorrow. Not once does it cross his mind that if you truly are a criminal, there is no way you would disclose your identity to a State Security Service agent since it would put you in danger, even if he's your brother.

The next morning proceeds like every other day, but this time, you're both angry again. You go to the City Hall when one of your superiors calls you in for a meeting. You wonder if they know, and the thought makes you more anxious as you realise that you still don't want to reveal your husband's treachery. Just as you're about to ask why you were called, you hear him say, "Our sources say that the people you encountered during your last mission were not from the Red Circus." Those words make you feel relieved, so he's not a criminal. Then that leaves one option, he must work for the State Security Service, it makes sense that they would try to eliminate a spy. Just as you think this, your superior continues, "They're not from the State Security Service either, they wouldn't have bothered disguising themselves." Your confusion must have shown on your face because he clarifies, "They're most likely from WISE, Westalis' intelligence agents."

The revelation leaves you horrified, he's a spy, I married a spy in order to not be suspected as a spy. You realise how ironic the situation is, an assassin and a spy posing as a married couple to hide their identities, even from each other. You school your features, trying your best to not show your emotions in front of your boss. Our marriage was probably the shield he used to secure his identity. The rage in you intensifies, to think that you have been living with a spy, you helped this man avoid suspicion, it disgusts you.

"I'm telling you this because you should be careful, we cannot guarantee what they would do if they found out The Garden is real."

Hearing this, you don't know what to do anymore. Just as you felt relived that your husband was not a criminal, you find out he's a spy. The confirmation that he's still an enemy leaves you devastated. "We still don't know why they were there, although, it is highly likely that they were there for the same reason as we were, to protect their spy." You leave work with many thoughts, confused and horrified more than ever.

When Jihoon goes to see The Handler, he doesn't get the chance to say a thing as he is ushered into a meeting with everyone from the team that went on the last mission. With everyone there, The Handler speaks, "This is about the team you encountered during the mission. Our sources confirm they're not from the Red Circus or the State Security Service."

This statement stirs confusion among all the agents, and one of Jihoon's teammates speaks up, "They can't possibly be some random group of criminals, they were far too observant and well trained for that." Everyone agrees and The Handler continues, "You're right, they're most likely from this organisation called The Garden."

Now, that has every single person in the room stunned, "Weren't they just a myth?" Somebody questions but Jihoon is too far gone to register who it is. The revelation rings in his mind as he realises he's both relieved and utterly horrified at the prospect of his wife being part of an organisation so secretive and dangerous, no one knows any details about them. On his way home, he's dazed and overwhelmed by this new knowledge of how terrifying you truly are.

Standing in front of the door to your house, you hesitate. Unlike all these days, you now know there is a spy on the other side of this door. You know he's home, you took your time returning because you couldn't face him just yet. Just the thought of it sends shivers down your spine. You don't know what to believe anymore, despite having been trained not to trust anyone in this world, you never imagined there would be a day where that person would be your sweet husband. Not so sweet anymore, you think to yourself bitterly at the thought of his cold eyes gazing into yours.

The Red Circus were originally advocating for equality but turned to terrorism after their people were killed, their main goal is to get Ostania to acknowledge their greivances and escape to safety. You were trying to reason with yourself about why your husband would be one of their members, but now? Now you know he's a spy, he was always the enemy. You remember the times everyone around you spoke about how spies are here with no other inention but to cause war. He's going to ruin the peace in this country, he's going to do the very thing I spent my life trying to avoid. You think to yourself as the anger inside you itches to stop him, Tonight, tonight I will kill him, no matter what it takes, for Anya, for Yuri, for every innocent soul in Ostania. Determined, you open the door and walk in.

The sight that greets you has you stopping in your tracks— Anya is laughing as she runs around the house playing with Bond, your dog, and Jihoon, he's watching them with an exasperated expression on his face but you can see the fondness in his eyes that he probably doesn't realise he's showing. It makes you realise that this man, this spy, no matter what his relationship is with Anya, truly cares for her. The sight that was once so normal everyday, now has you filled with emotions so intense you can't remember why you were so angry. You cannot imagine what would happen if Anya didn't have her father around anymore, just the thought of her tears makes you question if this is the only way, you don't want to be the reason for her pain. She's so much like Yuri when we were young, what would Yuri have done if I didn't return from one of my missions? I can't do that to Anya, I just can't, but what about the other kids in this country? What of the innocent people who will lose their lives in the war? Your thoughts spiral as you try to choose between saving your family and saving your country.

Jihoon sees you standing at the door and calls out to you, "Why are you just standing there?" You look at him, the way he's acting like nothing has changed, how, just for a moment, it felt like you were back to the time before this chaos. Hearing him, Anya turns to you and runs into your arms. She seems especially happy today and you cannot help but indulge her. No matter what happens, she will always be your daughter. I love this little girl, I won't let anything happen to her. You decide that you will protect her at all costs, against anyone who dares hurt her, just like you did with Yuri. You just don't know how to protect her from the pain you will inevitably end up causing her when you kill Jihoon.

Unbeknownst to you, Anya was trying her best to make everything seem normal because she wants her parents to go back to how they were. Jihoon was trying his best to keep calm, he didn't know how to deal with this situation now that he knew you weren't a criminal. You were a lot like him, trying to keep the peace within this country, in your own way. That thought made him want to try and work this out, he didn't want to endanger his team but he also wanted to keep his family safe for the sake of his mission, or so he tells himself. He hoped he could talk to you tonight. When Anya heard her father's thoughts, it made her overjoyed and she was hopeful about keeping this family intact. When she heard you think about how much you love this family too, she was over the moon and too distracted to hear you think about killing Jihoon. She goes to sleep content with the progress between you.

Facing Jihoon, you're contemplating everything again, What if he kills me instead? What will happen if we both die? Who would take care of Anya? What about Yuri? Where would Bond go? You know there is a high chance of that happening, he's very skilled, you're both pretty much equally matched. Jihoon calls your name and when you look up at him, something's different. His eyes are not cold anymore, there's that warmth you're so used to, and that confuses you to no end. Why is he looking at me like that? Why does he look like he's not angry anymore?

Jihoon sees the confusion in your eyes, he also felt your murder intent right before he called your name. He wonders, does she know I'm a spy? Does she hate me? She probably does. Why wouldn't she? She married me because she didn't want people to mistake her as a spy. If she found out she married one, she would obviously want to get rid of me. Just as he thinks that, you lunge at him, he dodges on instinct but it pains him. He can tell you know, he can see it on your face, the raw emotions that you no longer supress, much stronger than before.

He continues to dodge your attacks, deciding to let you just take your anger out on him. You continue to strike at him with your hairpin, trying to kick him, punch him, you try everything you can. You hesitated because of Anya but when you saw him looking at you like he did before all this, you lost it. It reminded you of how he lied about everything, you don't see your lovely husband anymore, you see the manipulative monster who was planning to destroy your life and many others with a war. Nothing he can say or do will ever make you forgive him, you will never be able to trust him again. Granted, you lied to him too, but you were trying to protect the very peace he chooses to ruin. You will do whatever it takes to stop this man tonight, even if you die trying.

As time passes, you realize he has no intention of attacking you, all he's doing is dodge you and you cannot begin to comprehend why. Why does it seem like he doesn't want to hurt me? It makes no sense though, there's no way he cares, not now, not after everything that has happened. His attempts at calming you down only fuel your rage further, making you charge at him harder.

When Jihoon sees that you're not going to stop, it looks like she wants to kill me tonight, no matter what, he tries to think of how he can try to get you to hear him out. As he gets distracted by that thought for a split second, you manage to land a hit on his arm, slashing his skin with your blade and blood oozes out of his bicep. Jihoon stiffens for just a second before he just lets you be, he decides that if this is what it takes for you to calm down so you both can talk, then he's just going to let you strike him.

You, on other hand, are completely frozen at the sight of him bleeding, it causes your brain to spiral into a frenzy of thoughts of him hurting because of you. You feel a sharp tinge of pain in your chest at that, you can't hurt him, even if he's a spy, even if he ends up ruining your people, you cannot bring yourself to do it. It dawns on you that you've come to care for this man so deeply that your heart twists painfully at even just the thought of him in pain. You were planning to kill him, but how can you? When you can't even bare the slight scratch you just made on his arm?

Jihoon sees you tremble, on the verge of tears, and he's confused, why are you crying suddenly? You were so full of rage and determination just a few seconds ago, what happened? It's when he follows your gaze to his wound that he realizes why, and his heart aches at the thought of you berating yourself for hurting him.

He calls your name softly, your eyes snap to his and that's when you break, your body fails you as you fall to the ground, the weight of your emotions draining everything from you. Jihoon rushes to catch you, he holds you gently as you cry, trying to make sense of what happened and how he can comfort you.

As you cry, you register that he's holding you, so gently as if you'll break if he holds you any tighter, and you start hitting his chest with no actual strength, trying to convey how unfair this is. He lets you, he understands how you must be feeling, it kills him to know that he's reason for you current state.

After a few minutes, Jihoon hears you murmur, "Why did it have to be you?" He doesn't know how to answer, he wishes so badly that you two never met, if only he could go back in time, you would never have to face this. Taking in his silence, you question him, because you need to know, "Why do you want to start a war? Why can't we just live peacefully?" The word 'war' causes Jihoon to freeze and you feel it, when you look up at him, he looks like he's confused and terrified. You don't understand why but he speaks up before you can voice your confusion, "Who told you that?"

"Huh?"

"Who told you I wanted to start a war?"

"I-I, that's, I just heard people say that spies are here for that reason alone."

He calls your name, "Look at me," and when you look at his face, "I have no intention of starting a war, the only reason I do what I do is to prevent one from ever happening."

His words shock you, "What? How is that possible?"

He looks pained at the accusation, "I would never hurt the people like that, trust me."

Trust me, those words make it more painful for you, because how can you? You convey your thoughts to him, "How can I believe anything you say when everything about you is a lie? How do I know you're not lying to me at this moment too?"

Jihoon feels stuck, he doesn't know how he can convince you that he's not lying, he gets why you cannot trust anything he says. How did our lives come to this? When he doesn't answer, you push him away, and Jihoon just watches you move away from him. "If you can't even answer that, then there's no point in trying, please stop pretending you care." You turn to go back into your room and sleep the day off because you don't have it in you to do anything else right now.

Lying in bed, you force yourself to sleep because your body is too exhausted for you to lie awake thinking about your situation. Jihoon stays awake for yet another night, it's becoming a routine at this rate, one he's not fond of. He cannot stop thinking about your question and the lack of emotion in your eyes when he couldn't answer. He wishes he did, he wishes he could, but he stayed silent because for once, he, Twilight, did not have a plan. He needs to try again tomorrow, he cannot let this affect his mission or let this situation escalate further until his team is compromised because of his carelessness, at least that's how he reasons to himself.

Next morning, you wake up late and immediately go to get Anya ready; when you both emerge in the hall, Jihoon has set the table and is waiting for you both. You continue to ignore him, placing your attention on Anya entirely. Jihoon tries to talk to you but it becomes obvious to him that you have no intention to hear him out. Seeing this, Anya gets sad but then she hears your thoughts, how both of you just want to live your lives like you have been, and decides that this is good enough.

You get to the City Hall for work as usual when you're called in for another mission. Good, I can get my mind off everything else. "This time, the target is a small town artist." You look at your superior, confused. "He's done quite a good job at pretending that's all he is for the last five years. He's one of the leading members of the association that has been trying to stir up trouble recently. It looks like they've been preparing for a long time. We need to eliminate this group before they do any more damage to our country." Hearing that, you are determined to make sure you succeed. Thankfully, this mission manages to make you forget about your situation at home for a while.

At the WISE quarters, Jihoon is being informed of his latest mission. "The target this time is this boy you see on the screen." The Handler says pointing to the photo of a man wearing a red scarf while trying to cover his face. "He's done a good job at hiding but our agents were able to find out his whereabouts as well as capture his features well. He looks like a college student but really, he's in his thirties, that is how he cleverly evaded the authorities. Your job is to ensure that this "boy" can no longer operate his circle of criminals by tomorrow. Eliminate any point of contact he may have had with any of his members. We want them to panic, they'll make it easier for us to get rid of them. Be careful though, we don't want to risk the safety of innocent citizens." Nodding his head, Jihoon plans exactly how he's going to execute this mission.

Back home, both you and Jihoon are too occupied with the thoughts of your missions looming over your heads that Anya wonders if everything is back to normal. It feels just like before but when she senses the odd tension between you, she realises it's not, not yet at least. She can tell though, it's all going to be fine, she's seen this happen in her cartoons, so she goes to sleep content that things seem to be going well.

Friday afternoon, Jihoon is disguised and heading towards what seems like an old, narrow street. He stops when he spots him, his target. It's baffling how normal he looks, like a college student on his way home for lunch. Jihoon could just take him out right now and no one would know but the words of The Handler ring in his mind, "Eliminate all points of contact, make sure his death does not trigger his group into action." I need to map his circle, and I should be able to get this done by tonight. Jihoon thinks to himself as he trails his target for the day.

Evening rolls around by the time Jihoon has his target exactly where he wants, away from prying eyes and easy to get rid of, in an old alleyway. Just as his target takes a turn around the corner, Jihoon prepares himself to attack when he finds no one upon turning. It hits him then that this mission has been sabotaged, and these people were far more terrifying than he originally imagined. Just then, he senses a presence from behind and turn just in time to block the knife lunging at him. When he looks up, he finds the same man he followed looking at him with a murderous intent so strong, it suffocates him. Immediately, the man launches into a series of attacks that Jihoon manages to defend easily while questioning how this could have happened. There's no way he sensed me trailing him, Jihoon's eyes widen when he realises that there's only one other possibility, there is someone else who has been watching him. I let my guard down, I did not think of the possibility that there could have been another person, but the fact that I did not sense them proves that they're more skilled than we anticipated. As he berates himself for not discovering this sooner, Jihoon tries to locate the person who's helping this man in front of him. It's at that moment when Jihoon hears a shot fired and he instinctively ducks, dodging the bullet meant for him by a narrow shot. The shooter must have thought they could take him out while he was distracted with the attacks he was dealing with, Jihoon smirks to himself, how unfortunate for them, now I know where they are. Having had enough with the man's petty attacks, Jihoon swiftly knocks him out and runs into the building beside him, using the unconcious man as his shield.

Once inside, Jihoon refocuses, his mission was to eliminate this man and his circle, how convenient that the man's teammate decided to make it easier for him by showing up. Jihoon quickly disposes the man's body along with his disguise and moves to locate his partner. He identified that the shooter was seated at the rooftop of the building right opposite to the one he's currently in. Of course, he must have moved after realising he was caught, Jihoon commends them for trying but it's far too easy for him to recognise the pattern. As he rushes to get to the corner of the building where he assumes the shooter is, Jihoon stops in his tracks when he hears commotion nearby. Nobody else should be here at this time, unless, it's more of their teammates. Jihoon cannot tell if it's good or bad that he managed to encounter so many of the group at once. Deciding to deal with them later, he moves towards the shooter when he sees something flash by from the back of his eye. It stuns him in place, a blade, your blade, to be specific.

What the hell are you doing here? Jihoon realises that it really is you when he sees the shine of your blade again. He got so caught up in his thoughts that the shooter has moved again, and this time, when Jihoon sees the pattern again, he's horrified, because the shooter is moving to a position to shoot you. Jihoon cannot get there in time to stop the shooter, so he turns and runs towards where you are. It's his mission to get rid of this group but at that moment, all he can think of is you, the thought of you getting hurt is unbearable and he sprints just in time to see you finishing up with your target.

You had just eliminated your target when you see Jihoon running towards you like a madman, his sudden appearance leaves you still as you question why he's here. Why does he look like he just saw a ghost? Why is he running like that? As you stand there wondering, you both hear it, the gunshot. It hits you too late that the bullet was aimed at you, you brace yourself for the impact when you feel something push you aside and into the corner where the shooter could no longer aim. Frozen from the impact, it takes you a few seconds to process what just happened and when you look up, you find yourself in Jihoon's arms as he looks like he's also trying to compose himself after the entire fiasco. He saved me, he ran like that and pushed me aside to save me, but why? You look at him in disbelief, unable to comprehend the situation for it all happened too quickly.

Jihoon feels like his heart is going to explode, it was pumping so loud when he was running to get to you in time and it stopped for a second when he thought he was too late, and now, it's racing again but with relief, relief that you're alive. He scans your form to see if you're okay when he spots blood and panics; the bullet had managed to scrape your arm, "You're hurt", he says as he finally sees the look on your face. He can see that you're confused and shocked, but the haze behind your eyes worries him. He calls your name, "Look at me, please."

While trying to understand what happened, you feel your head spin, but when you hear his desperate plea, you look up at him, trying to let him know that you're okay. You can feel the symptoms, the bullet was laced with toxins, probably to make the person weak and take longer to recover. You convey this to Jihoon, "I'll be fine, it was just a graze, I just feel a little dizzy, it's not going to do anything to me." Even as you assure him, you cannot stop thinking of why he saved you or why he is so concerned at this moment, even if he didn't want to kill me himself, there was no need for him to save me, more so by running like that, and so desperately.

Jihoon, not so convinced by your words, opens his mouth to argue when you both sense it, someone is coming. Right, the shooter is still out there, but wait, there's no way they would make a move like this, so direct. It hits Jihoon that this is someone else, shit, there are more of them. Why now? While he's thankful he gets to eliminate this group at once, the situation is different now, you're injured and he cannot focus with you like this.

You can see Jihoon's train of thoughts on his face, how have I never realised he wears his emotions so obviously? Or maybe it is just because he's distracted right now. "Focus, Jihoon." Hearing your words, his eyes sharpen, and the Twilight everyone heard about was back. Without another sound, he moves you towards the small alley nearby, "Don't move, please just stay safe." You're about to retort that you can take care of yourself just fine when your head spins again, reminding you of your current state. When you stay silent, Jihoon takes it as you agreeing with him and turns to go deal with these criminals.

You watch as he puts on another mask and walks into the building, hidden from your place where no one can see you. You see Jihoon swiftly deal with the man who was trying to sneak up on the two of you earlier. Even thought you knew he was a spy, watching him in action makes it all surreal, he is scarily calm and unnervingly smart. His cunningness showing when he tricks one of the other men into leaving his safe position by pretending to be his teammate. A shiver runs down your spine, this is the man you've been married to for a year, the man you've been living with, this man who is eliminating a group of armed men with an ease that only comes with experience, the same man who looked rattled at the thought of you bleeding from a graze. Your heart is filled with mixed emotions as you realise this is far more complicated than it should be.

Just then, you spot the shooter again, only this time, you see another one, opposite to where the one who shot you is positioned. Jihoon knows about only one of them, this second one has just arrived from the looks of it and the thought terrifies you, Jihoon does not know. He doesn't know there's another shooter, he's dealing with multiple criminals— he's vulnerable, you can't even scream for him to hear you because he's too far. Desperate and full of adrenaline, you run towards him when you see this shooter aim. There are no other thoughts in your mind except saving Jihoon as you sprint with all your might and this brings everyone's attention to you.

You cannot reach him fast enough due to the toxins slowing your body so you scream, "There's another shooter to the far left on the opposite side, run!" Just as you finish your sentence, it all explodes, bullets start raining from both sides with the targets being you and Jihoon. Thanks to your warning, Jihoon manages to avoid them and runs into the next street while you hide in the building nearby. With the two of you now separated, Jihoon curses himself for not being able to protect you. You left your safe position to warn him because he did not see the other shooter, it was because of him. You put yourself in danger for him. He cannot just stand there and keep pretending to be okay when he knows you clearly aren't.

He feels his rage grow, towards himself for missing so many signs, at you for putting yourself in danger when you were already injured and at these idiots for trying to hurt you, he moves with more aggression this time, and puts everyone who's in his way down as he searches for you desperately. One of them lunges at him with a knife, stupid, Jihoon thinks to himself, he can see the gun attached at the man's waist, he should have used that instead, oh well, let me teach you before you die. Jihoon blocks the man's pathetic attempt at stabbing him and twists the knife out his opponent's hand, breaking the man's wrist in the process. Jihoon kicks him in the stomach and pulls out the gun he saw earlier and shoots the man in the forehead. He proceeds to use that body as his shield from the shooters while using the gun he acquired to take the others out.

On the other side, you feel your body sway but still better than before and decide to look for Jihoon. You're about to step out of the building when you hear a menacing laugh and you turn around to see a woman looking at you like you're stupid to even try. "Well, well, well, what a damsel in distress we have here. What do you think you can do out there, hm? Oh, is that man your partner?" When you don't reply, she continues, "Or is he your lover? You did run to save him, hm, how stupid. Do you really think you both can leave this place alive? That dumb lanky man is probably already dead by now. Didn't you hear the rain of bullets and screams?" Hearing those words, you glare at her and she smirks, "That hit a nerve, huh? Interesting, but oh well, unfortunately for you, you'll never see your man again, you'll die here now." She snickers, "You both will die here in our hands, maybe you'll see each other in the after life. How romantic, isn't it?" As she finishes, she aims her pistol at you, ready to shoot when a blade hits her palm that is holding the gun and a loud scream echoes in the walls of this abandoned building. She was so busy mocking you that she didn't see you taking your blade out to strike her. Watching her crumble to her knees holding her bleeding palm, it's your turn to walk to her as you speak, "The number one rule when fighting is to never, and I mean never, take your eyes off the opponent. Overconfidence like yours will get you killed within seconds, like now." You end your sentence as you slit her throat with your blade. Blood splatters all over the floor as you turn, determined to bury these criminals underground.

Stepping out, you're immediately attacked by two more people, one lunging at you with with his bare fists while the other was holding a knife. Having anticipated this, you swiftly slide across them in a narrow second making them hit each other instead. Without giving them a chance to recover, you take your blades and slash their throats in one go. This has gotten a lot more bloody than I was expecting, you look at the blood splashed everywhere from all the bloodshed, cleaning up is going to be quite tedious, you sigh, moving onto the next enemy who's charging at you from behind.

Jihoon, on the opposite side of the building you took shelter in, is barging his way through the hoard of bullets by shielding himself with the same man's body when a certain thought makes his blood go cold, why and how are so many of them here? It's like a planned ambush with the way they're positioned, his senses sharpen when he realises there's only one possibility, there's a mole, either from your side or mine. He moves faster, determined to get to you, he refuses to think of the possibility that you're dead, no, she's strong, she can handle these pests, but wait, she's poisoned, a groan resonates from his throat, she'll be okay, she has to be. He keeps repeating those words in his mind as he fight off more of these pests.

You have moved further enough to be in the shooters' line of sight again and this time, you're prepared—you turn to their positions and glare, challenging them to try. Knowing that you've just hurt their egos, you sprint down the alley to get to those shooters, skillfully avoiding their rage of bullets. You step inside the building they're in and look around to see what looks like an old warehouse. You can sense that there are about five of them around, waiting like hyenas for you to step into their trap. They don't seem to realise that you can sense them, I was so distracted that I didn't even sense these people when I first got here, no wonder they have such confidence, well, good for me. You decide to play into their game, let them think they have the upper hand and that you don't know they're waiting, it's going to be easier to deal with them one by one anyway.

Unbeknownst to you, Jihoon has also entered the same warehouse from the other side, there's no one around, but that makes no sense, there's no way they wouldn't have stationed people to protect the shooters. After thoroughly checking and confirming that there really is no one, Jihoon strides towards the stairs to head up to his targets. He hears footsteps rushing down the stairs like they're in a hurry, confused but alert nonetheless, Jihoon takes a defensive position before deeming it better to attack first instead. He waits for the first person to come down before tackling them down with his arm, he swiftly gets rid of them one by one before making his upwards.

Reaching the rooftop, Jihoon can sense the ominous atmosphere—the fact that they have remained here waiting for me proves that they're good with close combat and prepared for it. Taking his own gun out this time, he moves carefully, trying to locate his enemies. He makes eye contact with one of them and in the next moment, bullets fly all over the place while he engages in a battle with the woman. She cannot land a single hit on Jihoon but he's just as frustrated since he hasn't been able to take her down either. Jihoon and the shooter both run out of ammunition and the place is eerily silent when Jihoon remembers that the other shooter hasn't made their presence known but is still very much present. Alert and momentarily unarmed, Jihoon loads his gun quickly while continuously looking over his shoulder for any attacks.

Just as he turns to continue the fight, he hears footsteps, it is you, he can tell from the corner of his eye that your blade is targeting the other shooter, who is now busy trying to fend you off. Relieved that you're okay but horrified that you're fighting a man with a gun with just your blades, Jihoon refocuses on defeating this shooter first so he can get to you in time. He just hopes you don't get hurt until then. Thankfully, the woman he was fighting was distracted with reloading her own gun to attack him while he was distracted by your sudden appearance. She launches into her previous position, determined to shoot him this time but Jihoon had figured out her pattern by now—she moves quick, he'll give her that but the pattern is too obvious to his trained eye, he can tell exactly which position she'll take next and that is enough for him to land a shot straight to her heart, leaving her bleeding to death.

Jihoon confirms her death before whipping around to see you slicing throught the man's chest and he watches as the shooter falls to the ground clutching his bleeding chest before his breath stops. For a moment, there's nothing but silence as you both take in the fact that it's over, and when your eyes meet, it's like your feet have their own mind—Jihoon's legs move of their accord as he rushes towards while and you do the same. You crash into Jihoon's chest as he holds you like he never wishes to let go. You just stay like that for a few moments before moving just enough to look at his face. Jihoon brings his hand up to your face, holding you so gently and the look on his face so fond, "Thank goodness, you're safe." He leans forward until your foreheads touch and it is in that moment that you feel it, he never lied about caring, he always did. The next second, the words are flying out of your mouth before you even realise what you're saying, "I trust you, Jihoon." Jihoon freezes, looking up at you with wide eyes as if he cannot believe what you just said. Realising how abrupt that was, you're about to explain when Jihoon responds, "Thank you for trusting me," he calls your name making you look into his eyes, "I'll explain everything to you, I promise, I don't want to hide from you anymore." Hearing his words, you nod, "I don't wish to hide from you either."

The sound of a dog barking brings you both back to your senses, realising where you are, you look around at the bloody scene before making eye contact and you both shake you heads as a small smile takes up your faces. Despite the circumstances, at least you both now know that things are going to be okay, that you can work this out together.

After ensuring that you eliminated all the members of the group, you and Jihoon split up to go report the unforeseen massacre that occurred. With both of you choosing to conceal the fact that you met on the field, you inform your organisation about the entire incident, mentioning that there was someone else but they were also there for the same mission and were skilled enough to escape from you—of course, Jihoon matches you word to word when reporting to The Handler.

You reach home earlier than Jihoon, seeing Anya already asleep because you were late. Did she even eat anything for dinner? You worry before you spot a sticky note with Jihoon's writing, "I might be late tonight so I made some dinner and put it in the fridge, heat it up and eat it if I'm not home on time." That brings a smile to your face, he's always so attentive, you open the fridge to see that Anya has eaten her portion and you hear your stomach protest with hunger. You heat up a plate of food for yourself and sit down at the dining table, as you take a bite, tiredness finally hits your body. You continue to eat while thinking over everything that happened today, and just as you start to feel concerned about why Jihoon is not back yet, the door opens and he's home.

Jihoon opens the door to find you looking up at him in the middle of taking a bite of the casserole he made this morning and the sight has him so endeared that he automatically smiles, relaxing, because this is home. You startle at the sudden smile, he looked so unbelievably fond at that moment that you choke on the food in your mouth. Seeing you cough violently, Jihoon rushes to get you a glass of water, "Here, slow down, please be careful." Embarrassed, your entire face turns red as you chug down the glass of water he gave you. Jihoon just chuckles, finding you utterly adorable.

Setting your glass down, you tell him, "I heat up some for you too, it's in the microwave." Thanking you, Jihoon gets his own dinner and sits down across you as you both eat in comfortable silence. It's funny how so much has changed in just a few hours—here you are, sitting face to face and eating so peacefully when this morning, neither of you could look at each other properly because of the tension between you.

After putting your dishes away, you and Jihoon settle on the sofa with one thought, we need to talk. "Let me start first, I want to clear the misunderstanding you have regarding spies." Jihoon says, looking at you for permission to tell you his side of things. When you nod, Jihoon smiles and continues, "I know what people say and I know that the government makes it seem like we're here to start a war but trust me when I say this, we are not. The last thing I want is a war, I lost my family to one when I was a child and I do what I do to ensure nobody else has to go through that." That sentence breaks your heart, making you feel guilty for accusing him of the very thing that caused him so much pain. "I was young, I was out playing with friends when it happened, both my parents were killed and I had nowhere to go. I became a soldier to survive and years later I met with the friends I thought I lost that day, only for them to be sent on a mission and die in war too. I decided then that I was going to stop this, I have to do whatever it takes to keep this peace because I don't want any more innocent people to die in the aftermath of political issues."

He pauses when he sees your expression and slowly reaches his hand out towards your cheek, it's only after he wipes the tear off your cheek that you realise you were crying. Hearing him talk about his past and his reasons made you think of your own, how all you ever wanted was to protect your family and the thought brought you to tears without realising. "I'm sorry," you hear him say and look up in confusion, because why is he apologising? "I'm sorry I deceived you, I'm sorry you had to find out like that and I'm sorry you suffered so much because of me." God, if he keeps saying things like that, you're only going to feel even more guilty. "It's not your fault, and besides, I deceived you too." Hearing that, something in Jihoon softens, and he just rubs the back of your hand in comfort.

"It's my turn to explain things, I was young when I started this line of work too, it was just Yuri and me so I had to make money to survive. The reason I took up this job and continue to do it is because I want to keep my brother safe, I want him happy and living a comfortable life. I've been doing my best to keep this peaceful life we've built so I hate it when I see someone who wants to destroy that. It's why I was so angry when I thought that you were one of those people." Jihoon understands everything now, the rage in you that wouldn't subside, the despair he saw in your eyes the night he tried to talk to you, it all makes sense now, and his heart aches for you.

"That day, at the airport, why were you there?" When he hears your question, he looks into your eyes so you can see that he's being sincere, "I was there to protect Maya. You were there for the same reason, weren't you?" You nod in answer, relieved that your assumptions were true. "To think I assumed you were part of Red Circus, I hated you at the time. I hated you for being a criminal, I hated you for wanting to cause harm to citizens and I hated that it was you." Your words hit him like a knife to the heart but he knows it cannot be helped, after all, he thought the same. "I thought the same, although I could not figure out why in the world you would be part of something like that." This time, you look at Jihoon with earnestly, "I don't anymore though, hate you, I mean." You can see the man physically melt at your words and it's so endearing.

"I never hated you, I could never, even when I thought you were a criminal, it's like my heart could not bear the thought of hating you, I was just angry at myself. I'm not telling you this because I blame you but because I want you to know that you have occupied so much of my life that I just cannot think straight. So please, don't blame yourself for feeling what you did, I would have hated me too if I were in your place. You married me because you didn't want people to think of you as a spy, so I cannot imagine how you felt when you found out I was one." Tears stream down your face as you take in what he said, even now, he's worried about how I feel. Jihoon stills when you suddenly wrap your arms around him, pulling him into a tight hug. He can feel your tears drenching his shirt and he just holds you, rubbing your back and patting your head, trying his best to comfort you.

After what feels like an hour, you move away enough to look at him, "So, what now? How do we proceed from here?" Jihoon's eyes suddenly widen and it scares you, "What's wrong?" He remembers now, The Garden, how are you going to deal with them? "How long did your organisation give you to get rid of me? When do you think they'll send other people to do it instead? Wait, would they come after you too if you don't do it?" Seeing him ramble, you interrupt him, "I didn't tell them." It's as if the world stopped the moment you uttered those words, Jihoon turns to you slowly, "What did you say?"

"I said, I didn't tell them."

"What? Why?"

"I couldn't bring myself to."

He knows what that means, he knows what you felt and that is enough to render him speechless.

"What about your people though? Won't they take action too?"

He hears you ask him, "I didn't tell them either."

You look at him surprised and before you can ask him why, he says, "I couldn't bring myself to either."

There's complete silence for a couple of seconds before you both chuckle, "I guess we were both worried for nothing." You shake your head, "So what? Do we just continue our lives like before? Keeping our identities secret?"

Jihoon shrugs, "Well, it's not going to be the same since we know what we do now and I think you too figured out that there'e a mole, but we can try. If you want to, of course."

You smile, "Yeah, I want to, I want to care for you and I want you to care for me."

You remember the last time you fought, "You know, in between, I was so terrified for Anya, I questioned myself if killing you was the only choice because I didn't want to cause her the pain of losing her father. When I think about it now though, I think that was just an excuse, I mean yes, I didn't want to do that to her but I also couldn't bear the thought of losing you. I just didn't want to admit that to myself at that point. I also questioned how she ended up in your care, but then I got home that day to see you looking at her so adoringly that I could tell you cared and that was enough for me."

"You have no idea how grateful I am that you gave me a chance, thank you for trusting me." Jihoon says with a wide smile on his face.

"And thank you for caring and staying." You reply with the same lovesick smile on your own face.

"It's not going to be easy though, if we end up crossing paths like this often, it will get harder to keep this from our teams." You're right, Jihoon gets serious again listening to your concerns.

"It certainly won't but we now that we know, at least we won't be caught off guard." His reasoning makes sense, and it calms you a little.

He calls your name, "I care for you, I want to stay by your side, and I love you. I think I have loved you for a while now, I just didn't realise it until those feelings were put to test like this. These past few days have been hell for me, I don't think I can see you go through such pain ever again so I'll try my best to protect our family. I need you to know this, not because I want you to love me too but because I want you to know that I will always be here, always."

You feel your heart race at his confession, never would you have imagined Jihoon to say something so profoundly emotional and yet, here you are. You think back to all the times you had the chance to end this, to leave him but you didn't, because I couldn't. Your life has always been chaos, you only ever had Yuri and although you love your brother to bits, you never realised how lonely you had been until Jihoon and Anya came into your life. You life is still chaos but there's something special to it now, your adorable daughter brings mischief and adoring husband brings calm that you will never let anyone take from you.

So, when you see Jihoon looking at your intertwined hands and shaking, you know that you love this man as much as he does you. "Jihoon, look at me," his head snaps up so quick you crack a small smile, "You're a fool, a naively annoying fool if you think, for even a second, that I'm not hopelessly in love with you too." Jihoon's eyes water and you squeeze his hand as if to say that you're right there. "I lived a life revolving around my job and when my brother grew up, I would come home to feeling empty because I had nothing to do. Now, I look forward to coming home to you cooking and Anya running around the living room because something that simple brings me immense joy that I cannot even begin to describe. The reason why I felt so betrayed and hurt was because I was already in too deep, you're my family and nothing will change that."

You just barely finished your sentence when you feel Jihoon's hand come up to the back of your head as he crashes his lips onto yours. You can feel the weight of his emotions as he kisses you so deeply yet holds you so gently as if afraid he would hurt you otherwise. You still for a moment before reciprocating his passion as you kiss him back, no longer holding back. You break apart, panting for air as you slowly open your eyes to find Jihoon already looking at you. "I love you." You lean in to gently kiss him, "I love you more."

"Anya loves Mama and Papa." You both startle as you see Anya standing at the door of her bedroom and smiling at you, you were so absorbed in your emotions that neither of you heard her come out. You squeak as you break away from Jihoon, feeling embarrassed that your daughter just saw you kissing and see from the corner of your eye that Jihoon has turned red too. "Anya, why are you up? You should be sleeping." Although he tries to sound stern, his voice gives him away and Anya starts laughing as she runs into your arms. "Anya is so happy that mama and papa are happy."

You're overwhelmed again and when you look at Jihoon, you know he feels the same. Anya jumps up on the couch when she suddenly glares at Jihoon. You see him panic, it's so obvious on his face, "Why is papa not hugging us?" He softens and comes to wrap his arms around both of you as you stay cuddling together until your daughter falls back asleep.

When you hear Anya snoring, Jihoon carefully takes her into his arms and tucks her into bed. You watch him as you think to yourself, he's always been Anya's safe space and he's become mine too, remembering the time you broke down in his arms even when you thought he was the enemy. It wasn't because you were exhausted or let your guard down but because you find sense in his presence. This man, your husband, is the partner you never knew you needed but are grateful to this universe to have brought him to you.

Jihoon turns around to see you staring at him with blatant adoration and something about the way you don't hold back anymore makes him weak in the knees. He walks to you, "Why are you staring at me like that?"

"Seeing you tuck our daughter to sleep just makes me feel so soft and warm, I couldn't help it."

Jihoon stutters for a second before he smiles at you teasingly, "Do you want me to tuck you in too?"

He watches your eyes go wide as you blush and he thinks to himself that you look absolutely breathtaking right now. He tells you as much, "I need to see you like this more often."

Your eyes narrow as you glare at him though he just finds your sulking adorable, he can see you pouting and it makes him chuckle. You cannot possibly let him have all the fun, "You'll need to try harder for that. How about starting with tucking me in like you suggested? Or even better, lay with me and hold me like you did earlier." You don't know what made you feel so bold but the way Jihoon blushes makes it all worth it.

You were joking when you asked him to hold you to sleep but you did not realise how whipped your husband is for you. Jihoon would do anything for you, and so you lay in his arms as he hums softly, content and warm. Sleep hits you slowly as you both fall asleep with the same thought in your heads, We're family, we always will be, and we'll do whatever it takes to protect our home, starting with getting rid of that mole.

[asahicore]

fast forward - pjs

pairing. jay x fem!reader

synopsis. After yet another romantic disappointment in the form of one Jake Sim, you go to the well you’ve always believed to grant wishes and ask for your one and true love to appear. That night, you go to sleep in your bed but wake up in a strange house. When you head downstairs, you find a man washing the dishes and telling you your favorite meal is waiting on the table for you. You’ve spent hours glaring at the back of that head, you could recognize it anywhere—it belongs to none other than Park Jongseong, your high school sworn enemy... and future husband, or so it seems.

genre+warnings. high school au, the type of e2l where they never really hated each other to begin with, they act like they're academic rivals even though they're not particularly academically gifted, jay has a thing about german the language, sunoo and kazuha besties, heeseung is a loser, jake and sunghoon are assholes sorry, ive liz is german, 02z get into a white-boy locker-room fight, attempts at banter etc, they're a little bit silly

word count. 26.6k

a/n. had the idea for this listening to fast forward by somi LAST SUMMER... and only wrote it this summer and only posting it now <3 i hope u guys enjoy reading this as much as i enjoyed writing it !!!!! jay is an absolute cutie here pls love him as much as i do.... as always let me know what u think and remember to vote for @zreamy president in the upcoming elections, shes the only one i trust to beta-read and hence to run a country <3 no it doesnt matter that shes scottish put this woman in the white house

There is only one thorn on the otherwise immaculate rose that is your life.

Every morning, you wake up feeling refreshed from eight hours of restful sleep. You go downstairs to the kitchen, a boiling cup of milky Earl Grey tea already waiting for you, and eat breakfast with your brother Jinwoo and father. Your mom dashes in, placing a kiss on your and Jinwoo’s foreheads, and on your dad’s lips, saying she’s late for work but will see you in the evening. “Have fun at school,” she bids every morning without fail. Your dad teaches Korean Literature at your school, so the three of you drive there together. He watches amusedly as you and Jinwoo bicker light-heartedly on the way there—even in the pits of his puberty, you and your brother get along like two peas in a pod. He still tells you about everything he learns at school and fills you in on the drama in his class, up-to-date with everything even though he pretends not to be interested.

You’re always one of the first to arrive at school, so you scroll through your feed or finish up some homework as you wait for your classmates to file in. Your friends circle your table and you chat about the last episode of the show you’ve been watching until the bell rings and they leave you for their assigned seat.

Class starts with your teacher handing out the math tests you took last week. “Jay and Y/N, great job, keep it up,” he says as he walks past you and the boy in front of you, and hands you your paper. Relief floods your body as you take in the bright red 82 in the top right-hand corner—not the best of the class, but enough for you to be satisfied. 

Good friends, good grades—nothing extraordinary, but it’s a life you dare say any high school senior would want.

There’s just that one thing. The thorn in your side that won’t stop poking.

You glare at it as it whips around in its seat and takes a peek at the grade on your paper before you get to snatch it away from view. It only gives you three seconds to rejoice over your grade. 

“Aw, Y/N. Good effort! Maybe you’ll do better next time!” Jongseong coos, holding up his test for you to see and glare even harder at. 85. Not that big of a difference, but it makes you want to punch the faux sympathetic pout off of his face. 

You’re about to spit something just as petty back at him, but someone whispers your name, and you turn your head in their direction. Beside you, Jake is smiling at you as he asks what grade you got. Your attention is swiftly taken off of Jongseong, whom you don’t even notice dramatically rolling his eyes, huffing in annoyance, and turning around. 

“82,” you whisper back, holding up your paper for Jake to see. His friendly, absurdly handsome smile makes your ears burn. “You?”

The corners of his lips fall down into a sad pout—the kind that makes your heart melt rather than gets on your nerves like someone else. “68,” he says. Leans in over the gap between your tables. Your heart jumps uncontrollably around your rib cage. “Do you wanna go over it together during the break? I think I need some help.”

One-on-one time with Jake Sim? You don’t need to be asked twice. You nod silently, almost mesmerized by Jake as his grin widens. He leans back in his chair. “Perfect. I’ll see you in the library, then.”

“Library, yeah,” you echo dumbly, but thankfully, your teacher tells you to all quiet down and starts the lesson. 

You’re antsy all throughout the rest of your morning classes and lunch break, so nervous that you barely manage to finish your yogurt. Of course, your friends, Sunoo and Kazuha, have a field day with this, and even you can’t help but laugh along as they jump between reassuring you that it’ll be fine, slapping your shoulders with excitement and making fun of your uncharacteristic quietness.

Jake arrives at the library five minutes after you, looking around the room before he finds you at the big round table in the back of the library. Your brain is too riddled with anxiety for you to make more small talk than “Hey,” “Hey,” “How was your lunch?” “Good, yours?” “Good.” And so you just jump straight into it.

You’ve only had a couple minutes of quiet explanation on your part and heavy nodding on Jake’s when Jay appears at the entrance of the library. He spots you and Jake immediately, and without any hesitation whatsoever heads towards you and sits down at your table, right across from the two of you.

“Hey, Jay,” Jake greets in a friendly manner, but Jay only responds with a nod of his head.

“Oh, don’t mind me,” he says when he notices you glaring. “I won’t bother you.”

As if he could be anything other than a bother, you think, but courteously keep to yourself. The childish rivalry you and Jongseong have got going on has no business spoiling a rare hour of alone time you get with Jake. As you go over the exercises he had the most trouble with on the test with you, your eyes often drift over to Jongseong as if to check on him—you’re cautious like he’s a spider in the corner of the room that might spring on you at any moment.

And indeed, the moment your gaze leaves him for more than a minute as you explain an intricate theorem to Jake, he’s out of sight, and panic shoots through you. Where the hell has he suddenly gone off to? you wonder, but not for long.

“There’s a much easier way to do this, really,” says a voice from behind you, and of course, it’s none other than Jongseong himself, quite literally butting his way into your tutoring session. Right between you and Jake, he bends over and rests his elbows on the table, taking Jake’s pencil from him and describing the theorem in a way that isn’t that much simpler. Your eyes shoot bullets into the side of his face while he, unbothered, explains this and that to Jake, who glances at you a couple of times but otherwise does not seem so perturbed by the sudden change of tutor. Either Jongseong doesn’t notice your glare or doesn’t care, because he doesn’t budge.

Just when they’re done with the exercise and you think you’ll get Jake to yourself again, another voice appears from behind, a much higher, girlier one. You notice the hand on Jake’s shoulder first, until slowly, your eyes drift to the face—you recognize Yunjin, head of the cheerleading squad, and she’s smiling at you, a smile that at once tries to cover and betrays her surprise at seeing you and Jake together. She doesn’t acknowledge you any more than that, gaze going back to “Jakey,” asking him if he wants to head to class together. You check the time—five minutes before the first bell rings. What do they need so much time getting to class for? It’s not like any room in this school is more than a three-minute walk away.

But Jake doesn’t even look back at you, just says “Sure!” with far too much enthusiasm for your taste as he packs his stuff. “Thanks, you two,” he says, looking at Jay first, then at you. You think his eyes linger on you for a second, but just like that, he’s gone, him and Yunjin walking side-by-side.

You watch them leave—they look good together, the cheerleading captain and the soccer team’s star. The white Vans she’s wearing have a bunch of red love hearts on them that look drawn on, and you think, Of course, Jake is the type to date someone cute, someone fun, someone who would draw on their shoes. Not someone like you, whose idea of a good Friday night is lighting up a scented candle and reading your favorite novel for the nth time. When they’ve left the library, you slump in your seat, crumpling the sheet of paper you had drawn a bunch of graphs and formulae on to make things clearer for Jake. Jay awkwardly clears his throat and finally returns to his seat, looking at you with his lips pressed in a tight line.

“Y/N?” he asks tentatively, and the sound is too much to bear, so you pack your things and head to your next class early, too. Your mind is racing with a million thoughts a minute—who is that girl to Jake, how come you’ve never seen them together before, how come he was so eager to leave with her, what was that smile she gave you about? In the fifty-five minutes of your biology class, which you uncharacteristically don’t pay any attention to, you’ve convinced yourself that they are crazy in love and that none of Jake’s actions or words towards you had ever meant anything, that you’d liked him so much you’d dreamt up the possibility of his liking you back, too.

Your next lesson starts—the smile Jake gives you as he walks into History is so bright, it dissipates any clouds hanging over your head. You do believe in male-female friendships, but despite yourself, you can’t help but think that anyone in a relationship wouldn’t give someone else such a perfect, warm smile. It just wouldn’t be right. And so, you reason with yourself that simply walking to a class together didn’t mean two people were a couple.

For an hour, you stare at the back of Jake’s head, and although you do eventually come to the more sensible conclusion that a smile may just be a smile, you also think it's unlikely that he and Yunjin would be a thing. If they were, why would they hide it? Jake is so nice, you wouldn’t be surprised if he’d exaggerated his enthusiasm upon seeing her. You’re sure you still have your chances. He even says see you tomorrow when class is over and slips out of the room to go to soccer practice. 

You feel like you’re walking on cloud 9 as you head from History to your next class—but when you remember that the next class is German, your mood drops significantly. Because the universe has it out for you, you and Jay are two of just ten students in your year taking German as your second foreign language option, everyone else having gone for either French, Japanese or Spanish. Your reasoning for it is that your dad has had an obsession with Germany since his year abroad in Bavaria, and twelve-year-old you had wanted to make him happy. Eighteen-year-old you regrets it slightly, but at least now your dad is ecstatic every time you tell him in German that the dinner he made was really tasty. Why Jongseong decided to take it beats you—he’s probably just insane.

But because you don’t really know anyone else in the class, and because it’s your last period of the day, you have no friends to run off with once the lesson is over, and he gets to bother you all the way from the classroom door to the staff parking lot. 

You’ve barely finished bidding Auf Wiedersehen to your teacher and Jongseong is already harassing you. “So, I didn’t take you as the type to be into guys like Jake Sim.” He says Jake’s name with such disdain, like he thinks he’s so much better than him, or like he hates him. It confuses you just as much as it annoys you; Jongseong didn’t seem to have a problem with Jake earlier at the library.

“And that’s your business, because…?”

You don’t look at Jongseong, who’s quickened his pace to keep up with yours, but you can feel the smirk on his face. It’s insufferable. “Oh, it’s none of my business. I’m just surprised, is all. You guys are so… I don’t know, different.”

You scoff. “If you think I’m not good enough for someone like Jake, I’d rather you tell me straight up, Jongseong. Or actually,” you say, looking up at him with a dry smile. “Keep it to yourself and leave me alone.”

He looks offended by your words, and it only adds to your already immense annoyance—he’s the one who just insulted you, so why is he looking at you with those stupid furrowed eyebrows?

“I never said that.”

“You didn’t need to.”

“No, Y/N.” He grabs your wrist and makes you face him, your stomach flipping in surprise that you quickly cover up. When he releases you, you cross your arms over your chest and wait for him to speak, keeping your eyes trained on a spot behind him. “I don’t think he’s too good for you.” 

This makes you look at him. You have to admit, your curiosity is piqued. Not like Jongseong to say anything even vaguely in your favor. “He’s just…” He sighs, searches for the right word. “Well, he’s just a bit of a dick, isn’t he?”

You freeze for a second. You’re so taken aback, your scoff comes out more as a laugh—Park Jongseong, king supreme of all dicks at this school, just called Jake Sim a dick?

“I’m sorry?”

He sighs again, as though you’re the unreasonable one. “He’s so… smug. A wannabe class clown and thinks he’s the shit because he’s on the soccer team. Have you seen the way he swaggers around school?”

You look at him with fake sympathy. “Jong, are you jealous?”

“Pfft. No way. I just think it’s a shame you keep going after these dudes who are not even worth your time, or whatever, so yeah…” he says, voice trailing off and looking down at his feet as he speaks. Hands in pockets and blank expression on his face, you can tell he’s trying to look cool, but the way he’s avoiding your gaze is a dead give-away. Even his ears have turned red. Jongseong is having one of those shy moments he has when he’s trying to be nice to you. Clearly, a simple act of kindness towards you is so hard for him that it radically changes the way he behaves. 

Like when you were fifteen and you just couldn’t get this stupid art project right, so he stayed behind for three hours after school with you, helping you draw and paint and cut and glue. 

Like when you were sixteen and your grandma just passed away, making you miss a week of school, and without a word, barely looking at you, he gave you a stack of handwritten notes of all the lessons you missed. To this day, you’re not sure how he did it—you weren’t in the same class that year.

Like when you were seventeen and Park Sunghoon rejected you in the middle of a crowded hallway. You’d run off to the girls’ bathroom to cry it out, but Jongseong quickly found you and spent the entire period cursing Sunghoon out instead of being in English, like you were both meant to be. He was uncharacteristically nice to you for a few days after that, never starting an argument for no reason or interrupting you when you spoke. When you snapped at him, telling him it only made you feel worse that he treated you differently, he smiled and told you how stupid you looked when you cried. It made you laugh more than it should’ve.

Like now, when he suddenly decides that Jake Sim is also a wrong choice for you. “Him and Sunghoon are good friends, you know that?” he says. “Birds of a feather, and all…”

So you know that Jongseong is not all bad. He has his redeeming qualities. He can even be nice sometimes, when he so wishes. But those moments are so few and far between that when he returns to his usual insufferable self, you wonder if you’d dreamt it all up. Which is why you can’t quite take him seriously right now. You roll your eyes and resume walking towards the parking lot, but of course, he continues to follow you. “Why do you even care who I go after?”

“I don’t-”

“You clearly do, otherwise you wouldn’t be bothering me like this.”

“Well, if all your attention is taken up by that douche, who am I going to go up against?”

“That’s what you’re worried about? That I stop arguing with you?” you say, disbelief clear in your voice.

“I’m offended, Y/N,” he starts, his sarcastic tone making you roll your eyes again. “That our little rivalry matters so little to you.”

“We’re not even the top students of our class, for God’s sake, we’re not fighting over anything.”

“I’ve actually got the best grades in German, thanks very much.”

“Whatever. I wouldn’t call it a rivalry so much as a mutual dislike of each other, because one of us woke up one day and decided to start going against everything the other said.”

“At least you’re self-aware.”

The exit to the parking lot now appears to you like the gates of heaven. You don’t even bother replying to him, thinking that he’ll just leave you alone now that you’re here. But as you step outside, he places himself in front of you and blocks your path, arms splayed out, eyes wide like he’s just seen a ghost.

“What are you-”

“Have you done the German homework for tomorrow?”

The sudden change of subject gives you whiplash. “What? No, Miss Schumacher assigned it just now-”

“Well, given your tendency for getting the word order all wrong, I can already tell you you’re not gonna have fun with it-”

You pinch the nose of your bridge, trying to calm yourself down before you lose what’s remaining of your mind. “Jongseong, were you actually dropped on the head as a baby? Go away. My dad’s gonna be here any second.” You try to walk around him, but he steps in front of you again. You peer up at him, undisguised annoyance in your eyes. Where are your dad and brother when you need them?

“I’m just saying, you’ll probably need help with it-”

“I won’t. And if I do, I’ll just use Google. Now get out of my way,” you say, and manage to duck under one of his arms.

Then you see it.

Well, actually, it takes you a second to understand what it is you’re seeing. At first, you think it’s one of those horny couples thinking they’re being really discreet by going to the staff parking lot to make out, when in reality they could be caught by any one at any time. They’re just far enough that when you do a double take, you realize that you do know the back of that head; that fluffy mop of brown hair. You sit behind it every History period, next to it every Maths and English period.

The girl is up against the wall, and you can’t really see her, what with her and Jake’s tongues being down each other’s throat and his body blocking her from your view, his hands on her hips, her arms around his shoulders. All the works. She’s wearing a cheerleader uniform, so she could be any of twenty girls—but you’re pretty sure only one of them wears a pair of white Vans with red love hearts on them.

Your heart sinks to your stomach.

You’re frozen in place when a whistle rings in the distance, and Jake and Yunjin separate, giggling to each other as they jog to wherever the sound came from. The sports field, probably. It’s Monday; the cheerleaders and the soccer team share the field for their practice. 

Jake spots you and Jongseong staring at them. He waves quickly, awkwardly at you, still smiling even when surprise coats his features. Yunjin tugs on his hand and just like that, they’re gone. 

“Y/N-” 

Jay’s voice fades in the background. You want to get away from this situation as quickly as possible—it’s embarrassing enough seeing the guy you like and thought you had a chance with kissing a girl that is arguably much more on his level than you are, but having Jongseong of all people not only witness it, but try to protect you from it, God knows why, makes it impossibly mortifying. You speed-walk to your dad’s car, huffing as you plop in your seat and slamming the door behind you. Your brother is already sitting in the passenger seat, and you don’t even argue with him about it. When you only give single-word replies to his questions, he shrugs and returns to playing Clash of Clans on his phone. 

The moment you get home, you fish a five cent coin from your purse, change into mud boots and grab your dog’s leash. Desperate times call for desperate measures.

After half-an-hour of trudging through leaves and soft ground, muddy from many a rainy November night, you and Pablo, your massive, fluffy airhead of a German Shepherd, find yourselves at the well in the middle of the forest. Ever since you were little, you have attributed magic powers to the well—not that anyone told you any sort of myth about it, but you remember reading a story about a magic well and decided that your well would be magical, too. You’ve never wanted to abuse its powers, so you’ve used your wishes conscientiously: things like getting a certain present at Christmas (when you were nine and the most important thing ever was getting the Monster High doll you wanted) or not stuttering during your presentation in class (when you really didn’t want to embarrass yourself in front of Park Sunghoon and his cool friends). Every wish you’ve made has come true. Whenever a faint voice of reason tells you that it’s because you always ask for very realistic things, you squash it and continue to believe in the well.

Because today, you’re not asking for something realistic. 

Today, you’re asking the well to show you the way to love.

You’ve grown up watching The Notebook and Pride & Prejudice. Your parents are high school sweethearts who are still, twenty-five years later, happily married. You devour romance novels and binge-watch Asian dramas, the more unrealistic and romantic, the better. You are convinced that soulmates exist, that love always finds a way, that it is there for anyone to see. That it can take form in a childhood friend, an archnemesis, a total stranger.  

But for some reason, it hasn’t shown itself to you yet, no matter how valiantly you’ve looked. 

You’re absolutely sick and tired of it. It is Jake kissing another girl, it’s Sunghoon leading you on for months and then rejecting you in front of everyone, it’s your ex-boyfriend-who-shall-not-be-named, your first love and first heartbreak, dumping you after a year and getting with the girl he had told you not to worry about a week later. At a party a few months later, he’d said, word for word, “At least I didn’t cheat on you.”

Coin lodged between your hands, you interlace your fingers and press your palms closely together, eyes screwed shut in desperation. “Hey,” you start simply, because you and the well are good friends. “It’s been a while since I’ve asked for anything, so I hope you can indulge me… This is gonna sound so cliché, but I’m really tired of getting fucked over by boys — excuse my French — and I just wanna meet the person who’s right for me, you know? Mom’s always reminding me that I’m only eighteen, and that I’ve got plenty of time to meet someone, but I just feel like if I don’t find someone now, I never will. And if I get fucked over again — sorry — I’ll just lose hope and write off men for the rest of my life. So help a girl out, will you? I’ll leave it to you how you wanna go about it, but… just show me that there’s someone out there. Please.”

When you open your eyes, you need a few seconds to adjust to the darkness. You toss the coin in the well. It doesn’t make a sound as it hits the bottom, as if it has been absorbed within the old brick walls. You know better than to question it—the well works in mysterious ways.

You’re quiet that entire evening, making up an excuse of a tiring day at school when your parents ask. Really, you’re just thinking about your wish, whether it’ll work, what might happen. You half-ass your homework—Jay was right, the German exercises throw you into a bout of despair, so you quickly close your textbook and bury yourself in your sheets, falling asleep hours earlier than you usually would.

--

For some reason, the first thing you notice when you wake up is that it’s still dark outside. It must be the middle of the night, you think. It takes you a few seconds to realize that you’re in a completely strange room.

Instead of your floral-patterned sheets, you find yourself covered by delicate silk sheets that your parents would never agree to buy you, no matter how adamantly you argued for the benefits of silk for your skin. If skincare experts online had convinced you of one thing, it was that silk would do wonders for your obstinate acne. You slide out of bed and find a pair of slippers on the floor, as if waiting for you. Even the pajamas you’re wearing are fancier, more grown up than the ones you have at home, a set composed of a pinstriped button-up and shorts. You look around, for some reason more surprised and curious than panicked. You could’ve been kidnapped, for all you know, but all you care about right now is this room. Rather than the pink and white walls that have surrounded you since childhood, covered with pictures of you and your friends, postcards of artwork bought at museums, and posters of your favorite movies, the walls here are beige and mostly bare, except for a painting of Japanese cherry blossoms above the bed and a family portrait on the opposite wall, above a wooden chest of drawers. 

The family portrait. A woman, a man, and what you can only assume are their children. They look like twins—two girls. Can’t be older than three years old. Out of the four faces, you recognize two of them. You recognize them far too well. One of them is yours, of course. You look slightly older, by a decade, maybe? You’re glad to know that you won’t fall off after twenty-five, like much of social media has led you to believe. 

The other face you recognize immediately, too, but it takes you a few seconds to truly believe it.

It belongs to none other than Park Jongseong.

A dry chuckle falls from your throat, as if someone has just made a very insulting joke at your expense and you have to pretend you find it funny. The well has a very odd sense of humor, you think. It’s probably just a prank, a magic-induced nightmare before the real thing. Except this already feels real, disorientingly so. The fabric on your skin, the picture, the room. It all feels too real, more tangible than any dream you’ve ever had.

You take a step closer towards the picture, as if looking at it harder will make Jongseong’s face fade into that of another man, the real man that will become your husband and father of your children. But alas, his features remain the same, frozen in time by the photographer’s camera. He, too, looks older—and not only does he not fall off after twenty-five, he becomes all the more handsome for it.

Is this how you find out that Jongseong was handsome all along? You stare at it until the familiar face becomes practically unrecognizable, like repeating a word so much it stops feeling like one. The straight nose, the almond-shaped eyes that seem to have softened overtime, whereas his jaw has remained as sharp as ever. Have his eyebrows always framed his face so perfectly? Has that dimple always been there? 

You look around again, and the bright numbers on the bedside alarm clock catches your attention. They read 9:57 p.m., but it’s the date that makes your stomach sink—today is still the 18th of November, but ten years later. You stare at the clock, at the unfamiliar number, a date so far into the future you can’t wrap your head around it. You could barely envision life after high school.

Downstairs, the sudden clang of pots and the sound of a tap running manage to rip your gaze away from the alarm clock. An overwhelming curiosity tells you to follow the noise. This is all a dream, so there are no consequences if you explore a bit more, right? 

You’ve never been in this house before, and you have no idea where your feet are taking you until you find yourself in the kitchen. It’s the only lit room in the house, and you’re creepily standing in the dark under a wide archway that connects the kitchen to what looks like the dining room. A man has his back to you, washing dishes and putting them out to dry on a rack next to the sink. He’s wearing a white cotton sweater, one that you feel you recognise without ever having seen before, and a brown apron is tied around his neck and waist. 

The first thing you think to yourself is Oh, his haircut hasn’t changed. In almost every class you share with him, Jongseong has made it a point to sit either next to you or right in front of you, so you’ve spent a lot of time glaring at the back of his head. You wouldn’t be surprised if he started developing two eye-shaped bald spots there. His hair is still short and spiky at the back and on the sides, longer on the top. When he lets it grow too long, it sometimes covers his eyes, and he obnoxiously keeps having to push it back like a heartthrob in an 80s movie. 

Something like a memory flashes through your mind, blurry like those images you aren’t sure came from a dream or from real life. Your surroundings are unclear, but Jay’s face is nestled against your neck, your hand in his hair. You can feel the softness of the close shave against your palm as clearly as if you were touching it right now. You ask him why he’s always kept it that way, and he replies that it’s simple to maintain. Then in classic Jay fashion, he adds, “And it makes me look awesome.”

Another memory, a clearer one, this time—this definitely happened. It’s halfway through sophomore year, a random Tuesday, and Jay walks in, holding his head high and looking smugly around himself. The bastard got a new haircut. Long gone, his messy, unorganized flop of black hair that looked like it didn’t know what it was doing; hello, sleek undercut. It accentuates all of his best features, which is terrible news for you. You had never even thought of Jongseong as someone having “best” features, but now they’re being thrown in your face. His nose. His jawline. His smile.

It ruins your day, and a few after that. You can’t quite put it into words when your friends ask what’s wrong at lunch—or rather, you don’t wanna face the humiliation of uttering something along the lines of “Park Jongseong looks good with his new haircut, and it’s bothering me.”

Here, it’s a familiar sight in an unfamiliar environment, the back of his head. Without really thinking, you take a step forward. Jongseong starts at the sound of your slippers against the marble floor tiles, but his face relaxes into a smile when he sees you.

“Oh, it’s just you, honey. I thought you were sleeping.”

Just you. As if the two of you being in the same kitchen is normal. You guess it must be, to this version of Jongseong. To him, you’re not the annoying girl he strives to best in every class—you’re honey. 

“I was,” you say, walking around the kitchen island to join him by the sink. Something in you needs to look at him, really look at him, maybe pinch yourself or pinch him to be sure you’re not going crazy. Maybe you caught wafts of some ancient algae that lives in the well and made you hallucinate?

“I left a plate out for you in case you woke up. Made your favorite. The girls weren’t so happy, seeing as it’s the third time this month,” he says with the special kind of smile reserved for parents talking about their children. The girls. A mention so casual, so obvious, your heart hurts. “But I think I got it really right this time,” he continues. “Honestly, it might even be better than the original.”

He goes back to washing the dishes and you watch the sponge in his hands as it scrubs away tomato sauce, the soap as it runs from the plates into the sink. A knot forms in your stomach, something like a deep sadness that overwhelms you all of a sudden, and tears form in your eyes, threatening to fall any second.

When you haven’t budged in almost a minute, Jongseong starts to say, in an intimate, almost worried voice, “Aren’t you going to eat, honey?” but when he sees your wet eyes, the tremble in your lower lip, he shuts the water immediately and dries his hands. With his thumbs, he wipes away the tears that have started falling from your eyes. “What’s wrong?” he whispers.

You can’t reconcile the man in front of you with the image you have of the boy that torments you in every class you share. You can’t reconcile the genuine concern in his voice with the snarky tone you’re met with every day. And yet, they respond to the same name, their features are identical, if not for the years that separate them, the stress of adulthood on one and the carefreeness of youth on the other. 

Your body reacts automatically to the soft touch—never in a million years would you let the Jongseong you know come near you like this, but here, nothing feels more natural than his hands on your face, your shoulders, your hair, as though they’re just as much his as they are yours. You realize the emotion in your stomach is not sadness—tears fall, but you’re not sad. You’ve never felt as home as you do now, and if one thing romantic novels have taught you, is that this must be love.

You look up at the man in front of you, eyebrows furrowed as you search his face for confirmation or some sort of an answer. There’s a tremble in your voice when you speak next. “I just… I think I love you, Jongseong.”

He chuckles. “Well, we established that a while ago, didn’t we? What with getting married and having kids. But I’m glad you still feel that way.”

The mention of marriage and children doesn’t faze you nearly as much as it should. You’ve only got one thing on your mind. “Do you love me too?”

You expect him to laugh—not out of cruelty, but because the answer is so obvious, it almost doesn’t deserve to be answered seriously. Like when your brother asks if he can have one more of your cookies and you tell him you’ll cut his hand off. Sometimes you think it’s easier to be sarcastic than be unabashedly nice to someone. Especially with Jongseong, whom you don’t expect kindness or patience from, you wait for him to stay something like, “No, that’s why I’ve stayed with you these eight years.” 

So when instead, he says, “More than anything on this Earth,” voice low and vulnerable, tears flow even harder. 

“Sorry, it’s probably just my period,” you say through sobs, although you have no idea where in her menstrual cycle this version of you is.

Jongseong chuckles again, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “You do get emotional around this time.” And you cry more, because you can’t believe someone other than your mother knows you so well that they know what your period symptoms are.

Rubbing soothing circles against your back and whispering soft words in your ear, he holds you for as long as you need to calm down. When you finally do, he tells you to go sit on the couch, that he’ll finish up the dishes then heat and bring your food for you. You think you’ve got your emotions under control, but the moment you bite the pasta, cooked to perfection with the most succulent tomato sauce you’ve ever had, sweet with a little kick of spice and a generous amount of parmesan cheese, tears start to fall again as if you had an endless stock of water behind your eyes.

“This is so good,” you mumble.

Jongseong smiles, his gaze full of affection miraculously directed at you as he tucks away strands of your hair so they don’t get in your eyes or in your food. “I’m glad, baby.”

You react to the nickname viscerally, words tumbling out of your mouth before you can even understand them. “You haven’t called me that in ages.” You widen your eyes at yourself, wondering how this was something you even knew. But when you look at Jongseong, all he does is smile more.

“You’re right, I haven’t. I guess I was reminded of college. You cried all the time back then. As much as it pained me, I can’t say I wasn’t happy to be the one you always came to for comfort.”

You haven’t been through college yet, so you should be unable to tell whether this truly happened or not—and yet, the memories of the body you’re in all confirm what Jongseong just said. But it feels impossible—going to university with him, letting yourself be vulnerable enough with him to not only cry in front of him but let him comfort you. Whatever could have happened in the years between the present you know and your time at university for things to change so drastically?

But before you can make sense of any of it, Jongseong speaks again. “Why? Do you like it when I call you baby?”

Your stomach flips. Heat rises to your face at his words, the tone with which he said them, the things he was alluding to—you know that having children means you’d popped your cherry at some point, that you’d had sex with Jongseong specifically, but to be confronted with the fact was something else. 

“Maybe,” you mumble, and proceed to stuff your mouth with pasta so that you can’t incriminate yourself further.

He puts on a recent movie, something you should arguably be paying attention to, since you’re literally getting a glimpse into the future of cinema—you could steal the idea, go back to your present and sell it for an outrageous price.

But Jongseong’s presence next to you makes it impossible to concentrate on anything but him. The warmth emanating from him, the scent of his perfume envelop you, give you a sense of just how real this all is—despite how comfortable being with him like this feels, you’re still not convinced you’re not just in an unsettlingly vivid dream. You take one of his hands in yours, examining each finger, turning his hand over, tracing the lines of his palm, smoothing your thumb over his nails—it’s an undeniably human hand. Warm against yours, slightly rough. He’s started using hand cream, you think, all these winters when his dry hands would crack because of the cold coming up to your mind, teenage Jongseong’s hard refusal to wear any sort of cream to protect himself. Memories bob up to the surface: fixing his cracked hands up with a plaster, your tear falling on his hand, the both of you in your school uniforms in what looks like the school infirmary; awkwardly gifting him some hand cream the Christmas of that year, not looking at him as you hand him the small package. Saying, “It’s a waste of plasters for something that could be fixed so easily.” Him treating you to warm, spicy tteokbokki because he felt bad for not having gotten you anything, even though this was the first time either of you had ever given the other one a present.

As your fingers trail up from his hand to his forearm, his shoulder, his jawline, more memories flood your mind. Clumsy first kisses; squabbles of the kind you were already used to; lazy mornings in bed; hours spent in your kitchen or his, before you shared one, cooking dinner together; the way you felt when he proposed, a feeling so intense remembering it is almost unbearable now. Your eyes and fingers examine his face in detail—even though you’ve seen him almost every day since the start of high school, this feels like the first time you really perceive him. The delicate bow of his lips, the strong nose, the softness in his eyes when he looks at you. Your heart beats uncontrollably as you hold each other’s gazes, but you feel inexplicably relaxed at the same time, two nearly opposing realities fighting each other inside of you—one in which you and Jongseong regarding each other with such affection is unthinkable, the other in which it is daily routine.

“Movie not to your taste?” he asks, voice gentle, breaking you out of your stupor.

“Hm?”

He nods towards the TV screen. “I see you’re not paying much attention.”

“No. I have… things on my mind.”

He raises an eyebrow, a smirk slowly growing on his lips. “Yeah?” You think your heart might actually flatline when he brings you in closer to his chest, and, face buried in your hair, says, “You know, I’ve been thinking that the twins might want a younger sibling to play with soon enough…”

You’re not sure whether he actually wants a third child or if this is weird dirty talk that apparently turns parents on—all you know is that this is something future you will deal with, not high school senior you. 

You whip up your head at him, eyes wide in panic that he mirrors immediately. “Or—or not. Later. Later?” You nod fervently, and the worry dissipates from his handsome features. “Okay, later,” he whispers, kissing the top of your head before returning his attention to the movie. 

A couple hours later, you’re laying in bed in the dark together—you can tell Jongseong is falling asleep by the regularity of his breathing and his stillness, but you’re wide awake. You don’t know how you’ve managed to spend all this time with him, acting like the wife he knows and loves, without imploding. But suddenly, the idea of waking up in your childhood bed, surrounded by your pink-and-white walls, going downstairs to be greeted by your brother and parents, sends a wave of panic through you. You haven’t felt this comfortable in a long time—Jongseong’s arm draped over your waist, the fact that you could reach over and feel his skin against your palm if you wanted. You don’t want to go back to a time where you hate him. In fact, you don’t know if you could hate him after this.

“Jongseong?” you say softly, the syllables unfamiliar on your tongue, even though the name rings brusquely through your head for the best part of every day.

It takes a few seconds, but he reacts eventually. “Hm? Did you just call me Jongseong?” he murmurs sleepily, as if you’d just called him Robert or Christopher and not the name his own parents gave him.

“Yeah.”

He chuckles. “Now that’s something you haven’t called me in ages. Makes me feel like you’re mad at me,” he says, turning over and burying his face in the crook of your neck. His hair tickles your skin, and one of your hands comes up reflexively to feel the softness of his close shave.

“...Jong?” you try.

“That’s a step up, but not quite what I want,” he mumbles.

You’re silent for a few moments. “Honey,” you say tentatively, voice a mere whisper.

“That’s better.” You can hear the smile in his voice.

“Will you be here in the morning?”

“Mh-hm. It’s Saturday tomorrow.”

“No,” you say, feeling out of breath. “I mean, will you be here?”

You’re aware you’re not making much sense—and yet, Jongseong needs no further explanation. “Of course, baby,” he starts, voice soothing. “I’ll be here tomorrow, and the day after that, and every day afterwards. ‘Til death do us part, remember?”

You let out a shaky breath. “Okay.”

“I love you, Y/N.”

“I love you, too,” you find yourself saying, and, more importantly, meaning. It’s the last thing either of you says before falling asleep.

--

Tears are streaming down your face when you wake up the next day. When you open your eyes, pink and white obnoxiously stare back at you. The clock reads 7:12, just three minutes before your alarm goes off, and unfortunately for high school you, the night hasn’t given in to Saturday morning—it’s Tuesday, and you have to go to school and act as if you hadn’t just had the weirdest, most realistic dream of your life. You don’t even get a weekend to shake this weird feeling in your stomach off, you’re going to have to face Park Jongseong full force. At least, this will become your friends’ favorite bit for the foreseeable future.

They’re already sitting in the classroom when you get there, animatedly chatting to each other. You plop down in your seat in front of them, and when they see the sullen look on your face, ask you what’s wrong.

“Did you wake up during the night to play Hay Day again?” Kazuha asks, eyebrows knotted with genuine worry.

“I’m not that person anymore,” you reply. “No, I just had a really weird dream. More like a nightmare, really. It feels like I didn’t get any sleep.”

“What was it about?” Sunoo asks.

Your eyes dart back-and-forth between the two of them as you brace yourself for their reactions. Not wanting anyone else to overhear, you lean in conspiratorially. They mirror you. “I was married to Park Jongseong,” you whisper. As expected, they burst into laughter immediately, and you lean back in your seat, crossing your arms in annoyance. “It’s not funny.”

“It’s very funny,” Kazuha retorts. “It’s ironic, even, considering how much you hate the guy.”

“Exactly!”

“But I guess even you know how ridiculous it is that you hate him, if your brain is able to imagine yourself being married to him,” Sunoo adds, shrugging. “It’s a good reminder that you’re literally the only person in this school with a vendetta against him.”

Kazuha nods energetically. “He picked up a pen for me, once. He’s a nice guy.”

You look around the room in panic. “Keep it down, will you?” you hush, despite the fact that no one is paying any attention to the three of you. You sigh, resolving yourself to telling them the entire truth. “But guys, I’m scared. I think this might be a sign.”

Their eyebrows perk up. “A sign that your hatred of him has actually been disguising a crush this entire time?” Sunoo asks, feigning innocence.

“No—what? Where did you get that idea?”

“Nowhere. Go on.”

“Whatever. Come here,” you say, gesturing for them to huddle again. “It’s the well.”

“Oh my God, Y/N, you’ve actually lost it,” Kazuha says, fascinated by your stupidity.

“I’m not going to tolerate any well slander, this is serious. I just wanted it to reassure me that there was someone out there for me. And then I had that stupid dream.”

Kazuha and Sunoo exchange a look like they’re parents trying to announce to their daughter that she’s adopted. “Y/N…” Sunoo starts.

“This is crazy. Like, love philters and writing Park Sunghoon’s name a hundred times are one thing, this is…”

“Crazy,” Sunoo said, nodding along. “This is crazy. There’s no other word for it. Your eighteen years of boyfriendlessness have finally caught up to you.”

“You guys don’t get it. What about that time I asked it to give me a good grade on our Literature exam and I literally came first out of our class? Or when I told it I missed Jung Hae-in and his military discharge announcement came the next day?” you say, aware that the look in your eyes is only confirming their suspicions—but you need someone to believe you, or at the very least understand you.

“One, you’re a good student. Two, that was pure coincidence,” Sunoo explains.

“But girl, if you want to marry Jay, that’s fine. You’ve got our blessing,” Kazuha says, shrugging.

“Yeah. He picked up her pen, once,” Sunoo adds.

“And you know, you guys clearly have some sort of chemistry.”

You scoff. “If you think that him refuting my every word and finding every opportunity to make fun of me, then yeah, I guess you could say we have chemistry.”

“You guys have banter,” Kazuha says as if it’s obvious.

“Oh, please. Banter is cute. I want to kill him every time he opens his mouth.”

Your friends both roll their eyes. “While I understand that most men are better off staying quiet—no offense, Sunoo—”

“None taken.”

“You have to admit Jay is not nearly as insufferable as you make him out to be,” Kazuha says.

“Are you kidding me? He’s always acting like a child. Rubbing it in my face when he gets a better grade, trying to start arguments for no reason, sucking up to teachers, stealing my erasers, for God’s sake, you’d think he’s twelve. I know that I’m not on the majority's side, but I seriously cannot understand how other people tolerate him at all.”

Sunoo sighs. “Because he’s nice to everyone. He never hesitates to help people, he’s even funny, sometimes, and—well, look at him.” He nods his head towards the door, and when you turn around, Jongseong is indeed walking in the classroom. “He’s not a bad-looking boy.”

“Gosh, Sunoo, maybe you should marry him,” Kazuha says, but since you laid your eyes on Jongseong, you’ve stopped listening.

You feel weird. You look at him, and you feel weird. It’s the same feeling you had during your sleep last night, a feeling that paralyzes you from head to toe, that starts in your stomach and spreads to your entire body, weighs you down in your chair. 

“Hey, guys,” he greets simply, and his voice wraps itself around your heart and squeezes. You can’t do anything but watch him as he takes his seat next to you, plopping his bag on the table and taking his notebook out. He looks at you, watches you watching him, then swivels around in his chair.

“What’s wrong with her?” he asks your friends.

“She had a dream that she m—”

“Do not finish that sentence, Zuha, if you want to live to see another day.”

“Yes, ma’am,” she replies, a satisfied little smile on her lips.

Despite yourself, you’re still staring at Jongseong, trying to figure out what the hell these emotions are that are raging up a storm inside of you. Instead of ignoring you, he turns to face you, resting his elbow on the table and his chin in his palm as he stares back at you, smirking. “What’s up, Y/N? Has it finally dawned on you how devastatingly handsome I am?” he asks, and you frown, because he’s not so far off from the truth.

“Please, kids, it’s 9 a.m., don’t flirt right in front of us,” Sunoo says, despair in his voice.

“She’s the one who started it,” Jongseong replies, still looking at you, his smirk growing.

For some reason, this startles you out of your trance, and you look away from him like you’ve been burned, preoccupying yourself instead with your notes for this class. “In your dreams, Jongseong,” you mumble.

“More like in yours,” Kazuha says, her and Sunoo giggling.

“Zuha!” you exclaim. Jongseong looks at you with raised eyebrows, and with his infuriating capacity to put two and two together, you’re scared he’s figured out what she meant, but you’re literally saved by your teacher who walks in at that moment and starts the class. 

The second the bell rings to signify the end of the class, you hurriedly pack your things and mutter an excuse about needing the bathroom, trying to get as far away as possible from the boy whose all-too familiar scent had messed with your thoughts all class, whose every brush of his arm against yours had made your heart race uncontrollably.

--

It hadn’t just been a dream. It couldn’t have been.

Just like there was no doubt the 28-year-old Jongseong from last night had once been the annoying boy you knew, the 18-year-old Jongseong was sure to one day become the husband of your dreams. A devoted partner and father, his presence comforting, his good looks indeed devastating, unwavering.

There was no mistake to be made. The well had worked its magic.

Whether you liked it or not, you would end up marrying Park Jongseong. You, of all people; him, of all people.

Was there already something of your future husband in the boy that snickered when you mixed up your genders in German class, or would he one day spring out of nowhere? Apparently, you’d be around to find out.

But for now, how to act around him? It felt unfair that you were privy to this knowledge of your shared future while he was ignorant of it. Blissfully, perhaps. You couldn’t imagine that he would rejoice much at this news.

Your mind is somewhere else the entire day. At lunch, your other friends try to get the thing that’s obviously bothering you out of you, but Kazuha and Sunoo are there to tell them not to bother. You’d needed to tell someone about it, but you don’t want the entire school to know about your marital premonitions. The two knuckleheads you call your best friends are already doing a good enough job teasing you about it—”There’s your husband, Y/N,” when Jongseong walks past; “So have you thought of baby names? Kayleigh and Mackayleigh, perhaps?” unsolicited, during Physics. You turn around to check on the culprit — because yes, Jongseong is the culprit here, you, a mere a victim — and when he notices you staring, nods at you as if to say, What’s your problem?, trying to look threatening in his white lab coat that’s three sizes too big and protective goggles.

It doesn’t help that Jongseong has a way of hovering around you. Even in classes in which your teachers assigned the seats for you, he’s never far from your seat. The two of you sit next to each other in German, your last class every Monday, Tuesday and Thursday. But today, the seat next to you is empty—what would’ve been a cause for celebration just yesterday is now a source of worry. You’d seen him just two hours ago in your previous class together, so where the hell was he now? He’s lucky that your teacher is an old German lady who always spends the first ten minutes of the lesson rambling about something in dialectal German no one understands but nods along to anyway. When he walks into the room, five minutes late, she just says, “Hallo, Jay,” and continues with her story. It’s about her first school trip to Berlin when she was fifteen and the country was still divided. You think.

He winks at you when he takes his seat and you roll your eyes. You pretend to listen to your teacher for thirty seconds, then hit him gently with your elbow. “Where were you?” you ask without looking at him.

He doesn’t answer immediately, probably surprised you initiated a non-hostile conversation with him for once. “I was just hanging out with my friends, something you clearly wouldn’t understand.”

And your friends wondered why you hated him?

“Still having imaginary friends at eighteen is really concerning, Jongseong. You should see someone about it.”

When you glance at him, he’s already looking right at you, smiling. You’ve never felt so conscious of your side profile. 

“Why? Were you worried?” he whispers, kicking your foot with his.

You look at him, horrified—where the hell had he gotten that idea? How was he so spot-on? You scoff, trying to diffuse the tension inside yourself. “No.”

He kicks your foot again. “I was five minutes late and you started to worry?”

“No. Stop.”

“I didn’t know you cared about me so much, Y/N.”

This time, you give him a harsh look, one that lets him know you really mean your words—“Stop it.” Finally, he relents, getting the assigned homework out now that the teacher has actually started the lesson. Your face softens—he looks hurt. Guilt tugs at your heartstrings.

Despite what you might say, you like the way things are with Jongseong. If some people always need to be crushing on someone, you always need to have someone you perceive as an enemy—it was Na Jaemin in elementary school, because he’d once made fun of your incapability to climb the monkey bars; Shin Ryujin, in middle school, for kissing your crush during a game of spin-the-bottle at your own birthday party; Park Jongseong, since freshman year, for simply existing. Your reasons for disliking him are trivial, you’ll admit. You weren’t sure you could even place a finger on what had first triggered your disdain towards him—one too many awful jokes, one too many times raising his hand in class and rattling off a perfect answer, then looking around himself proudly, one too many roars of laughter heard throughout the entire cafeteria. The fact that no one else seemed to be bothered by him only added to your aggravation. He just got on your nerves, and it seemed that you openly showing your dislike of him — him, who was so used to being loved by everyone around him, pampered by his family, praised by his teachers, popular among his peers — was enough to make him dislike you, too. So, after a few failed attempts at trying to be your friend, because Jongseong was unable to not be friends with everyone he met, he didn’t simply give up. 

If he couldn’t be your friend, then fine, he’d be your enemy.

At least, that’s how it appears to you, still now. It’s never gone dangerously far, but if there’s an opening to tease you or get on your nerves, he’ll do it. Not passing you the ball during soccer, or conversely, only aiming for you during dodgeball, not sharing his textbook with you when you forgot it unless you beg, loudly clearing his throat when you speak in class. And, lately, pouring salt on your wounds in the form of reminding you how impossible you and Jake Sim are. His motto must be if there’s a will, there’s a way. And when it comes to making your life hell, his will is infinite.

Everything is upside-down now. The question of how your relationship can possibly go from this to that obsesses you. It feels like you’re more capable of sharing a funeral, dying at each others’ hands, than a wedding. 

“Jong, your textbook.”

He squints at you. “Funny how I’m Jongseong when you hate me, Jong when you need a textbook,” he says, sliding his book closer to himself.

“It’s not my fault your name is a mouthful,” you retort, trying to pull it back to the middle of the table, but he’s quicker than you.

“Then maybe you should call me Jay, like everyone else on Earth.”

“Where’s the fun in that? Now give it here. Please?” you ask, mustering your best smile. Any other teacher would’ve scolded the two of you by now, but Ms. Schumacher is peacefully going on about the importance of word order and punctuation in the German sentence, oblivious to her two students bickering in the back row. Jongseong usually never sits at the back of the classroom—only here.

He gives in, smiling back, but there’s something behind it, something that tells you nothing good is brewing in his brain. “Only because you’re so pretty.”

Normally, this kind of remark would’ve warranted a slap on the arm or an array of insults, but if today is anything, it is not normal. You look at him like you’ve been stung, visions of your not-dream coming to you in flashes like you’re the titular character on That’s So Raven—the affection in your husband’s eyes, the kindness in his words, the sincerity in his smile. Again, you’re left to wonder if this man is already taking root inside of the boy next to you, if Jongseong’s future capacity to love you presently exists in his heart.

Does your future capacity to love him already exist in your heart?

You watch as his smirk softens into a grin, your flusteredness and lack of a response clearly amusing him, then as he circles the exercises Ms. Schumacher is assigning for the lesson. She seems to have forgotten there was homework due—Jongseong will be sure to remind her of it quickly.

He kicks your foot again, tells you to focus. His ears have turned red.

You wonder if those capacities haven’t existed from the start.

--

As much as you love a good friends-to-lovers story, characters hiding their feelings out of fear of ruining the friendship have never failed to frustrate you — just tell her, you dummy, it’s obvious she likes you too — and yet, you’ve never related more than now.

Whatever it is that you and Jongseong have, you don’t want to lose it. It adds entertainment to your otherwise average life. 

“Good thing she didn’t pick on you while we went over the homework, ‘cause you clearly put zero effort in. And I wouldn’t have helped you, even if you’d asked, by the way.”

You hum absent-mindedly as you put your notebook and pencil holder in your bag. Are you sure that these are even your feelings in the first place? Just because the well put a silly idea in your head doesn’t mean you have to believe it like it’s scripture. If what you saw is real, then it will happen in its own time. Things don’t have to start changing right this instant.

“Gosh, Y/N, what’s up with you today? You’re so boring,” Jongseong continues, following you out of the classroom. 

“Just tired,” you reply. Wouldn’t it be unnatural if you were to radically alter the way you behave with Jongseong? Love should come about organically. Sure, his presence has always provoked some kind of reaction within you, but that’s usually been annoyance. Whether he’s stealing the fifth eraser you’ve bought that month or running on the soccer field, beads of sweat running down his temples, hair sticking out everywhere, victoriously smiling when his team scores—you’re annoyed. Whether he’s sticking up his hand higher than yours or going to the school dance with Ahn Yujin—you’re annoyed. When you learned that she’d been his neighbor since infancy and that she had a boyfriend, who went to another school and only trusted Jongseong to take her to the dance, you were still annoyed—this time at yourself for feeling even the tiniest bit relieved that nothing was going on between them.

And this — his quick steps trying to keep up with yours, his dumb story about yogurt coming out of Heeseung’s nose today at lunch when they were laughing too hard — yes, you’re still annoyed. But you realize you’re not annoyed at him.

You’re annoyed at how he makes you feel.

“Y/N?” he says, but you’re too deep in your thoughts, only vaguely registering the sound until he repeats it, louder this time, and grabs your hand, making you abruptly stop walking. “Are you sure everything’s okay?” he asks with genuine concern in his voice. “You’re barely listening to me. I mean, it’s not like you usually really do, but you’d have told me to get lost, like, five minutes ago now…”

He chuckles self-deprecatingly, but despite his words, you’re focusing on something else yet again. His hand on yours, his loose hold on your fingers. Your brain is yelling at you—hold his hand, hug him. It’s like there are still traces of the 28-year-old version of you you visited yesterday, urging you to behave like her and not 18-year-old you. 

So, the well had let you know that you need not look much further to find what you wanted. Here it is, in the form of a boy you have convinced yourself you hated, and hated you, and yet, he’s holding your hand, asking you if you’re okay, worry knotting his eyebrows together. 

Hold his hand. Hug him. Instead, you retract your hand, let it fall limply by your side. Jongseong’s eyebrows shoot up.

He’s so close, the supposed love of your life. You don’t know how to reach out to him.

For now, you smile. “Get lost, Jong.”

--

you guys how the hell do i act around jongseong now that i know our fates are romantically intertwined

kazuha i think not treating him like the number one public enemy would be a good start

you so what… be nice to him? how do i do that

sunoo oh my god y/n when she has to treat another person like a regular human being

you he’s not just another person!

sunoo okayyyyy i see you little miss repressed feelings

you i hate u

kazuha just don’t roll your eyes at everything he says anymore and don’t start arguments for no reason

you he’s the one who starts them… but okay i’ll try

--

“Let’s pair up for the reading analysis today. You can stay with your deskmate or pick a partner, I don’t mind as long as you get the work done. I’m talking about you, Chaewon and Yuri. This is English class, not a gossip session.”

The second your English teacher has finished speaking, Jongseong swivels in his chair. “Let’s partner up, Y/N?”

“What about me?” Jake asks, eyes darting back-and-forth between the two of you.

“You can partner up with Minju,” Jongseong replies, pointing to the girl he’s usually seated next to. “Look. You guys will be great together. Say hi, Minju.” Minju waves shyly at Jake, braces on display as she smiles ecstatically. It’s not everyday that she gets to talk to one of the most popular guys in school.

Jake reluctantly switches seats with him, glancing back at you and Jongseong who just grins at him, fake friendliness plastered on his lips, until he turns around again. Your new partner’s smile softens and reaches his eyes when he looks at you. “Hi.”

You have to look away—you feel your face burn under his gaze. “Hi, Jong.”

He tilts his head. “What? Do you hate me so much that you can’t even look at me now?” he asks, and you can’t tell whether he’s joking or genuine.

You frown. “I don’t hate you.”

“Oh? That’s a recent development.”

“I guess,” you mumble after a few seconds. Is it really? You suddenly can’t remember if you ever really hated him, or if you’d exaggerated your own feelings.

His smile widens. “Well, good. I mean, you were going to have to realize at some point that I really am funny, smart, endearing, handsome-”

“Back to hating.”

“Let’s start the assignment.”

You agree on reading the passage first, but you realize halfway through that not a single word has been absorbed. “Hey. Why did you switch seats with him?” you ask, whispering so as not to be overheard.

Jongseong shrugs. “I thought you wouldn’t want to work with him, considering…”

“Right.” You’re silent again, but only for a bit. “What’s it to you?” you mumble. 

He scoffs. “Sorry for trying to be considerate.”

“That’s not—”

“Let’s just focus on this.”

His sudden coldness vexes you. You know you should let it go — don’t start arguments for no reason, and all that — and you know it’s childish, but you can’t help yourself. You have certain reflexes you’re not particularly proud of when it comes to one Park Jongseong. “Let’s just focus on this,” you repeat, mocking his grumbling tone of voice and shaking your head like a puppet.

He glares at you. “Can you not act like a toddler for once?”

“Can you not be a dick for once?” you bite back.

“Y/N, Jongseong, I’m sure you’re having a fascinating conversation on the use of chiaroscuro in the text?” your teacher asks, a look of warning on his face.

“Yes, sir,” you reply, embarrassed.

“Yes, so much chiaroscuro,” Jongseong mumbles, resting his cheek on his knuckles. When the teacher has turned away, he kicks your foot. “See, you’re getting us in trouble.”

“Do you even know what chiaroscuro is?” 

He hesitates. “That’s not the problem here. You are.”

“Well, maybe if you didn’t-”

“Y/N, Jay, final warning.”

“Sorry,” you both say at the same time. With one last glare at each other, you finally get to work.

So your plan to start getting along with Jongseong isn’t in full-force yet. On the drive back home that afternoon, you reassure yourself that these things take time. When the moment is right, the two of you will grow closer.

--

But increasingly, it feels as though the right moment will never come.

Two months have passed since your visit to the well, and things between you and Jongseong have not changed. Not really, at least.

You still bicker like cat and dog — it goes without saying that you’re the cute puppy and he’s the heartless cat — and he gets as much on your nerves as ever, especially now that you know that the potential to be nice to you, to love you, even, exists somewhere inside him. Somewhere deeply hidden perhaps, but somewhere nonetheless. Of course, after telling yourself that what must come will come of its own accord, you haven’t done much to change the dynamic between the two of you. But if you used to see your retaliations against him as necessary to your survival, you now find some sort of enjoyment in them—some might call it Stockholm Syndrome, you perceive it as a step in the right direction. You’ve followed one of Kazuha’s pieces of advice: you don’t roll your eyes at him anymore, simply because you don’t feel the need to. You argue with him with a smile on your face, his attempts at insulting or annoying you have started to make you laugh.

He doesn’t say anything but seems to gladly welcome this change. If you get a lower grade than him on a test, he doesn’t try to stick the knife in further, but genuinely offers to go over it with you later. If you give in after two hours of tearing your hair out over a German exercise and text him for help, he doesn’t make fun of you. If he says something particularly arrogant or makes a really bad joke, all you need to do is give him a look, and he’ll mumble an apology. 

Could it have been like this the entire time? you wonder, watching him across the schoolyard as he and Heeseung hunt for Pokémon. Just a couple months ago, you would’ve scrunched your nose at the sight, making fun of him for his childish interests. Now, you notice the way he laughs, audible all the way to where you sit with Kazuha and Sunoo, the way he jumps excitedly and points at things only he and his friend see, and all you feel is endearment.

“Look at you, look at that,” Sunoo says as he hits you on the forehead with his metal spoon, startling you. He tuts. “You’ve got love dripping from your eyes, sweetie.”

“Sunoo, that’s disgusting.”

“Love? I know.”

“No, your spoon. Your saliva’s all over that,” you say, and all he does is eat another mouthful of his yogurt while staring wide-eyed right at you. When you look back at Jongseong, he’s high-fiving Heeseung. You wonder which creature he’s caught now. In the library yesterday, he spent thirty minutes showing you every single one he had captured so far instead of revising for the upcoming Physics test.

“Yeah, we know you’d like someone else’s saliva more,” Kazuha chimes in, and the two of them snort.

“It’s not like that,” you say, biting into an apple slice.

“Oh yeah? What’s it like, then?” Kazuha asks.

“We’re… becoming friends,” you say, but you’re not sure who you’re trying to convince more.

“Y/N, I’ve had to watch the two of you giggling to yourselves in the library one too many times to believe you’re friends. I know your homework’s not that funny,” Sunoo argues.

“Friends can giggle with each other!” you exclaim, but your friends are inflexible.

“I would tell you to get yourself together if you giggled at me like that,” he says.

“I saw you twirl your hair the other day,” Kazuha adds.

“I never—When?!”

She shrugs. “The other day.”

You deflate, crushed under your friends’ accusations. “I wouldn’t twirl my hair…” you mumble. You decide to busy yourself with your apple slices, not even bothering to find out what Kazuha and Sunoo start snickering and elbowing each other about.

“Hey,” a familiar voice greets, making you look up. Jongseong smiles at you and steals an apple slice from your tupperware as he sits down next to you, Heeseung across from him.

“Hi, Jong,” you say, sitting up straighter. You offer a piece of fruit to Heeseung but he declines, saying he doesn’t like apples without peanut butter.

In front of you, your friends exchange a look, and you’re immediately terrified of what they’ll do next. Leaning in, they place their elbows on the table, and Kazuha starts them off. “Jay, you and Y/N know each other pretty well, right?”

Jongseong glances at you, eyes wide. “Uh, sure.”

“Have you ever noticed her, say, twirling her hair?” Sunoo asks, tilting his head innocently at the poor boy by your side.

You’ve never seen him look so confused. “Um, yeah, she does that when she’s concentrating on something, sometimes…”

They lean back. “Huh,” Kazuha says, studying Jongseong’s face.

“Interesting. Very interesting,” Sunoo says, slowly nodding.

You glare at your friends. “See, that’s different,” you tell them. “I was concentrating on something, not doing… whatever you guys had in mind.”

Jongseong looks at you. “What did they have in mind?”

You answer before either of them can dig your grave any deeper. “Nothing. It’s nothing. We were just having a stupid conversation.” You muster your most convincing smile, and the subject is finally dropped.

No one says anything for a few moments, until Heeseung decides to speak up: “You should’ve seen Jay earlier, Y/N. He caught this super rare version of Pikachu earlier, it was awesome.”

“Dude…” Jongseong murmurs.

“What?” Heeseung asks, his enthusiasm quickly dissolving into confusion. Jongseong just shakes his head. Thankfully for all of you, the bell rings then, and you head to class. The three of them walk in front of you while you and Jongseong fall back a step.

“Why were you guys sitting outside? It’s freezing today,” he asks you. Walking side-by-side like this, you can’t help but notice the inches he has over you, the broadness of his shoulders in comparison to yours.

“They turned the heat way too high in the cafeteria, so we came outside for some fresh air,” you explain. He’s right, the air is chilly today—it’s a few days into December, and the temperatures have been accordingly low.

“Aren’t you cold?”

Your heart skips a beat. One of the side effects of not being at each other’s throat anymore was that you got more and more often to be privy to this side of Jongseong—attentive, considerate, kind. What you once thought were his moral attempts at not being so mean to you all the time, you found out was actually his real nature. He wasn’t a prick who was sometimes nice, he was a nice person who turned into a prick with you. Whether the fault lay on him or you was another debate.

“No, I’m alright,” you say, but your body decides to betray you and makes you sneeze three times in a row.

“Bless you,” Jongseong says, laughing. “Here.” You try to stop him, pushing his hands away, but he takes his gloves off and forces them in your palms.

“I’m going to be inside for the next four hours, Jong, I’ll be fine. Keep them.”

“No, it’s okay. Just so you can warm up quicker.”

You eventually give in, putting the gloves over your hands, laughing at the extra fabric that hangs off the tip of your fingers. But when you look at Jongseong’s now-bare hands, something catches your attention. Stopping in the hallway, you grab one of them, examining the cuts on his knuckles. “You need to wear hand cream, Jong, your hands are too chapped.”

He lets you turn his hand over, smooth over his skin, do the same thing with his other hand. “Men don’t wear hand cream,” he says, a grin on his lips.

You burst out laughing. “I think that’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard you say.”

“Seriously, though, I don’t like the way it feels. Too sticky.”

“You just need to get a quick-absorption one.” Then, you make the terrible mistake of looking up from his hand and meeting his eyes—you gasp silently, his gaze and soft smile transporting you right back to that night, the images of 28-year-old and 18-year-old Jongseong mixing into each other, becoming indistinct from each other. Your gaze drifts down to his lips — chapped, too, when they’re usually plumper, rosier — and his hand, still in yours, balls into a fist. The second bell rings and you both take a step back, eyes meeting again for a brief moment before looking down at the floor. With uncharacteristically shy, embarrassed words of parting, you make your separate ways to your next classes.

“That was beautiful, Y/N,” Sunoo says, waiting for you by the door, and you walk past him without so much as a glance.

“I don’t wanna talk about it.”

--

sunoo jay and y/n almost kissed earlier

kazuha WHAAAAT

you KIM SUNOO.

kazuha WHEN?????

sunoo right before class after the lunch break y/n was sooo embarrassed afterwards lol

you we did NOT almost kiss you’re talking out of your ass

kazuha i can’t believe i missed this fml

you YOU DIDNT MISS ANYTHING NOTHING HAPPENED

sunoo be serious u guys we’re standing inches apart

you were* and no we weren’t

sunoo oh stfu it was autocorrect i saw it w my own eyes y/n… you WERE literally holding his hand and staring into those beautiful eyes of his

kazuha sunoo…?

sunoo what can’t a man acknowledge another man’s objective attractiveness if i was y/n i would’ve folded the moment i saw him

you literally one of the first times he talked to me was to make fun of my handwriting

sunoo yeah he’s on his tsundere shit i fw it

you …

sunoo anyways zuha you shouldve seen it when the bell rang they practically leaped away from each other and u didnt know what to do w yourselves afterwards likeeee it was so obvi what you both were thinking of

kazuha cuuuute

you i resent these accusations.

sunoo istg if u dont kiss him next time i will

kazuha ???

you SUNOO?

sunoo WHAT

--

Something happens a few days before the start of winter break.

Ms. Schumacher is absent, gone off to Germany to visit her family there—she has enough seniority in the school that they let her abandon her responsibilities as a teacher once in a while. A week is too short a period of time for them to bother finding a substitute. It’s usually your last class of the day, but you have to wait around for your dad to be done working, so while most of your classmates have gone home early, you sit with about six other people in the unsupervised study room, absent-mindedly jotting down tid-bits of dialogue for your new story idea, too preoccupied with Jongseong’s absence to really pay attention to anything else. It’s fifteen minutes after the hour, but he’s nowhere to be found, although you know for a fact that he takes those weird Molecular Gastronomy cooking classes your Chemistry teacher offers for extra credit every Thursday after school, so he should be here. And anyways, if he’d gone home, he would’ve texted you something like, Have fun sitting around for an hour, I’m gonna go do awesome stuff with Heeseung, even if awesome stuff meant playing Mario Kart or drinking Sprite and holding a two-person burping contest.

You’re so engrossed in your own thoughts that you pay no mind to the sudden ding of a phone in the room, followed by some gasps and heated whispers. The exchanged words go through one ear and out the other—There was a fight? In the locker rooms? It must be bad if they were sent to the nurse before the principal… Huh? Over who? So he took both of them on? Damn, I didn’t know Jay got like that. He seems so well-behaved.

Your head whips up at the mention of your friend’s name. “Jay? Did something happen to him?” you ask out loud, the whispers dying down immediately as everybody stares at you. 

Gaeul, who was in your class last year, is the only one who answers you. Holding up and waving her phone, she says, “They say he got into a fight.”

Jongseong? A fight? It sounds like a practical joke. He admitted to you he once started crying watching Heeseung playing Call of Duty, it was so violent. You shake your head. “He-he did? With who?”

Gaeul and the girl next to her exchange a concerned, almost guilty look. “Jake and Sunghoon.” The crease between your eyebrows deepened. You don’t need to ask anything else before she adds, “They’re at the nurse’s station. It sounds pretty bad…”

That’s enough for you to leap out of your chair and run to the nurse’s station. It seems the news has spread impossibly quickly among your year group—even Kazuha and Sunoo are already blowing your phone, asking you if you’ve heard, if you know how Jay is. You ignore them, reminding yourself to text them back later, until one message from Sunoo in particular catches your attention: It apparently started because Sunghoon said something about you, Y/N. They’re saying Jay got angry.

The nurse is busy on the phone when you get there, her back to the entrance, so you’re able to slip in unnoticed. You head to the adjoining room where the beds are, all three of them taken—you walk by Sunghoon first, his arms crossed over his chest and pointedly not looking at you, then by Jake, who calls out your name. You glare at him and pull on the white plastic curtain that separates his bed from Jongseong’s. They’re already going to hear you, you don’t need them seeing you on top of that. 

Jongseong sits up with a grunt when you appear at the end of his bed. The sight of him makes your stomach flip, and not in a good way, for once—his left eye is swollen and circled by a deep purple bruise, shiny with ointment, there’s a cut on his cheek, his lower lip is busted, his right hand is wrapped in bandages. “Oh my God,” you whisper as you help him up, voice breaking. He stares at his hands, jaw locking when you gently place one palm on his good hand, the other on the side of his face, moving it this way and that so you can take a better look at his injuries. He winces, and you let go, resting your hand on his shoulder instead. “What the hell got into you?” you whisper vehemently, unable to decide if you’re worried or angry or both as tears form in your eyes.

He tries to shrug, but even that seems to hurt. “Don’t shrug, Jongseong, tell me what happened.”

“I’m Jongseong again now?” he says, attempting a smile, but only one corner of his lips rises.

You sigh. Even in this state, he has to be a smart-ass. “You’re Jong when I need a textbook, Jongseong when you get into stupid fights,” you reply, and he smiles wider but immediately winces, hand coming up to the cut on his lip. You notice that his hand is still riddled with cracks, and whether they’re due to their dryness or to this fight doesn’t matter—”Wait here,” you say, and go rummage through some drawers for plasters. “She forgot some spots.” You feel Jongseong’s eyes on your face as you patch him up to the best of your abilities.

“I don’t want to tell you what happened. I’ll do the job of hating these idiots for the both of us, so don’t concern yourself with them,” he says, apparently not caring that the idiots in question can hear his every word.

He keeps his promise—you never hear another word from him about the cause of the fight. 

Later, you find out through other means, namely Sunoo’s questionably remarkable ability to unearth any and all gossip, that in the locker rooms after Phys Ed, someone had started Jake on the topic of Yunjin, who had been recently revealed as his girlfriend. They’d apparently kept it secret because it was just fooling around at first, and only later had gotten serious enough for them to parade around the school as the couple. 

It had been an unremarkable conversation until Jake said, “You guys know Y/N from our class? She saw us in the staff parking lot once, and I was sure we’d be busted then. But she didn’t tell anyone.” And just like that, the conversation turned to you, someone who was usually never a topic among these boys, jocks, soccer players, “the kind of people who peak in high school and still have a superiority complex at forty,” as Sunoo describes them. 

He has a harder time explaining what happened next, can’t quite look you in the eye as he recounts what was said. “So, this is what they say, apparently someone said that you used to be obsessed with Sunghoon, then with Jake, and Sunghoon said you… Well, he said you were pathetic, that asshole, and that you had been so easy to lead on, then Jake joined in, saying the same things, basically, how funny it was seeing you so obviously in love with him when he would never give you a chance…” He looks at you worriedly, but you tell him to go on. “And so that’s when Jay got up and just straight-up punched Jake in the face. And while Jake was trying to figure out what happened, Jay punched Sunghoon, and then they both got on him, pushing him, but when he wouldn’t stop throwing punches, they started fighting, too. I think they all got some good ones in before the other boys were able to break them apart and the P.E. teacher arrived…”

But that would be later. Now, sitting with Jongseong in the nurse’s station, tears falling onto the plasters you place on his hand, nothing matters but him. You don’t need the details—he’s hurt, he got hurt over you, you feel as though every cut on his body may well have been done by your own hand. You’ve never felt so guilty for something you didn’t do. Your voice trembles when you speak; you’re unable to look at him, at his busted eye. “I just don’t want you to get hurt for me.”

Without missing a beat, he says, “What else would I get hurt for?”

You can only meet his eyes for a split second. Even like this, he manages to look at you with the same softness that has haunted you since the night you met 28-year-old Jongseong, that has rendered all thoughts of anything other than him meaningless since the day your gaze drifted down to his lips just weeks ago. “Jong…” is all you can mutter as you look down at your hands holding each others’, your lips trembling.

He raises his bandaged hand, still not used to his dominant side being ineffective for now, then lowers it when he realizes. Clumsily, he pats your hair with his left hand. “Don’t cry, please…”

Jake’s head pops out from behind the curtain. “Y/N, I’m really sorry—”

“Not right now, man,” Jay quickly interrupts. Jake pathetically disappears behind the curtain again.

“Just promise me you won’t do this again.”

“Y/N…”

“Promise me,” you say, more demanding this time, sticking out your pinky finger. Jay, hesitant, looks between your outstretched finger and your face a few times, but eventually gives in.

The nurse, upon coming to check on the boys, catches you with Jongseong and chases you out immediately. You sulk back to study hall, where everyone’s head perks up the moment you walk in. “They’re okay,” you reassure vaguely, and unenthusiastically answer their many questions. It’s only a few minutes until the bell rings, and you’re free to go then.

--

jong so… guess who got a five-day suspension

you you idiot what did your parents say?

jong they’re not happy i have to do all the household chores for a month

you boo-hoo

jong not sure why i came here thinking i’d get some comfort…

you … are you feeling better?

jong a little bit the nurse gave us some really strong painkillers but i’m okay because there’s a pretty girl that’s going to drop off the homework for me after school every day :)

you oh did you ask chaewon to do that?

jong um no i was talking about you ..if that’s okay

you haha i know i just wanted you to say it straight up

jong ykw maybe i should just ask chaewon

you i’ll see you tomorrow jong!!

jong :) see you tomorrow pretty 

 --

The months that separate your return to school and graduation come and go in the blink of an eye. Jongseong can’t come to school the last day before the holidays or the first four days after, and he’s grounded in-between. Things change bit by bit with every day you visit him—To give him the homework, you tell his parents, although there isn’t much to do when the semester isn’t in full swing, and you could’ve easily sent him pictures. The first time, you spend more time scouring the pictures and trinkets in his room than actually talking to him, and awkwardly give him a half-hug when he tells you he won’t be able to hang out at all during the break before practically running out of his house, your heart beating a thousand miles a minute from the innocent contact. By the fourth time, you lie together on his bed and talk about your plans for college, your hands sitting centimeters apart on the navy sheets. You haven’t dared touch his hand since that day in the nurse’s station.

You’re window-shopping with Kazuha when you spot the hand cream you had seen yourself gifting Jongseong in your well-given vision. Buying it is one thing, actually giving it to him is another, an awkward, stuttery situation in which the wrapping done by the store employee suddenly seems over-the-top and out-of-place. But Jongseong seems to like it—it’s the last day of his suspension, his black eye is now a yellow-ish color, he can smile without risking splitting his lip in two. He applies it immediately, tells you he’ll make sure to wear it every day until the end of winter. You find yourself wishing there was something you could give him for every season so he wouldn’t go a day without thinking of you. When you leave, he bashfully thanks you for making sure he doesn’t fall behind and says he’s excited to see you at school the next day. You hardly know what to do with yourself, so you squeak out a “me too” and slip out the door.

His first day back is a Friday. It starts with Mathematics, a class in which you sit by each other. You remember the first week of classes when Kazuha and Sunoo had ran to sit with each other, expressly because they knew that if he saw you were sitting alone, he’d take the seat next to you, just to better torment you all year. You’d resented it then; it couldn’t make you happier now. Your body is humming with nervous energy, your foot tapping relentlessly against the tiled floor. When he appears in the doorframe, you wave at him as if he’d forgotten his seat in three weeks of absence. His elbow brushes against yours as he sits down.

Between the two of you, friendship blossoms over these months. To the detriment of everyone around you, you continue to bicker as you always have, but it’s now clearly done out of habit, out of affection, even, than out of actual dislike of each other. He and Heeseung slowly integrate your small group of three, and before you know it, it feels as though there have always been five of you. Together, you welcome spring.

In January, to thank you for helping him to pick out his mom’s birthday present, Jongseong treats you to some tteokbokki, which you said you’d been craving all week. He orders the spiciest one, then has to take a sip of water between every bite. You laugh at his teary eyes and red face while you devour the bright red rice cakes easily. 

In February, he makes a show of giving you and Kazuha and Heeseung and Sunoo some homemade chocolates, saying it’s a friend thing. You find out that evening that the others each have five in their box—there are twenty in yours. It’s one of the things that makes you second guess what sort of feelings he has for you. For years, you’ve been convinced he harbored strong feelings of disdain for you; now, he seems to enjoy your friendship. You’re scared to read too much into anything, because if Jongseong is well-liked throughout school, it’s for a reason: he’s nice. To everyone. Even to you, too, nowadays. But if nice is giving five chocolates, what is giving twenty?

A sudden realization hits you in March—Jongseong appears at your door, drenched from the rain, a bag of your favorite snacks in hand. “You weren’t at school today. I had to find out you were sick from Kazuha,” he says as if she was a random classmate of yours and not your best friend, as if he should be the first to know about these kinds of things. Your mom rushes him in, finds him so charming in the five minutes they converse that she decides he should stay over for dinner, and as you watch him laughing with her, you think, I haven’t thought of 28-year-old Jongseong in ages. I’ve only thought of you. And although you can trace the start of your feelings to that dream-like experience you had, you can now say with confidence that it’s not the only reason for them.

College application results come out in April, right on his birthday. The five of you celebrate together at an American-style diner, gorging yourselves on crispy bacon and chocolate chip pancakes. Kazuha is going back to Japan, almost a decade after moving to South Korea—”I’m gonna miss you guys, but I miss takoyaki and my grandma more right now.” Heeseung has been accepted into the Engineering department at the country’s top university. You, Sunoo and Jongseong are all heading to the same place: you for Screenwriting, which you’ve known since you were one of the winners of the scholarship contest last October, Sunoo for Communications, whatever that is, and Jongseong for European History and Literature with a minor in German, that freak. It’s a good university, and it’s not far from home. The way Jongseong tells you about his acceptance sticks with you: he doesn’t say, They accepted me, too, or, I’m going to the same university as you. He says, We’ll be together.

May is filled with afternoons at the park when you should all be studying for exams. Your mom keeps asking when she’s going to see “that wonderful boy” again. Your friendship with Jongseong has given him new ways of teasing you—after four years of near-kleptomaniac tendencies, he’s finally stopped stealing your erasers and has instead started to let his gaze linger on your face, to call you pretty when you least expect it, to tuck your hair behind your ear. You hate it most when he asks you whether there’s something from your romance novels or movies that you want him to recreate. “Is there a field big enough nearby that I can walk through at the break of dawn, Mister Darcy-style?” he’ll say, or “I’ve always wanted to try that upside-down kiss from Spider-Man. It’s a classic, really.” 

Summer comes early in June. You need to bring a two-liter water bottle and a hand fan to your exams, and you’ve never felt such relief as when it was all over. After endless pictures with your parents and siblings, just your parents, just your siblings, then Kazuha and Sunoo, together, then separately, then with Heeseung and Jongseong as well, Kazuha forces you and Jongseong together, watching with a smile as he shyly wraps an arm around your waist and you awkwardly throw up a peace sign. It’s your first picture of just the two of you.

In July, you and Jongseong unlock a new first: saying goodbye. He’s leaving to stay with his American family as he does every summer. You show up at his house the day before at four p.m. “to help him pack,” you say, but it’s Jongseong, and he finished packing two days ago. So instead, you sit on his desk chair, he on his bed, and you fight back tears. “You’re coming back, right?” you ask, like he’s leaving to go to war and not Seattle. Amusement and affection flicker in his eyes. “Of course I am. I wouldn’t throw four more years of being a pain in your ass away, would I?” he says, and you smile, because you know it’s going to be much more than four years.

But he doesn’t just leave you with a few nice words. Avoiding your gaze, he hands you an envelope. Inside is a single ticket, a two-month membership for your city’s arthouse cinema that you can only go to when they have student deals or when your parents have had enough of your begging. You can’t even begin to imagine how much this must’ve cost. “Jong…” you murmur, in awe at the thin slip of paper between your hands. “This is incredible. Thank you so much.”

Jongseong looks down at his feet, fighting a smile as he kicks the invisible rocks that obviously litter the floor of his bedroom. “I thought you’d get bored without me around, so, that way you can entertain yourself, I guess… And if you run into any film bros next year, you’ll have seen as many pretentious movies as them.”

You burst into laughter then, and, without thinking, wrap your arms around his neck, thanking him over and over again. It takes him a second, but he wraps his arms around your waist and says it’s no big deal.

As you walk down the path from your house, he calls out your name. “Don’t be a stranger,” he says.

You smile. “Never.”

So, he’s not here for summer. Kazuha is working in her parents’ ramen restaurant to make some money before leaving, even Heeseung leaves two weeks into July for Seoul to visit some relatives there and get accustomed to life in the big city. You only get to laze around with Sunoo, but even he eventually leaves for his grandparents’ house by the sea, making you promise you’ll come visit him at some point, otherwise he’ll “die of boredom.” 

It’s August now, and your brain and body alike buzz with restlessness. You go to the cinema almost every day, making the best of your subscription. If you’re not going around your house looking for spider webs with your vacuum cleaner, you’re riding random bus lines and discovering parts of your town you’ve never set foot in before. If you’re not making your way through your never-ending pile of unread books, you’re creating your own stories, finally taking the time to properly outline and draft the one-line ideas you’ve had sitting in your Notes app, preparing yourself for the start of your degree. Your mind is taken up with love stories. From Romeo & Juliet to Dirty Dancing to Book Lovers, you can’t get enough of the genre. You become particularly obsessed with stories involving time travel, rewatching After Time and Lovely Runner like they contain some precious knowledge. By the end of the month, you’ve turned your life into an eight-episode TV series—a desperate girl makes a wish on a star only to discover she is fated to marry the one boy she hates most. You know you’d watch that. You send Sunoo and Kazuha the pilot, and after calling you insane numerous times but also heaping on praises, Sunoo says this: lol your going through jay withdrawals.

It shakes you so much you’re not even compelled to message back you’re*.

But he’s not wrong. The more you let yourself admit it, the more you realize how true it is: you miss Jongseong. You text once in a while, you’ve even stayed up late talking on the phone a couple of times, but you miss him, his corporeal form, having his gaze on you, having the possibility but never the courage to touch him. Every day, there’s something you want to tell him about. The cats huddling around a young neighborhood kid as he pours milk into a bowl, the clearance sale at your local library, most books for one buck only, the actor from an 90s Hong Kong film you swear has the exact same smile as him. You don’t want to bother him, so you write letters instead. Some you send, some you don’t—the ones you keep hidden in your drawer usually hint too obviously at your feelings for him. Some of them don’t just hint and contain lines of your declarations: I miss you, everything I see reminds me of you, I want to check that your bruises have healed completely even though the last trace of them faded months ago. You keep these letters a secret, even from Sunoo and Kazuha, who would never let you live down such woebegone, down bad behavior.

You do it because it feels good, getting all of your feelings out on paper. You’re a romantic at heart, so you’re prone to over-exaggeration when it comes to things like these—but everything that you write remains based in truth. You’d started with a postcard of your hometown, jokingly writing, Don’t forget where you came from. How is it over there? and he’d actually replied with a postcard of his own, filling it from top to bottom. You easily went from these small postcards to multiple pages of stream-of-consciousness-like writing. You think it’s the most romantic thing you’ve ever done—although you’re not sure he feels the same way, considering he still writes to the German pen pal Ms. Schumacher had assigned him in your first year of high school. No one else’s correspondence had lasted more than four months because she’d immediately forgotten to make sure you kept in touch regularly.

I ran into Jake Sim at the city library, you write one day. You’ve replied to everything in his latest letter, so you’re now catching him up on your recent adventures. He was checking out some books about Linguistics, of all things—he bought me bubble tea afterwards and told me that the injury he got last April was actually a relief. Did you know his father was a big name in soccer here? Apparently, he never wanted to be a soccer player that badly, and he wants to do Linguistics and Social Anthropology, who would’ve guessed it. He’s like Troy Bolton if High School Musical was about Humanities and not singing. Anyways, you probably don’t want me to go on and on about him, so I won’t, but we did talk about that fight you guys had back in December. He apologized for it, to you and me both, although he didn’t go into much detail — Sunoo is still the only one who’s had the balls to tell me exactly what happened, and he wasn’t even there! — and I was reticent at first, but he seemed genuine. He said he didn’t even hang out with Sunghoon or Yunjin or any of those people anymore, that it was only out of convenience really, and that he hopes starting university will be like turning over a new leaf. Well, he could be full of shit, who knows. As I sat there listening to him I wondered what it was I used to see in him. He’s nice enough, but we only spoke about him for the entire hour. He asked me no questions that weren’t “and you?” so it was a bit exhausting. 

But it got me thinking about your fight again. Reflecting on it now, I can say that it was a turning point for me in my perception of you.

You look at your words, smiling to yourself—this is one of the times where you find yourself erring from the topic at hand, instead indulging in sappiness and nostalgia. You write about how your opinion of Jongseong has changed over these months, how it wasn’t seeing him as your husband in all those years that had really shaken things up, but rather that day in the nurse’s station, the frightening colors around his eye, his attitude like it was natural that he would get hurt like this for you. You write, Have I been wrong about you this whole time? I thought you harbored the same negative feelings towards me as I had you since the moment you’d laid eyes on me, but all of a sudden, here you were, bloody, bandaged hand holding mine. Even with your busted eye, you looked like an angel next to all that white in the nurse’s station. I’ll never forget your words that day. Would you really not get hurt for anything else, Jong?

“I’m going to the Post Office for a package soon, Y/N. Are you done with your letter?” your mom calls from the staircase landing.

“Give me five minutes!” you call back.

You forage through your drawer for a new sheet of paper and re-write your letter, making sure to leave any compromising parts out and fold both letters into neat squares—one that will cross the seas and reach Jongseong, one that will live out its days in the darkness of your crowded drawer. You’ve run out of envelopes, so you go look for one in your parents’ office. Your mom calls out your name again, impatient to leave — if she sends her package off before twelve p.m., it will get to the receiver tomorrow, and she’s hell-bent on getting perfect five-star Vinted reviews — so you hurriedly put your letter in the envelope, close it, stamp it, and write Jongseong’s name and address on the back. The other letter you absent-mindedly throw in your drawer with the dozens of other letters in which you’d crossed the line.

--

A few weeks later, like an apparition, Jongseong stands before you again.

He’s tanner from months under the Washington sun, from afternoons spent at his family’s lake house, on their boat. His hair is slightly shorter and suits him even better; you don’t recognize any of the clothes he wears. He grumbles as his mother goes back-and-forth between hugging him, staring at him worriedly and reminding him to call at least twice a week while his father unpacks the trunk. “I’ll only be a thirty-minute train ride away, Mom,” he says. 

He’s still Jong.

You moved in yesterday, and you’re now waiting for your new roommate, who, after five minutes of deliberating whether she should bring a jacket or not and finally decided against it, changed her mind the minute she stepped outside. 

It’s been two months since you last saw him. Shortly after sending your letter, you’d gone to stay with Sunoo’s grandparents for a week, just a day before he was set to come back from Seattle. Amid packing and other preparations, you haven’t had time to see each other. Is it okay if I respond to your letter in person? I think I’ll be too busy these two coming weeks, he texted you. You replied that it wasn’t a problem, you told him which dorm you’d been assigned and found out his was the one next door.

When he notices you staring, he does a double-take. You wave at him, and even from this distance, you see the blush that creeps up his neck and takes over his face as he shyly waves back. You’ve never seen him like this—he’s always been either arrogant or friendly, never… flustered. He makes a motion as if to say, I’ll text you, and heads inside the building with his parents and all of his luggage.  

Indeed, he texts you some hours later while you’re sharing a piece of strawberry and matcha cake with your roommate Liz, whom you find out is half-German—Jongseong and your dad would probably love her for that simple fact. Some of the first things she’d asked you were what your astrological signs were and whether you wanted her to pull tarot cards for you when she was all done setting up her side of the room. Between that and her dyed blonde hair, you’d felt comfortable telling her all about Jongseong, the well and your dream. Unlike your skeptical and sarcastic friends, she’d nodded along to your every word, a serious expression on her face. “A sign from the universe,” she’d called it, and she gasped in excitement when his name appeared on your screen.

He sends you a link to a freshers’ week event, some potted plant sale happening on the main campus square, and asks if you’re free to go with him tomorrow. I need something to liven up that depressing room, he writes.

So that’s how you find yourselves among green plants of all shapes and sizes, searching for one that’s both low-maintenance and appealing to the eye. You’re glad that you have something to actually do—if you were just sitting at a café and having a conversation, you’re not sure you’d be able to stand the awkwardness. You’d chalked up his behavior on the day of his move-in to nerves, or to surprise upon seeing you so unexpectedly. But apparently, it wasn’t a one-time thing. He keeps clearing his throat as if he were sick with some cold, won’t look into your eyes for more than split seconds at a time, and in complete opposition to his usual confident, deliberate speech, talks in a quick and disorderly manner. And he’s either really caught a cold, or his ears have just permanently turned red. You ask him if something’s wrong a couple times, but he violently shakes his head, says, “No, what could be wrong?” then looks at you as if you might tell him what’s wrong.

When you’re alone again, you wonder what on earth could have happened over the summer that could make him change his behavior with you so radically. Did something happen in Seattle? Maybe he met someone there and doesn’t know how to tell you. Maybe you went overboard with your letters, he doesn’t want to be friends anymore, he wants to let you down easy but doesn’t know how to tell you. Or maybe—maybe you got impossibly pretty during those two months, and absence does make the heart grow fonder, as they say, and every thought you have about him, he has about you, but he doesn’t know how to tell you.

In any case, he’s hiding something.

The theory that he might want to stop being friends soon falls flat—the invitations to other freshers’ events keep coming, be it free wine & pizza taster sessions from the Wine Society, karaoke nights with the Taylor Swift Society or a shark movie marathon with the Bad Film Society, and he never turns you down when you tell him there’s something you want to visit in this new city of yours, even when the thing you want to visit in question is a bakery you have to queue in front of at seven a.m. if you want to get a pain au chocolat. In your defense, they turn out to be the best ones you and Jongseong have ever tried—although, to be fair, neither of you has been to France.

Things progressively return to normal. He’s able to make eye contact for more than three seconds again, he listens carefully and laughs along when you tell him about your week by the sea with Sunoo, he fills you in on what Heeseung’s been up to. One thing remains different, however—when you throw quips at him, he usually would’ve delighted in coming up with a better, wittier response, but now, he’ll roll his eyes at best, look at you amusedly and stay silent at worst. “Won’t you even entertain me?” you ask him once, to which he replies that you’re doing a good job entertaining yourself as is. 

Instead, he becomes more earnest. As per usual you badger him with questions like Aren’t I so pretty right now? or Isn’t my outfit so cute today? to get a reaction out of him, and if during your high school days he’d either fake a puking sound or look you up and down and grumble I guess, he now smiles and simply says Yes, you are, Yes, it is. It seems impossible to keep track of his attitude: one day, he’s one thing, the next, he’s another person entirely. 

It annoys you. You take his changing demeanor to mean that now that he’s a college student, he won’t indulge in your childish squabbles anymore, as though he was above all of that now, when just three months ago he was stalking your parents’ Facebooks to find unfavorable photos of you from when you were thirteen and using them as reaction pictures in your friends’ group chat. You think of your graduation day, of the box he’d given you, all done up in wrapper paper and a bow—he had filled it with every eraser he’d stolen from you over the years, he’d even gone so far as to date every single one of them, from the second of October freshman year to the twenty-eighth of November of your senior year. You didn’t count them, but there had to be at least a hundred. At the time, you’d just thought it was funny—but what if the gesture had meant something deeper than you’d realized? What if he was marking the end of something with that box? No more playing around, we’re adults now. But classes have barely started, you don’t know your way to the off-campus library, you aren’t a different person to who you were just weeks or even months earlier. Why is he acting like he is? You look at him, and you see the boy whose fault it was you had to buy a new eraser every week—who knows how many books you could’ve bought with that money. But when he turns to look at you, too, and your eyes meet, you’re suddenly assailed with the memories of that night, the kind eyes, the soft smile. 

Does his future capacity to love me already exist in his heart?

Your heartbeat speeds up and you have to look away.

--

From your letters, it seems to be much hotter back home than in Seattle—you talk of sunburns, of afternoons spent inside with the fan on maximum speed, of ice melting instantly and watering down your Coke Zeros, whereas Jay can walk around the city pleasantly and needs to bring a jacket if he’ll be out until late after sundown. And yet, as he reads your latest letter, his skin prickles feverishly, from the top of his head to the tip of his toes. He’d excitedly torn the envelope open the second it arrived in the mail, heart thumping as he counted the pages, at least three more than usual — he was always happy that you wanted to talk to him at all, so the fact that you had this much to tell him sent him over the moon — but he would have never expected what was awaiting him inside.

With a smile on his face, he read your replies to the questions he’d asked you last time, your reactions to everything he told you about, the live Mariners game, the lake house, the rides on the boat. He imagined you as you sat at your desk in your room he’d only seen once, when you’d held a small party for your birthday and he, having arrived first, was honored with a tour of your house. He imagined your smile, the way you played with your hair when you focused on something, wondered whether you pondered every word before you wrote it down as he did or whether you poured your thoughts out onto the page without hesitation. His smile faltered when Jake Sim’s name appeared in your neat handwriting, but he was relieved to find out your description of him now was miles away from the one at the start of the school year. 

Then you start writing about him. Him, Park Jongseong, and your words startle him so much, it’s like he’d forgotten he was the recipient of this letter in the first place.

But it got me thinking about your fight again. Reflecting on it now, I can say that it was a turning point for me in my perception of you. 

He’s been lying comfortably in his bed, but he sits up the moment his eyes take in these words. If there is one topic the two of you have practically never broached, it’s this exactly: your relationship, the changes it’s gone through this past year. Except for a few mentions made in jest here and there, you’ve always conveniently ignored the fact that not so long ago, you were at each other’s throats. At least, you were at his throat, and Jay let you be, let you think the hatred went both ways, when in reality all he wanted was to keep you close one way or another. To him, anything was better than indifference.

But here you are, writing about how you feel about him, not in hints, not in jokes, but actually telling him black and white what goes through your head when you think of him—in other words, everything he’s been dying to know ever since he met you and especially ever since you started warming up to him a few months ago.

I have never told you about that night because I know it’ll just be more fodder for you to endlessly tease me, and I haven’t even mentioned it in these letters that I write and don’t send. Sometimes I debate the ethics of it—if I know something about our futures, isn’t it right that you know, too? But then again, I still hesitate whether what happened was real or not. As with anything, the more time passes, the more I forget about it. What kind of cheese you’d put on the pasta, the movie that played in the background, whether the stairs were carpeted or wooded—these details have evaded me by now. All I clearly remember is your face and how I felt, seeing it then, seeing it the next day at school, ten years younger, the same exact person in what felt like a different universe. As much as I tried to deny it, I know now that it was no coincidence—I was talking about it with Sunoo and he said that sometimes, we want something so badly, we conjure it up for ourselves. He’s not always a dimwit. And he’s right, the kind of love I felt from you in that dream — or not-dream — I’ve yearned for it ever since I first watched Pride & Prejudice, the 2005 film to be precise, when I was ten. But with you? That was what I couldn’t believe at first. I don’t think I need to explain why—you were there, I think you knew how I felt about you for over three years, it’s not like I tried to hide it.

Then you turned up and the sight of you was enough to bring back all the feelings from that dream. You must’ve wondered why my behavior with you switched so suddenly—well, a glimpse into marital bliss is sometimes enough for a girl to make some changes in her life. Yet I valiantly tried to convince myself that any flutter of my heart around you was due to this stupid dream, to a version of you my brain had conjured up because it was starved for affection, and you happened to be at the forefront of my mind, even if not for the right reasons. But it was no use. I had entertained the possibility that this future was really mine, and I couldn’t go back to seeing you as the boy who annoyed the living daylights out of me.

But Jong, if you weren’t you, I would’ve been confused for a week and then I would’ve gotten over it. I stayed confused for a while, and everything you did only served to confuse me further. I started to notice you more, to see you for who you were and not for the idea I had constructed of you in my head, I stopped taking note of only the things that reinforced this idea. And that changed everything.

Let’s get it out of the way: as much as I hate to admit it because it proves you right, I saw that you are indeed devastatingly handsome. It devastates me every time I have to look at that stupid, wonderful face of yours. And if aging is something you’re worried about, don’t be. I’ve seen you at 28, and let’s just say that your jaw somehow only gets more chiseled. I’ve realized that you don’t just participate in class to be a prick — except for when you contradict me in Literature, I know you only do that to piss me off, and yes, it works — but that you actually care about what we learn and that you don’t want the teacher to feel like they’re talking to a classroom full of students made out of bricks. I’ve also realized that you didn’t specifically pick German to be the one subject where you must beat me at all costs, you just actually really like German, even if I’m still undetermined as to why. And I can finally admit to myself—you are funny. Sometimes. There were so many times I had to stop myself from laughing at one of your idiotic puns because I could not bear to give you the satisfaction. That feeling when the worst person you know makes a funny joke, and all that. And as much as I’ve mocked you for it, I do actually like your laugh. I like that you’re only loud when you laugh, or sneeze, or get excited over something. You don’t scream, you don’t get angry, and I think that’s a lot for a boy fresh out of puberty. Or for any boy, really. 

But above all, you’re kind, Jong. I think it’s the best thing about you. I think it’s the best thing anyone can be. I see it in your patience with Heeseung when he starts one of his rants better reserved for Reddit than real life, I see it in the way you took Sunoo and Kazuha in stride, even though they’re a bit rough around the edges sometimes, I see it in the way you guide the freshmen at the start of every year, when all anyone does is complain about them, I see it in the gentleness with which you let down the girls who confess to you, even the more persistent ones. I used to think they were crazy, but I understand them more than ever now. I also used to think that all those kindnesses meant that the ones you occasionally showed me meant nothing more than that—occasional kindnesses. You were just a nice guy, occasionally so to me. But you sort of ratted yourself out when you gave me those twenty chocolates for Valentine’s.

Or, really, what made things clearer was that fight in December. I guess I was wrong—you do get angry. I remember a thought I had at the time: just when I think I know you, you do something to shake it all up. You punched two of the star soccer players of our school in the face because they said some mean, unimportant things about me. Thinking about it now, I still don’t understand it. Was it another one of your acts of kindness? 

And then I thought of those other times you helped me out. Do you remember them—the art project, the handwritten notes after my grandma passed away, you tearing Park Sunghoon a new one in the girls’ bathroom. I’m sure there are many more that I’ve dismissed simply because I did not want to see you in any other light than the one I’d decided to shine on you. 

Maybe I’m rewriting the past here, but I’ve been thinking about something lately. The theme today seems to be honesty, so I’ll lay myself bare and tell you something I haven’t told anyone yet, not even myself. The more I write, the more I become aware of its truth. I like you, Jong. I think I have for a long time, longer than either of us thinks. Maybe that’s why I kept buying erasers.

I don’t have the best memory — I suspect iron deficiency, it runs in my mom’s side of the family — but I do remember this. The first time I saw you. I haven’t noticed your face changing in real time, but I’m sure I’d laugh at how much of a baby you looked back then. Although I didn’t fare much better, I’m sure. Well, you’re the one that has all these embarrassing pictures of me, you freak, so I’m sure you could tell me. Moving on… 

I found you really cute. You were chatting to the person next to you, maybe it was Heeseung, I didn’t look properly—I only looked at you. Don’t laugh at me. It was the first day of high school, there was a nervous energy in the air, but you seemed happy to be there. You know I don’t have hordes of friends like you do, I don’t walk through life with people naturally gravitating towards me. I’m okay with it now, but it was something I struggled with back then. Kazuha, Sunoo and I have had each other since our elementary days, and I never needed more than that—but fifteen is the prime age for comparison, and as the weeks passed and we got used to being high schoolers, I listened to everyone sing your praises, I watched as you talked with all of our classmates, even our teachers, like you were old friends. But we sat next to each other in a couple of classes, and you wouldn't talk to me outside of partnered work. I, who wanted to be easily charmed by you like everyone else was, who thought maybe you’d help me come out of my shell. But it felt like sitting next to me was torture to you, like the boy whom I watched speak with ease to everyone else disappeared when I was around. And so — and I’m not proud of this — every smart remark in class, every joke that had the entire class roaring, every high five you gave out in the hallway, I started to despise them. And by association, I started to despise you. After that, it was easy to find fault in everything you did, my contempt was only enhanced by everyone’s admiration. But I’m not alone here. It went both ways, didn’t it? I don’t think you liked that I didn’t like you and openly showed it, so used to being everyone’s favorite person you were. I remember how you showily tried to be nice to me after that, maybe you just wanted another friend, but I didn’t let you. I don’t blame us for how we acted, only for taking so long to get our heads out of our asses.

(I have to say, I also have a thing for hating people. Remind me to tell you about Na Jaemin and Shin Ryujin one of these days.)

Anyways, I think it’s because I had liked you so much at first that I could then seemingly hate you so much. But I never hated you, Jong, not really. I’m sorry if I gave you that impression. Can I take it all back now? 

Now that we’re entering university soon, I can’t help but look back on high school. This is what I want to know, but I’m not sure I’ll ever have the courage to ask you, because if your answer is the one I suspect, I don’t know how I’ll handle all the regret in my heart.

Have I been wrong about you this whole time? I thought you harbored the same negative feelings towards me as I had you since the moment you’d laid eyes on me, but all of a sudden, here you were, bloody, bandaged hand holding mine. Even with your busted eye, you looked like an angel next to all that white in the nurse’s station. I’ll never forget your words that day. Would you really not get hurt for anything else, Jong?

Your letter abruptly ends here, no concluding remarks, no wishing him a fun time in Seattle and looking forward to his next letter, no sign-off. It was as if someone cut you off before you could say everything you wanted, but then why send him this seemingly unfinished letter? It is all the more bizarre since your letters are usually meticulous: you write on every other line, it looks like you take your time with every single letter, the only disturbance in your otherwise perfect handwriting is your going back-and-forth between cursive and script s’s. But this particular letter looks rushed, your lines are sloppy, some words need to be read a few times over to be understood. What kind of state had you been in, writing these words? Jay’s heart swells, thinking that you were as moved writing as he was reading. He even looks through your letter again, wishing to find a tear stain somewhere, but there are none. Maybe he’s been watching too many of these romantic period dramas you always go on about.

He has to pace his room when he’s done reading your letter, but he feels trapped inside these four walls, so he dashes outside, saying that he’s getting some air when his relatives ask him where he’s off to in such a rush, and walks around the block five times. When he’s back in his room, he rereads your letter, eyes taking in each and every word slowly and carefully, making sure he doesn’t misread anything.

You like him. You, Y/N, like him, Jongseong, it’s a fact, it’s real, you said so yourself, you went into quite some detail about it, he can’t believe it, but it’s real, it’s written right there on the page, if anyone dares tell him he’s fooling himself, he can prove them wrong, you’re the one who said it.

The smile doesn’t leave his lips for the rest of the day, he can barely eat, he’s already full of happiness. He reads your words over and over before falling asleep, committing them to memory, dreaming about them, about you.

You. How should he respond to this? Are you even expecting a response? You seem to know he’s not impartial to you, either, although that’s an understatement. 

In the following days, the thought that you hadn’t meant to send him this letter nags at him. The abrupt ending, the absence of your usual Love, Y/N. The fact that this had come out of left field—none of your previous letters had even a romantic undertone, no matter how he tried in his own to hint at his missing you, the most reference to seeing each other again you would give him was It’ll be better to show you this in real life. The act of sending letters itself didn’t feel very platonic, but you never went there, so he didn’t, either. He had secretly yearned to have you this close all these years, he would never forgive himself if he ended up chasing you away now with his over-eagerness.

You had landed on something very real in your letter: I don’t think you liked that I didn’t like you and openly showed it, so used to being everyone’s favorite person you were. I remember how you showily tried to be nice to me after that, maybe you just wanted another friend, but I didn’t let you. He cursed his fifteen-year-old self, that idiot who couldn’t even speak to a girl no matter how much he wanted to, just because she was so pretty, he was afraid of saying something stupid and messing it up before it even had a chance to start.

On days when you’d had particularly nasty or petty arguments — it could get pretty bad, at the start, before you both started maturing and realized how ridiculous you were, especially with your classmates telling you to keep it classy — he’d stay up all night, wondering why you hated him so much in the first place, what on Earth he could’ve done to warrant such vitriol. Now, finally, he knew, and he could only resent the fact that no one had invented time machines yet, so he could nip his useless ego in the bud; so he could tell younger Jay not to take it personally, that you had your reasons for disliking him, that even if you hadn’t, the world won’t end if someone doesn’t like him like everyone usually does. 

Because, he hates to admit, that was what had done it for Jay. He couldn’t stand that someone — not just someone, but one of the prettiest girls he’d ever seen, a girl he’d been hyping himself up to talk to every day, but never found the courage to — didn’t immediately fall for his charms. And not just that, but even showed just how much she disliked him. You looked him up-and-down with disdain, made disgusted faces at his jokes, rolled your eyes when he spoke up in class. It made him burn with anger, but he also weirdly enjoyed it—at least, you were paying attention to him. So, he amped it up. Talked louder, laughed louder, hovered around you. He even stole your erasers, wrote the date on which he’d taken them, kept them in a box on his desk that he looked at every time he studied at home. He aimed to beat you in every class you shared, even though neither of you cared that much about grades—the annoyed look on your face when he boasted about the two points he’d gotten over you was enough satisfaction.

All in all, he behaved like a child, and you reciprocated in like.

Until you didn’t.

It was a random Tuesday when something in your attitude towards him shifted. It wasn’t a complete 180, but he noticed everything about you, so even a slight change of your tone was obvious to him. You started using your nickname for him more often than his full name—he never told you, but of course he loved that you didn’t call him Jay like everyone else, that you had your own way of addressing him. It was a sign to him that the two of you had something special, even if it was on the opposite end of the spectrum of what he wanted with you.

He again spent sleepless nights wondering what had caused this change: was it something he had done, or something within you? It was a welcome change, that much was sure, but he was initially too confused to take it in stride. He’d long made peace with the fact that he’d never have you the way he really wanted, so he was fine with whatever this was—but now, you were changing, your interactions were tinged with something like shyness, the distance between you felt greater than ever. He tried to keep up his smart-ass appearances around you, but you only indulged in your old habits once in a while, as though you had grown tired of arguing with him, even of giving him the time of day.

So he resolved himself to adapting his behavior to yours. If you stared at him intently like his face was a puzzle you were trying to solve, he let you, rested his head on his palm and smiled as he stared back at you. Finally, he had an excuse to look at you without you threatening to punch him or saying a picture would last longer. He knew they did, he’d had to resort to scrolling through Sunoo’s and Kazuha’s Instagrams to find any photos of you. Yours was private and at the time, you would’ve probably cursed him out if he’d sent a follow request. If you seemed too annoyed or upset over something, he’d leave you alone, he’d do something nice to let you know you didn’t need to have your guards up at all times around him. If you seemed to silently call for a truce of hostilities, he easily complied.

Then, after a few weeks, your petty arguments resumed, but those too were different—if before they felt filled with real disdain and irritation, they now seemed to be a comfortable habit to fall back on, almost like a fun hobby. Those, too, Jay readily welcomed.

And so things changed in a direction Jay had never thought would one day be possible. You gave him no explanations, nor did he ask for any, and soon he stopped losing sleep over the why’s and the how’s and simply let himself enjoy the fact that you now had the semblance of a friendship, that he could compliment you and pass it off as amical teasing, that he could learn things about you like what you spent your weekends doing, what your relationship with your family was like, whether you were a dog or cat person, whether you wanted to visit his farm in Stardew Valley. 

Unsurprisingly, this only enhanced his already pathetically strong feelings for you. He worried over how to make sure this wasn’t some sort of 30-day friendship trial you had wanted to test out. He reveled in the fact that his top university of choice was the one you had already been accepted to. He now knew what it felt like to have you smile at him, smile because of him, and he never wanted again to live in a world where this was not a daily occurrence. 

He now sort of has an answer—your letter doesn’t make it very clear, it makes him think again that you really had not meant to send it, but you seem to have had a dream. A dream of him, 28-year-old him, to be precise, of your life together—he’s not sure. At this point in time, he doesn’t care much, either. Whether it was a dream or a real vision of the future that you had, all that matters is that it allowed you to see him in a new light, a light which he had hoped for years would one day appear to you, and it had changed things. And now, you liked him.

You said so yourself.

He’s at a loss for words. He can’t concentrate for long enough to put all his thoughts in order, he can’t make himself calm down and write his feelings down. He has to pack to go home, once he’s home, he’ll have to pack for university. But it’s only two weeks from now to the day you meet again, and it’ll be better to say what he wants to say in person, anyway.

Is it okay if I respond to your letter in person? I think I’ll be too busy these two coming weeks, he texts you.

And then those two weeks pass like two seconds and you’re there, a few meters away from him. All the speeches he’d prepared in his head, from grand declarations of love to laid-back admittances of Yeah, I like you too, you’re cool, I guess, they all vanish from his head. For fourteen days he’s been going through scenarios upon scenarios of your reunion, what you’d look like, what he’d say, how you’d react. But now that he can actually see you, now that he would just have to walk a few steps if he wanted to touch you, hug you, kiss you — hoping that was something you wanted to do — he freezes. He forgets how his body works, the part in his brain that’s meant to manage language ability fails him. HIs mom calls him over, urging him into his new dorm building, and all he can do is wave back at you like an idiot.

When finally he musters the courage to text you, what he hopes will be the day that starts your romantic relationship turns into the day Park Jongseong realizes how much of a loser he is. For the first hour, he can’t look at you, he can’t get through a sentence without stuttering out half of his words, he runs out of things to say in record time. All he can think of is how easy it’d be to grab one of your hands, hold it in his and walk around this stupid potted plant sale as if the two of you were two halves of a whole. He doesn’t even want a potted plant, his roommate already has five, he just wanted an excuse to see you. He steals glances at you when you’re looking elsewhere, and he notices everything about you tenfold now that he can, now that caring about you doesn’t need to be in vain any longer. He tells himself that he just needs to calm down a bit, even when you have the confirmation that the person you’re about to confess to already likes you, revealing your feelings to someone is always nerve-wracking, the two of you haven’t seen in each other in a while, he’ll talk to you once his heart gets out of his throat.

But you’re acting normal. Suspiciously so. You’re acting like you never told him you liked him, like nothing has changed between you. He rereads your letter the second he gets back to his dorm. He’s not crazy, it’s written right there, I like you, Jong. I think I have for a long time, longer than either of us thinks. He knows the words by heart now, but he checks them anyway. So why are you acting like you never said anything? Had you really not meant to send that letter? Did Jay actually intrude on your private thoughts by reading words that had never meant to be seen by another soul?

You continue to behave as you usually would around him, but if he couldn’t go back to vicious bickering when things changed the first time, he can’t go back to friendly bickering now that things — for him — have changed a second time. He doesn’t even want friendly to be in your shared vocabulary anymore. 

So he stops giving in. If you make fun of him, he just stands there with an unimpressed if amused look on his face. If you pedantically correct him on something, he just nods his head and accepts it. He can tell you’re bothered by it, but he needs to show you that he doesn’t want to go on being just friends with you—he wants to compliment you without having to pass it off as teasing, he wants to stare at you with hearts in his eyes without having to look away when you catch him, he wants to spend every waking second of every day with you, he wants to hold your hand, hold you. 

He could wait for things to change slowly again, but why wait when he could help things along?

--

It’s nine p.m. on a Saturday and you’re sneaking Jongseong into your dorm. Liz is away for the weekend, gone back home to celebrate her aunt’s birthday, so you have the room to yourselves. It took some convincing to get him to come — What if we get caught coming in, What if your T.A. sees us, What if I get reported to campus police — and so when your verbal reassurances failed to work, you resorted to blinking up at him through your lashes and that did the trick.

Jongseong was in many ways unlike any other man you’d ever met; in some other ways, he was the exact same.

Plastic bag of the tteokbokki you’d asked for in hand, he looks around the deserted hallways like someone might jump out of nowhere and beat him to a pulp at any given moment. At this time of the week, everyone’s out partying or holed up in their dorms, presumably either to rest or because of a lack of friends so early on in the semester. You grab his free hand and hurry him along to the elevator—once inside, it takes you a few seconds before you realize you’re still holding it, and you retract your hand quickly while he just smiles. 

You settle yourselves on the floor—comfort is not worth getting gochujang sauce on your white sheets. You sit criss-cross in front of each other, the food between the two of you, and catch up on your first week of class in-between bites of spicy, gooey rice cakes and fish cakes. You wonder, if one day you and Jongseong are no longer friends, how long you will keep associating tteokbokki with him.

When you tell him that you and Jake share a class, Introduction to Film Studies, he gives you a look. “What’s that face for?” you ask.

“Did you guys sit next to each other?”

You chuckle. “Of course. We only knew each other in that room, it would’ve been weird not to.”

He continues to stare at you. After a while, he muses, “You’re not…?”

You halt in your tracks, rice cake at the end of your plastic fork hanging in the air, halfway between the container and your mouth. “Whatever you’re thinking, the answer is no.” Still in love with him, interested in him again, you don’t know the exact details of Jongseong’s thought process, all you know is he has nothing to worry about—if it’s something he worries about.

When a smile slowly grows on his lips and he nods, saying, “Okay, good,” you let yourself think it might be.

Later, you’re ten minutes into a senseless blockbuster movie when he suddenly pauses it. It snaps you out of a trance—his hand was awfully close to yours, so is his shoulder, his thigh, his knee, everything, really, and you haven’t been able to concentrate on anything but the warmth radiating off his skin and the intensity with which you crave to feel it intentionally rather than accidentally. When he speaks, there’s something serious in his tone that makes you nervous. “Y/N,” he says as he turns to you, and now his face is awfully close, too. There’s still many centimeters separating you, but in this tiny, barely lit-up room, he feels closer than ever before. “Do you remember when I said I’d reply to your letter in real life?”

You tilt your head. “Yeah, that was ages ago.”

“Well, I thought I’d do it now.”

“Now?”

He takes a deep, shaky breath. “Now.”

And then those safe centimeters suddenly disappear, and Jongseong’s lips are on yours. It’s a brief, chaste kiss, so quick you wonder if it even happened when he leans back again.

“I like you, too,” he says, and your heart stops.

“W-what?” is all you can say back, eyes wide like he’s just admitted to killing someone rather than reciprocating your feelings.

His confident facade quickly crumbles. “God, this was so much cooler in my head, I-I’m sorry.” He pulls something out of his sweatpants pocket, pages folded over and over into a tiny square. As he unfolds them, you recognize your paper, your handwriting—but what do your letters have anything to do with him kissing you, of all things? “I don’t think you meant to send this. But I’m glad you did.”

He hands you the pages and your eyes skim over the words, not detecting anything out of the ordinary, until—But it got me thinking about your fight again. Reflecting on it now, I can say that it was a turning point for me in my perception of you. You remember this line, because you had made sure to strike it and everything that came afterward out when you rewrote the letter that you would actually send Jongseong. So how was he giving you this? 

“I-How do you have this?” you ask, voice trembling. You feel as though your heart overflows with all kinds of emotions, and so your eyes follow, tears staining your lower lashes. 

But Jongseong is not one to let you hide things from him. “Hey, no, it’s okay,” he says, warm hands coming to cup your face. “Look at me.” You have no choice but to oblige—his gaze is somehow both soft and stern, a mix of concern and determination. “Did you mean what you wrote in here?” You nod. “Then everything’s okay. You don’t know how happy I was reading this.”

The tension in your body slowly starts to fade. “Really?”

“Really. I cherish every single word in there.”

“Really?” you repeat, and he chuckles.

“Really.”

Your heartbeat speeds up as you gaze into his eyes, as you let yourself bask in the affection and endearment you find there. You can’t quite comprehend what’s happening. The letter, the kiss, his confession, your inadvertent confession, it’s all a mess in your head; so sudden, but such a long time coming at the same time. You never imagined that things would change so quickly—less than a year ago, you thought Jongseong was the most irritating person on this planet. After meeting his 28-year-old self, you thought it’d take ages for the two of you to be on such good terms. But now, just a week into your first semester of university, belly full of tteokbokki and Sprite, you like each other enough not only to be in the same room without hurling insults at each other but to actually be smiling at each other, willingly at that.

Your eyes drift down to his lips, just like in the hallway all those months ago, and the words slip out before you can stop them. They’re a mere whisper—”Kiss me again.”

Jongseong doesn’t need to be told twice. Still cupping your face, he bridges the gap between the two of you again, and this time, when your lips meet, they don’t come apart so quickly. It’s your first kiss, and it’s nothing short of magical, better than any romance novel could’ve prepared you for. His lips are warm and soft against yours, moving slowly, gingerly; as if he’s scared to take any wrong step, he lets you control the pace, follows every tilt of your head this way and that. It’s a relief that he seems to know as little about this as you do—his hands haven’t moved from your face, yours are on his knees, all you can do is focus on the movement of your lips, to think of anything else at the same time would be overwhelming. 

“I’ve liked you from the start,” he suddenly says, face still so close you can feel his breath on your lips as he speaks. 

“Hm?” you hum, body reeling from the kiss.

“I’ve liked you from the start,” he repeats, grinning—he looks relieved, like he’s been waiting to say these words for a long time. “I can’t believe this is happening after all these years. Or at all, really.”

“I think I did, too.”

“Yeah, you mentioned that in your letter.”

Your eyes widen and you bury your face in your hands as Jongseong laughs. “You’re never going to let me live that down, are you?” you mumble.

He smooths over your hair with one hand, brings your face back up with the other. “Don’t worry. I won’t ever make you regret this.”

Your brain and heart are too all over the place for you to come up with a coherent answer, so you lean in and reconnect your lips to his. It’s already becoming your favorite sensation, feeling him smile into the kiss, threading your fingers in his soft hair.

Time passes delicately like this, the two of you on your single bed, in the sheets that you bought three weeks ago. A lot of it is spent kissing and learning how to fall into each other’s rhythm, but you also spend hours talking, comparing situations and how you’d experienced them. You thought his occasional acts of kindness were done out of guilt, evidence that he did have some morals; he was trying to show he cared about you. He thought you’d despised him from the moment you saw him; you reiterate in more detail than your letter what really happened, you say you wish you knew then what you know now. 

“But I never hated you, Jong. I think I wanted to believe that I did, but I never actually did.”

“You glared at me everytime I walked past like I killed a member of your family.”

You groan, ashamed of yourself. “I did, didn’t I?”

“You did,” he says, chuckling, placing a kiss on your forehead. His arms are around you, your head rests atop his heart—you’ve never felt more comfortable in your life. “But it’s okay. We’re here now, and I don’t want us to have any regrets about high school. We had a good time, didn’t we?”

You tilt your head up to look at him. “I’m sure you did, stealing all my erasers.”

He lets out a hearty laugh. Clearly, he’s very proud of his feat. “Hey, I gave all of them back.”

“And what am I going to do with a hundred erasers, Jong?” you ask, laughing too, pecking his cheek aggressively—your way of punishing him for a grave deed.

“Keep them as a token of my love for you,” he says, and your breath falters at the mention of that word. “In fifty years, it’ll be a sign that I’ve liked you since the beginning, I just had a funny way of showing it.”

“Fifty years, huh?”

He grins. “Fifty, a hundred, whatever. You’re not getting rid of me.”

“I wasn’t planning to.”

You’re both smiling so wide, you can barely manage a kiss. He trails kisses from your lips to your ear. Holding you close, he whispers, “It’s always been you, Y/N. Always and only you.”

There may be thorns on the otherwise immaculate rose that is your life, but Park Jongseong was never one of them—all along, he was a bud waiting to bloom.

--

The more time passes, the more you wonder whether that night you had seen in your vision will ever come. There’s been evenings similar to it—crashing the minute you came home from a long day on set, telling yourself you’d take a fifteen-minute power nap only to wake up three hours later and coming downstairs to find your husband cooking dinner, cleaning the kitchen, taking care of your son or simply watching TV, but waiting for you, always waiting for you. He seems as happy now watching you come down the stairs as he was then finding your face among all the students flocking out of lecture halls. 

The details are blurry now, but many small things seem to be different from what you’d seen. He still tries to recreate your favorite meal, but it’s not pasta all'arrabbiata, it’s laksa, because your first date as an official couple was to a Malaysian restaurant, not an Italian one. He’s still the best father you know, but you have one son, not twin girls—although that offer to “give him a younger sibling to play with” is always on the table. Even the house you live in is different from the one in your dream, which has now become nothing more than a funny anecdote you share with people when they ask you the story of how you and Jongseong met.

You think of Sunoo’s words from all those years ago: Sometimes, we want something so badly, we conjure it up for ourselves. Had 18-year-old you been in such denial over her feelings for Jongseong that she’d had to convince herself a magical well had bestowed a crazy dream upon her to admit that, yes, there was something there, something other than childish hatred?

It doesn’t matter anymore. Months pass without you thinking about that well, anyway. 

Tonight, you come home late from work after having had to do last-minute changes to the script for your current project, a movie that starts shooting in a few days. Jongseong texted you that he was going to bed an hour or so again, so you’re greeted by a plate of japchae covered in film paper. The post-it note stuck to it reads, I’m afraid of the repercussions of too much curry consumption on our son, so no laksa tonight my love. Hope you like it. Come to bed quick. You were starving a second ago, but you decide food can wait—other things can’t.

You tiptoe up the stairs and into your son’s room, breathing in the scent of his hair and placing a kiss there. His hair is still worryingly sparse, but if he’s anything like his dad, it’ll come in a bit later than the other kids. You always thought babies with a full head of hair were freaky, anyway. He doesn’t budge a bit, sleeping like a log—his dad is another story, shuffling in bed the moment you step into your shared bedroom. He opens his arms wide, a silent invitation.

“You’re home,” he says as you attach yourself to his body, your leg hiked up over his, your face buried in the crook of his neck, your thumb caressing the start of stubble on his cheeks.

You smile. “I am.”

© asahicore on Tumblr, 2024. please do not repost, translate, or plagiarize my works. support your creators by reblogging and leaving feedback!

permanent taglist: @zreamy @sunghoonmybeloved @lalalalawon @sd211 @w3bqrl @raikea10 @wntrnghts @moonlighthoon @4imhry @rikisly @loves0ft @iamliacamila @theboingsuckerasseater9000 @chaechae-23 @baekhyuns-lipchain @hyuckslvr @vernonburger @amorbonbon @fluerz @jakeflvrz @enhastolemyheart (ask to be removed/added!)

[caratchronicles]

oh this was definitely my favorite story of yours like i love the fmc, she's i think similar to me and i just love her. and jay omg he's such a sweetheart gentleman i love him. this story was wonderful thank u so much for writing

[caratchronicles]

highkey wanna participate in another collab!!

[en-thezone]

HOW LYING FUCKED UP MY LIFE FOR A MONTH | N.RK

PAIRING: Nishimura Riki x female!reader

GENRE: college!au, smut, paranormal!au, strangers to lovers

SUMMARY: Best friends would do anything for each other, right? So when you tell a little lie to save your friend Minju’s ass, a punishment falls on your doorstep from the Witches' Council: do not lie for an entire lunar cycle. What you thought was simple starts to get complicated when you can't keep your mouth shut and honesty oozes out of your pores in the most uncomfortable and awkward situations. Add Riki Nishimura to the mix, the sharp-eyed boy who starts to take an interest in your sincerity.

WORDS: 21k+.

WARNINGS AND CONTENT: strangers to lovers, reader is a magnet to chaos, explicit smut, unprotected sex, creampie, fingering, spanking, praise, overstimulation, Niki big cock agenda, just Niki being a menace in general.

The Witch's Council chambers was an old place outside town that smelled like wood, incense and power. You could easily sense the magic and power like it was engraved in the air, strong and ancient. But the old-fashioned look was interrupted by modern touches: new chairs, a wall projector and council members with iPads, some others playing with their phones. Not the entire council was present; only the president, Na Seorin, and the vice president, Kim Junseo, Minju's father. Off to one side stood the council secretary, Lee Sunjae, who seemed more engrossed in his phone than in what was happening around him, wearing a deep, concentrated frown. He was very, very focused on his phone and at some point he even leaned towards Seorin, asking her if she could send him lives on Candy Crush. She silenced him with an unimpressed look.

There was a small jury of witches and warlocks that you obviously knew, uncles and aunts and even parents of some friends, people who you grew up around. You were sitting with Minju on a wooden bench at the front, being judged in a very dramatic fashion in your opinion. Your back was straight and your knees touching and Minju wore the same position, you could feel the nervousness radiating from her. You didn’t quite know why you'd been summoned there with her, but hell, you wouldn't open your mouth to incriminate yourself until someone else started the whole thing. What was worse, you and Minju didn't have time to talk and organize a lie together.

‘’We are here to clarify the events of last Friday that have caught our attention,’’ Minju’s dad started, voice calm. He turned to face the jury. ‘’We have sufficient reasons to believe that both witches are involved.’’

You raised both eyebrows and tilted your head, wondering what on earth was going on. You weren’t involved in shit. Beside you, Minju whimpered under her breath, probably knowing where this whole thing was heading. Junseo turned his attention towards you and it took everything in you not to shrink under his steel gaze. He looked like a very offended father. 

‘’You are a well-known associate of Kim Minju. You grew up together and are very close, as we all know. Responsible, respectful, talented with magic, and disciplined.’’

‘’Thank you, sir,’’ you muttered, lowering your head humbly and nodding. You heard one juror behind you cooing and telling another how polite you were. 

‘’Did Minju attend a fraternity party Friday night?’’ He asked.

Oh, so that's what this was all about. You lied without even thinking, in a steady voice, even frowning slightly as if you were confused that he even asked you that. ‘’Um, of course not. She spent the night with me; we were catching up on some reading. It was a quiet night, and we went to bed early.’’

You knew perfectly well that was a damn lie. The last thing Minju would do is spend a Friday cooped up inside studying instead of following Jungwon, her campus crush, to parties. You knew Minju was pretty easygoing and a lightweight, so alcohol wasn't exactly the wisest thing to give her, since chaos usually followed her wherever she went. When you asked her the next day how the party was, Minju only remembered maybe a quarter of it, not even a half. You weren't entirely sure what Minju had done to warrant a damn jury of witches, but you were going to defend your best friend no matter what anyway. Minju was... prone to getting into strange situations. You were used to it. 

You turned your face and smiled innocently at the jury trying to sell your act; some thoughtful murmurs reached you while others simply nodded in agreement. You looked at Junseo as if nothing was wrong, with an open and friendly expression, nothing challenging or mocking. His eyes studied your expression and Minju's in a very familiar way, like when you were little and he wanted to find out which of you had eaten the whole drawer of chocolates.

‘’I don't know exactly what this is about, but I guess the only thing I can assure Minju did was snore very loudly,’’ you joked with a chuckle. ‘’We had a super quiet Friday, sir.’’

Minju gave you a playful nudge and you both giggled adorably, the very picture of good, innocent girls that the jury was totally buying into. For a beautiful moment you believed it had worked and that would be all, except that Mr. Kim had an ace up his sleeve.

He just nodded thoughtfully and, without saying a word, simply raised his hand holding a small remote control. The projector sprang to life and displayed a slightly blurry image filmed from a porch security camera. The room filled with sound: loud, silly laughter, someone yelling "aim well!" and "do it again!" A group of clearly drunk college kids came into view, eggs in their hands. Someone threw one and completely missed the house; another projectile did hit the door and splattered a little on the camera. 

Minju gasped next to you. ‘’Oh my God. No way.’’

Then Minju's face appeared, her eyes wide and dilated, her mascara slightly smudged, and smiling as if she had just summoned a vortex of pure chaos. You frowned, believing your sight was deceiving you, but no, Minju was throwing or at least trying to throw eggs. She looked absolutely ridiculous, drunk as a sailor and staggering, unable to contain her drunk giggles, hands full of eggs, some failing into the floor. You covered your mouth, trying to control your laugh from spilling. 

‘’Oh no,’’ Minju blurted with worry. ‘’My hair looked like that?!’’

You closed your eyes with a sigh and pinched the bridge of your nose. The video continued playing, showing Minju teetering on the sidewalk and trying to aim the eggs, some landing on her shoes while others cheered on her failed attempts. No eggs actually hit the house. Now you understood why the two of them were there. The house that Minju and her friends had vandalized was one of the oldest in town, now a museum, and what not many people knew was that it had actually been a house belonging to the witch settlers. In fact, nobody knew, except for those of their kind. Minju egged a historic house to your community, a very important one. 

The screen went dark and a heavy silence fell over the room. The president spoke for the first time, clearing her voice. ‘’Girls, this is not exemplary behavior for witches.’’

‘’I know and I’m sorry,’’ Minju panicked, moving her hands desperately. ‘’I’ve grown since then! I swear!’’

‘’This happened three days ago,’’ her father said flatly. 

The president moved her attention to you and you shrank a little in your seat under her stare. ‘’And you have lied to this council and the jury, covering up for the accused.’’

You deflated like a balloon, looking at the floor. ‘’Yes,’’ you admitted with a sigh, there was no point in denying it. ‘’I did. I’m sorry.’’

Seorin sighed loudly. ‘’You’re two young witches still forging their path, but at your age you should already understand certain rules. This room isn't a place for lies, girls. Magic doesn't just respond to power, but to truth,’’ she scolded you two gently but firmly; her eyes were not unkind. ‘’I'm a little disappointed in both of you. I was expecting better.’’

Being scolded by an older, more experienced witch felt just as embarrassing as when you were a little girl. Thank goodness your familiar, Soomin, had taken a short vacation, otherwise you would have been doubly scolded, though you suspected she probably already knew. Some jurors nodded, others agreed, and some looked at you two more suspiciously, as if they thought Minju had more eggs in her pockets and was about to attack them. Perhaps with better aim.

‘’This is obviously not a criminal matter, but every action has its consequences,’’ the president continued. ‘’And this is no exception.’’

Minju held your sleeve while looking at you alarmed. ‘’They're going to burn us at the stake!’’ she whispered urgently.

You rolled your eyes and pushed her softly, scoffing. ‘’Of course not!’’

‘’For you,’’ the president said, looking directly into your eyes, ‘’one lunar cycle without lies. No falsehood or trickery, your tongue will always speak the truth. May sincerity teach you an important lesson, young witch.’’

Your stomach dropped, but you maintained your neutral expression, even as you could feel the faint presence of a spell reaching your body and settling there. Your tongue felt heavy for a second and you touched your lips with a frown, noticing that the sensation appeared as quickly as it vanished, as if something had been tied up and then melted on your tongue like candy. Well, fuck.

‘’And for you,’’ she turned to Minju, ‘’you will be in charge of three hens. You will feed them, care for them, clean their coop and collect their eggs. It goes without saying that not a single one should be broken in the entire month.’’

Minju blinked. ‘’Uh, excuse me, Madam President… three?’’

‘’Exactly.’’

‘’Oh. These hens,’’ Minju continued, ‘’are they… alive?’’ 

‘’They’re chickens, Minju,’’ her father sighed tiredly. ‘’That is usually how they work.’’ 

Seorin struck the gavel once. ‘’With this, we conclude the council meeting. Thank you all for your presence today.’’

Minju fell dramatically to your side, staring at the ceiling with a pout. ‘’Next time I’ll tell the truth.’’

You looked at her sideways. ‘’You don't say.’’

She pouted even more, regretting filling her cute features. ’‘I'm sorry I dragged you into this! But it was kind of worth it, if we think about the grand scheme of things. Like, I kissed Jungwon at the party and I got his number!’’

You looked at her in disbelief and wondered if they would increase the punishment if you hanged her right there. ‘’Minju, we're under a spell for a whole month! I can't lie, and you've become the babysitter for three chickens. Aren't you forgetting something?’’

She stared at you blankly, head empty, just waiting for you to say more after she shook his head no.

‘’You're afraid of chickens.’’

By morning you had already begun to encourage yourself. Honesty was easy, wasn't it? You could do this. It's not like you're constantly lying, you weren't a pathological liar. One month. One lunar cycle. Thirty days. It would be easy. You could do this. People liked honest people, after all. 

It's not like the most powerful witch of the coven casted a spell on your tongue forever. There was no chance that a careless word could send you back to the Council chambers with judgmental candles and Minju’s chickens clucking in the distance… right? Right. You could do this. Being honest was a good thing! Maybe this whole mess could turn into something positive. 

But one thought wouldn't leave your mind. How did this spell exactly work? Did silence count as an answer? Perhaps it was a good idea to fake pharyngitis and take a few days off. If you could keep your mouth shut and stay quiet, maybe take a lower profile… Huh. That could maybe do the trick. 

You were so caught up in mental damage control and possible ways to cheat (or maybe not cheating as such, you would call it... walking the spell's edge), that you barely noticed someone started walking beside you.

Too close, close enough that you could smell his cologne. You glanced sideways and there was Park Jongseong in all his glory and blinding smile, gracing you with his presence. Jay was one of those guys who had a high place among campus royalty, definitely a party prince. Everybody knew him. Everybody wanted him. Always smiling like he knew something most people didn't, confident with a track record to back it up: friendly, athletic, way too good with the girls, as you’ve heard the rumors. Trouble.

Your alarm bells were starting to quietly go off because Jay was smiling at you as if you two were lifelong friends (you weren’t), looking at you as if he didn't notice your expression, which was somewhere between disinterest and slight concern (like saying please think twice what you’re about to say).

Jay wasn't a conceited idiot per se, but hey, you weren't going to give all your trust to one of the campus's favorite heartthrob just like that. You knew his kind (frat, attractive boy) and well, his group of friends had a certain reputation on campus. You weren't particularly interested in getting involved in their games like Minju, who had her sights set on Jungwon and apparently it was working well, without any illegal love potion included. You hoped. 

“Hey,” he said easily. “You’re in Professor Park class, right?”

You looked at him and then at the empty halls.

“I am,” you replied flatly.

He chuckled, unbothered by your tone. “Cool, cool. Listen— quick favor. I’ve been kinda… busy lately,’’ Jay made a vague gesture that probably meant parties, games, existing attractively, fucking around, more parties. “Missed a few lectures. You take good notes, right?”

You felt a strange sensation in your chest, like a tickling inside. Your eye twitched a little, too early to deal with whatever that was. ‘’My notes are good, yes,’’ you said.

“Perfect,” Jay said enthusiastically, as if you had come up with the idea and not him. “Think you could send them to me? Or maybe help me catch up sometime? Maybe you could tutor me from time to time.”

You inhaled slowly, ready to say that you hadn't been taking notes lately, or that maybe he wouldn't understand your handwriting, that you didn’t have the time to tutor someone or even just a clear yes so he would leave you alone.

None of that came out of your mouth. 

‘’No,’’ you said instead. Your eyes widened, realizing you couldn't have lied. It wasn't what you meant to say, it was just automatically spat it out.

Jay blinked at you. ‘’Oh. Okay.’’

‘’You should be more responsible, Jay,’’ you said, the words spilling out before you could stop it or control it. ‘’This isn't such a difficult class. If you came regularly, you'd definitely do better and be able to keep up instead of relying on people who actually are responsible, instead of being so unprepared, you know.’’

An awkward, confusing silence fell between you, and you quickly covered your mouth, wishing the floor would swallow you whole. If that wasn't guaranteed social death... some passing girls turned their heads, intrigued by the exchange. 

Jay continued to stare at you for a few seconds and then let out a small laugh, more surprised than angry. ‘’Wow,’’ he said. ‘’Okay. Fair. Harsh, but fair,’’ he chuckled. ‘’I get it.’’

You shrugged mortified and helpless and bit your tongue hard, trying to hold back the words, but the spell was stronger. ‘’Also, I’m not interested in tutoring someone who prioritizes parties over academic responsibility. You'll just waste my time.’’

Jesus Christ.

Jay raised his hands in a gesture of surrender. ‘’Damn. Alright. Message received.’’

He stopped in the hallway, still smiling, but there was something more thoughtful in his expression, his gaze lingering on you, as if he had miscalculated what he expected from you. Jay was placing you in some drawer of his mind with a new label.

‘’I didn’t know you thought like that,’’ he added. ‘’You don’t take shit from anyone, do you? I respect that.’’

Before you could make things worse by replying, thankfully Jay just gave you one of his boyish smiles and walked away. As you watched him go, your heart calmed and you sank into the nearest wall. Well, that turned out just fine. So much for walking on the edge of the spell, huh?

Not very far, someone was watching you and Jay intently, observing the entire conversation without moving with a growing interest. 

Fortunately, you didn't scare away anyone else for the rest of the morning with your big mouth. Perhaps honesty wasn't as simple as you thought if it wasn't filtered, you could only hope that no one else asked you something as direct as Jay did. The spell definitely was out of control. So that was a damn problem. Not only could you not stay quiet, but your tongue was moving uncontrollably with thoughts that hadn't even formed yet. It was as if the truth was being ripped from your soul before your brain was even aware of it.

Minju was halfway through describing chicken’s politics when she realized you weren’t really paying attention to her. Your brows were furrowed, your mind racing, analyzing the damned spell. It was both strong and subtle, binding your tongue to the truth in a way that made it impossible to shut your damn mouth once you started speaking. There had to be some way to stop it. Of course, you weren't crazy enough to cast a counter-spell and actually end up in the Witches’ Council basement. But the chances of getting through the month without any trouble weren't looking so high anymore.

“I swear,” Minju said, poking at her salad, “at first they screamed every time they saw me, but now they only scream a little. And one of them lets me hold her for, like, five seconds. Her name is Buttercup. I don’t know why I was scared of them, they’re kinda cute. It’s not so bad.’’

‘’That’s good,’’ you murmured, barely nodding, eyes unfocused. ‘’Chickens are nice.’’

‘’It really is,’’ Minju agreed proudly. ‘’Also, I don’t scream as much anymore either. I think we’re warming up to each other, you know?’’

You hummed softly, taking a sip of your soda. ‘’It's great that you're building a relationship with your chickens. Bonding is important.’’

Of course Minju noticed your thoughtful and cloudy mood and stroked your shoulder with a frown. She also noticed the faint whisper of magic. ‘’How was your day? Is it the spell? Is your soda not fizzy enou— oh my God. Oh. My. God— okay, don’t look.’’

‘’What?’’ You asked, blinking out of your haze and looking all around. ‘’What’s going on?’’

‘’I said don’t look! Listen carefully,’’ she whispered urgently, going back to her salad and keeping her eyes down. She took a deep breath, preparing herself. ‘’Niki is looking at you.’’

You frowned at her, not quite understanding the urgency of the situation, but you assumed Minju would have some reason. You snorted, keeping your eyes down anyway and trying not to laugh. ‘’Okay, I won’t. So?’’

Minju looked at you in the most offended way possible, pointing her fork at you, eyes full of incredulity. ‘’You must be kidding. Seriously? Niki? Basketball player, very cute, very tall, friend of Jungwon.’’

A face flashed into your mind and you nodded, remembering him too well. The boy with the perpetual look of disinterest. ‘’I wouldn't call him cute but okay. What about it?’’

Your best friend is practically vibrating with happiness. ‘’What do you mean, what about it? He’s looking at you! This is so good! This mean we could have a double date!’’

‘’Okay,’’ you murmured under your breath, ‘’I don’t wanna know how that occurred to you. Besides, I don't think he's looking at me for that reason. He’s probably planning my social death right now. Don’t mind him, Min.’’

Minju fell from his cloud of excitement. ‘’What? Why? Why would he?’’

‘’I refused to help Jay this morning; the stupid spell made me say a bunch of crap. Basically that he was a party animal with little interest in academics and something about not wasting my time in him.’’

Minju made a face, measuring the damage in her head. The bond between the boys was no joke. Jungwon, Heeseung, Jay, Jake, and Niki were like the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse if they were five of them and in a frat— incredibly attractive, magnetic, with the kind of presence that simply drew attention. Whether it was their looks, their grades, the trophies they won with the basketball team, the gossip or their fraternity parties, someone was always talking about them. Loyal as hell, crossing one of them meant crossing the whole group of friends. And it wasn't a good idea to do that with the guys who basically controlled the narrative on campus.

Minju tried to smile again. ‘’Oh. Uhm, it doesn't sound very polite but he doesn't look murderous to me. He looks… in love,’’ she sighed cutely. 

You looked at her, not entirely convinced and then subtly moved your head, until your eyes did find Riki Nishimura not far away, staring at you as if he could burn you with his mind. Or trying to.

He looked murderous. 

Or maybe that was his everyday face. To you, he looked as always, as if he were bored and at the same time thinking about how he could start some chaos and blame others for it. Niki was leaning back in his chair across the courtyard, one arm lazily slung over the backrest, long fingers slowly swirling his ice americano coffee cup in circles. His posture screamed indifference, but his eyes betrayed him completely. They were fixed on you— not in passing, not accidentally. Intentionally. Burning. There was nothing shy about it, but you guessed that someone like Niki didn't know what shyness was in the first place.

It was a little creepy how his eyes had an almost predatory gleam in broad daylight. They weren't flirtatious as such, more like... analytical. Observant. Curious. As if he'd seen something and wanted to figure out exactly how it worked before getting close. He had a sharp, intense gaze, a feline spark that felt more like a panther than a cat. You couldn't deny it, he was one of the most attractive men you had ever seen, no truth spell needed to admit that. His cheekbones alone deserved a separate analysis for sure.

Niki didn’t look away when you caught him. Instead, he held your gaze for too long as if he was challenging you to not look away. His chin tilted and a hint of mockery appeared in his dark eyes, or perhaps it was an effect of the sun, as if he was saying Yes. I am looking. Problem?

You lose on the spot because your stomach did a strange flip under his piercing stare and you looked away, refusing to let him make you blush like a schoolgirl. You turned to Minju again. ‘’Right. I mean, it could be, who knows? That guy only has one expression for everything,’’ you shrugged. 

She gasped. ‘’Of course not! He’s actually nice.’’

You arched a brow. ‘’Have you ever saw him smile?’’

‘’Maybe he’s one of those people who has a neutral face. You’re not the smiling type either,’’ she reminded you, mimicking your expression. 

‘’You’re trying to say resting bitch face,’’ you offered, taking another sip of your soda. ‘’Or maybe he's just constantly constipated.’’

It was impossible for Minju not to laugh a little at that, and the two of them shared a few giggles that quickly died away when a shadow appeared over the two of you. 

‘’What’s so funny?’’ 

A deep, definitely masculine voice sounded behind you. Minju jolted, eyes wide, while you turned far too slowly in your seat— straight into Niki standing there like he belonged in your space. Relaxed. Unbothered. Looking down at you from his full height, and fuck he was actually tall. Jungwon was at his side, smiling like it was a completely normal social interaction and not a potential social nightmare to you. You bit your tongue in advance. 

Before anyone could speak, Jungwon's gaze flicked to Minju and he gently reached out, removing something of her shiny hair with a hint of hesitation, as if reality were playing a trick on him. It was a white feather. 

Minju froze as Jungwon studied her and then the feather held in his fingers, his lips trembling as if he wanted to laugh but he was a little confused anyway. 

‘’What’s this?’’ He asked her, amused.

You and Minju looked at each other speechlessly as the silence stretched long enough into awkwardness, not knowing what to say or how to explain. But of course, the spell didn't hesitate.

‘’It is from one of the chickens Minju is currently responsible for caring as a disciplinary punishment from the Witches' Council,’’ you quickly said.

Minju let out a strangled noise, horrified at your outburst. A second later you realized what you said and covered your mouth, frowning and looking panicked at Minju, shaking your head in a way best friends communicate meaning help me the fuck out.

Jungwon blinked between you both. ‘’Oh.’’

Niki’s eyebrows lifted slightly. ‘’Is that so?’’

‘’Yes,’’ you continued helplessly, ‘’Minju was actually telling me how her relationship with them is progressing and she's not so afraid of them anymore.’’

Minju buried her face in her hands and took a calming deep breath instead of screaming before looking at Jungwon, trying to smile and pretend that everything was normal. 

‘’She’s right! I got some new pets,’’ she laughed with forced enthusiasm. ‘’Three chickens!’’

“That explains the feather,” Jungwon said, nodding solemnly as if this makes perfect sense. He placed it on the table. “Chickens are cute. Good luck with… that.”

‘’Thank you,’’ she mumbled, smiling too wide. 

You wished with all your heart that no one else would speak to you, that perhaps the boys would just keep walking and think you were a couple of weird girls. But fate couldn't be that kind to you. Instead, Niki's attention never left you, searching for your eyes even while you were picking up your things, ready to bolt. You weren’t about to spill all your secrets and actually earn a worse punishment. 

‘’Where are you going? Class?’’

You froze, feeling the spell regain its power and refusing to let you lie. ‘’I do not have class right now,’’ you explained, defeated.

Niki let out a quiet laugh, eyes gleaming. “Ah. Then why are you leaving?”

‘’I really don't want to continue this conversation in case I say something terrible or incriminating,’’ you admitted and made a face, grabbing your purse ready to bolt from there. God, just shut up! 

Niki smiled slowly. Dangerous. Too handsome. The way something malignant finds out a new soul to torment. “Relax,” he taunted you. “We’re just talking. Do I make you so nervous that you want to run away?’’

You stood up abruptly, almost colliding with him. ‘’Yes. That is precisely the issue.’’

Niki stepped aside without argument, gesturing with exaggerated courtesy. “After you, princess.”

With what little dignity you had left and afraid of revealing some witch secret that would end with you being burned at the town bonfire (or having to move to another town), you left almost running. Niki's eyes watched as you disappeared among students coming and going, a slight smile raising the corners of his mouth. 

Minju, bless her soul, tried to fill the heavy silence in your favor. ‘’Uh… she’s been pretty tired these days, you know, exams and stuff. She's usually more... quiet. But she’s super nice!’’

Jungwon nodded buying the explanation but Niki simply saw the bottle of soda you left; it was his favorite flavor. ‘’Is she?’’

The last thing you expected when you entered your home was a very, very angry owl staring at you from the stairs. You groaned under your breath as you approached, knowing you were about to get the scolding of a lifetime. You forced a smile onto your face and circled the scowling bird, slowly beginning to climb the stairs under her stare. 

‘’Oh, Soomin, hi! You’re back already? How was your vacation? God, how the time flies. Anyway, I have so much work to do so—’’

‘’Don’t,’’ she warned, staring at you with huge, unblinking eyes. You gulped. ‘’Don’t even think to leave this conversation.’’

‘’But Soomin—’’

The owl hissed at you, feathers puffing. ‘’How is it possible that I'm only gone for a week and you've been punished with a spell?! And I'm only finding out about this today?’’

You froze mid-step and slowly turned to face her. Her small, feathered face was somehow the same one your mother used when you broke something expensive as a child. Pure maternal disappointment that could be read as: how have I ever had to put up with you.

‘’A week,’’ she repeated, flipping her wings in stress, ‘’just a week! I left you here trusting you’re a functional adult now and you got yourself in a trial and a punishment?!’’

‘’It wasn’t kinda an official trial—’’ 

‘’Of course it was official! There was a jury! The president and— I think I’m about to faint,’’ the owl wheezed, wobbling a little enough to worry you.

You quickly approached the bird trying to hold it, but as soon as you got close, Soomin began hitting you with its wing while hissing with renewed strength.

You yelped, cornered to the wall. ‘’Ow! Stop!’’

‘’You lied to the Council! You didn’t call me!’’ She growled, flapping at you with tiny, furious little hits. ‘’You lied in front of the entire Witches’ Council! Do you have any idea of how serious this is?’’

‘’Soomin, please, you’re being so dramatic,’’ you said, running a few steps up. ‘’It wasn't that deep! It's just for one lunar cycle.’’ 

The owl tilted its head and, of course, followed you, still giving you short, scandalized taps with its wings that weren't painful but ridiculously humiliating. You wondered how many people in the world could be scolded by a bird.

‘’Just a lunar cycle? This is a disaster,’’ Soomin continued, pacing back and forth on the stairs like a furious professor or a stressed lawyer. Probably both. ‘’A complete catastrophe. One week. I leave for one week and you ruin your life. You’re gonna tell me exactly what happened and oh, look at that, you can’t lie to me,’’ she mocked you. ‘’Because you’re cursed!’’

You scoffed and lifted your hands up in a calming gesture, staring down at her tiny form. ‘’Listen. It was just... a very confusing chain of events that somehow ended with me under a spell. I clearly didn’t expect that. How could I have known that was going to happen?’’

‘’Why did you lie in the first place while being interrogated?’’

You hesitated for a second, enough to make Soomin narrow her eyes. ‘’Oh, no. No, no, no, no. That face means it was a stupid reason.’’

You sighed, leaning against the wall, the spell working too well. ‘’I was trying to cover up for Minju. She got drunk and egged the histori—’’ you noticed how Soomin’s feathers started puffing again and you made a face, taking a step up. ‘’Historical house— she went to a party and I told the jury she was with me the entire night.’’

Soomin narrowed her eyes. If owls could facepalm… ‘’So it was a stupid reason.’’ 

You rubbed your temples. ‘’Hey, I’m actually struggling here. Today was my first day and already made some fucks ups,’’ you groaned, covering your face. ‘’I don’t think I’m surviving three full weeks. This is hard!’’

‘’You’ll find the way to do it because it’s what you deserve,’’ Soomin scolded you. ‘’That’s what you get for lying.’’

‘’It was just a small lie! All of this is so dramatic! You have any idea what this means to my social life?’’

‘’You don’t have one,’’ the owl responded, blinking at you. 

‘’That’s not the point,’’ you replied, crossing your arms defensively with a frown. ‘’Now I definitely won’t.’’

Soomin perched on the railing and gave you another motherly look of pure disappointment. ‘’From now on, you won’t be unsupervised anymore,’’ she said firmly. ‘’I’m not leaving you for extended periods of time ever again.’’

You pouted and leaned your head on the wall. ‘’A month,’’ you muttered in pure misery and sadness. ‘’Twenty nine days to go.’’

Soomin shook her head. ‘’Unbelievable,’’ she scoffed. ‘’I raise you for years and this is what happens the moment I take a break.’’

You blinked. ‘’You’re appeared like three years ago, you didn’t raise me.’’

‘’Emotionally, I did.’’

You and Minju looked incredible. There was no other way to describe it, to be honest and full objective. Shorts that showed off your legs, zip-up jackets that clung to all the right places and accentuated your waist, your hair in a high ponytail that could have been in a sports-themed fashion editorial. 

You had both made a deal, before the whole punishment mess happened, that both would enter their athletic era; meaning no more sedentary life and naps. It was time to get healthier, enjoy the nice weather and all that shit that was supposed to be good to your body.

You were dying. 

Literally. Lungs gone. 

You didn't know when you thought it was a good idea to suggest to Minju that you both take an open hockey class as a form of exercise, but it was definitely you trusting too much that your back would hold up. And your knees. And practically your entire body. It wasn’t the case. Who knew running while holding a stick could be so difficult? 

By the end of the class you had moved parts of your body that you weren't sure you could coordinate at the same time in the first place, bent over your knees and gasping for air. Sweat trickled down your back as if you'd run a marathon from continent to continent, not just an hour-long class. Minju wasn't in the best shape either, dragging her hockey stick towards the benches while groaning, like she was leaving a battlefield. 

‘’I think I saw angels,’’ Minju panted beside you, ‘’when they made us sprint the second time.’’

‘’I saw God,’’ you wheezed. ‘’She suggest me to sit down.’’ 

On the other side of the field, the men's team was finishing their practice too. From afar you could hear their shouts, grunts, and jeers. These classes were supposed to be the Student Council's idea to provide free, open sports spaces for everyone, but the men definitely treated it like the National Championship. Fast, competitive, sticks and shoulders clashing. You recognized some of the guys and wondered who in their right mind would do two different sports in the same week and survive. Apparently, Niki was one of them.

The way he moved was ruthless, efficient, controlled. You couldn't help but watch him from afar while you drank water because, well, why not? A girl could enjoy the view. His hair was slightly damp, pushed back from his forehead. His t-shirt clung a little to his torso, and it was impossible not to notice the trace of his abs and the muscle in his arms. His body moved with force and speed. And although he seemed incredibly focused, his eyes still occasionally wandered. Towards you. Searching.

Again. Again. One more time, until Jungwon noticed and it made him snort with a knowing smile. 

After practice, while your lungs were slowly coming back to life and Minju was showing you videos of her chickens, on the other side of the field a group of boys were making a straight line towards you. It was too late to run when you looked up and Jungwon was approaching with an easy smile, Jay by his side and Niki just a step behind, hands in their pockets and a serious expression.

‘’Hey,’’ Jungwon greeted warmly, eyes drifting to Minju. ‘’How’d it go?’’

‘’We survived,’’ she smiled at him, proud. ‘’Barely. But it was fun. I can’t still feel my legs.’’

Jay arched a brow, chucking. ‘’That intense?’’

‘’You have no idea,’’ you whispered to no one, positioning yourself behind Minju as naturally as possible while you put away your water bottle and grabbed your bag. So, a new game plan was set. If no one specifically spoke to you, you couldn't say anything catastrophic, right? 

All you needed to do was make yourself a little invisible.

For a moment you thought you were actually succeeding. Jungwon was clearly only interested in Minju, with whom he was animatedly discussing hockey (or so you thought, because you had no idea about the terminology they were using). That was the moment: back away slowly, as if you'd decided in the moment and hadn't overanalyzed it for several minutes. Slowly, imperceptibly, so no one would smell your fear. Just a few steps toward freedom, just a bye under your shoulder and no one would get hurt. 

Jay noticed right away, calling your name.

‘’Hey,’’ he said casually, glancing at you and your outfit, taking in your legs. ‘’You look good today.’’ 

You froze. Oh no. No. Please, no. The spell didn’t wasted a fucking second. 

‘’I know,’’ you said confidently. ‘’These shorts gave me an incredible ass.’’ 

Silence. Minju choked, eyes huge. Jungwon’s brows shoot up. Jay bursted out laughing, full delight, not at all bothered. 

‘’You’re so sincere,’’ he said with a grin. ‘’Confidence. I like that.’’

Niki didn't laugh or say anything. He was simply watching you, studying the way you spoke without hesitation and the subsequent panic that followed, as if you had no filter.

Jay playfully nudged Niki with his elbow and kept the conversation going. ‘’You guys watched us play?’’

You prayed that no one else would say anything to you directly, taking another step back. 

Of course, Niki’s voice interrupted your attempts. He looked straight at you. Calm, low, direct. ‘’Did you?’’

You swallowed, as if that could stop the truth from rising like bile up your throat. ‘’Uh, y-yes.’’

‘’And?’’

“You looked very attractive,” you admitted helplessly, eyes flicking to him for half a second before staring at the grass, accepting your destiny. “With your hair all sweaty and pushed back.”

Minju made a tiny distress sound, Jungwon tried to look neutral watching the exchange and failed, and Jay grinned knowing he found free entertainment and material to taunt his maknae. But Niki didn't mock you, or smiled, nor did he seem embarrassed or smug. He tilted his head and continued looking at you with heavy, but not cold, eyes. Just… attentive. Listening. Like he never heard that sort of answer before. 

‘’Did I?’’ He asked, mildly. 

‘’Yes,’’ you said immediately, planning your own death. ‘’It was distracting.’’ 

Jay looked at Niki, considering your words. He was enjoying it too much. ‘’Distracting, huh?’’

Niki ignored him and moved a little closer to you, just enough to make the air shift. ‘’Then maybe,’’ he said quietly, eyes steady on you, ‘’you should stop watching.’’

‘’I would, but you’re hard to ignore,’’ you murmured automatically, slamming your eyes shut. ‘’Okay. I’m leaving now.’’

‘’We need water!’’ Minju intervened, taking your arm and leading you away with an apologetic smile. ‘’Bye, guys!’’

Jungwon was smiling and waving, Jay was saying something about Niki's sweaty hair being gross and Niki... his eyes followed you the whole way. Smiling a little.

Already deciding. 

Avoidance is power, you told yourself. 

Clearly you couldn't control the spell. Okay. Nor could you control who spoke to you. Obviously. But you could control the exposure. Limited interactions, minimal risks, avoid potential red flags that could lead to humiliation. You were going to finally walk the line of the spell or die trying.

It didn't matter that Minju was officially dating Jungwon and that somehow included his friends who orbited him and, due to their proximity, your best friend, like damn satellites. You wouldn't be rude. Just... brief and efficient. Simply as that. In the middle of a night where you were staring at the ceiling wondering how you ended up in this problem while you were in a chocolate ice cream coma, that's when it occurred to you.

You couldn't lie, but you could control how you told the truth. You wouldn't be lying per se... you'd simply be revealing the answers in long, technical sentences. Careful words, a controlled tone, crafted and directed honesty. That wasn't lying. You were simply adapting to the rules of the game. Expanding your vocabulary. Making things complicated wasn't lying. The spell didn't imply that people had to understand you.

In the dating world, some friends canceled plans because of their boyfriends. Minju did it for her chickens. She bailed on hockey practice before it even started when her security app sent a notification.

“One of the girls laid an egg and she looks emotionally overwhelmed,” she had said seriously, already packing her bag. “I need to supervise.”

‘’She’s just a chicken,’’ you stared at her. 

‘’She’s sensitive.’’ 

That's how you ended up alone, suffering, exhausted but not as dramatically as last time. Or maybe you just didn't have anyone to complain to. Either way, once practice was over, you actually enjoyed it a little. Other girls were stretching and chatting, laughing and drinking water, while you sat on the benches. You breathed a sigh of relief when you took down your ponytail and let your hair fall, enjoying the fresh air.

Perhaps doing outdoor sports wasn't so bad, you supposed. The sunset and the breeze caressed your damp skin, and for a second you relaxed, enjoying the silence. You tilted your head slightly toward the sky, toward the last rays of the sun, closing your eyes and taking a deep breath. You even smiled a little, not ruining your social interactions for a whole day felt like a huge victory.

You weren’t aware of it, but at the other side of the field the boy’s team were finishing warm-up drills. Niki’s focus shifted, as he had done all week, to you. Finally alone. Illuminated by a halo of sunlight, looking so pretty and relaxed, not like the times he had approached you and you looked ready to flee.

By the time you sensed someone’s presence it was too late, opening your eyes to Niki standing close enough that you had to tilt your chin up slightly to meet his gaze. You got startled with a small yelp and your heart rate went crazy while Niki was completely and clearly unashamed of staring at you like that in the open. 

He broke the silence first. ‘’Minju abandoned you?’’

You were ready for this. You cleared your throat and sat straighter. ‘’She had a chicken-related emergency.’’

Niki blinked once, nodding like that made all the sense in the world. ‘’I thought you were avoiding us,’’ he said plainly. ‘’Avoiding me.’’

You inhaled, choosing the words carefully in your head. ‘’I’m being selective with my interactions at this particular moment.’’ 

His mouth twitched slightly. ‘’Selective? And I didn't make the cut?’’

Panic spread across your brain, that was dangerous territory! 

‘’I'm trying to minimize situations where I have to interact verbally because… because I'm avoiding saying things that can amplify the exposure of my personal, reserved thoughts and put me in complicated circumstances.’’ 

Niki’s eyes sharpened. ‘’So I complicate your life?’’

This fucker. You froze for a second, feeling the spell around your tongue, ready to pounce head first into the truth. ‘’I believe you increase the odds a little,’’ you admitted, maintaining your calm tone. 

He took a step closer, his knees almost touching you. ‘’And why is that?’’

Because I can't decipher the way you look at me.

Because you don't react like everyone else.

You didn’t say any of it. ‘’You ask direct questions,’’ you said instead, finding the right words. ‘’And I struggle with filtering in those interactions.’’

His eyes fell on the curve of your shoulders, the way your hair waved in the breeze, your cheeks a little pink from exercise. ‘’You look better like this,’’ Niki said casually. 

You frowned. ‘’Like what?’’

‘’Less guarded.’’

Your brain short-circuited, and thankfully, not even a powerful witch's spell could fix that. But before you could die crushed by Niki's dark eyes, he was the first to look away towards the other side of the field, where his team resumed training.

‘’We’re not done,’’ he started, and you suspected he wasn’t just talking about hockey. ‘’Stay.’’ 

You blinked. ‘’Stay? Why?’’

He gestured subtly with his head towards the bleachers and you followed his line of sight. Oh. A few girls were there, watching the boy’s practice. Some talking, others taking photos. Waiting for boyfriends. Watching situationships or prospects. 

You looked at Niki again, not fully understanding the situation. Actually, more in denial. The implication was too obvious to ignore, but it still confused you a little. Why the hell Riki Nishimura wanted you there of all people?

‘’You can sit there,’’ he said, like it was the most normal outcome. ‘’Watch.’’

You kept staring at him, blinking slowly. ‘’You’re recruiting spectators, Nishimura?’’

His mouth twitched again, trying not to crack a smile. ‘’I’m inviting you.’’ 

Your stomach lurched catastrophically. ‘’You want me… to sit there and openly watch you?’’

‘’Yes.’’

‘’No.’’

He didn't react badly to your refusal, he simply studied you. ‘’Why not?’’

You swallowed and searched your brain for an answer that made sense. ‘’Because that could create some assumptions.’’ 

He tilted his head, a spark of mischief in his eyes. ‘’What kind of assumptions?’’

You narrowed your eyes a little, knowing that now he was playing with you. He knew what kind of assumptions, the cocky bastard.  

‘’I would prefer not to fuel potential situations that could lead to rumors that are not substantiated… based on our interactions. Misinterpretations could arise.’’

He searched your eyes while lowering his voice a little. ‘’What if I want them substantiated?”

Fuck this frat boy. You let out a loud sigh and thought about your next move. There was no chance you would let Niki throw you into the stands full of girlfriends, when the possibility of the spell going out of control due to the pressure and the crowd was so high. You were barely taking baby steps into the edge of the spell, not doing fucking somersaults on it.

So you took the next best route: evade. ‘’You’re very confident,’’ you managed to say, trying to smile. 

‘’Yes.’’

‘’That's very... threatening to my… filtering,’’ you groaned, feeling the spell tightening. 

He kept his eyes on you, pleased by it. ‘’Then stay,’’ he muttered, almost soft. ‘’Face the danger.’’ 

‘’That’d end with me saying something incriminating,” you warned him with a sigh. 

“I’m counting on it.”

Alright.

You stood abruptly, slinging your bag over your shoulder. “This is exactly the kind of scenario I am strategically eliminating.”

He didn’t move out of your space immediately. “You’re running again.”

“I am exercising discernment.”

He huffed a quiet laugh. “Same thing.”

You looked at him once more, trying to appear composed and with a serene face, even though your heart was beating strangely inside your chest. ‘’I'm not equipped to deal with you right now. Bye.’’

That made him stop for a second. And then: ‘’Good.’’

‘’What? Why’s that’s good?’’ 

‘’Because when you are, I'll be here. I want to see it.’’

Niki walked back onto the playing field, leaving you behind as if he hadn't desestabilized your nervous system.

From that day on, things got progressively worse, little by little, as if the loose ends were starting to tie themselves up. And by loose ends, you meant Niki's friends. The strangest part was the stares you got from other girls. Some were curious and interested, others hateful. The campus had eyes everywhere, that was obvious to anyone. The five horsemen and their lost bachelorhood were the talk of the town. First Jungwon, then Jake, who would be next?

The initial plan to avoid social interactions wasn't working too well. Maybe it was because you were just one soldier, and well, Niki's army was bigger, not to mention the whole campus. Little things started happening. Like Jay sitting next to you in class, much to your alarm, and you even considered pretending not to know him. But if there was one thing impossible in the world, it was getting Jay to shut up. He talked about everything. Your head was completely empty by the time he launched into his anecdote about the basketball team's mascot falling into the pool last week. 

The party invitations came in a more personal way. It wasn't like fraternity parties required it, but maybe it was something about the social hierarchy you weren’t aware of…? You had no idea and weren’t about to ask Minju about it. You assumed people just showed up, like you had done a few times before. But then Lee Heeseung basically blocked the library entry and asked you (more or less threatening you) if you would like to come to one of their parties. It took you too much by surprise to put together a coherent sentence, so you basically scuttled out the side with a yelp and a hurried ‘’no!’’. 

That’s how you ended like this. Looking insane. 

A scarf wrapped around your head as if you were a Hollywood actress from the 40s hiding from the paparazzi (you weren't), oversized black glasses that definitely weren't your style and didn't serve much purpose on a cloudy day, shoulders hunched as you slid along the edges of buildings like a cartoon thief, trying to blend into the shadows. Head down, quick steps, incognito mode activated.

The problem was that the Silverveil’s campus was a curse in itself, starting with its architecture: lots of open spaces, glass walls, and lots of people who liked to talk. And of course, him.

Nishimura Riki.

You had acquired a new knack for finding Niki in a crowd, though it wasn't too difficult. Tall, existing effortlessly, hands in his pockets with a semi-bored expression. You saw him at the other end of the courtyard, laughing at something Jake said, his laugh short and sharp, and just that sound made your stomach clench. 

Abort. Abort. Abort.

You spun around instantly, nearly colliding with a group of students, muttering a quick apology before making a beeline run towards the nearest column. You leaned your back against it and took a breath, waiting a few seconds before poking your head out and inspecting the area.

No five horsemen of the apocalypse. No teachers. No curious girls asking if you can introduce them to Jay or Heeseung— or asking if it's true they're in a polyamorous relationship. No hockey coach asking why you didn't go to the last class and you not answering that you'd rather sleep for ten hours than drag your ass through that torture again. 

Good.

You adjusted your scarf, lowered your glasses further, and leaned again— only to freeze. Niki was definitely close. Too close. So close you could see the lazy way he walked, unhurried, making his way along without even asking, as if he weren't chasing after anything. As if he knew exactly where he was going.

You pulled back fast, heart slamming against your ribs. Shit. 

‘’Who are you spying on?’’

His voice came from behind you, low and amused, close enough that you felt it more than hear it. Slowly, too slowly, you turned around and there he was, devastating so. Niki’s eyes scanned you from head to toe, taking in the handkerchief, the glasses, and your expression somewhere between guilt and panic, as if you were assessing your chances of running away.

For a second he just looked at you, until one corner of his mouth lifted. 

‘’No one in particular. I’m just… examining the perimeter and human elements near me.’’

Niki arched a brow, somewhat amused and slightly judgmental. ‘’Is this a disguise or a styling choice?’’

Panic surged through your mind, flooding your entire brain, barely remembering the plan and survival mode before the spell revived. ‘’I’m avoiding being recognized to prevent unnecessary social interactions that could result in irreversible harm to me.’’

Niki let out a short laugh, surprised and real, eyes bright with something dangerously close to interest. “Wow,” he said. “That’s… specific.’’

You squeezed your eyes shut for half a second, heart trembling. “I would appreciate it if you did not interpret my current behavior as an invitation for conversation.”

“And yet,” he replied lightly, stepping closer instead of away, “you’re still talking to me. You are hard to go unnoticed, too.”

You swallowed. “This is an unfortunate consequence of your proximity.”

He studied you like you were a puzzle he didn’t know how he wanted to solve, which piece picked up first, gaze lingering just a beat too long. “You know,” he started, voice dropping a little, “I’ve been looking for you all morning.”

Your heart stuttered. “Did you? That information is… distressing.”

Niki smiled fully now, slow and unreadable. “Good,” he responded. 

And suddenly, hiding felt impossible and dumb. You were pressed against the column when Niki moved closer, cornering you enough so that you couldn't leave without brushing against his body. Niki lifted a hand, slow enough that you saw it coming but not slow enough to stop it. His fingers brushed your cheek for half a second before hooking under the arm of your sunglasses.

‘’Hey!—’’

He slid them off your face with infuriating ease. The world suddenly felt too bright. Too exposed. His gaze settled on your eyes immediately, intent and unreadable, like he was cataloguing something important. Up close, you noticed details you really shouldn’t be noticing: the curve of his lashes, the way his expression softened when you weren’t hiding behind dark lenses, a faded scar on one of his eyebrows. The smell of his cologne. 

“Hm,” he hummed, studying you. “So that’s what you were hiding.”

You stopped yourself, jaw tightening. “…That statement is inaccurate since you don’t know my intentions and motives.”

Without breaking eye contact, Niki casually slipped the sunglasses onto his own face. They looked ridiculous on him. He also looked unfairly good as well. 

‘’There’s a party tonight,’’ he said, like it was the most normal conversation he ever had. ‘’Our frat. You coming?’’

There’s no way in hell I’m going, you thought. Instead, you said: ‘’Attending an event of that magnitude is not in my immediate plans.’’

He stepped back, finally giving you air. “That’s a shame,’’ he smirked, then tilted his head, lowering his voice just enough to feel intimate. “If you want these back,” he added, tapping the edge of the sunglasses, “you should come.”

You opened your mouth to renegotiate the deal or tell him it was ridiculous, but Niki turned around and left without looking back, just like that. Hands in his pockets, wearing YOUR big glasses, carefree, as if he hadn't left you there with the words on your lips and your heart racing, or with people nearby pretending not to have seen everything.

By the end of the day, it was everywhere.

People saw Niki. 

People definitely saw the sunglasses. 

People definitely saw Nishimura Riki wearing your sunglasses like they were his in the first place and didn't steal it from you in plain sight. The bastard had the audacity to actually wear them throughout the day, even with his friends, completely unbothered by the small chaos he caused. 

You even heard some whispers throughout the day that made you stare at nothing while some people gossiped about your life in real time. You sat in class, notebook opened, half-hearing your professor, doing doodles and making an effort to write something even if you barely care. That’s when you heard the whispers. 

‘’...Is that her?

‘’Mmmh. I think so.’’

‘’Ya, she’s pretty. No wonder Niki’s dating her.’’

You stopped doodling and paid more attention, your eyes were on your professor as you grip tightening around your pen. Waiting for more gossip to spill. 

‘’They look like an idols couple or something.’’

‘’My friend saw them flirting in front of everybody. Is that serious.’’

‘’Really?’’

‘’I know, right? He’s wearing her glasses. She’s friends with Jay too, I think.’’ 

By the end of the day, it was everywhere, and Minju was proof of that, because at some point during the day your best friend dragged you to the nearest cafe and interrogated you in a very similar way to the Witches' Council. With two lattes and two muffins and Minju unsuccessfully trying to contain her excitement, you sighed in defeat.

‘’Okay,’’ she started, resting her hands on the table, trying to calm down as if that would make her hear better. ‘’I’m ready. Tell me everything! What’s is going on with you and Niki?’’

You shrugged. ‘’There’s nothing going on,’’ you murmured, taking a sip of the latte. ‘’I think? I can categorize it for sure. Try be more specific.’’

Minju narrowed her eyes. ‘’Someone from my Economics class saw you and Niki earlier,’’ she paused. ‘’She said he took your glasses, like, he took them.’’

‘’That’s true. I was robbed in broad daylight and slightly criticized by my fashion choices, I think,’’ you frowned. 

Minju blinked and deflated a little. ‘’That’s not… how she described it.’’

You stared at your best friend, unimpressed. ‘’I’m literally incapable of lying, remember?’’ 

‘’So? What you’re gonna do?’’

‘’Honestly, I don’t know,’’ you sighed, massaging your temples. ‘’He told me I can get them back if I go to their party. He can keep them, I guess.’’

Minju gasped, slapping a hand over her mouth. ‘’Oh my God. You’re being courted!’’

‘’More like terrorized. He stole from me!’’

‘’He’s flirting, you dumbass!’’

‘’He committed a crime,’’ you stated. 

‘’You’re brushing!’’

You groaned and covered your face with a whine. ‘’Leave me alone.’’

‘’Listen,’’ Minju said, in a softer tone. ‘’I’ve never seen Niki doing something like that, he’s very reserved. He’s always looking at you like… like he wants to eat you alive. And to be honest, you don’t look at him very differently.’’

You pressed your lips together and watched your coffee as it had the answers of the world. Somewhere on campus Niki was probably smiling to himself, that you were sure of, perfectly aware that he did exactly what he wanted. 

Stressed you out, checked.

Provoked you, checked.

Left you with an invitation you could’t stop thinking about, checked.

The worst part? You didn’t care about getting your sunglasses back.

The sky has been gray and cloudy lately, but you hardly care. It was another hockey practice and only half your body was there, your functional neurons checking out a long time ago. Physically you existed there, but your mind? That was a thing with a life of its own. Your body moved when it should, your stick hit the ball when it was your turn, even your legs seemed more coordinated than before. The reality was that your mind was deep in a daydream about the thing you wanted most: your warm bed.

You were planning it in detail, too distracted and entertained. 

Hot shower, giant pajamas, a greasy double hamburger— eating cross-legged under your blankets while something mindless played on your laptop. The beginning of your weekend. No campus. No accidental honesty. No dodging dangerously perceptive boys. Just a pause in time to exist without stress.

You jogged half-heartedly across the grass, barely registering the shouts of your teammates playing. The cloudy weather made everything feel slower, heavier. Your eyelids even drooped for a second. And then— a memory flashing too fast, your brain betraying you.

Niki. Uninvited. 

How close he stood the other day, the way he said face the danger. His low, deep voice, the way he looked at you like— no. You shook your head slightly, refusing to let yourself do that. But the images, his face, it kept flickering in your head. His smile, his smirk, his intense eyes. Him watching you like— 

‘’Watch out!’’

Too late.

A body collided with you, hard, from the side. One of the girls tripped mid run to hit the ball, and suddenly the world turned upside down without warning. Grass. The grey sky. Impact. Your head hitting the ground hard enough to make you stay still with a low groan. There were some black points in your vision and for a second everything sounded muffed, until a sharp whistle pierced the air. 

The girl approached immediately, kneeling beside you in alarm. ‘’Oh my God, I’m so sorry! I didn't see you— are you okay? Don’t move.’’

You blinked a few times, staring at the sky. ‘’I’m fine,’’ you mumbled, pressing your hand on your head, making sure it was still there. ‘’It’s my fault. I was… geographically misplaced.’’

She looked confused but relieved. ‘’Oh…? Okay. Don’t stand up anyway, just take your time.’’

The coach jogged over, calling your name. ‘’Are you okay?’’ 

‘’Yeah,’’ you muttered, sitting slowly. ‘’It was just grass, it’s okay. Nature softened the hit, I guess.’’

And then, a shadow fell over you, but it wasn’t your coach or a teammate. You didn’t need to look up to know, a sense in your body recognizing the presence before your mind did. But you did look anyway and you suck a breath, cursing in your mind. 

Niki dropped beside you, crouching immediately, his expression serious. Shifting into something you never saw before, sharp and alert in a way that made your stomach flip for entirely different reasons than falling into the ground. 

Before you could process what was happening or even talk, his hands found you— sliding under your head, cradling carefully like you were struck with a metal baseball bat and not softly bonked by grass.

Your brain short-circuited and you let out a startled squeak, trying to push his hands. 

‘’I’m fine!’’ you blurted, trying to push yourself up. 

His hands didn’t move, still holding your skull. ‘’Don’t,’’ Niki said gently. 

Your heart was beating too fast for someone who just wanted a nap and a burger. 

‘’I literally fell on grass,’’ you insisted, noticing more people staring. ‘’This is not a serious injury, really.’’

Niki ignored you completely and looked up at your coach. ‘’She should go to the infirmary,’’ he suggested, voice steady and persuasive. ‘’Just in case.’’ 

Your head snapped towards him, confused. ‘’Just in case of what?’’

‘’Concussion.’’

You blinked, then laughed. ‘’No way. It was a gentle meeting between my head and nature. I’m perfectly fine.’’ 

Niki looked down at you. ‘’Do you know how concussions work?’’

The spell was faster than you. ‘’More or less.’’ 

‘’More or less,’’ he repeated, a small glint of amusement in his eyes. ‘’So you don’t actually know.’’

You clenched your teeth. ‘’I’m clearly conscious. I’m not dizzy. I can form intelligent sentences.’’

‘’Barely,’’ he said under his breath.

You gasped in outrage.

Your coach softened visibly by his tone. ‘’It’s very sweet that you’re worried about your girlfriend.’’

There was a split second of silence. And then:

‘’I am not his girlfriend,’’ you yelped at the same time Niki said smoothly, ‘’Thank you. I’ll take her.’’ 

You stared at him with both betrayal and alarm. ‘’Excuse me?’’

But Niki was already moving, and before you could react or scream his arm slided under your knees, other behind your back and the ground suddenly disappeared. 

You grabbed onto him reflexively, noticing that you were quite far from the ground. ‘’What are you doing?!’’

Carrying you apparently cost him zero effort, holding you like it was nothing. A small part of your brain noticed his arms flexing and his hard chest, but you pushed those thoughts down. 

‘’You might faint,’’ he replied like it was the most obvious thing in the world. ‘’I’m not taking risks.’’

You covered your face while Niki carried you bridal-style out of the field, leaving behind teammates whispering, gasping, other laughing, definitely rumours taking a new shape. You swore you saw Jay snapping a pic, but for your mental health you told yourself that was a hallucination induced by mortification.

You squirmed in his arms, refusing to give up. ‘’Right, I will faint from humiliation!’’

‘’You’re so dramatic,’’ he chuckled. ‘’Just stay still.’’

‘’This is completely unnecessary,’’ you hissed, kicking the air. ‘’I can walk. Put me down!’’

‘’No. Stop overreacting.’’

You gasped in pure incredulity at his nerve. ‘’Me? I’m the one overreacting? You engineered this!’’ 

He glanced down, amused. ‘’How? You were the one so distracted in the middle of a game that you hit your head. What were you thinking of, anyway?’’

The spell enveloped your tongue. ‘’I was thinking about my plans for tonight when I fell. On. Grass.’’

‘’You. Hit. Your. Head.’’

‘’On grass,’’ you groaned, resuming your kicks in the air. ‘’It’s not serious!’’

‘’You don’t know how hard you hit yourself,’’ Niki tried to reason with you. He adjusted his grip on you, too comfortable to care about your protests. 

‘’I do? I was literally there?’’

‘’So was I. Saw the whole thing.’’

‘’Put me down, Nishimura.’’ 

‘’No.’’

‘’I don’t particularly enjoy being paraded like this. People are looking!’’

‘’You’re being cared for.’’

‘’Against my wishes!’’

His expression, despite the teasing and the smirk, is sharp. Watchul. With something deeper, until you realize what it was. Protective. You hated the way your pulse reacted to it, and at some point along the way you relaxed enough to rest your cheek against his chest. You were giving him the silent treatment anyway, all pouty and clinging to what little dignity you had left.

The infirmary smelled like lemon scented cleaner. It was bright and quiet, a small place with a desk and a few simple beds to lay. Niki set you down on one of them, his hands lingering on your body enough for your heart to do a backflip before he stepped back in a very professional way and not suspicious at all. 

‘’Sit,’’ he said, unnecessary. You did. 

The nurse came up with a clipboard under her arm, looking between you and Niki. ‘’What happened?’’

Before you could open your mouth, Niki started speaking. ‘’She fell, hit her head hard. Black spots, disorientation. She tried to stand up immediately,’’ he accused you. 

Your eyes widened. ‘’That’s not—’’

‘’I feared she might have a concussion,’’ Niki continued, crossing his arms and looking at you like you were a very bad behaving kid, ‘’she insisted she was fine and that’s a sign that someone is not fine.’’

You stared at him in disbelief. ‘’I fell on grass.’’

‘’She collapsed after the hit,’’ Niki told the nurse. 

The nurse hummed, clearly entertained and nodding to the story, writing something on the clipboard. ‘’Mmm-mm, I see. And you carried her all the way here?’’

‘’Yes,’’ Niki replied like it was the most obvious thing to do. ‘’For her safety. She needs a check-up.’’

You pinched the bridge of your nose and sighed. 

‘’Well,’’ the nurse smiled, turning to you, ‘’you seem pretty alert and you didn’t lose consciousness. Let’s have you rest here for a bit just to be safe,’’ she handed you a small box of juice from her desk. ‘’Drink this, sugar helps.’’ 

You took it obediently, giving Niki a bitter side eye.

The nurse stepped back to her desk and then paused, taking the paper from the clipboard. ‘’I’ll be back with some paperwork,’’ she sent you a knowing look. ‘’Behave, you two.’’

The door closed behind her and then silence followed. 

You snorted softly. ‘’Don’t worry,’’ you said while stabbing with too much force the straw into the juice box, ‘’we’re not having a making-out session here.’’ 

The words hit your ears a second later and you froze, remembering the fucking spell. You immediately shoved the straw in your mouth like it might save you. 

Niki tilted his head, looking at you. ‘’We won’t?’’

You choked when the juice went the wrong way and you coughed until your eyes watered. ‘’—What!?’’

Niki patted your back softly, too entertained for someone who was playing hero. ‘’You heard me. That was a question.’’

You glared at him over the juice box, cheeks burning, spell threatening you. ‘’I'm not going to do anything that doesn't involve the nurse's medical advice, Nishimura.’’ 

Niki stepped close and you felt it— his fingers brushing the hem of your shorts, idly tracing the edge like it was the most natural thing to do.

‘’I like it when you call me that,’’ he muttered in that deep voice of his.

Your suspicions and alarms went off at the same time and you gave him another warning look, moving your thigh away from his fingers.

His touch followed you, but now it was his giant palm covering your thigh and gently squeezing it. 

‘’Don't,’’ you scolded him. 

He stooped, mostly. His hand still hovered there, but didn’t move further. 

‘’You got me worried out there,’’ he said, quietly. 

You studied his face— the crease between his brows, the lack of amusement or teasing. ‘’You didn’t have to carry me all the way here,’’ you mumbled.

‘’I wanted to and I’d do it again.’’

That landed harder than it should, straighter to your chest and even lower. A pause fell but it was soft, quiet, not quite awkward. It felt more like something seeking place and settling down. 

‘’Why do you run away all the time?’’ He asked, curious, searching your eyes. 

You swallowed and put the empty juice box to the side with a sigh. Your shoulder slumped a little, tiredness waving in your voice. ‘’Sometimes I feel…’’ you explained quietly. ‘’Like… there’s something in me that doesn’t let me lie, even if I wanted to,’’ you chuckled softly. 

Niki leaned in, eyes sharpening with interest. 

‘’And I don’t know how people would take that,’’ you continued, staring at the floor. ‘’What if I said too much and I hurt somebody? Or I show too much of myself? I don’t like that exposure. I don’t have any… shield or control. So I just wanna avoid those things from happening.’’

Niki didn’t interrupt you, listening attentively. He was silent for a long moment. ‘’You want to protect yourself,’’ he explained easily, making you tense a little. ‘’I know you think running makes you invisible, but it doesn't. It just makes people look harder.’’

You looked up and glanced at Niki, noticing that his face had gotten too close to yours, his eyes focussed on your lips. But before you could respond, the infirmary door opened and the nurse came back. Niki straightened up immediately as if nothing had happened and ran a hand through his hair with a sigh, the other still resting warmly on your thigh.

You didn’t scold him again or move away. 

Growing up as a witch was a series of completely out-of-context situations thrown right in your face for you to deal with. Like the time everything inside your house floated constantly for a month before you could get that power under control. Or the time you saw a rabbit, thought it was cute, and overnight your yard was overrun with rabbits from all sizes and colors until the town newspaper reported a rabbit overpopulation in your neighborhood. You hadn't realized you were controlling their energies and, unintentionally, summoning them.

So yes, you were somewhat used to surprising situations, but you still almost had a heart attack when you opened your backpack in the middle of class and two huge, deep, yellow eyes stared back at you from the darkness inside the bag. 

You nearly screamed. But the sound somehow got muffled in your throat as you quickly zipped up your backpack and cradled it against your chest like a contained bomb. Slowly, very, very slowly, you leaned forward over your desk and opened the zipper again, enough for Soomin to hear you. 

‘’What are you doing here!?’’ You whispered.

‘’I’m doing a surprise check in,’’ the owl whispered back. Inside the backpack, Soomin shifted with the quiet rustle of feathers. ‘’Supervising.’’

You squeezed your eyes shut and slowly pulled up the zipper again. You spent the entire class sitting stiffly in your chair, your backpack resting on your lap like the most suspicious object in the world while you pretended to take notes and that everything was normal and you didn’t had a fucking talking owl with you. Every small movement from inside the bag made your spine lock up and discreetly observe your surroundings, in case anyone noticed anything.

You felt the presence of the spell like a fucking dagger waiting to pierce your heart. Your mind kept cycling through every possible disaster scenario: the owl popping her head out, someone hearing her talk, someone asking you what was inside the bag. You had never been so aware of every single person in the room. When class finally ended you were one of the firsts to get the hell out of there, relief hitting you like oxygen after drowning. 

You fled the lecture hall still holding onto your backpack. 

‘’Don’t run! I’m getting dizzy,’’ Soomin whispered from inside the bag. 

‘’You snuck there! Now enjoy the ride,’’ you hissed quietly. ‘’What are you even doing here!?’’

‘’I’m monitoring and supervising, I told you I wasn't leaving you out of my sight and you been acting weird lately.’’

You pushed through the hallway doors, scanning the corridor for a quiet corner where you could finally unzip the bag and properly scold the feathered menace inside. Unfortunately, fate had other plans, of course it did, because you walked straight into Nishimura Riki.

You stopped in your tracks.

He had one hand in the pocket of his jacket, leaning lazily against the wall like he had nowhere urgent to be. When he noticed you approaching at suspicious speed with your backpack clutched like a hostage, his brows lifted slightly. Then his gaze drifted downward and slowly pointed. You followed the direction of his fingers, to the round owl head sticking out of your backpack. 

Soomin blinked at him. You froze. Soomin froze as well. For a long moment the three of you just stared at each other in a very tense and confusing silence. Niki muttered your name, a little doubtful.

‘’... Is that an owl?’’ 

Your brain ran through every possible lie in the world that you could think of, but obviously they all ran into the magic brick wall of the spell. ‘’Uh… uh… this is an animal that can be found in the forest.’’ 

You stopped talking immediately after that. Niki stared at you, then at the owl, and again at you. He didn't seem alarmed or confused, more like he wanted to understand why you would have an owl with you in the middle of the day instead of questioning how strange it was.

‘’Right,’’ he said slowly. Niki leaned a little closer, examining the bird with curiosity. ‘’And what is it doing in your backpack?’’

The truth tightened in your throat. ‘’It just… climbed in there.’’

Silence fell again, looks were exchanged and Soomin even tilted her head, taking in the boy in front of her, examining him in the same way Niki was doing. Then, he glanced at you and let out a quiet, amused breath through his nose, like he just decided not to question the situation too deeply. Niki was late to class, anyway.  

‘’You’re kind of weird,’’ he said, the corners of his mouth twitching. He looked at the owl again. ‘’What are you going to do with an owl?’’

You tightened your hold on the backpack, feeling Soomin shifting inside. You sighed. ‘’I’m… going to have a talk with her.’’ 

Ni-ki glanced down at the owl head still poking out of the zipper. The owl stared back with wide, unrepentant eyes. He nodded slowly, like that explanation made complete sense. Then he reached out without warning and casually pinched your chin in a gesture too gentle and familiar that made your brain short-circuit for a second. 

‘’Okay. We’ll talk later, yeah?’’

You just blinked at him, eyes huge and nodded. ‘’Uh-uh. Sure.’’

‘’Good luck with your…’’ he frowned and gestured vaguely at Soomin. ‘’Your forest animal.’’ 

And with that, he pushed away from the wall and walked down the hallway, disappearing into the flow of students like the entire interaction had been perfectly normal.

You stood there for exactly two seconds. Then you spun around into a more hidden corner and put the backpack down with a groan. 

“Soomin—!”

The owl immediately hopped out of the bag. ‘’Oh my God, who was that?’’

‘’What?’’

‘’That tall, intense dude. The handsome one with dark eyes,’’ she commented conspiratorially. 

‘’You snuck into my backpack, infiltrated in the university, caused me the most stressful class of my life, and you want to talk about a boy?’’

‘’Yes. Spill.’’ 

You rubbed your face, asking for patience from above. ‘’That’s Niki.’’

The owl studied the hallway where Niki had disappeared with a thoughtful expression. ‘’He’s very attractive.’’

‘’He is,’’ you conceded.

‘’He touched you very confidently,’’ she observed. 

‘’Uh— I mean— he kinda does that—’’ 

‘’And it didn’t bother you,’’ Soomin furthered her observations, blinking slowly. ‘’Are you dating him?’’

‘’No!’’

‘’You’re secretly seeing him? This is some of prohibited romance?’’

‘’What? Of course not.’’

‘’He’s your boyfriend and didn’t tell me?’’ Soomin asked with a squeak, entertained by the gossip. 

‘’I already told you no,’’ you tried to reason with her. 

‘’... Why are you blushing?’’

‘’Because... because... it's hot and I feel strange, now shut up,’’ you groaned, picking up the bird and putting her into the backpack again like you could trap the conversation inside it. 

She gasped. ‘’You like that tall boy!’’

The spell crackled throughout your body, your mind and tongue couldn't agree on what to say, but the truth did its job. ‘’I— I— I think— yes— but—’’

‘’I like that boy too. He didn’t scream when he saw me.’’

‘’You’re a bird, not a monster.’’

‘’That’s not the point,’’ Soomin scoffed. ‘’He was very gentle with you. I approve that.’’

Soomin watched you very carefully and you felt a little nudge in the heart of your magic. Her eyes softened.

‘’Oh,’’ she said. ‘’You’re so doomed.’’

You grabbed the zipper and slammed the backpack closed.

Later that day, after you took Soomin home and she promised you there would be no more surprise inspections, the library greeted you with silence and concentration. The setting sun reached some tables, the soft sound of pens writing relaxed you somehow, and the distant hum from the air conditioner in the distance served as white noise.

You were exactly where you liked to be, seated by the window, notes spread neatly. Pretty and colorful highlighters. Life under control, for once. 

That didn’t last long. 

You were finishing a paragraph about an idea you had written when a chair scraped against the floor across from you. You didn’t look up immediately, which was a big mistake.

‘’Okay,’’ a low, masculine voice said. ‘’Serious question.’’

Your pen froze mid word and you lifted your gaze, finding Niki sitting across from you like he belonged there. Elbows resting on the table, dark eyes locked on you with immovable focus.

You stared at him, putting down your pen slowly. ‘’Oh, no,’’ you doubted, straightening up as if a bomb were about to drop on you at any second. 

‘’Would you date me?’’

You stared at him completely blanky, certain you mishearded. There was no question in his tone. No hesitation. Just calm certainty, like he had already considered the options and selected the obvious one. You blinked again and looked around you, wondering if that was in fact a daydream and not reality. Maybe you casted a spell of illusion without realizing it? 

The spell stirred to life. ‘’I don't know,’’ you finally muttered. ‘’You just can’t ask me that out of nowhere!’’

His eyes sharpened, resting his chin on his hand. ‘’I just did. Let’s date.’’

‘’Niki,’’ you sighed, sending him a warning glance when he smirked at your tone. ‘’I don’t think that’s a good idea.’’ 

‘’Why not?’’

The spell tugged your tongue begging for honesty, warm and insistent, and the silence prolonged until you found how to stretch the truth. You inhaled softly, trying to collect the right words. 

‘’You look like the kind of problem I'm not really qualified for or sure I will be able to manage. Like… advanced detached emotional skills I don’t possess or want to entertain.’’

He didn’t flinch, or left, or smirked anymore. He considered your words leaning back into the chair, arms crossed, studying you like he was deciding how to make sense of what you said. 

Niki leaned forward then, forearms on the table like he was about to touch you in any second. The distance between you and him was slowly shrinking, but you felt like the walls were falling down onto your head. 

‘’How can you know that? We don’t know each other that well,’’ he explained patiently.

That was fair and he had a point. You hated that. You nodded and exhaled, unable to lie.  ‘’That’s true.’’

He waited, sensing how you were trying to expand your answer into something that made sense but it wasn't sharp and cruel. Niki’s focus didn’t waver. 

‘’I don’t know you that well,’’ you recognized, ‘’I am simply overlaying the information I have based on observational data in social interactions to form an opinion of you.’’

One corner of his mouth twitched. ‘’Observational data. Meaning you’ve been observing me.’’

‘’I mean, not on purpose or significance,’’ you explained further. ‘’And that’s not the main takeaway.’’

‘’Tell me,’’ he encouraged you, leaning even closer. ‘’What kind of problem do I look like to you? Use your data to enlighten me.’’

“You look,” you said carefully, stretching the sentence as far as it would go, “like someone who is used to getting attention without asking for it. And who doesn’t have to work very hard to keep it.”

His gaze didn’t waver. “And?”

“And,” you continued, because the spell would not let you escape halfway, “I don’t enjoy competing with other females. Especially not recreationally and emotionally. I like stable sentimental involvements.”

Niki snorted, entertained by you, clearly. ‘’I’d be an excellent boyfriend.’’

You laughed, between surprise and incredulity, it slipped so naturally out of you that you couldn't stop it. ‘’How would you know? You’ve never had a girlfriend.’’

He arched his brow. ‘’How would you know that?’’

You narrowed your eyes, taking in his challenging tone. ‘’There’s usually a different girl every weekend,” you said, far too matter-of-factly. “Statistically speaking, long-term attachment does not appear to be your preferred pattern. It’s very notable that you’re rarely alone and there's no fixed tendency on your type either.’’

But Niki didn’t look offended or insulted, or even caught, he was intrigued. ‘’Have you been keeping track?’’

Your spine straightened. ‘’Not actively. It’s more a knowledge from a passive environmental awareness situation, like… occasionally overhearing comments in the women's restroom from time to time.’’

“Environmental awareness,” he repeated. ‘’So, gossip in the women’s bathroom. That formed your opinion of me?’’

“Well, it's like noticing changes in the weather or bird migration patterns, I guess. I’m just exposing the data I gathered.’’

Niki slowly reached for your hand, his fingers brushing against yours. ‘’You’re comparing me to migratory bird patterns? That’s your angle here?’’

“I compare your social habits to recurring seasonal behavior,” you corrected quickly. ‘’Don’t spin this on me.’’

‘’So you think I’d be a bad boyfriend.’’ 

“I think,” you corrected, choosing each word with painful care, “that you give the impression of someone who enjoys options,’’ you said, honestly falling with surprising weight. And maybe a touch of vulnerability. ‘’Not the type of male to do stable emotional interactions.’’

For a moment, he didn’t deny it. “And that bothers you?”

“It doesn’t bother me in a personal capacity right now,” you responded, then sighed when the curse nudged you again. “But it would complicate things if we get hypothetically involved together.’’

The corner of Niki’s mouth curved upward, slower this time. “So you’re considering being hypothetically involved with me.”

“I am considering the hypothetical scenario in which I evaluate the feasibility of such involvement,” you clarified, aware of how ridiculous you sounded. 

His knee brushed yours under the table and neither of you moved. ‘’Mmm, I see. But you didn’t say you won’t date me, you say you didn’t know. Explain that, then.’’

You stared at him, blinking slowly, pretending you didn’t move your fingers away from his.

‘’I said exactly that I wouldn't know how to handle the problem you represent, theoretically.’’

‘’I’d let you,’’ he simply answered. ‘’Just say yes.’’

The tension between you shifted—less teasing now, more charged. 

‘’Let’s test your theory.’’ 

‘’My theory?’’

Niki played with one of your rings. ‘’Date me,’’ he proposed, ‘’find out if I’m actually a problem. Get to know me, do your research with your own data. What do you think?’’

Your heart flipped, lost connection with your brain and poured with automatic honesty. “I am… not opposed to gathering additional data under controlled circumstances to reassess my preliminary assumptions.”

‘’I like you,’’ Niki simplified, caressing your knuckles. ‘’And I wanna know you more.’’

That simple declaration sent your heart into failure, and your cheeks turned a pretty shade of pink. “I find you objectively unfair,” you said, forcing steadiness into your tone. “Your face structure combined with your confidence level creates unnecessary distractions.’’

His eyes darkened slightly at that, satisfaction flickering across his features. “So that’s a yes.”

‘’It’s not a no,’’ you sighed, a little lost in the conversation. Keeping track of the truth was already hard, but doing it under Niki’s eyes and intentions was too hard. 

‘’Saturday at the frat,’’ he straightened, victory settling over him like a final move in a game only he knew they were playing. ‘’Come to the party. We’ll be alone and nobody will bother us.’’ 

‘’But—’’

But before you could say anything else, Niki stood up and walked around the table until she was standing in front of you, leaning in until your breaths mingled and you closed your mouth. He stroked your cheek and lifted your face, holding your chin, studying you closely with a knowing look.

‘’I know you're going to try to run away,’’ he said, eyes flickering to your lips. ‘’I know you talk the way you do because you're trying to prolong the truth. I know you want this because you're not really pushing me away,’’ he murmured, his thumb rubbing your lower lip absently. ‘’You look at me the way I look at you, and it's driving me crazy, baby.’’ 

You were out of words. Niki’s gaze returned to your eyes, satisfied at the effect he had on you. He stood up, full of triumph and smiled at you, he actually fully smiled, and you just stared at Niki like you were seeing the sun for the first time.

‘’We’re dating now,’’ he mumbled, giving you one last look. ‘’And if I don't see you there, I'll come looking for you. Choose wisely,’’ he advised, already stepping back.

And that's how Niki left, leaving you stunned and recalculating in a corner of the library, your heart pounding and your cheeks flushed. 

And somehow, in a way you didn't quite understand, the day ended with you officially dating Nishimura Riki.

The fraternity house was already shaking by the time you went through the door. It wasn't surprising, because everyone wanted to be there. Nobody in their right mind would miss the chance to get close to one of the guys, to mingle with them, to get their attention. The chances of fun and craziness were too high; everyone knew about the reputation of that frat's parties. 

The air was thick with the sweet and sour aroma of alcohol, juice mixed with vodka and beer, bottles and glasses piling up everywhere. The music was so loud it pounded in your chest, the flashing lights made your footsteps blurry, and people were everywhere talking, laughing, kissing, dancing. It was the kind of party everyone would tear apart piece by piece the next day and gossip about everything that happened, because it was the kind of party where something was always happening.

You knew that your best friend was probably entangled with Jungwon in some corner of the party. You avoided touching any drop of alcohol, because adding that to a spell powered by truth was the worst idea in the world, even though that what you wanted most at that moment was a drink. 

You felt as if you had willingly walked into the lion's den, and well, you had. There didn't seem to be any safe zone; your eyes were constantly scanning for Niki to appear. This was because of the collection of accurate data, you lied to yourself. That's why you dressed so daringly. A short skirt that showed off your legs, loose hair, overly glossy lips, a long-sleeved top with a neckline that dropped just enough to show your collarbones.

It was absolutely not because of him. And then, you felt it.

It was a shift in the air, a tiny recognition of something about to happen. The weight of somebody’s attention, the feeling of being watched. You turned your face over your shoulder and locked eyes with Niki across the room, near the stairs, where he was watching you intently. 

He was surrounded by friends and other people you didn't know. When his eyes noticed you, it was as if his expression changed completely, fading into something focused and determined, satisfied. His eyes traveled over you slowly, unhurriedly, like a caress; taking in your skirt, your legs, your bare shoulders, the soft, exposed skin. You breath caught under his intense gaze, instinct kicking in from feeling like a prey. 

You turned around and blended into the crowd with ease, trying to control the mild panic and excitement coursing through your veins. You knew he was still there, keeping a close eye on you, and that running was a terrible idea. Because Niki loved a chase. You knew you were delaying the inevitable, buying more time than you had, testing limits just because you could.

You wondered if he was still following you. Wouldn't he get distracted? Wouldn't he get bored and rather pick another girl? Would he get annoyed? 

At some point you gave up and your fingers circled a plastic cup with something sweet and strong that warmed your throat and made you immediately regret it because of how good it tasted, how easy it was to drink it. You didn't know exactly where in the house you were, but it wasn't the heart of the party, it wasn't packed with people, and the music wasn't as loud.

A hand wrapped around your wrist, and you didn't need to turn around to know who it was. His thumb caressed the spot where your pulse quickened, his chest pressed against your back just enough for his breath to brush against your hair.

His mouth brushed against your ear, sending hundreds of shivers down your neck. ‘’Still running from me?’’ 

You barely turned your face, as his grip loosened from your wrist to your waist, where both hands squeezed it tightly, as if he feared you might escape. ‘’I was strategically relocating.’’

Niki laughed shortly, the sound against your ear. ‘’You saw me and tried to escape.’’

The spell cursed through your mouth before you could register it. ‘’Yes.’’

His body pressed closer to yours, making you hold your breath. ‘’Why?’’

You swallowed, searching for the right words, absentmindedly licking your lips. ‘’I wanted to know if you would follow me,’’ you admitted.

He shifted, turning your body carefully so you could face him fully. Niki’s hands were still on your waist, his touch more relaxed, but not less possessive. Up close, his eyes seemed darker, wilder, dilated under the flickering lights.

“You wore this on purpose,” he said, gaze dipping briefly to your collarbones before returning to her face. ‘’For me.’’

‘’I wore it because it's socially required to wear clothes at public events.’’

His thumbs caressed and pressed the skin of your hip, shaking his head. ‘’Not good enough. Try again and be honest.’’

The spell pushed you, taking control. ‘’I wore it because I knew you’d be here,’’ you responded before you could wrap the thought into something safer and confusing. ‘’And I wanted you to look.’’

His jaw tightened, not in anger but in restraint. ‘’You’re starting a dangerous game,’’ he warned you, voice warm and husky. ‘’Careful.’’

You shook your head, staring at him. ‘’I’m not playing,’’ you frowned, spilling truthfully. 

One of Niki’s hands slid from your waist to your back, pulling you flush against him, deliberated. The air shifted around you, your hands resting on his chest and not moving him away, too blinded by his eyes to care if anyone in the crowd saw you.

“You’re driving me insane,” he admitted, barely audible.

“You like it,” you replied, and the tremor beneath the honesty was too evident. 

His gaze flicked to your mouth. “For the record,” Niki said, “I’m about to kiss you.”

Your heart bounced, melted, reformed, and continued bouncing against your ribs. Maybe it was the spell, the drink you had, or maybe you just didn't want to fight against honesty anymore, but you smiled a little. 

‘’If you don't I might, Nishimura,’’ you lightly threaten him.

The small distance that existed vanished like a whisper, slowly, the tension that had been built up for a long time slowly letting go, something bigger entered. He kissed you as if he had waited too long to do so and didn't want to waste another second.

It wasn't desperate or clumsy, but decisive, as if he knew exactly where and how to strike. You melted into a kiss almost immediately, letting him do as he pleased with you. He made his way into your mouth and explored it slowly, savoring the strawberry and vodka from before and your own taste. Both of your breaths caught in your throats as neither of you let go, too immersed in the kiss for breathing to be a priority. 

Your hands tangled in the honey-blonde hair at the nape of his neck, your nails slowly sliding down his skin to his neck, making him hiss into the kiss, his hands touching you more freely, exploring, daring to slip inside your skirt.

You had no idea how, but between a kiss and a breath, more kisses and muffled moans against each other's mouths, at some point your back hit a door. Niki opened it, pulled you both into a room, and cornered you against the door again, closing it with a click you barely registered. His mouth went down to yours again, one hand on your throat and the other on your jaw, as if that way he could hold you down to devour your soul in peace.

When both had to separate again because their lungs couldn't take any more, you two were a bit of a mess. Niki's full lips were swollen from kisses, barely colored by your gloss, his hair a little disheveled, eyes shining with barely contained desire. You weren't looking much better either, your skirt twisted and wrinkled from how many times Niki had grabbed and crumpled it, your cheeks flushed, and your lip marked by Niki's bite.

Niki kissed you again, but this time more gently, first your lips, then the corner of your mouth, your throat, the line of your exposed collarbones. He turned you both gently, walking into the room while continuing to kiss and gently suck on your skin, making you sigh and hold onto him, until you laid on a bed and a little bit of sense got to your fuzzy brain. 

Only then you fully looked at your surroundings. 

The light was dim, with a lamp in the corner casting a warm glow. Sneakers were arranged against the wall, some everyday shoes and some basketball shoes. Hanging from a hook near the closet was a jacket with a number and Niki's last name embroidered on the back.

You tilted your neck to get a better look and Niki interpreted it as you were giving him more space, smiling against your neck and continuing the trail of slow, wet kisses, making himself room between your legs. 

You blinked, still finding details to look at. ‘’This is your room,’’ you said.

Niki stopped briefly, looked at you and then placed a kiss on your lips. ‘’Welcome.’’

‘’This feels like important information,’’ you arched a brow, curious. 

‘’We’re busy,’’ he replied simply, leaning again to press another kiss to your mouth. Your pulse quickened, and you let him distract you with his mouth, wrapping your legs not so timidly around his waist. His lips trailed down the spine of your throat, biting the sensitive spots that made you dig your fingers into his shoulders, breathless.

Your eyes opened for a second, but it was enough to notice something at the other end of the room. It was a medium-sized cabinet hanging against the wall, made of wood and glass, a display case. Inside, carefully arranged under warm strip lighting were small collectible figures— you knew them too well. Cute, round-headed, soft features, expressive.

Hirono.

Not one. Not two. Several. Arranged too neatly to be random, they were all different, but aligned according to the collection they belonged to. It was a curated exhibition. 

The stunned gasp you let out was too loud and made Niki froze for a second, looking up from your neck. ‘’What?’’

You couldn't control the little laugh that bubbled up from you, a mixture of disbelief, excitement, and delight. ‘’You have Hirono figures!’’

Something too interesting happened. Niki blinked, as if that was the last thing he expected to hear from you. For the first time he seemed hesitant, as if he had been caught up in a confusing crime, but at the same time, something else flashed across his face... a touch of shyness. 

He cleared his throat. ‘’What?’’

You twisted slightly in his hold to point at the display case, smiling. ‘’They’re in a diorama, aren’t they? You arranged them by series. The right ones are from the Mime set and the middle ones are,’’ you squinting your eyes, leaning in, ‘’Little Mischief. Right?’’

Niki stared at you, eyes glowing. ‘’You know them?’’ He asked slowly.

‘’Of course,’’ you looked at him incredulously. ‘’I collect them too.’’

He stepped back a little to get a better look at you, holding himself above you. ‘’You’re lying.’’

‘’I can’t lie,’’ you replied automatically, too focused on the figures to notice the slip. ‘’They even look like you, Nishimura.’’

His eyebrows shot up and he snorted. ‘’They do not.’’

‘’They do,’’ you insisted with a laugh. ‘’Look at them! Their eyes and little nose. Moody, slightly frowning, probably judging everyone internally.’’

He stared at you for a moment, as if debating whether he should be offended or not. ‘’I do not look like a Hirono figure.’’

‘’The resemblance it’s very accurate,’’ you defended your theory. 

He looked back at the figures and then at you, something unreadable flickering across his expression. No one noticed those figures when they entered his room. Not the guys on the team or his friends; maybe Jungwon took a picture of them once but didn't ask any further questions about it. Definitely not the girls who came and went and whose names he didn't bother to remember afterward. 

But you did, without a second thought, without trying to impress him. “You’re the first person who’s ever said anything about them,” he blurted, before he could stop himself.

The confession floated between the two of you, as soft as the muffled music that could be heard from below. You felt your face slowly lose its smile, your expression becoming gentler. 

‘’They're arranged as if you cared about them, as if you'd thought it carefully. Of course I noticed.’’ 

He closed the small space and kissed you once again, while his fingers brushed a strand of hair from your face. ‘’What am I gonna do with you?’’

‘’You’re the one who dragged me here.’’

‘’You talking about my collection distracted me more than necessary.’’

You smiled a little. ‘’They’re cute.’’

He shook his head, stealing another kiss. ‘’You’re cuter.’’

The spell sparkled but this time you didn’t feel it like a threat or a trap, just letting it take its course. ‘’You look unfairly attractive when you’re flustered,” you observed. 

‘’I’m not flustered.’’

‘’Liar,’’ you scoffed. 

Niki huffed a quiet laugh and kissed you again, slowly. His hands slipped back under your skirt, and you didn't stop him, letting his palms cover and caress your thighs as he devoured your mouth like someone who had all the time in the world. You wrapped your arms around his neck and let each kiss melt you more and more, until the migratory patterns of birds no longer mattered to you, nor did the spell, letting Niki convince you with every touch that he wasn't a problem you could easily run away from.

Maybe it was because your lungs had their daily dose of suffering when they made you run ten laps around the field, or maybe the concussion from days ago was a delayed effect, but you were just too dizzy.

Niki's body pushed you further against the wall, as if the way you were pressed together wasn't enough and he needed more. It wasn't a soft kiss, but the kind of kisses Niki gave where you were convinced he wanted to steal the air from your lungs and replace it with him. 

The bastard knew exactly which buttons to push, his warm hand cradling your jaw while the other one was inside your shorts, long fingers buried deeply in your dripping cunt. His thumb gently stroked your cheek, in that way he knew it would melt you too quickly. It did.

When he pulled back you were too disoriented to remember where you were; hidden from stares under the stands in broad daylight, feeling like two highschoolers furiously making out before getting caught. Your heart was pounding as if you had made ten more laps, moans stuck in your throat trying to keep them at bay, but the way Niki was fingering you was merciless.

‘’Come watch my training,’’ he murmured against your ear, lips kissing the sport under it. His fingers found the spot inside you that made you whimper, stroking it over and over. ‘’I want to see you there, sitting all pretty and mine. Where I can look at you.’’

He had tried to convince you for several days, and you had to admit the man had a certain charm that made you hesitate. Maybe it was the amazing orgasms. Once you had almost agreed, but when a girl you didn't know greeted you and asked what you did to get Niki and if it was true that he had a huge cock like his friends, you panicked a little and abandoned the idea. The spell was coming to an end and you weren't going to give in.

‘’If you don’t,’’ he added, voice dripping into something dangerous and playful at the same time, ‘’I won’t kiss you again. Or worse.’’

You blinked at him, cunt clenching around his fingers, cheeks flushed. ‘’O-or worse?’’ 

Niki hummed and nodded, fucking you faster until you gasped against his lips and he swallowed every moan of yours while you cum, holding you as your thighs trembled and crushed his hand between your legs. 

He deliberately brushed his fingers against your clit one last time as he withdrew his hand and brought them to his mouth, sucking your juices while continuing to look at you. Niki didn’t say anything else, just kissed you, so fondly and threatening at the same time, and walked away towards the field like nothing had happened. Wearing an eating-shit smirk, whistling softly to himself. 

You stared at him, recalculating your entire existence, just as you had from the moment Niki decided to be a part of your life weeks ago. 

You told yourself that maybe it was the afterglow of a good orgasm, or maybe you just had nothing better to do, or perhaps a part of you really wanted to watch Niki training, all sweaty and focused. The day felt like it was about to explode into a storm at any moment, the sky gray and covered with thick, threatening clouds waiting for the perfect opportunity. There was hardly anyone watching the boys, just a few girls a few steps up in the stands— Minju was there.

Buttercup as well.

Minju had grown fond of her chickens and had bought accessories to take them everywhere. Her most recent purchase was a backpack with a hard, clear plastic cover that was actually for walking cats, but the label didn't specify that it couldn't be used for chickens.

She was leaning forward, with lovestruck eyes and a silly, dreamy expression, watching Jungwon run. Inside the plaster carrier Buttercup was dozing off, relaxed and round. Your best friend noticed your hesitation and smiled at you, tapping the spot next to her with an expression that said, "you better sit down or I'm capable of tackling you to the ground if you take one step back."

You sat. 

The world didn’t combust instantly. Minju beamed and turned her attention back to the field. You gradually relaxed and leaned forward as well, resting your chin on your hand as you openly watched Niki. He had just finished a drill and was talking to Heeseung (who looked like he wanted to be anywhere but running there, clearly struggling) (he was the last victim to be convinced to join the open class), when his eyes flickered up to the stands and landed on you. 

You swore you saw his pupils dilating. Something in his expression changed and his smile was slow. Darker, satisfied, making your stomach flip and your pussy throb. But it didn't stop there. Niki was focused on training, of course, but every now and then he'd glance at you, as if making sure you were still there. You met his gaze each time, even smiling slightly and enjoying the way it seemed to affect him. 

You'd discovered that this was a two-way street, and that Niki, the unattainable and serious Niki, was capable of getting flustered. Like when he asked you which Hironos you collected and if he could see them, and which one was your favorite. Or the time you just kissed his neck and brushed his hair back without thinking about it too much, and Niki blinked and then melted against you.

The training session ended and the boys scattered everywhere, some going for water, others lying on the ground to stretch, but not Niki. He walked straight to you, determined eyes that held you still in your place, your pulse spiking with anticipation. 

He kissed you in front of everybody, hands cradling your face.

Minju gasped, you swore Buttercup made a similar sound, other peoples gasps reached your ears as well, but honestly it could have been a trick of your mind. Nothing existed around you but you and Niki.

He pulled back enough to grin at you, eyes soft and bright with a touch of mischief. ‘’Hi, baby.’’

You blinked, trying to gather your thoughts. ‘’Uh… Hi.’’

‘’Ready to go?’’

You nodded, still a little hazy and flustered. He took your hand, pulled you up, grabbed his bag, threw it over his shoulder, and got you out of there in less than two minutes. He also ignored Jay throwing kisses at him while leaving. 

Niki decided to break the silence first, your hand in his gently swaying, intertwined. ‘’There’s a party tonight at Jake’s,’’ he started, stealing a glance at you. ‘’Jay’s pretending we don't notice, but he wants to get a girl's attention.’’

You arched a brow, interested. ‘’Is he trying to set a trap there or what?’’

‘’That’s what I thought,’’ he huffed a laugh, drawing you closer to him. ‘’He’s been weird lately. Restless. Anyway, Jake wants us to keep an eye on the party. He know how things can get.’’ 

You gently bumped your shoulder against his, trying not to smile and failing. ‘’Is this your way of asking me to come with you?’’

‘’This is an opportunity for you to continue collecting new data to establish your patterns. Or have I already convinced you that I'm not a problem?’’

‘’Hmm. You are... doing an acceptable job in proving your case considering my prior judgment based on social environmental observation. Maybe you'll give me back my sunglasses too, Nishimura?’’

‘’They will remain my hostage until you accept that I was right and that I can be a good boyfriend.’’

You didn't correct him and Niki noticed.

Jake's house was exactly the chaos you imagined it to be, maybe a little smaller and more contained than the frat parties, but no less alive and vibrant for it. Before you could go inside and find Niki, something small and black, furry, jumped out from the side and meowed at you. The cat blinked slowly at you, and you tilted your head, studying it, feeling an energy emanating from it that stopped you before you could pet its head. You chuckled softly in disbelief, glancing at the cat and then back at Jake's house as if you were mentally running through the odds.

‘’I can’t believe it,’’ you mumbled, staring at the knowing eyes of the cat. 

‘’Welcome, dear,’’ the cat purred. ‘’I’m Minhyung and you're the one with the truth spell, aren't you?’’

‘’Unfortunately.’’

The cat meowed and laughed, shaking his head. You had to admit, it was too cute and fluffy to even care that it was probably an ancient soul, so of course you petted his ears softly. 

‘’Aish, that punishment was too much. Anyway, your boy’s inside. It’s a house full of witches tonight,’’ Minhyung observed, tilting his head so he could get more pets to his ears and neck.

You entered the house, greeted by loud pulsing music and drunken laughter. You recognized some faces among the dancing crowd, the dim light and the smell of liquor, like Jake taking a girl upstairs and Jungwon and Minju huddled in a corner devouring each other's faces. You slowly made your way through the party, not quite knowing where you were going or where to find Niki, your body trembling with anticipation. It was impossible not to.

In the short time you and he had spent together, Niki had done an incredibly good job training your body. Maybe it was the slow making out sessions in bed, or the way he buried his face between your legs like an starved man, or the intense way he looked at you sometimes, as if he were thinking about throwing you to the ground and fucking you until you couldn't take any more.

You just wanted to find him, sit him down on the nearest surface you could find, and ride him while you kissed him. And maybe then watch something while spooning.

Your steps led you to the almost deserted backyard and you pursed your lips, examining your surroundings without much success, when a hand encircled your wrist and you were cornered against the wall.

Niki placed one hand beside your head and the other settled comfortably on your waist. His eyes drifted to your lips, slowly and deliberately, as if he were thinking about how to kiss you.

‘’You took your sweet time,’’ he said, tilting your chin up. ‘’I was wondering if maybe you backed out.’’

You rolled your eyes. ‘’I said I would come. Why, Nishimura? Would you have missed me?’’

‘’Yes.’’

His thumb brushed your hip and you felt it everywhere, staring at his full lips while he was closing the distance and—

Your phone started ringing with the most annoying alarm ever. 

‘’Wait—wait— let me turn it off—’’

Niki exhaled though his nose, amused. ‘’Seriously?’’

You frowned a little. ‘’I don't even remember setting an ala—’’

You glanced at the screen, blinking completely shocked like you quite didn’t understand what was written on it. 

FULL LUNAR CYCLE COMPLETED!!!

You gasped loud, dramatic, so loud that startled Niki.

He looked at you urgently. ‘’What?’’

You stared at the words like it was some divine intervention. You let out a shriek and jumped on your place, laughing. 

‘’Oh my God!— OH MY GOD!’’

You threw your arms around Niki’s neck so suddenly that he catched you firmly to stop both of you from falling over. You were screaming and laughing and Niki laughed too, more startled and confused than anything, automatically wrapping his arms around your waist to steady you. 

‘’It’s over! I can't believe it! I did it!’’ You laughed again, a little hysterical. ‘’It’s over, it’s over!’’

He blinked down at you, the pure face of confusion. ‘’What is?’’

‘’I survived the whole lunar cycle! It’s over! I’m free!’’

You were practically bouncing in his arms, pulling back only to grab his face and grin at him like you just won millions. 

‘’A month,’’ you started, smiling too wide. ‘’An entire lunar cycle! made it!’’

Niki stared at you, arching a brow. ‘’Lunar cycle?’’ He repeated slowly. ‘’...Is this about your period or something?’’

You didn’t even hear him, skipping away from him and spinning around the yard with your arms in the air. ‘’I can shut up! I can lie! I have options!’’

He watched you like you officially lost your mind.

You approached him again and took his hands, jumping with a smile. ‘’Do you have any idea how hard is to live without lying even once?’’

Niki’s eyebrow shoots up. ‘’You haven’t been lying this whole time?’’

You beamed at him. ‘’I haven’t!’’

He squinted at you, nodding. ‘’That… explains a lot.’’ 

‘’I’m free,’’ you whispered dramatically. ‘’It’s over.’’

Niki stared at you for a whole moment and then, very slowly, he smiled. Not a smug smirk or his teasing grin. A soft, pretty, full smile. Warm and completely smitten by you. 

You were still dancing in tiny, excited circles close to him when Niki reached out, grabbed you by the waist and pulled you flush against his body in one smooth motion.

‘’I have no idea what’s happening,’’ he admitted quietly, brushing his nose with yours. ‘’But you look too adorable to care.’’

He kissed you, deeply, sighing into the kiss like he just found the place where he belonged. Niki held you against him, hands firm and possessive, like he was anchoring you to him. The party noises blurred into something in the back of your mind and you melted against him, fingers curling into his shirt. 

When he finally separated from your lips, a thread of saliva joined them both, which he slowly licked from your mouth. He rested his forehead against yours, his hands wandering further down until he grabbed your ass.

‘’So,’’ he murmured, staring at your eyes, ‘’does this mean you’re going to start lying to me now?’’

You smiled, slow and seductive, stealing a short kiss from him. ‘’That,’’ you whispered sweetly, ‘’depends.’’

His eyes darkened. ‘’On what?’’

You tilted your head, pretending to think about it while biting your lip. Niki’s gaze followed the movement. 

‘’On how good you’re gonna fuck me tonight.’’ 

Niki promised himself that Jake would never find out, despite all their years of friendship, that he used his parents' empty room to have sex with you in the middle of a party. But it was so fucking worth it. 

Maybe you had bitten off more than you could swallow because Niki took your challenge too seriously and you were paying for it with orgasms that didn't let you string a single thought together, your body simply reacting to his will. His mouth was closed over your nipples, alternating between sucking one and then the other until they were red and tender as you moaned and your vision blurred with a second orgasm incoming, his fingers pushed inside your soaked wet pussy. 

‘’That’s it,’’ he mumbled quietly around your nipple, sucking it again while you arched and moaned. ‘’Just take it, baby. Cum again for me, let me stretch this pretty pussy for my cock.’’ 

You gasped from overstimulation, listening to the wet noises your pussy made each time Niki thrusted his fingers inside fast and hard, clinging to his hair and pushing it towards your tits, Niki growled and sucked your nipples roughly, swirling his tongue. You came with a muffled scream and whimpered when Niki didn’t stop, your pussy tightening around his fingers as if you didn't want to let them go.

He chuckled darkly, staring at you completely fascinated at the state you were. Panting, teary, marked everywhere by his mouth; red hickeys blooming all over your neck down your chest, to the pretty and soft skin of your breasts, nipples swollen from having sucked them for so long. So prettily destroyed by him, and it was just the beginning.

‘’Fuck,’’ you whispered, a trembling mess, tears failing from pleasure. You sobbed a short laugh. ‘’You’re such a menace, Nishimura.’’

Niki straightened with a proud smirk and began working his belt, your eyes immediately fixed on the tent in his pants. You licked your lips and replaced his hands, opening his pants and pulling down his boxers until his hard cock sprang out, hard and veiny. Too big. 

‘’No way.’’

‘’What?’’

‘’It’s… so big,’’ you breathed in short gasps, encircling his cock with both hands and pumping it slowly, making him moan. You looked at it from under your eyelashes, rubbing the tip with your thumb, spreading the precum leaking. You were a girl open to accepting challenges, but this worried you a little. ‘’I don’t think it’ll fit, Niki.’’

Niki simply smiled smugly, his dark eyes filled with desire. He flipped you onto the bed, making you yelp because of how sudden and abrupt it was. Your pussy fluttered and a new gush of wetness soaked you, feeling his hands wandering through your body, gripping and squeezing your waist, your thighs, the curve of your ass. 

‘’It won’t fit,’’ you repeated shakily, even as you let Niki position you however he wanted. Face pushed down, ass up, your back arched so prettily that made him grunt and spank you. You whimpered and you turned your head, trying to look at him. ‘’Are you listening to me?’’

‘’Of course I’m listening,’’ he said, positioning himself behind you and caressing your ass with his cock, gently rubbing against your skin. He slipped his cock between your folds and began to rub it lazily back and forth making you feel how hard it was, how big it was. You dripped all over him with a moan each time the head of his cock grazed your throbbing clit. ‘’Don’t worry, baby. I’ll make it fit just fine. You’re ready for me, you trust me, right?’’

‘’Y-yeah,’’ you moaned, feeling the tip of his cock lining up to your hole, barely pushing. Niki grabbed your hips, held you down onto the bed and slowly guided his cock inside you. ‘’I do.’’

The head of his cock pushed against your entrance, forcing its way in little by little and stretching you completely. You gasped and opened your legs wider as he pushed his cock inch by inch, making you whimper at its thickness. Fuck. You had never felt so full, so stretched out and open, a loud moan leaving without you could control yourself. 

‘’Relax for me, pretty girl,’’ he said quietly, still keeping the slow but unforgiving pace. You tried not to tense up, but everything was both too much and too little, gently sniffing against the bed as your pussy tightened around Niki's cock. ‘’Just like that, taking me so well.’’

Niki hissed softly, feeling your cunt wrapping so tight his cock was the hottest thing he ever saw; how your pretty, wet hole creamed his length. 

‘’You’re doing so well, baby,’’ he whispered, hands holding you in place, big hands caressing your waist, your ass. ‘’Opening your pretty pussy for me, letting me fill you. You can feel it, don’t you? How deep it goes?’’

You nodded, drool dripping into the pillow as coherent thoughts left your head and all you could feel was his cock inside you, making you clench so hard around him it made him moan. Niki's thrusts were slow and deep, and you swore it made you feel him all the way to your stomach. He was buried too deep inside you, each push of his thick cock stretching you further until the pleasure was too much. 

His pace quickened, his cock sliding in more easily because of how wet you were and how he had opened you up. ‘’Look at you,’’ he sneered, giving your ass a firm squeeze. ‘’Taking my cock so well, greedy pussy’s sucking me in,’’ he moaned, low and dirty. ‘’Fucking take it like a good girl.’’

Your moans grew louder and your eyes rolled back in your head as he began to fuck you faster, pounding you hard from behind. You cried from pleasure into the mattress, your pussy tightened and dripped around him, milking him with each thrust that went so far you were sure his tip was grazing your cervix. Niki was fucking you so hard that the bed moved, hitting the wall softly and you could’t do anything but to take it, a moaning mess. 

‘’Not so mouthy now, right?’’ He scoffed, giving you another spank, making you whimper and squeeze his cock harder. ‘’That’s what I fucking thought,’’ he chuckled, burying himself into your cunt faster, with a low groan. 

‘’Niki,’’ you moaned, barely able to form a sentence, not feeling anything but his thick cock and his ruthless pace, the way he was filling you. ‘’Please— I’m gonn—’’

‘’Ah, ah, not until I say so,’’ he warned you, laughing when you whined and sobbed when another spank landed on your ass. ‘’Not until you fucking say this pussy is mine. C’mon, baby, don’t keep me waiting. Say it.’’ 

‘’I-it’s—,’’ you moaned again, cunt stretched out and throbbing around him, every thrust sending you over the edge. He hit your g-spot over and over, making you tremble. ‘’It’s yours—’’ 

‘’That’s right,’’ he mumbled, slamming into your harder, deeper and desesperate; sweat dripping from his temple. ‘’Say I’m not a fucking problem.’’

‘’Niki!’’ You sobbed softly, hardly holding back from shattering. He just hummed darkly, almost amused. You shook your head quickly and moaned again, too gone to even care to lie, your pussy throbbing around his cock, needy and desperate. ‘’You’re not a problem—’’

‘’Cum for me, baby, milk my fucking cock,’’ he ordered, voice rough and husky going straight to your core. The pleasure was so intense that once you reached the peak, it simply destroyed you, leaving you trembling and broken. You were too full, overstimulated, squeezing his cock as your climax coursed through you, leaving you a whimpering mess. ‘’I’m filling this pretty hole until it overflows,’’ he promised, voice used and hoarse. ‘’Beg for it.’’

You looked at Niki from the pillow, eyelashes with unshed tears and a completely spaced out expression from being fucked too good, cheeks flushed and makeup smudged. You blinked slowly and licked your lips, milking his cock with the spasms of your cunt.

‘’Don’t pull out,’’ you gasped softly, reaching for him. Niki didn’t doubt it for a second, holding your hand while slamming into your pussy almost brutally. ‘’I want it inside—please—fill me up,’’ you begged with a broken moan. ‘’Mark my pussy with you cum—’’

Niki cursed under his breath, railing you almost at a punishing pace, using your hole until you were both moaning with raw desperation. You never felt anything so intense before and your body couldn't handle it, making you come for the fourth time with a scream as Niki buried himself deep inside you, coming with a hoarse moan. 

You collapse onto the bed, your knees giving away, your whole body trembling and sensitive. Every part of you was throbbing, used and spent. Niki spilled his load inside your cunt and you moaned softly at the feeling, flooding your womb with hot ropes of cum, making you feel so full. His body covered yours and you could feel his racing heart in your back, staying inside you as you both tried to catch your breath. 

You laid there, enjoying his weight against you, the sensation of his cock filling you, and his hot cum slowly escaping from your hole. Niki moved a little and you moaned, tensing up a little, but he gently silenced you, slowly kissing your neck until you relaxed again. 

‘’Shhh, it’s fine,’’ he said quietly, coaxing you with more soft kisses. ‘’You’re okay?’’

You nodded and sobbed a little, still holding onto his hand. Your mind felt… flying somewhere. A wave of need filling you that you didn't understand, only knowing that you wanted his warmth surrounding you. ‘’Don’t leave.’’

‘’I won’t,’’ he reassured you, slipping out of your cunt carefully. You hissed because of the sensitivity and Niki kissed your shoulder, silently apologizing. ‘’C’mere.’’

Niki settled on his side and pulled you close to his chest, studying your face while drying the wetness from your cheeks with his thumb unhurriedly, fondly. You snuggled into his chest and sighed, too drunk on orgasms to even think, just needing him closer. Niki kissed your forehead, lips lingering there, arms wrapping securely around you, making you completely content and warm. Heart fluttering happily, but that was another thing. 

‘’So? You’re gonna start lying to me?’’

You chuckled tiredly, smiling to yourself with your eyes closed. ‘’No if you keep the good work, Nishimura.’’

‘’I told you I’d be an excellent boyfriend.’’ 

[caratchronicles]

this was such a cute idea omggg i love the fmc she's so cute

[taigacryptid]

decentralize and clean up your life!!!

use overdrive, libby, hoopla, cloudlibrary, and kanopy instead of amazon and audible.

use firefox instead of chrome or opera (both are made with chromium, which blocks functionality for ad-blockers. firefox isn't based on chromium).

use mega or proton drive instead of google drive.

get rid of bloatware

use libreoffice instead of microsoft office suite

use vetted sites on r/FREEMEDIAHECKYEAH for free movies, books, games, etc.

use trakt or letterboxd instead of imdb.

use storygraph instead of goodreads.

use darkpatterns to find mobile game with no ads or microtransactions

use ground news to read unbiased news and find blind spots in news stories.

use mediahuman or cobalt to download music, or support your favorite artists directly through bandcamp

make youtube bearable by using mtube, newpipe, or the unhook extension on chrome, firefox, or microsoft edge

use search for a cause or ecosia to support the environment instead of google

use thriftbooks to buy new or used books (they also have manga, textbooks, home goods, CDs, DVDs, and blurays)

use flashpoint to play archived online flash games

find books, movies, games, etc. on the internet archive! for starters, here's a bunch of David Attenborough documentaries and all of the Animorphs books

burn your music onto cds

use pdf24 (available online or as a desktop app) instead of adobe

use unroll.me to clean your email inboxes

use thunderbird, mailfence, countermail, edison mail, tuta, or proton mail instead of gmail

remove bloatware on windows PC, macOS, and iOS X

remove bloatware on samsung X

use pixelfed instead of instagram or meta

use NCH suite for free software like a file converter, image editor, video editors, pdf editor, etc.

feel free to add more alternatives, resources or advice in the reblogs or replies, and i'll add them to the main post <3

last updated: march 18th 2025

[asahicore]

enhypen masterlist

lee heeseung.

*how to get back at your ex - f2l, coworkers au, fluff, smut (mdni) - 19.9k

When you catch your boyfriend of four years cheating on you on the day of your anniversary, your first reflex is to get black-out drunk by yourself at a bar near your place. There, you run into your colleague and close friend Heeseung, and together, you come up with a plan to get back at Sunghoon for what he did. But as you carry out your pranks with Heeseung, you realize that maybe, what they say about love is true - sometimes, it is right there in front of you, patiently waiting for you to recognize to it.

hey, heeseung! - best friend's brother au, fluff, angst and smut (mdni) - completed series [3/3]

Your longstanding crush on Heeseung only quadruples in size when he comes home from his first year of university, looking better than he's ever had - and in your eyes, that's saying something. Tension builds between the two of you over the summer, until it inevitably explodes. The catch? He's your best friend's brother.

three seconds - f2l - 0.8k

There's only one way to know for good whether the signals Heeseung has been sending are signals or your own delusions, and that's by showing up at his house one night and kissing him.

park jongseong.

*all i see is gold - academic rivals to lovers au, fake dating au, college au, fluff, slight angst and smut (mdni) - 27.1k

Pretending to be your number one rival's girlfriend to please his parents isn't how you would usually spend a Thursday night, but you really owe Jay a big one this time. You'd sworn this was just a one-time thing - and yet when his parents ask you to come again, the word 'yes' is out before you can stop it. Before you know it and much to your dismay, your feelings for Jay start to change, and you're in too deep to backtrack.

fast forward - very tame e2l, high school au, 99% fluff! - 26.6k

After yet another romantic disappointment in the form of one Jake Sim, you go to the well you’ve always believed to grant wishes and ask for your one and true love to appear. That night, you go to sleep in your bed but wake up in a strange house. When you head downstairs, you find a man washing the dishes and telling you your favorite meal is waiting on the table for you. You’ve spent hours glaring at the back of that head, you could recognize it anywhere—it belongs to none other than Park Jongseong, your high school sworn enemy... and future husband, or so it seems.

hometown - part one, part two - exes to lovers, small town au, angst +++ but fluff and smut too - two parts, total wc 64.7k

Tired of his life in the big city, Jay moves to a small town by the Korean seaside and renovates an old bookstore to turn into a café. Fate would have it that you work at the restaurant right across the street from him—quickly, memories from your time at culinary school together float back up to the surface, accompanied by old feelings.

sim jaeyun.

kiwi and layla - high school au, s2f2l, fluff, angst - 26.3k

After a test, you mistake Jake’s backpack for your own and you each go home with the other’s bag. Both of you are too curious for your own good, so you quickly find out that you excel in the subject the other is failing - ensues a mutual tutoring agreement that turns into much more than what you expected.

bad news first - college au, childhood f2l, fluff, smut (mdni) - 23k

From the moment you'd met at eight to the day he moved to South Korea at fourteen, you and Jake were inseparable. But after years of being apart, you've come to terms with the fact that at twenty, you and Jake just aren't what you used to be. That is until you get a text from him, and all of a sudden, he's back by your side, doing his year abroad at the university you study at, and all your feelings for him float back up to the surface.

of all the people in the world - f2l, small town au, angst, fluff, smut (mdni) - 35.3k

 You know you should be ecstatic about the invitation to Chaewon’s and Jaemin’s wedding in your mailbox, but you can’t help the nerves gnawing away at your stomach. There are too many things you’ve left unresolved after moving to Seoul—your aunt, your friends, and most of all Sim Jaeyun, the boy you’ve never let yourself love.

park sunghoon.

moonlight - dirty dancing au, s2l, fluff, angst, smut (mdni) - 32.2k

In August 1963, your monotonous summer vacation becomes a lot more exciting when you meet a group of dancers that work as the entertainment staff of the resort you and your family are staying at. Your fascination with them, and particularly dancers and close friends Sunghoon and Chaewon, pushes you to help them out by taking Chaewon's place at another hotel's show when she's unable to dance. The week you spend with Sunghoon as he teaches you to dance and the events thereafter give you a lot more than the ability to mambo.

*we'll always have this summer - summer au, s2f2l, fluff, angst, smut (mdni) - 25.9k

Your mom ruins your summer plans by sending you to the equestrian center your grandmother owns in the south of France, wanting you to spend some time away from the city and take a break from your med studies. Although you’d been determined to spend the worst time ever there, you soon find out that maybe the cold but cute horse nerd next door who doesn’t want to talk to you might actually turn this summer into the best one of your life.

*cherry pits - dilf!hoon, s2l, neighbors au, summer au, smut (mdni) - 12.9k

Your alarmingly empty bank account forces you to find a last-minute summer job so that you can afford a trip with your friends. The extremely handsome customer that comes into the store just happens to be a young single dad who’s renovating the old house next to yours. The tension that settles between the two of you as you start helping him fix up his house soon becomes unbearable, but it’s all one-sided anyway, right? (Spoiler: wrong.)

*real me, real you - fake dating, high school au, slight e2l, slight love triangle, fluff, angst - 22.9k

You’re your school’s popular pretty smart girl, but with a twist - you lead a completely different life at home, where you are messy, lazy and foul-mouthed. Only your family and best friend Sumin know about this, until Park Sunghoon, of all people, finds out. The resident cold and arrogant heartbreaker of your school decides to blackmail you into doing his biddings - but you can’t say no, not even when he asks you to be his fake girlfriend, otherwise he’ll ruin your reputation. But as you and Sunghoon get closer, you realize that maybe he’s not so bad after all, and you may be more similar than you'd originally thought - all while your old childhood friend Jay watches from the sidelines.

*stupid in love - best + childhood friends 2 lovers, summer au, angst, smut (mdni) - 22.1k

One night early on in your summer vacation, your best friend Sunghoon admits that his biggest anxiety about starting college is going there as a virgin - one thing leads to another, and you end up learning a few things from each other. The more time passes, the more obvious it becomes that your feelings for each other surpass friendship, but with the end of summer looming over your heads, it's hard to tell where these newfound emotions will lead you.

cold hands - fwb 2 lovers, brother's best friend, college au, angst, fluff, smut (mdni) - 39.5k

You go to your brother's hockey team back-to-uni party accidentally matching one of the members with your cowgirl barbie costume. hopelessly romantic sunghoon sees this as a sign that the two of you are meant to be together, but you're impossible to read and soon the two of you settle on an ambiguous secret friends with benefits relationship. unfortunately, conflict ensues.

ot7.

their favorite form of skinship - bf!enha, fluff - 1.5k hiding in plain sight - sh, js, jy, jw - fluff - 1.7k

© asahicore on tumblr 2022-2026. please don't copy, repost, or translate my works! feedback and reblogs are appreciated :)

[caratchronicles]

it's like a reward😋

cant wait to get to these!!

[asahicore]

of all the people in the world - sjy (m)

pairing. sim jaeyun x reader

synopsis. You know you should be ecstatic about the invitation to Chaewon’s and Jaemin’s wedding in your mailbox, but you can’t help the nerves gnawing away at your stomach. There are too many things you’ve left unresolved after moving to Seoul—your aunt, your friends, and most of all Sim Jaeyun, the boy you’ve never let yourself love.

genre. childhood/high school friends that grow apart to lovers, angsty fluff, small town au, mutual pining bc they're idiots, this is kind of like hometown but different i promise, SMUT MDNI !!!!

warnings. characters are aged up (late 20s), reader is a little clueless but she's doing her best okay, family issues and family member death, jake is exclusively referred to as jaeyun deal with it

word count. 35.3k

author's note. listen to the playlist here + as always a big thank you to @zreamy for beta reading this and freaking out over jaeyun!!! happy very very late birthday can't wait to name my firstborn child after you... Zreamy Lee what a beautiful name... im sure anton will be stoked when i let him know!

Most of the time When he looks at me I change my mind And I don’t think he even cares a bit How much I have to give Just as long as I’m awake To love him every day [...] Of all the people in the world [He] says my name the best Most of the Time, Jackie Evans

From his seat on the couch, Jaeyun stares at the golden inflated balloons spelling out ‘Congratulations, Y/N!’ on the wall of your aunt’s living room. The more he stares, the more the capital letters seem to be mocking him. 

He allows himself one last moment of selfishness, during which he thinks the last thing he wants to do, today or ever, is to congratulate you on getting your one-way ticket out of this town. He downs his fruit punch and winces at the overly sweet, artificial taste, then marches towards the crowd around you, trying on different smiles that might seem convincing. None of them fit.

August is nearing its end already. Summer has always felt lazy, molasses-slow, pleasantly neverending to Jaeyun—this year, it blinked by him. He closed his eyes as the schoolbell rang for their last ever period; he opens them again and he is here. Wasn’t prom just yesterday? Graduation? Did he realize that the last bonfire party was just that, the last? 

Your birthday isn’t for another week, but you’re leaving tomorrow. Everyone huddles around you, eagerly awaiting your reaction as you open gifts. If it wasn’t for the presents and the chocolate fudge cake waiting in the fridge, this wouldn’t be a birthday party so much as a going-away party. The dreadful words on your wall make that clear: everyone here knows you’re much happier about leaving than about turning eighteen. You said so yourself a few days earlier, and Jaeyun tried his hardest not to burst into tears.

“I can celebrate my birthday every year. I’ll only get accepted into the program of my dreams once.” 

You were sitting, just the two of you, atop one of the hills that overlooked your town. Jaeyun knew that when you looked out, you already saw your past, while he could only see his whole life, past, present and future indistinguishable from each other, spreading out for miles and miles and miles. 

Up until a few months ago, when Jaeyun looked at you, he could only see his whole life. But ever since you received your acceptance letter, he hasn’t been so sure. He watched as you celebrated leaving him behind, stayed silent as you raved about your plans for the future. Plans he wasn’t a part of. These past months have been the only time seeing you smile made him sad.

He stays at the back of the small crowd, close enough to make out your presents as you unwrap them but not quite joining in. Hands in his back pockets, he wears his best neutral expression一if he can’t fake a smile, he can at least try and not look so depressed. As your friend, he owes you that much. He might hate every moment of this but he’d feel even worse, knowing he was raining on your parade.

You seem to like your gifts. After spending your teenage years together, your friends know what you like. Scented candles, cute notebooks that you’ll probably keep preciously rather than actually use, a personalized calendar for the upcoming school year with a different picture of you and your loved ones every month. Jaeyun shows up a few times in group pictures; it’s just the two of you in April, which is too far away for his liking. Far away enough for you to have forgotten all about him.

As you flip through the calendar, despite your friends’ protest for the pictures to be a surprise each month, it’s on April that you linger the most. There’s a small smile on your face, a sad smile. Your fingers play with the pendant on your necklace, Jaeyun’s gift that he gave you before everyone else even arrived. It was too intimate a gift for him to hand it to you in front of all your friends. He almost died of embarrassment when your eyebrows rose at the sight of the delicate, silver chain, of the letter ‘J’ hanging off it, and it was just the two of you; if anyone else had been in the room, his shyness would’ve gotten the best of him, and the jewelry box would’ve stayed safely tucked in his coat pocket.

You lift your gaze towards him. He didn’t even know you’d noticed him joining everyone, and yet your eyes found him immediately. He has no idea what on Earth is going through your head. Are you finally realizing that the days of seeing each other every single day are over? Are you finally figuring him out, how it isn’t only friendship that has kept him by your side all these years, but the feeling deep in his gut that he gets whenever he thinks of you?

Do you have that feeling, too?

Your eyes shine. For a second, Jaeyun thinks you might start to cry. Then someone, Miji or Yurim, who knows, says that she’s on the next page. Your gaze falls back to the calendar in your hands. Your fingers let go of your necklace, and you flip Jaeyun’s page.

.

.

A tight ball of dread has been sitting in your stomach ever since you got that letter in the mail. You’ve tried to rationalize it many ways: it feels weird to receive a wedding invitation, the first from someone out of your childhood group of friends. Even more so when that someone is the girl you called your best friend for all of your teenage years, but you aren’t sure you deserve that title anymore. Even more so when you’re 28 and couldn’t be further from drafting a wedding invitation yourself.

You know what it really is: it’s the address for the reception, the name of a place in which you haven’t set foot in years blinking innocently up at you. It’s the second piece of paper inside the envelope, a handwritten note asking you to come a few days earlier so that all of you “can gather just like the good old times.”

I’m getting married, Y/N. I’m turning into a proper adult. I just want one last time of feeling like a sixteen year old, and I can’t have that without you here. Say you’ll be there, pretty please? XX

You remember sighing after reading that note, your brain already coming up with excuses to justify your future absence, fully aware that you wouldn’t miss this wedding for the world. 

Damn Chaewon, you thought then, and still regularly think now. Damn her and her emotional manipulation, as you’ve decided to view it, forcing you to make that dreaded trip home—not that you really consider that place home anymore.

It was a wonder that you and Chaewon were such good friends back then, good enough to still keep in touch throughout your adult lives. Just like every baby in the family, she was born in the upstairs bedroom of their home, the mayor’s daughter, known and loved by everyone in town, and had always adored her small-town life. You showed up out of nowhere at age fourteen, initially making no effort to befriend anyone, annoyed by the whispers that followed you. You wanted to leave as soon as you arrived, and you eventually did; although along the way, Chaewon’s kind-heartedness melted even your ice walls, and you gradually opened the gates to let the other kids in.

For almost a decade, you’ve been working to close those gates again. You were almost there; they were barely agape, there was just that tiny thread that kept an infinitesimal part of you tethered to that place, and you were sure it was close to snapping. Chaewon and her damn wedding invitation pushed the gates back open, and it took you all your strength to not look back and walk through again.

You left something there, and you aren’t sure you’re ready to retrieve it. 

The ball of dread, as though tethered to a chain around your ankle, won’t stop following you. Up until now, you hadn’t noticed how much everything around you seemed to revolve around romance. The TV you watched. The content on your phone. Couples in the street. Even your work was full of it. You’re the editor for the Culture and Media segment of Limelight Monthly, the magazine you work at, not Relationships or even Lifestyle, and yet, in the weeks after receiving the invitation, it felt like all your staff could write about were the latest romance novels everyone raved about online, the best reality TV shows about exes getting back together or forever-singles searching for their first love, and which destinations were the most romantic for couples to travel to this summer. 

You do a good job hiding it at first. Although you’re not as focused as you usually are reading your staff’s articles to greenlight them for publication, two years of doing this job means no typos or clunky sentences pass you by. You make sure to greet everyone with your usual cheer, and you don’t miss any Thursday evening afterwork drinks, a tradition of your team’s. Most of the time, you’re able to relegate Chaewon’s wedding and everything it entails to the back of your mind, but it’ll come back up at random moments. You’ll be filling the kettle for tea in the communal kitchen when a certain face will fill the forefront of your thoughts; your heart will start beating uncontrollably, and before you know it, water will be overflowing from the kettle and onto your hands. You’ll stare at the awfully familiar name of a book character in one of your coworkers’ reviews and only snap out of it once someone’s called your name three times in a row, like being summoned out of a trance. 

These moments are few and far between, but they add up. When your coworkers ask you whether everything’s okay, at first, it’s lighthearted, like they’re just curious about what got you so lost in your thoughts. Slowly, eyebrows start to furrow, concern starts creeping in their eyes and voice. You’re one zone-out away from an intervention. A few days ago, you overheard Juhee and Haewon, your team’s two most recent recruits, whispering in the break room about their concern for your well-being: “I think she goes home and just, I don’t know, has takeaway and white wine in front of her TV.”

They’re wrong about the takeaway. You’re actually a pretty decent cook. The rest of their sentiment, however… Well.

It takes Minjeong, your favorite coworker-turned-friend, a couple of weeks before she decides to take matters into her own hands. One Tuesday after work, she waits for you outside the building’s main entrance, and as soon as you step outside, grabs your wrist and drags you to the subway station that’ll lead both of you to her apartment. “I’m making you chicken alfredo and you’re telling me what the hell is wrong with you,” she says before you can protest.

You wrench your wrist out of her grasp, shrug on the bag strap that had fallen off your shoulder with a discontented huff, and follow her anyway. “Fine, but I’m only coming for the chicken alfredo.”

“I’ll tie you down to the chair until you speak.”

“Kinky.”

She halts dead in her tracks in the middle of the busy street, ignoring the nasty stares from the other homebound office workers heading for the station. She turns to face you, wearing a severe expression. “I’ve known you for five years, and you’ve never cried in front of me. Not even when we watched Titanic.”

Nonplussed, you reply, “I already knew how it ended.”

“That’s not the point. It’s usually impossible to get a read on you, so when not one or two, but three people come up to me and ask whether you’re alright, that means something’s seriously wrong. I’d be a terrible friend if I didn’t try to find out what that was.”

You hesitate. You’re embarrassed that you’ve been so obvious, and that you’re even this upset in the first place. Who on Earth has such a hard time being happy about her childhood best friend’s upcoming wedding? Your first reaction should’ve been to call Chaewon and rave with her and ask for all the details. You should be sending her pictures of potential dresses and asking her which one fits her color palette the best. You shouldn’t be needing the aforementioned intervention.

It isn’t like you have to follow Minjeong and air your dirty laundry out to her. If it came to it, your couple inches over her might help you win a physical fight. But something about her sincere concern makes you fold—how long has it been since you let someone worry about you like this? Long enough that you forgot how nice it feels, apparently.

She must sense a shift in your demeanor, because she relaxes. “Let’s go,” she says, and this time, she doesn’t need to drag you with her.

From the moment you met Minjeong, you knew she came from money. It wasn’t that she flaunted it or appeared out-of-touch with reality; she just had a way of moving through the world with the air of confidence of someone who knew they belonged, who was used to getting what they wanted. It also helped that she often came to work with a new designer bag and always had flawless hair and nails.

It intimidated you at first, the way she seemed to have worked in this office her whole life, whereas it took you weeks before you stopped being so eager to please and be overly polite with everyone. But it quickly became clear that although you found her infinitely cool, she wasn’t cold. You didn’t work for the same segment, but you spent your lunch breaks together, getting scolded by your respective bosses more than once for coming back half-an-hour late; you would often be so busy talking, you wouldn’t keep track of the time.

But it wasn’t until you stepped inside her apartment for the first time that you realized just how wealthy she, or her family, was. She lived in one of the fanciest neighborhoods of town, in an apartment that you could hardly afford now as an editor, let alone when you were just starting out at the magazine—yet she’d been living there since graduating from university. It’s on the top floor of a brand new apartment complex and composed of three bedrooms and two bathrooms, a ridiculously large open plan kitchen and living room, and a balcony with possibly the best view over the city you’ve ever seen. Her furniture looked and felt expensive, and it made you dizzy trying to figure out how much the artwork that hung on her walls and decorated her shelves must’ve cost. To this day, you haven’t been brave enough to ask.

When you step inside her apartment today, she wastes no time before ordering you to sit at the kitchen island. You watch as she grabs a bottle of wine from the fridge, hesitates, then puts it back. Instead, she grabs a bottle of gin and an unopened one of tonic from a cupboard, two glasses and some ice from the freezer. You smile and sit silently as she expertly pours two drinks. “Here,” she says, sliding a glass towards yours. “I thought you might want something stronger.”

“Should I be worried you just have this on hand?” you tease.

She rolls her eyes. “It’s for emergencies like these, obviously.” You clink your glasses and take a wonderful sip. Then, she looks you straight in the eyes and says, “So, tell me what’s been on your mind.”

So you do.

You tell her about the wedding invitation and what it entails: travelling back to the town you used to live in, having to face everyone you left behind there. You keep things vague. You don’t name names, or dump your entire backstory on her; you simply tell her you didn’t have the best relationship with your aunt when you left, and phone calls between the two of you have been few and far between in the time you’ve moved away. And that this goes for a few other people from home, namely one other person.

Of course, this isn’t enough for Minjeong. She prods, and prods, and prods, until you finally give in. With a sigh and a heavy gulp of your wine, you ask, “Where do you even want me to start?”

She smiles. “From the beginning.”

You stare each other off for a few beats. Even as your instincts tell you to keep your mouth shut, a small voice at the back of your mind says, For once, why not?

“I don’t… talk about this,” you say, voice shaky.

Worry knots Minjeong’s eyebrows together. “Is it that bad?”

“It’s not that it’s bad,” you reply quickly to reassure her. “I just don’t like even thinking about it. So talking about it… Well, that forces me to think about it, doesn’t it?”

“Listen,” Minjeong says, walking over to your side of the island, resting her hand over yours. “If you really don’t want to talk about it, I won’t force you. But from what I can tell, it’d do you some good.” She takes a deep breath, then speaks all in one go. “Also I’m dying to know. I’m not supposed to tell you this but everyone at the office has a theory about where you come from because you never talk about it.”

When you gasp, she shakes her head and squeezes your hand. “I promise everything said here will stay here. I’d derive much more satisfaction from being the only one knowing about your past than blabbing about it to everyone anyway.”

For some reason, this works on you. Maybe Minjeong feels trustworthy enough. Or maybe you know she’s right, you know it’ll do you good to speak about it, to release some of the burden.

“Okay.”

You really do start from the beginning, and work your way up from there. Why you had to move to Gimcheon without your parents. Why it was difficult living with your aunt, and why you could hardly make friends at first. Why it was your sole goal in life to move back to Seoul at eighteen, and why with every passing year, the thought of leaving became harder and harder. Why you did it anyway. 

What it cost you.

It feels strange to speak so much at once, and about yourself. Minjeong is plating dinner as you’re wrapping your story up. She has so many questions, it takes you almost an hour to finish your food. But you find yourself readily answering every one of them; you’ve gone this far already, so you might as well give her the fullest picture you can.

Oddly enough, it’s perhaps her easiest question that has you hesitating the most. It’s the end of the night, and you’re surprised your eyes have stayed dry throughout it; but when she asks you this, your nose starts to prickle.

“What’s this guy’s name, anyway? We’ve talked so much about him, and you’ve only referred to him as your friend.”

You can’t help but smile even as the word tugs sharply on your heartstrings. 

“Jaeyun.”

.

.

As the date of the wedding approaches, the tight knot of nerves in your stomach grows bigger. The evening before your flight, it takes you hours to fall asleep, your packed suitcase next to your bed startling you every time you lay eyes on it. You sleep fitfully for three hours, then a never-ending loop of worst-case scenarios plays in your head as you go through the motions of getting yourself ready and to the airport. An older woman sits next to you on the plane; anxiety must be emanating from you like a bad odor for her to rest a kind hand on your shoulder and tell you that domestic flights like these are very safe, that she’s flown many times and that nothing bad’s ever happened. You don’t have it in you to tell her, a total albeit nice stranger, that it’s not the journey that’s worrying you so much, but the destination.

Stepping inside the airport at Daegu feels surreal. The few times you’ve traveled between Seoul and Gimcheon, you drove—but Chaewon forced you to fly down, saying you couldn’t just get in your car and leave if you suddenly felt like it. You didn’t tell her you could almost just as easily get a same-day flight, if it really came down to it.

You hope it won’t.

The airport is so relatively unbusy, so it doesn’t take you too long before you arrive at the parking lot, eyes searching for your aunt and her green little car that she’s always driven and that has somehow yet to break down. 

But it’s another familiar face that your eyes land on. 

The sight feels like a punch to the gut. For a few seconds, you swear you stop breathing, the sound of your heartbeat so loud in your ears that it cuts off all other noise around you, of planes taking off, people reuniting, car doors slamming shut.

You weren’t supposed to see him so soon. You were supposed to meet your aunt, go through a slightly awkward car ride, maybe have your first adult conversation with her now that you weren’t, or at least less of, an angsty teen. You were then supposed to get ready, both mentally and physically, for seeing all of your friends at once again, for seeing him. Who was standing in front of his car, staring at you with a small smile that kept breaking your heart over and over again, clearly here to pick you up.

He lets you stare back. Lets you stand there, mouth agape in shock, fingers wrapped so tight around the handle of your suitcase that your nails dig into the skin of your palm. You weren’t supposed to see him so soon. You didn’t get enough time to prepare, to adjust to being here, and now you’re standing there dumbly like you’ve just seen a ghost.

In a way, you have.

You regain part of your senses. When you try to say his name, your voice is hoarse, and it comes out as a whisper, barely audible even to you. So you clear your throat, try a second time.

“Jaeyun.”

The name feels clumsy on your tongue, like a foreign language you once knew but lost due to lack of practice. And yet, when he smiles and says your name back to you, it sounds so right, like no one else is as deserving of saying it as he is.

“Hi, Y/N.”

Your feet move of their own accord as they step towards him; he mirrors you, and in mere seconds you’re face-to-face with him, and when he reaches out you think he might hug you but all he does is take your suitcase from you and roll it to the trunk of his car. A sigh escapes your lips, but you’re unsure whether it's one of disappointment or of relief.

“There was an emergency at the hospital, so Auntie asked me to pick you up. I hope it’s okay with you,” he explains. You watch, transfixed, as he closes the trunk, then walks over to the passenger side, opening the door and motioning for you to go in.

You nod. “Yeah, it’s okay. Thank you.”

Instead of walking right away to his side of the car, he stays there, one hand on top of the door as you take a seat and fasten your seatbelt. “It’s no worries,” he says finally before gently shutting your door.

There are so many things to think about. Usually, you’d get hung up over the fact that even on the day of your coming back home for the first time in years, your aunt still prioritizes her job over you, or over the fact that Jaeyun still calls her Auntie, despite the resolve you’ve had since you were fourteen of calling her by her first name, and her first name only.

Now, as the boy — the man — beside you starts the car, hands steady compared to your trembling ones, a peaceful expression on his face, all you can think about is the improbability of it all, of being back here, of being next to Jaeyun of all people and not knowing what to say to him. If someone had told you ten years ago, that one day a reunion with Jaeyun would mean silence and cramp-inducing nerves, you would have either laughed them off, or been scared into never leaving at all. 

Your mind conjures an infinite list of conversation starters, but none of them seem good enough. They’re all too relaxed, too intense, too inappropriate for a situation like this. Like a fish out of water, you keep opening your mouth to say something, only to close it when you decide not to. 

Jaeyun being this quiet only makes things worse. If there’s one thing about him, it’s that he’s always talking like he can’t get the words out fast enough—but maybe it’s been too long for you to speak with any authority about what Sim Jaeyun is like. You know you’ve changed a lot in ten years—how can you expect him to be the same boy you left? You can’t even tell whether he’s just calmer now or if he’s decided to torture you by silence. 

As he keeps his eyes on the road ahead of him, you risk furtive glances, trying to assess how much about him might’ve changed. There’s still something of the boy who used to split clementines with you in the winter, who would whisper the answers to you when you got called on in class and blanked. He’s grown into his features, he’s learned how to style his hair, but his kind smile and eyes haven’t changed in the slightest. You still find yourself inexplicably drawn to everything about him, even the small cut on his jawline, probably from shaving—your fingers crave to feel it, this sign of a private life that you haven’t been privy to for years. That you haven’t been a part of.

Minutes pass by like eternity. He’s only pulling out of the parking lot and joining the freeway and you’re already wondering how you’ll survive the twenty-minute car ride to your aunt’s. Thankfully, Jaeyun eventually puts an end to your agony. 

“There’s so much I want to tell you that I don’t know where to start.” His voice is low, infused with a kind of timidity you’ve rarely heard from him. It seems to reflect your feelings exactly, and you’re so relieved you could cry. 

A small chuckle escapes your throat. “Me too,” you say, glancing at him briefly, avoiding his gaze by the fraction of a second. It’s hard enough being in an enclosed space with him; eye contact isn’t an option right now. Every time his eyes flick over to you, the side of your face heats up so much you think it might melt right off.

“How—how are you?” he asks.

You’re not sure whether he means right now, or in general—but you don’t really feel like examining your feelings about being back here more than you already have, and especially not in front of Jaeyun, so you go for the second meaning.

“Good,” you say. “Everything’s going well at work. And I’ve got a few really great friends. What about you?”

A few beats pass without his answer—in the corner of your eye, you see his head swivel back-and-forth between the road and your face. “What, that’s it?” he finally says with a small, disbelieving chuckle. “The last time I saw you was three years ago. Surely you have more to say than that.” He doesn’t sound angry, just genuinely eager to get more information out of you. But his words make you angry at yourself, because they remind you that it’s your fault you know so little about each other’s lives now. It’s not for his lack of trying, and you both know that—since you left ten years ago, his unwavering kindness and lack of resentment towards you has surprised you every time you’ve seen him again. 

“I don’t know, nothing’s really happened. I was promoted pretty recently—”

“Okay, that’s definitely not nothing. Congratulations, Y/N. You deserve it.”

They’re words you’ve heard a hundred times before, but coming from him, they sound so heartfelt, like he truly is proud and happy for you, that you can’t help but soften at them. Smiling, you say, “You’ve never seen me at work. Maybe I slack off all day and hand in everything late.”

“I’ve seen you in high school, and that’s enough to know you’d rather pull out your hair strand by strand than hand in anything a minute late.”

You laugh, and when he turns his head to look at you, this time, you mirror him. He can only keep his eyes off the road for so long, but a second is all you need. Your gazes meet, and he’s wearing one of your favorite smiles of his, the one that makes you feel like he’s really glad to see you again, and a weight is suddenly taken off your shoulders.

Maybe this won’t be so bad after all.

Thankfully, the remainder of the car ride is much less awkward than its first few minutes.You find Jaeyun to be as talkative as ever, not shy in the slightest to tell you about everything going on in his life, from the arguments he gets into with his colleagues — which happen to mostly be members of his family — to the hikes he’s been going on more frequently now that he’s adopted a dog, a Border Collie he says you have to meet. 

Your nerves are appeased. The last time you saw Jaeyun three years ago, it was for his grandmother’s funeral. She was the main reason he’d stayed here—back in high school, he’d had vague plans of moving to Seoul after graduating from university in Daegu. But when she got sick, with his brother abroad and his parents working hard to afford the hospital bills, he decided there should be someone to keep her company and take care of her, and that someone would be him. You could count on one hand the number of times you’d been back, and when she passed was one of them. He tried to keep a brave front, smiling as he greeted and thanked everyone for coming, but you could see right through the facade, although it’d been a long time since you could call yourself a close friend of his.

You only stayed three days. The night before you went back to Seoul, you went over to his apartment to make him dinner. In front of you, he let it all out—he’d always cried easily, but never like this. You spent so much time comforting him and offering him your shoulder that in the end, you could only make him a bowl of pasta with tomato sauce that he barely ate half of. You knew only too well what sort of pain he was going through. While your brain has wiped most of your memories of the events soon following your parents’ deaths, you remember the hurt that lasted months, years, that still comes back now from time to time, when you least expect it. It was partly thanks to Jaeyun’s friendship that your grief was easier to overcome—as you got to know him and your new classmates, he took your mind off of things little by little, until one afternoon, you came home from school and realized you hadn’t felt suddenly sad or irrationally angry the entire day.

The moment you left him that night, his cheeks tear-stained and his eyebrows furrowed even in sleep, you made a promise to yourself that you’d be there for him at twenty-five as he was for you at fourteen, despite the distance that separated you. You texted him everyday, called three times in a row if he didn’t answer, made sure your mutual friends checked up on him often. 

But Jaeyun was, is strong and he had amazing people surrounding him, people he’s known his entire life and that have his back. He was back on his feet soon, sooner than you expected, for how close he was to his grandmother. Because of, or thanks to that, when you felt like he didn’t need you to look after him anymore, you only felt a little guilty for pulling away. More accurately, the guilt ate relentlessly at you, but you had excuses to make yourself feel better. His dad made all his favorite dishes. Jaemin took him out fishing. A neighbor of his had a dog who gave birth, and he adopted one of the pups. With or without you, he was going to be fine.

You didn’t mind looking after him. But as soon as you felt like you were relying on him, you panicked. And you were starting to look forward to your weekly calls far too much for your liking. So you reached out less often. It was a busy time at work — when wasn’t it, after all? — and you buried yourself in it so that when you told him you were too busy to call or to head back for the weekend, you weren’t lying.

Things went back to the way they were for the seven previous years. You were as relieved as you were heartbroken.

You look at him now, listening to his lively rants with a smile on your face, thinking how glad you are it all turned out okay. The sadness of being apart from him, the longing of missing him, you’d do it all again if it meant he’d be laughing like this in the end.

Parked in front of your aunt’s house, Jaeyun turns off the ignition and turns to you. “Do you want me to come in with you?” he asks.

How easily you fall back into your old ways. Twenty minutes with him and you feel like a teenager again, annoyed with him for being so nice, so unrelentingly nice, annoyed at your stupid heart for beating up a storm in your chest every time he so much as smiles at you. You want desperately to say yes. To have someone to lean on as you walk into the house that contains so many bad memories—fights with your aunt followed by silence, the feeling of loneliness that pervaded your teenage years and that you haven’t quite managed to shake off. It’d be so nice to have Jaeyun there with you—and judging from the concern on his face, he seems to know how you feel.

But you can’t let him, because you can’t let yourself need him. Not again. Not when you already know how it ends.

You smile and shake your head, ignoring the disappointment that flashes across his features. “It’s okay. I don’t wanna take up more of your time.” He looks like he’s going to say something, so you quickly add, already opening the passenger door, “I’ll see you later for the reunion, yeah? Thank you for the ride, Yun.”

With a sigh, he lets go of whatever it was he wanted to say. “Of course. Anytime.”

He gets out of the car even though you tell him not to, and helps you with your suitcase, which really isn’t that heavy. You can tell that your declining his offer has dampened his enthusiasm somewhat, and yet, he waits until you’re at the front door, one hand on the handle, the other waving him goodbye, to drive away. As though he wanted to keep an eye on you for as long as he could—and so do you. You watch his car get smaller until it disappears around a corner. Then, inhaling and exhaling deeply, you turn the key you haven’t used in years inside the keyhole and push the door open.

The first thing you notice is the unchanging smell of the house. Like the cleaning product your aunt uses, and a slight stale odor of food, because she always forgets to crack open a window or turn on the oven fan when she cooks. Plus a scent specific to the house that reminds you of your aunt, of the clothes she wears, of the blanket she covers herself with while she watches reality TV after particularly long shifts.

Gently closing the door behind you, you stand in the entrance for a while, letting yourself take the time you need to get used to this place again. You’re glad your aunt isn’t home to usher you in and pretend she’s happier to see you than she is, or that you didn’t let Jaeyun accompany you. You don’t want anyone, least of all him, to witness you looking around the house like it’s the first time you step foot in it.

Everything is the same as ever. Same furniture, same photos in the frames, same wallpaper, which make the few novelties even more striking. A plant in the corner of the living room, a new, more modern kettle in the kitchen. The black-and-white, low quality scan of your first ever article printed in Limelight is still displayed on the fridge, held up by the Brisbane magnet seventeen-year-old Jaeyun gifted you after he came back from visiting his family there. 

You make your way upstairs slowly, holding onto the wooden rail for support, more emotional than physical. Your bedroom is a time capsule of your time in Gimcheon, with the same plain purple bedsheets your aunt bought before you arrived, the same posters of the boybands fifteen-year-old you obsessed over on your walls, the same fantasy series you used to devour during summer break on your shelves. You can’t help but crack a smile at the sight of it all. In all the times you’ve come back to this house, you’ve never had it in you to change anything about this room. You want to keep it preciously, as if changing anything about it would change the memories associated with it, both good and bad.

Losing both of your parents at once had made you anything but an insouciant teenager. You were overly serious and reserved, grief forcing you to grow up far before any kid should have to. And yet, standing in this room, you remember the fleeting moments during which your biggest worries were a pimple on your chin or a test in a subject you didn’t like. 

For all your grievances against your aunt, you would’ve turned into a much different person if she hadn’t taken you in back then. Your dad’s family lived in another country, and you knew from conversations with your aunt that she and your mother didn’t have the best relationship with their parents. Their brother had three kids of his own, whereas your aunt had none; it only made sense for her to welcome you into her house. When you were mad at her, you told yourself it was only her moral and legal obligation to take care of you as your closest relative, but when you were feeling more generous — which, for fifteen-year-old you, could be rare — you realized that having a comfortable room to yourself and cupboards always stocked with your favorite snacks was something to be grateful for. 

And there were the friends you made here, whose pictures fill five entire photo albums. They made everything more tolerable, and even fun, when you allowed it to be. Of course, you would have never told them that, back then—you liked your cold exterior and the way they saw right through it. 

Setting down your suitcase by your bed, you decide to go through the photo albums you assiduously filled back in high school instead of putting your things away. It’s a better way to settle in and get yourself ready—your nerves dissipate as you flip the pages, bright pictures blink up at you, of your friends at each others’ houses, at the park on weekends, at the corner store after school. You’re not in many of the pictures, usually hidden behind the camera, exaggeratedly frowning when Jaeyun managed to pry it from your hands and forced you in the frame.

He never heeded your protests when he wanted to swap places so you could be in the pictures you so often took. You remember the puppy eyes he’d make at you, which had no business being so effective, and the way he’d rest his larger hands on yours on the camera. Too unaccustomed to the feeling of your heartbeat speeding up, you would quickly hand it over to him then, turning away from him so he wouldn’t see the obvious effect his touch had on you. It didn’t help that he’d always show you the photo afterwards, pointing at you on the small screen, grinning as he said, “See? You look pretty,” even though fear of being unphotogenic wasn’t the reason you didn’t like your picture to be taken.

Soon, your anxiety at seeing your friends and ex-classmates, after so long of making yourself unavailable to them, is almost entirely gone, replaced by excitement. There remains a pang of shame, especially at the thought of seeing Chaewon. How long had it been since you’d called her when you received that wedding invitation? Like Jaeyun, you know she won’t even be really mad, and that makes it worse—she might make a light-hearted quip about it, but it’s as though they’re scared that lecturing you about being MIA might only push you away further.

You tell yourself there’s nothing to be scared about. The people you’ll see tonight are but older versions of the people smiling at the camera, at you, in your photo albums. 

You flip to a picture of you and Jaeyun taken without your knowledge, by Yunjin, if you remember correctly. Both of you sport wide smiles, the neon lights of the arcade game you were playing reflecting on your faces. It was his phone’s home screen for ages.

You’re so immersed in this trip down memory lane that you lose track of time—when the front door opens and your aunt calls out your name, two hours have passed already. Pushing your awkwardness to the side, you let her hug you and repeat her words back to her when she tells you she missed you. You did miss her, but you only realize it once the familiar scent of her hair. She’s a creature of habit—she still uses the shampoo she used when you first moved here at fourteen. 

She was only twenty-six back then, younger than you are now. You don’t know if you could deal with a temperamental, grieving teenager while you’d just lost your sister yourself. 

“How was the trip down? I’m sorry I couldn’t come and get you at the airport. I sent Jake instead, I figured you wouldn’t mind if it was him,” she rattles, already filling the kettle for tea. This is so like her, saying a million things at once, always busying herself with something. You know that in an hour, when you leave for Chaewon’s house, she’ll settle herself on the couch and won’t leave it for the remainder of the evening, drained from her shift at the hospital. 

“It was fine, I didn’t have any problems with my flight,” you reply, taking the knife from her hands and taking over the apple-cutting. “There was an emergency at work?”

She sighs. “Yeah, you know how we’re so understaffed in the summer. Some teenagers were messing around in a house under construction, and fell through a floor that wasn’t done. No big injuries, but they needed an extra person to deal with parents and paperwork. At least I got to see these little shits get the talking-to of their life,” she says, making you laugh. She reaches for something in the cupboard, pulls out a packet of your favorite chocolate-flavored snacks from back then. “I got you these, if you want.”

“Wow, I haven’t eaten these in ages,” you say, chuckling at the familiar cartoon turtle on the bag.

“Do you not like them anymore?”

“No, no, I do,” you say quickly to make your aunt’s worried expression go away. “I just can’t eat a bag in one sitting like I used to anymore, and they go stale too soon.”

She chuckles. “That’s being an adult for you. I got a stomachache from a can of Coke the other day. Just one.”

You have time to spare before you need to start getting ready for Chaewon’s, so you sit at the dinner table together and catch up. The conversation floats somewhat on the surface of things, more about what you’ve been doing than how you’ve been doing. You’re overly polite, keeping a distance for her sake more than your own, unsure how happy she really is to have you here—and you have the feeling she thinks the same of you. The memory of your last fight hangs heavy in the air between you two, unspoken but tangible.

It’s been easier talking to her since you moved away than it ever was when you lived here. You guess distance really does make the heart grow fonder, more willing to forgive and make amends—that, and growing up. Even after your fight, which you quickly understood had only happened because you let your emotions get the best of you after seeing Jaeyun in such a dishevelled state from losing his grandmother, you can have a normal conversation like this. It’s a far cry from the silence that could stretch on for days when you were in high school.

Like with most dreaded things, you belatedly realize how much time you wasted stressing out about coming home, when there was nothing to worry about. Your mind had made up all sorts of scenarios, like your aunt would start yelling at you the moment you came through the door, rehashing your argument, or would barely give you the time of day during your entire stay. It’s as though you forgot she was always the one who knocked on your door with a slice of takeaway pizza or a piece of buttered toast when you were being moody and wouldn’t come down to eat. Who took you out for ice cream when she felt bad for being so caught up in work you’d hardly seen her all week. Who recorded your Saturday evening dramas on the TV while you were over at a friend’s house.

You’ve still got some talking to do, but it might not be as hard as you thought it would.

Fresh out of the shower, you’re changing into a nicer outfit and putting on light makeup when a text from Jaeyun lights up your phone. He’s asking if you want a ride from him, which you decline—your aunt’s house is out of his way and it’s only a ten-minute bike ride for you, which you find yourself quite excited to go on, for purely nostalgic reasons.

Ok :) I’ll see you later, he texts back, and your stomach twists with both apprehension and giddiness. Having him there will make things so much easier, and yet the thought of spending prolonged time in his vicinity makes you unreasonably nervous.

It’s just Jaeyun, you tell yourself, the guy who drooled on his textbook when he fell asleep in class. Who never got mad unless, in true soccer player fashion, felt another player had committed an unforgivable offense against him. Who insisted on watching horror movies then spent them with his face behind his hands.

You catch yourself smiling in the mirror and shake your head.

It really does feel like you’ve been transported back to ten years ago as you wish your aunt a good evening and hop onto your bike, still in its same spot, resting against the side of the house, then ride down the streets you’ll always know by heart. Gimcheon is at its prettiest during this time of year, the trees plump, their leaves dark green, the flowers bright. The summer evening breeze is warm on your skin, and the sun, low in the sky, casts a beautiful golden light on everything around you.

It’s not long before you reach Chaewon’s house—it’s still amazing to you how you can stand in front of it and say, yes, my friend owns this house. It actually belongs to her—and her fiancé, Jaemin, of course. You don’t know of a single person your age in Seoul who owns their apartment, except for Minjeong, but she’s just exceptionally well-off. It’s a nice, traditional house, with a wooden porch around the front where you know Chaewon, a Korean Nara Smith if you’ve ever met one, will make gochujang and soy sauce from scratch once she’s less busy with work and wedding preparations. 

The gate is ajar, so you slide it further and let yourself in, calling out your friend’s name tentatively. Immediately you hear footsteps from inside the house, Chaewon squealing your name before she comes barrelling through the door and running towards you. She practically flings herself at you, and you stumble back a few steps as you catch her, laughing at her enthusiasm.

“Ugh, I’m so happy you’re finally here!” she exclaims, squashing the side of her face onto yours.

“I’m happy to be here, too,” you reply, chuckling. “Thank you for the heartfelt welcome.”

Hands on your shoulders, she leans back, assesses you head-to-toe. You follow her gaze, wondering if the mid-thigh sundress you chose was a good decision. Is it too much cleavage? At your all-female workplace, there is no such thing as too much cleavage. “You look good.”

“Okay, no need to sound so surprised.”

“I’m not!” she says, laughing. “Okay, a little bit, I’m sorry. I thought you’d look all dishevelled like those busy city girls in the movies. Running around, getting coffee, whatever it is city people do. That’s what you look like when you FaceTime me after work.”

You sigh. “That’s great to hear, Chae, thanks.”

“No, don’t take it the wrong way, it’s hot! But it’s nice to see you like this, with your hair down instead of your buns so tight they snatch your eyebrows.”

You frown. “I like my tight buns.”

“So do I,” she says, tapping your butt with a cheeky smile. Before you can protest, she takes your hand and leads you into the house. “Come on, we’ve made some changes inside, let me show you.”

“Am I the first person here?” you ask. The house is empty save for you and her, and probably Jaemin, somewhere.

She smiles at you mischievously. “Of course. We’re going to catch up first. And who the hell starts a party at 6 p.m. anyway?”

Chaewon’s presence is everywhere around her house, from the white gauze curtains that flutter in the wind to the trinkets that line the shelves of a cupboard passed down onto her from her grandparents. There are new pieces of furniture here and there, and a nice patterned rug in the living room, but the biggest change has been done to the kitchen. It’s been fully renovated to be more modern since you were last here, and it’s fully functional now, with everything she needs to make her homemade bread and her thousand side dishes that accompany every one of her meals. It’s a good thing Jaemin’s a nice person—you staunchly believe that not many people are deserving of the kind of care Chaewon is able to provide. You remember making that very clear when you came to visit for the holidays, and got a little too drunk with Chaewon for New Year’s Eve—you can’t recall exactly what you said to him, but he could hardly look you in the eye for the remainder of your stay, so it must’ve left an impression.

There’s barely an inch of free space on the counter, and the fridge isn’t faring much better. All sorts of salads and dips, meat and vegetable skewers, marinating chicken thighs, and of course, cupcakes. Tons of cupcakes. She doesn’t let you linger—Jaemin walks into the kitchen, and you’ve barely hugged him hello and exchanged niceties with him that she’s already dragging you someplace else, telling rather than asking her fiancé to finish getting the food ready.

She sits you down on a chair outside then heads back in, telling you she’ll be right back. It gives you some time to admire her backyard, the way it’s all been set up for tonight, cute cushions on the patio sofas, fairy lights strung in the trees, ribbons on the fence around her vegetable patch. Even back in high school, she grew green onions and avocados on the window sill of her parents’ kitchen. You’re excessively moved knowing that she has a whole garden to tend to now. It’s so easy to picture her, wearing a sunhat as she waters and adds soil to her plants. 

When she comes back out, it’s with two glasses of suspiciously pink liquid in her hands. She sees your weary expression and says, “Don’t worry, you can barely taste the alcohol in it.”

“That’s exactly what I’m worried about,” you reply, but take a sip anyway. God knows you’re going to need some liquid courage to face tonight. It’s overly sweet, tasting mostly of strawberry syrup, and almost not at all of the vodka and prosecco Chaewon says she put in. Fine with you.

She launches straight away into her usual interrogation. It’s less daunting, because you can expect it—every reunion with Chaewon means she’s going to have a thousand questions for you if you don’t turn the subject around on her at some point. She wants to know all of the office gossip as though she has personal stakes in who your coworkers are dating and what the workplace dynamics are like. She asks about your daily life, your friends, whether you’re seeing anyone.

“I’d have told you if I had a boyfriend, Chae,” you say.

She shrugs, a little sheepish. “I don’t know. There’s lots of things you don’t tell me about, you know…”

There it is, the sharp pang of guilt in your stomach. The summer breeze suddenly feels cold on your bare skin, the stillness of the countryside oppressive. Up until now, it felt like barely a few weeks had passed since you’d last seen Chaewon, but reality catches up to you now, with its distance and silences, the ones you imposed between the two of you. “I’m sorry,” you say quietly.

“No, I’m not mad!” she exclaims, panicked. “I’m just saying, I don’t know so much about your life anymore, so this could be something I don’t know about either… I’m making this worse, aren’t I?” she asks when she sees the pained look on your face.

You shake your head. “You’re right, though. I know I should call more often, I just…”

“Want to put this all behind you, I get it. You always talked about wanting to go back to Seoul in high school, so I’m happy you’re able to thrive there now,” she says, although there’s an edge to her voice that you know means she’s more hurt than she wants to let on.

“But it isn’t fair to you.”

She shrugs again. When she looks at you, there’s a small smile on her face that looks a little too forced. For as long as you’ve known her, Chaewon has been wholly averse to conflict—this is probably the hardest she’ll scold you for being so absent. But because it’s from her, it’s an effective reminder to be a better friend.

You can’t help but put everything and everyone here in the same corner of your mind. You thought that to move on from one person, you’d need to move on from everyone, even Chaewon. You can only hope it’s not too late to start realizing how much of a fool you’ve been.

“Look, I didn’t get you all the way here to talk about this. I just wanna know how you’ve been.”

“I’ve been good, Chae, really. And now it’s your turn to present your life to me in excruciating detail.”

She chuckles and says, “Fine, but we’ll need a refill for this.”

“What? Has it been bad?” 

In the doorway, she turns around to look at you. “Oh, not for me. My life’s been so awesome that you’ll need to drink your jealousy away, babe.”

And indeed, when she comes back and tells all about her life recently with a dreamy look in her eyes, it isn’t that you’re jealous per se, but that you realize this is the life a lot of people wish for—married with a nice house before thirty, and children soon, if you know her at all. And you agree these things sound nice, but they’re not what you want for yourself right now. Sure, there have been hurdles: her parents-in-law are pretty conservative, but Jaemin always stands up for her, and her job as an elementary school teacher can be very tiring, but, she says, “having someone like him to come home to makes everything so much easier.” She’s always had a sentimental streak to her, but this close to the wedding, you can tell her love for Jaemin has never been so strong. You’re reassured to see it doesn’t stop her from ordering him around as usual, or scolding him when he puts the chocolate sprinkles on top of the blue frosted cupcakes even though she told him at least a million times that the star-shaped sprinkles went on those. 

“But the star-shaped ones taste like nothing, honey,” he says. You shake your head even if he can’t see you. Chaewon gasps like he just told her to go fuck herself—and in her eyes, it’s probably as though he has.

As much as she hates arguments, this is something she’d lay her life down for. She heads into the kitchen to give him a piece of her mind, leaving you to reflect over her words. It makes everything so much easier. You do wonder what that must feel like, to have someone to come home to after a long day instead of a silent glass of wine. At least the wine can’t judge you.

The two glasses of Chaewon’s pink mixture must really be getting to your head, because when she sits back down next to you, face flushed from a heated conversation about sprinkles, you find yourself telling her what’s on your mind. “I’ve almost had that a couple times, you know. Someone to come home to,” you say, feeling her gaze on the side of your face as you keep yours on the garden in front of you. “I did tell you about some of the guys I dated.”

“Yeah, and you always seemed super unfazed about the break-ups.”

“I was. I always expected it to end one day or another, so I wasn’t so surprised when that day came.” Her hand on your forearm is warm, anchoring, silently telling you that it’s okay to go on. “It’s not that I don’t want that life. But whenever they started talking about meeting their parents, or moving in together, let alone get married… It just freaked me out. The idea of someone being so close to me, eventually knowing so much about me. How—” You interrupt yourself, taken aback by the tears you feel pooling in your eyes. You turn to look at Chaewon, and something in her expression, in the familiarity of her features, makes you take a deep breath and keep talking. This is Chaewon. She won’t make fun of you for crying. “How do you do it, Chae? How do you trust someone to still love you when they know about all the worst sides of you?”

“Oh, honey,” she whispers, standing up to wrap her arms around you. A few silent tears stream down your cheeks, hopefully not staining her dress, as you hug her back tightly. “What about me? Minji, Yunjin? What about Jaeyun?”

Her voice seems to soften on his name, or maybe it’s your heart that softens upon hearing it. A part of you thinks he may be at fault for your unsatisfactory love life—knowing he’s out there makes it harder to fall for someone else. But that’s something you couldn’t admit to Chaewon—you can barely admit it to yourself as it is.

“I’m sorry,” you say, sniffling against her shoulder. “I shouldn’t be doing this today, of all days.”

She shushes you. “No, no, it’s okay. I’m glad you’re letting it out. Listen.” She crouches in front of you, brushes away strands of your hair that got stuck in your wet eyelashes. “There’s nothing monstrous about you that would drive anyone away. You’re more cautious than most of us when it comes to relationships, and that’s okay. It just means that when you finally do give your heart to someone, they’ll be all the more deserving of it. And I promise you that someone is out there.” She smiles, adding, “Maybe closer than you think.”

“What—what’s that supposed to mean?”

“Come on,” she says with a laugh, unfolding from her crouch and holding her hand out to you. “Your makeup’s all messed up. I’ll help you fix it before everyone else gets here.”

In her upstairs bathroom, she pushes off all the clothes laying haphazardly on an armchair and instructs you to sit there. With four cocktails between the two of you, everything becomes funny—you’re both laughing so hard at the shape of her mascara tube that it takes her five minutes to properly apply the makeup to your lashes. She keeps scolding you for scrunching your eyes in laughter and stopping her from doing her job, as if she’s not the one who can’t see through the tears in her eyes. “Now my mascara’s running!” she complains when she sees her reflection in the mirror.

Like little girls playing around with their mother’s beauty products, she applies eyeshadows of all colors on your lids, tries out a different lipstick on each half of your lips to see which one fits you best. You look ridiculous, but you’d probably let her keep going for hours if it wasn’t for the sudden ring of the doorbell. You both freeze mid-laughing fit as if the whole point of this evening wasn’t for people to come over, the blush brush in Chaewon’s hand floating inches from your cheek.

“Who is it?” you whisper, unable to tell who it is from the voices mixing with Jaemin’s downstairs.

“Sounds like Jeno and his new girlfriend,” she whispers back. “You haven’t met her. She’s way too cool for him.”

“As are all of Jeno’s girlfriends.”

Chaewon nods. Before she can say anything else, Jaemin’s voice rings out in the house, calling out for her. “Be down in a minute!” she shouts back, then turns to you. Her energy seems to have shifted from when you were laughing around together when she says, “Let’s get this off you. I made you look a little crazy.”

As she douses a cotton pad with makeup remover, you ask her quietly, “Are you okay?”

With the cotton over your eyes, you can’t see her expression, but you’ve known her long enough to picture it. The tight lips, the slightly furrowed eyebrows. “I’m okay, just a little nervous,” she says. “It’s been a while since we’ve had this many people over at once.”

Your surprise only lasts a second—although Chaewon had appeared nothing but excited every time you talked about this weekend, you remember how she’d grow anxious in the last moments before any party she threw. You take the cotton pad from her hands, holding onto her wrist as you look earnestly into her eyes. “It’s going to be an amazing evening, Chae. You’re the best hostess in this town. The food looks great, as it always does, and everyone’s going to be ecstatic to see each other again. And to congratulate you! You’re getting married in two days!”

A small smile was forming on her lips as you spoke, but it’s the mention of her wedding that really seems to do the trick. “I am,” she says quietly, smiling down at her feet like a giddy schoolgirl. 

“And your fiancé’s waiting downstairs for you. Along with Jeno and his cool girlfriend.”

She sighs deeply. “You’re right. I’ve been busy all day getting everything ready, and now that there’s nothing left to do, I’m panicking.”

“There’s no reason to,” you tell her, squeezing her wrist warmly. “Go. I’ll take care of my makeup.”

With a quick hug, Chaewon thanks you and heads downstairs. In the mirror, it really does look like a small child had far too much fun on your face. Wiping it all off with her cleansing oil and digging through her pouch for liner and a lip tint, you remember all the evenings spent at your aunt’s house, her combing through your closet before a party because your aunt let you buy little tops that her parents would have a seizure seeing her wear. For once, the roles are reversed. 

Calming her down has had the same effect on your nerves, although the heavy doses of vodka and prosecco in the cocktails might’ve helped. Your heart is only slightly beating faster than usual as the doorbell rings again, the voices of more people filling Chaewon’s and Jaemin’s living room. For some reason, you’re worried that coming downstairs as they’re all greeting each other will be more awkward than meeting them out in the backyard, so you wait until it sounds like they’ve left the room. But your plan isn’t so successful—you’re halfway down the stairs when the door opens again, the person entering seemingly familiar enough to this house to come in without announcing their presence. Your body registers the sight of him first, heart dropping to your stomach, electricity reaching all the way to your fingertips before his name has even made its way to your brain.

“Jaeyun,” you breathe out, the wind knocked out of you as though you didn’t see him mere hours ago and as though you were unaware of his being here tonight. What is wrong with you? Are you sure Chaewon didn’t lace your drinks with something else?

His smile has the power to reassure you and double your nerves all at once. He waits for you, watching as you make your way down the remaining stairs. “Long time no see,” he says when you reach him, an infuriatingly charming grin on his lips. You can’t bite back the one growing on your own. “I hope you didn’t miss me too much.”

“It was a struggle, but I made it through.”

He chuckles, and a few seconds pass in which you don’t quite look at each other; you’re about to offer to join the others in the yard, but he speaks first. “You look beautiful.” Three simple words, but coming from Jaeyun, and spoken with that low, intimate tone, they pack a punch.

You hope you don’t look too obviously flustered as you gaze down at yourself, picking up the hem of your dress and rubbing the fabric between your fingers self-consciously. “Thanks, Yun,” you say, voice barely above a whisper. You give yourself a few seconds to assess him, and the conclusion you come to doesn’t help your state—you’ve seen him wear white button-ups dozens of times before, at school events and fancy gatherings, but you swear his arms didn’t always fill out the sleeves so perfectly, straining ever so slightly against the fabric. And sure, not having it buttoned to the top is fine, but are three undone buttons really necessary? You stop yourself from making a comment about cleavage and return his compliment instead. Then, with a frown, you tell him the others are already outside and turn on your heels.

Behind you, you hear a chuckle, then the sound of his footsteps following you. You thought it’d be nice to have Jaeyun around, a familiar and reassuring presence to look for if you ever felt awkward or out-of-place tonight, but it turns out it might be more distressing than anything.

Outside, all the newcomers, save for Jeno’s girlfriend, greet you with wide, surprised smiles, like they can’t believe you actually made it all the way here. Most of your old classmates have stayed in the area—one has gone abroad, a few have moved to Daegu, the closest big city, but for the most part, they either still live here or in nearby, somewhat larger towns with more job opportunities. That’s why they’ve remained such a tight-knit circle, why everyone knows everyone’s business, and why you were much more nervous than anyone should be at the idea of going to their high school reunion. Your distance is all the more obvious by their lack thereof. 

No one is showing you open hostility like in the worst-case scenarios you’d dreamed up, so you must be doing a good job at smiling and catching up with them and being normal with your hands, although you gladly accept the champagne glass Jaeyun hands you, thankful for something to keep them busy. And you find that it’s nice to be here. It’s nice to know Yurim and Jimin are as inseparable as ever and are planning to do the whole baby-at-the-same-time thing (once they manage to both find a boyfriend). It’s nice to see Jeno start to look less like a nerd over time, but that he hasn’t lost his ability to bag the most beautiful women you’ve ever met, like Giselle, who he very proudly introduces you to, and who is indeed way cooler than him. She volunteers at the animal shelter in her free time and DJs for huge techno clubs in the city on the weekend, so to be fair, she’s cooler than most people.

As more people start trickling in, instead of retreating into yourself, you relax. The weather is perfect, the sun making its slow, lazy descent into the night, a warm summer breeze coming through; people are happy to be here, to see each other, to see you; when Chaewon isn’t frantically running around, making sure that everyone is doing okay and that there are enough mini-fours to go around, she actually looks like she’s enjoying herself.

And there’s Jaeyun. It’s not that you mean to notice him, but your gaze keeps drifting to him of its own volition. He moves through the crowd with ease, clearly surrounded by people he’s comfortable with, always being pulled into conversations or making small talk with everyone he bumps into. His eyes seem to find yours often, and every time, he smiles at you like he knows something you don’t. Instead of quickly turning away like he used to as a teenager, unashamed at getting caught, his eyes linger on your face before slowly returning to whoever’s talking to him.

There’s a really annoying moment when he’s standing by the barbecue, keeping Jaemin company while he grills sausages and skewers, holding a bottle of beer in one hand, talking and laughing seemingly without a care in the world, as though he doesn’t know, or care, how infuriatingly hot he is. Hair pushed back from his forehead, a slight blush on his cheeks from the heat of the grill, that stupid third button still popped open. He looks like he was taken straight from the front cover of a men’s magazine, and it shouldn’t be this attractive, but it is, and there’s nothing you can do about it but down the rest of your champagne glass.

Something’s different about him. Despite having seen him over the years, all this time, whenever you’ve thought of Jaeyun, the person who came to mind was fifteen, sixteen, seventeen. A little shy, especially around girls, but with a smile that could charm a rock and that he hadn’t yet discovered the power of. The pant legs of his school uniform were a little too long because he was sure he’d have one last growth spurt in your final year of school after seeing Heeseung go through one. He never did, then couldn’t be bothered to exchange them or get them hemmed. They got soaking wet every time it rained. Of course some things have remained unchanged—he’s still as attentive as always, remembering small things about people, asking them about it, and listening with genuine interest when they answer. He doesn’t try to make things about him, and he doesn’t get annoyed when they ramble on for minutes on end without ever returning a question. It’s hard to pinpoint exactly what it is that feels so new about him, so unfamiliar in this exciting, intriguing way.

After observing him through careful, discreet glances (which he seems to notice half of), you come to the conclusion that it’s in the way he carries himself. He stands straighter, walks with more confidence, and has figured out what to do with his arms. He’s always been a human magnet: old ladies made conversation with him in grocery lines, strangers stopped him in the street for directions, he was elected class president every year without ever putting himself forward. You remember the pressure he used to feel because of it, like he couldn’t bear to let anyone down although he was sure it’d inevitably happen—but now, he seems completely at ease with all this attention on him. Not like he’s gloating, but like he’s in his element.

Eager to avoid his gaze and the dreadful feelings it causes in you, you move around the backyard as often as he does under the guise of catching up with as many as you can, always managing to be part of a different group than he is. And you drink. Everyone does, so you’re not embarrassing yourself on your own—it’s a known fact that Chaewon can and will feed an army, so her guests bring tons of alcohol to make up for all her efforts. Your glass never goes empty for long simply because no one lets it—you could refuse, but you don’t. 

You spend thirty minutes stuffing yourself with Chaewon’s cucumber salad and getting all the staff drama of your old school from Yunjin, who now works there as an English teacher. When she’s done telling you about the affair between the vice-principal and your Year 11 Geography teacher, she takes you aback by asking, “So, what’s up between you and Jaeyun?”

Back in high school, people often mistook you for a couple or joked around about you liking each other, so you do as you did then—you laugh it off, saying there’s nothing there. That doesn’t seem to satisfy Yunjin, however. She tilts her head at you, asking, “Are you sure? He seems so… attentive to you. Just now at the buffet he stopped you from getting the potato salad because there’s mustard in it. And in high school he was always running around doing things for you. All the girls were jealous of you.”

Your smile feels frozen, plastered on as you stare down at your plate. “That’s just Jaeyun. He’s nice to everyone, it doesn’t mean anything.”

“Y/N,” a voice says, but it definitely does not belong to Yunjin. Not only does it come from behind you, it’s also much too deep to be hers. When you lift your head, she’s looking right over your shoulder, surprise written all over her features. You turn around to find Jaeyun standing there, handing you a hot dog. “Delivery,” he says, tone light, but his closed-off expression betrays him. You don’t know how much of your conversation he heard, but he must’ve not liked it. You’re not sure why—it’s not like you lied. Jaeyun is nice to everyone. 

You bite into the bread. It has all of your perfect toppings for a hot dog—ketchup, fried onions, shredded cheddar and jalapeños. When Yunjin leans towards you, a hand on your arm as she says, “I don’t think it doesn’t mean anything,” you wonder if she’s right.

A few drinks later, you’re stumbling inside the house, headed for the bathroom, when a hand wraps around your wrist. It belongs to none other than Jaeyun, whose expression is a mix of amusement and concern. Now that all the food’s come out, the kitchen is dark, bathing in the fairy lights’ glow from outside and from the few other lights in Chaewon and Jaemin’s garden. And it’s empty, save for the two of you. It’s only the copious amounts of alcohol running in your blood that makes you think how enticing he looks in this semi-darkness, or that makes you imagine the affection you think you see in his eyes.

Of course you’d spend all evening avoiding him only to find yourself face-to-face alone with him suddenly like this. You look down at his fingers on you, and he lets go.

“Here.” With his other hand, he offers you a glass of water.

“I’m good,” you say, trying to sound casual, but you don’t like the close attention he’s paying you. Or maybe you’re embarrassingly drunk and he’s sending you a message. In any case, it’s always been hard for you to accept Jaeyun’s small gestures—you always have to remind yourself he’s doing it out of the goodness of his heart and not because he especially cares about you. 

“Y/N.” The way he says your name makes lightning zip down your spine. His voice is stern, but there’s a certain warmth to it. Like you’re being unreasonable, but cutely so. 

You take the water from his hands and down it in one go. “Happy?”

“Very,” he says, a smirk on his lips that you frown at as he takes the cup back and places it in the sink. He rests his hands behind him on the counter, eyes searching your face, and you, for some reason, stand there and let him instead of going to the bathroom like you’d originally set out to do. Even as silence stretches out between you, your feet are frozen, and you’re finally courageous enough to meet his gaze without backing down. Even as his eyes scan your face, settling on your lips, and your heart threatens to give out. Even as he takes a step towards you and your chest starts visibly heaving up-and-down with every breath you take.

When he’s standing in front of you, he finally speaks, his voice unlike you’ve ever heard it before—low, vulnerable, and with a hint of ruggedness that makes your head spin. “Have you been avoiding me?”

“No—”

“Don’t lie to me, Y/N, please.” He sounds like he’s seconds away from pleading with you. He’s never been one to hide when he’s hurt, so you’ve heard him many times like this, but never when you were the cause of his upset. It was always because of a bad grade, a fight with his parents, a joke he took the wrong way. You wouldn’t know if you ever hurt him before, because he’s never come to you about it. It feels weird knowing you’re capable of such a thing.

“I’m n—Okay, yes, I’m avoiding you a little bit,” you say in a small voice. Whether it’s the look on Jaeyun’s face or the last cocktail you had, but you can’t bring yourself to pretend. 

But you belatedly realize that of course, answering this question will only bring about another, much harder to answer: “Why?”

So you make up another lie that’s about as believable as the first one. “I—I don’t know, Yunnie. I’m just trying to speak to as many people as I can.”

“But not me?”

Is he drunk? He always got whinier after drinking. That must be it. Although his voice isn’t whiny at all—he’s not complaining, he rather sounds like he has answers he wants from you and is set on getting them. But it’s the only explanation you can come up with.

You’re unable to keep his gaze anymore. Looking down at the floor, you say, “We spoke earlier. We’re speaking now.”

“Yeah, and I practically had to corner you for it.” The vulnerability has left his voice and he sounds… frustrated? 

He crosses his arms over his chest, and despite yourself, your eyes follow the movement. He’s rolled up his sleeves, letting out his forearms on full display for you. That’s an image you immediately need out of your head, so you make the mistake of looking up at his face again, only to be met with his jaw locked tight, his eyebrows slightly furrowed, and the intensity of his eyes staring right into yours.

He’s allowed to be mad, but does he have to look so good doing it?

As if he wasn’t close enough already, he takes another step towards you. It forces you to look up at him, and the sight of his face so near yours is devastating. You can already tell it’ll haunt you for nights to come.

“Do I make you nervous, Y/N? Is that why you don’t want to be around me?”

You inhale sharply, audibly, and the sound seems to amuse Jaeyun. The way he smirks down at you should be condescending, but he manages to make it impossibly attractive. Like he has you exactly where he wants you—which doesn’t make any sense. You don’t understand why he’s doing this, why it’d upset him that you’d rather talk to other people than to him, how he’s figured out the reason you’re avoiding him is the butterflies gnawing at your stomach every time your gazes intertwine. He’s never done any of this before.

“No,” you find yourself saying, but it’s an obvious lie to both of you. You’re breathless uttering that one word, fingers shaking from the tension in your body and Jaeyun’s proximity.

Then he sighs, and the Jaeyun you know is returned to you. A little tired by your antics, maybe, but more worried than anything. “I’ll take you home when you’re ready to go.”

“But—”

“No buts. Just come get me when you want to leave.” And with that, he turns and heads back outside, leaving you to wonder what that was all about as you wobble your way to the bathroom.

When you come back out, you make a point of sitting in the empty lawn chair next to Jaeyun and joining the conversation he’s in. He smiles at you and you glare at him, feeling like a scolded child.

Maybe alcohol makes you a little immature.

You’re having a grand old time listening to Jeno’s and Giselle’s travel stories, but as people slowly start making their way home, aware of the weekend full of festivities they’ve got ahead of them, dread sinks in. When the party’s over, you’ll be left alone with Jaeyun. Thankfully, there’s enough alcohol left to throw another party, and you serve yourself a couple of very generous cranberry-vodkas to prepare yourself for later. Maybe if you’re passed out in Jaeyun’s car you won’t have to talk to him.

When the garden’s really starting to empty out, you find a small moment during which Jaeyun is busy chatting with Jaemin and some other guys, and stealthily approach Chaewon to tell her you’ll be on your way now. 

“Aren’t you leaving with Jae—”

You interrupt her with a hand to her mouth. Even though he’s across the yard from you, you don’t want to risk it. “I’ll see you tomorrow,” you whisper, then tip-toe your way around the backyard to the front of the house, where your bike waits for you. Somewhere deep in the back of your head, part of you has remained sober enough to tell you how bad an idea it is to bike home after drinking so much. You wouldn’t run into many cars at this time of night, but it’ll be dark, and the ditches are deep here. 

But you couldn’t have predicted for your best friend to betray you. Just as you’re succeeding on your third try to swing your leg over your bike, you hear her voice, clear as day, shouting, “Jaeyun! Y/N’s leaving without you!”

You swear he teleports over to you. You freeze, hoping that moving as little as you can will turn you invisible.

It doesn’t work.

“What are you doing?” Jaeyun asks as he makes his way over to you. You’re relieved when he doesn’t sound annoyed, just concerned. He stands in front of you, two hands on your bike handle right next to yours. “I told you to come get me when you were ready. You can’t go home on your own like this.”

“Sure I can.” You try to hoist yourself up onto your seat, and immediately lose balance, stumbling to the side. Thankfully, Jaeyun’s hand finds your waist before you can fall—it steadies your body but not your heart. 

“Come on, Y/N. Let’s get you to bed.”

Does he hear himself? He’s just being a good friend, so why does he have to phrase things in such an intimate way, and make your heart go all pitter-patter like the sixteen-year-old you once were? Why does he have to speak to you in that low, affectionate tone of his, like you’re someone he can’t help but take care of? 

You take a deep breath, resigning yourself to your fate. “Okay.”

He helps you off of your bike and into his car. His hold on you is gentle but firm, and you try your very hardest not to think about whether this is how he would hold you in other situations. Before he can even turn on the ignition, you close your eyes and pretend to sleep. You hear him chuckle, then back out of Chaewon’s and Jaemin’s driveway. Once or twice, you hear him inhale as though he’s going to speak, but he seems to decide against it. A ten-minute bike ride makes for a very short car ride, and before you know it, he’s already pulling up in front of your aunt’s house. You keep your pretense up as he walks around the car and opens your door, and you’re sure you make a very convincing show of waking up and being sleepy.

As he takes your hand to help you out of the car, you ignore your instincts yelling at you to jump away from him. You tell yourself it’s only so you don't get caught in your lie that you let him slip an arm over his shoulders and guide you to your front door. It has nothing to do with the fact that your skin tingles everywhere it touches his, or that it feels terribly nice to be handled with so much care and patience. The front door is unlocked, and he holds you steady as you slip out of your shoes. Only when he closes the door behind you do you snap out of it.

“Thank you, Yun. I’ll be alright from here.”

He narrows his eyes at you. “I’m not sure you will. I don’t trust you not to trip up the stairs.”

You panic as he leads you further inside the house. “But—What if my aunt sees us?”

He stops in his tracks, then turns his head to look down at you with something you think is mischief in his eyes. “Why? What about it?”

“She might misunderstand!” you whisper-yell.

“What’s there to misunderstand, Y/N? I’ve taken you home drunk a dozen times before. Besides, I’m just Jaeyun, right? This doesn’t mean anything.” You’re left speechless. So he did hear you earlier, and although he kept his tone light-hearted, something makes you think he isn’t entirely unoffended. You stare at him, sure the guilt on your face is obvious. Eventually, he sighs, starts walking again. “I’m just teasing you.”

Despite yourself, you are glad he’s there to help you up to your bedroom—the stairs are remarkably wobbly tonight. Even though he tries to sit you down gently onto your bed, you let yourself flop on the mattress, already half-asleep the moment your back hits it. You’re uncharacteristically pliant as he guides you into a more comfortable position, lifting your head to rest on your pillows, pulling your duvet over you. You somehow feel more drunk now than you were leaving the party, as though Jaeyun’s touch and proximity are stronger than any alcohol. Maybe that’s why you suddenly find this situation hilarious. Your first chuckle makes Jaeyun’s hand freeze on your blanket; then, when giggles start pouring uncontrollably out of you, he asks you what’s so funny, and has to shush you, saying you’ll wake your aunt up. But you can tell he’s amused, and it only makes you laugh more. 

“Seriously, what’s gotten into you?” he asks, sitting next to you. For some reason, the dip of his weight on the mattress feels reassuring.

“This is just nice,” you mutter, eyes still closed. “It feels nice.”

He’s silent for a few seconds. “What is?” he whispers.

“This. You being here.”

He releases a shaky breath. “It could happen more often, if you let me. It could happen every night.”

You giggle, because you know he’s just joking around. But you let him, even if it hurts a little bit, and you play along. “Yeah, that’d be nice. I think I’d sleep a lot better.”

With a delicate finger, he brushes strands of hair away from your eyes. You hum, smiling contentedly at his touch. This is such a nice dream that you hope you won’t have to wake up too soon from. “I think I would, too,” he whispers, voice shaky like he isn’t at all happy like you are, which confuses you. “I don’t know what to do, Y/N. I want so badly to take care of you, but you won’t let me. I don’t know how else to show you how good I could be to you.”

“You’re taking care of me now.”

“Yeah, and you’re so drunk you probably won’t remember this tomorrow.”

He sniffles, and you suddenly get the sensation that this isn’t a dream at all. You keep your eyes closed anyway, frowning as you turn your head to the side, tears starting to form behind your eyelids.

“Be back in a minute,” he whispers.

You open your eyes to find him gone. You try to make sense of what just happened, but your thoughts are muddled and hazy, and more questions than answers appear. You don’t come to any satisfying conclusions, at least none that aren’t clearly fueled by your delusions concerning Jaeyun. 

When he comes back, he’s holding a tall glass of water. He seems briefly surprised to see you awake. He puts the glass gently down onto your bedside table, then kneels by your bed, grabbing your hand that you’d slipped above the comforter. He looks into your eyes with an intensity you’re unfamiliar with coming from him, and that makes your stomach twist. “Listen, Y/N. You’re only here for a few days, so I’ll be very clear about this. And if you’ve forgotten by tomorrow, I’ll make sure to remind you.” He pauses here, takes a deep breath. There’s a furrow in his eyebrows as he speaks. He looks desperate, but for what, you couldn’t tell. “I’m not letting you go this time. I feel like I keep losing you, over and over again, just when I think I finally have you. I’m not letting that happen again. I don’t want to be apart from you anymore.”

Your mind is reeling. You feel dizzy. You close your eyes, but it doesn’t help. Jaeyun’s words are loud and nonsensical in your head. “Do you mean… as friends?” you ask, because the other option seems so impossible, even in your inebriated state, you can hardly seriously entertain it.

He sighs, and it sounds like disappointment. “If that’s what you want, then I’ll give up on trying to be more. But if it isn’t what you want, then no.”

Your eyes fly open. Does that mean…

“I’m in love with you, Y/N. I’ve always been, and I can’t take hiding it anymore. I’ll take rejection over another day of pretending all I want to be is your friend. I want to talk to you everyday. I want to see you more often. I can’t keep going like this, calling you once every few months and acting like I’m fine with it.”

You’re stunned into silence. Even your thoughts are frozen, your mind completely blank. How do you react to words you’ve wanted to hear your whole life, and have convinced yourself you never would, not in a million years?

“I—”

“You don’t have to say anything now,” he interrupts, and you’re relieved. “Whatever it is, I’d rather hear it when you’re sober. I’m sorry for springing this up on you, I just… I think I would’ve flaked out if I hadn’t done it right now.”

He gazes down at you with a fondness you’ve only seen in your dreams, and strokes your hair. “I’ll let you sleep now. I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?”

“Okay,” you say, surprised you're able to speak. 

“Okay.”

He seems to hesitate for a second, but whatever it is, he decides against it. He gets up, and with one final glance back at you, closes your bedroom door gently. You listen for his footsteps down the stairs, the sound of the front door, and of his car driving away, and find yourself wishing he’d stayed, wishing for proof that you didn’t dream up everything he just said. 

.

.

I’m in love with you, Y/N.

You wake with a start. Jaeyun’s voice was so loud in your head, you thought he was standing right over you—but it’s only your imagination playing tricks on you, you realize with some disappointment. 

Some moments from last night are blurry or simply inexistent in your mind. Yurim sent selfies a bunch of you took to the group chat, of which you have no recollection being a part of. You have no idea how the marker doodles appeared on your arm, nor who is the artist behind them. But Jaeyun’s words you remember with dizzying, intimidating clarity, the words he spoke to you in the near-complete darkness of this room, and that you don’t think you could ever forget, no matter your state.

Part of you has always longed to hear those words, but another part has always dreaded they would be heard one day. You don’t know which part is stronger right now. Replaying his voice in your mind, your heart flutters at the same time as your stomach sinks. They’re words that have the power to change everything, that perhaps already have, and that’s what terrifies you.

It’s already ten in the morning. You wish you could stay here all day, safe under the covers, rehashing those words until they lose all meaning, but you know that’s impossible. Not only do you have a pounding headache and a mouth drier than the desert to tend to, more importantly, you have a responsibility to be there for Chaewon and the things she’s planned for today. So you force yourself out of bed and begrudgingly make your way downstairs. 

Your aunt has already left for work. Breakfast is ready on the dining table, along with a tall glass of water, ibuprofen, and a note that reads: I didn’t hear you come home last night, so I assume you had a good time. Take this and eat your weight in bread. There’s coffee left in the Keurig. Bless her. You know better than to eat too much, though—if there’s one thing Chaewon takes seriously, it’s brunch, so you know you’ll have plenty of food to cure your hangover in just a bit. 

As hard as you try to divert your thoughts towards anything else, it’s impossible not to think of what Jaeyun said last night. It’s all your mind circles back to, like a vulture that’s found its prey and won’t let go. Despite that, the shock has yet to wear off, and you stare into your cup of coffee, searching in vain for answers there.

It took you a while to fall for Jaeyun, then it took you even longer to admit those feelings to yourself. At fourteen years old, stepping foot in Gimcheon for the first time, you wanted nothing to do with the people here. Not with your aunt, not with your classmates. You wanted to wallow in your grief, for the bitterness of the injustice that’d taken your parents away from you to fully take over you. 

Jaeyun was one of the people who didn’t let that happen. Some of the kids in your class found you odd or standoffish, often whispering behind your back about your sudden arrival in town, but he and Chaewon never failed to try and talk to you despite your extremely low-effort replies, to invite you out for snacks or basketball after class, to send you the lessons you missed on days your body felt too heavy to get out of bed. 

Nothing in particular happened for you to suddenly change your mind about them. Maybe it was because you thought they’d stop pestering you if you just said yes, or because you sometimes felt the sharp loss of your friends in Seoul, whose calls you’d all ignored since moving. You surprised your new classmates as much as yourself when they asked you if you wanted to go eat tteokbokki with them, and you casually said, “Sure, why not,” as if your acceptance was a daily occurrence. 

The rest was history. Although it took some more time before you really opened up to them, they accepted you the way you were, sharp edges and all. With them, part of the person you were before could resurface, carefree, happy. You still went home to a mostly silent, grief-stricken relative, who was practically a stranger to you, but at least you could look forward to seeing your friends—and something as simple as that made life easier every day.

As soon as you thought they started to appear, you tried to squash your feelings for Jaeyun, to no avail. Just when you told yourself you could never be more than friends, he’d bring you strawberry milk from the convenience store he walks by on his way to school. After spending an evening making a list of all the reasons it’d be a bad idea for you to date (it’d be awkward with your friends, you and your sadness would be a burden to him, it was too scary to get close to someone when they could leave you at any time), you’d wake up the next morning with a text that said, Good morning!!!! Did you know that if the Sun stopped shining, it’d take 8.5 minutes for us to realize it??! 

But I know right away when you’re not shining

:)

Mom’s making your favorite shrimp jeon tonight so you HAVE to come over

And even your strongest will wasn’t enough against the force of his kindness. You were forced to submit to it, and to suffer for it for years to come—when other girls offered him chocolate on Valentine’s Day. When Bae Sumin asked him to the dance, and you had to ignore his concerned expression as he repeatedly asked you if it was really okay that he went, and all you could do was smile and convince him that it was. When you left for university and you had to stop yourself from asking why it seemed to be making him so sad, so uncharacteristically upset with you, almost like he wanted to punish you for leaving him. When every time you came back after that, it became harder and harder to say goodbye to him again.

You got mad at him sometimes. If something unexpected reminded you of your parents, like your mom’s favorite dish being served at the cafeteria, or someone using an expression your dad often said, you’d become irritable, and would be unable or unwilling to explain why. He was so patient with you then, even more attentive to your mood than usual, but the feeling of being treated kindly, like he needed to walk on eggshells around you, incomprehensibly made you even more abrasive. You’d blow up at him: I don’t need your help, I don’t need your pity, get off my back, what are you even being so nice for anyways?

And his reply would only drive you further insane: Because I care about you.

You’d always wish he’d say anything else, something less vague like Because it’s the right thing to do, or Because that’s who I am, or even Because you’re my friend, but no, he’d say, “Because I care about you,” and it was worse than anything he could ever say.

Because of course, friends care about each other. Of course they help each other out and do kind things for one another. But you so desperately wished Jaeyun could care for you in another way. And that was the problem: you couldn’t stop yourself reading into his actions, devoid of the meaning you wanted them to have.

And there was always that lingering thought: I’m leaving anyway. You were a city girl at heart. You missed the beauty stores that occupied five floors, the animal cafés you and your friends had spent way too much of your allowance at, the billboards of your favorite celebrities in the subway, the libraries with their wide range of manhwas for you to choose from. As much as you’d come to love your life in Gimcheon, you knew you couldn’t stay. You knew you couldn’t live on a nearby campus during the week and come back on the weekends like most of your friends would be doing. 

At eighteen years old, you wanted a clean break. You wanted to attend a prestigious university, to dress up for class, to have study dates at a cozy café, to go out to a club on the weekend and not worry about how you’d get home because the buses stopped running way before midnight. You’d daydream about the cool job you’d have, the cool clothes you’d wear, the cool people you’d meet. Then you’d go downstairs and see your aunt, and she’d ask if you were okay with frozen dumplings for a third night in a row. Or you’d arrive at school and see Chaewon and Yunjin shrieking over Got7’s new song. Or you’d get a text from Jaeyun, saying, Cats use physics to land on their feet. They’re not aware of it though. And suddenly, the idea of a clean break became much, much harder.

Once you left, your reasons for not confessing to Jaeyun didn’t change—if anything, they strengthened. Growing up didn’t make you any less scared of opening up to someone, of letting them see the vulnerable sides of you, and hoping they’d still love you. Even if you had a positive example in Chaewon and Jaeyun, you’d never experienced it with a romantic partner, and not only did your incessant but unconscious comparing of them to Jaeyun stop you from completely falling in love with the few boyfriends you’ve had over the years, your inability to fully bare yourself emotionally to them inevitably caught up to you. They’d point it out, trying to coax your story and emotions out of you with kind words, gentle touches—but you never wanted it enough to make the extra effort. They’d take your independence as a personal affront, like it was a fault on their part that you were allergic to relying on others. They’d get frustrated. Some of them would yell at you while you stared off into the distance, numb, wondering if you’d always be like this. They’d break up with you, and you’d move on like nothing happened.

The fear of loss still froze your heart into place. Even in the throes of puberty, your mother and father were your two favorite people on Earth. At thirteen, you thought they’d live forever. You were reasonable enough to know not everyone you loved would die—although the thought of going through that grief again did keep you up at night. A bad break-up was enough to terrify you. And what would you do when you finally handed your heart to someone, only for them to turn around and decide they don’t want it after all?

A handful of times, you tried to sit yourself down and imagine, as objectively as you could, what might happen if you confessed your feelings to Jaeyun. You tried, but you never could. It was too scary, with him. As your friend, he was the glue that held you together. If you took that one step closer, you’d be too far gone—and once that happened, who was to say, when it inevitably ended, if you’d ever be able to tape yourself back together.

You’ve had many self-indulgent thoughts over the years, many delusions you’ve had to compel yourself away from when he looked at you a little long, grew a little too quiet when you talked about another boy, came up with increasingly ridiculous excuses to walk you home even though it was out of his way. You’ve worked so hard to bury them deep, and here he comes, so late on a Thursday night that it became a Friday morning, telling you it was neither self-indulgence nor delusion. 

It’s too much to process with a hangover. 

Your shower doesn’t have the relaxing effect you hoped it would have on your nerves. Even when you turn the temperature as low as you can take it, your skin burns hot at the thought of seeing Jaeyun again, of him repeating himself in broad daylight. By the time you’ve dressed and gotten ready, your heart is still racing wild, and you’re no closer to figuring out what the correct attitude around him or right thing to say is.

You’re tying your shoelaces when the doorbell rings. Of course, it’s Jaeyun standing behind the door, asking you if you’re ready to go to Chaewon’s. 

You just gape at him. You’d prepared yourself mentally to see him a little later, with other people around—you hadn’t expected this and your brain simply malfunctions as a result.

He chuckles. “I wasn’t going to let you walk all the way there. You left your bike, remember?”

From his softened tone and the way he gulps as he awaits your answer, you can tell he’s not just asking whether you remember the drive home. He looks at you, a little expectant, a little scared, and his demeanor relaxes you. He’s not acting like nothing happened last night, and he doesn’t seem overly confident after—well, after confessing his love for you. That’s what it was, wasn’t it? No matter how hard a time you have believing it. It relaxes you because it feels like you’re not worrying alone about this shift in your friendship, about this rearranging of things and feelings. With just one look, he tells you he’s right there with you.

And that’s all you need.

“Right. Thanks, Yun.”

He stands there for a little, expression morphing into something giddier, more hopeful, and you wonder how long he’d stay there looking at you if you didn’t clear your throat and say, “Should we… go?”

“Yes! Yes, of course, let’s go,” he says, laughing awkwardly, rubbing the back of his head as he turns away and heads towards his car.

Surely, he can’t always have been this obvious. Surely, if he’s been in love with you for as long as he says he has, then he learned just as well as you did to school his feelings and make them as discreet as he could. Because if he was acting this way all along, all boyish grins and non-stop glances your way, then you would’ve had to be the densest person on Earth not to notice.

And it hurts your pride a little to think you might’ve actually been this dense.

After a minute on the road, he asks, “How are you feeling? Not too hungover?”

“A little. But I’ll feel a lot better after having some of Chae’s pancakes.”

“Yeah. And the pressed orange juice as well. With the—”

“—Oranges from her grandparents’ garden?” you say at the same time, and laugh.

“Yeah. It’s the best,” he says.

“What about you?” you ask. “You didn’t drink that much last night, right?”

“Yep. Just a beer at the start of the evening, and that’s it.” Then, he smiles, a little smug, and adds: “Why? Were you watching?”

You scoff, crossing your arms over your chest as though he was making a ridiculous assumption, when you very well knew you were constantly aware of his whereabouts last night. Of course you noticed him sipping on either water or Pepsi the entire evening. “I was not. But you were able to drive, so I assumed.”

“Right.” That smug smile of his is still fixed on his lips, so you know you sounded just as unconvincing as you felt. “Well, I was watching. And I can tell you you drank something like seven different sorts of alcohol last night.”

For your own sanity, you ignore the first part, and focus on the second. You groan, hiding your face in your hands. “That’s why my headache’s so bad.”

Jaeyun reacts immediately. His head turns back-and-forth between you and the road ahead as he says, “Is it? Did you drink enough water? There should be some painkillers in the glove compartment, if you—”

“It’s okay, Yun,” you interrupt, laughing softly. “I took some ibuprofen already. I’ll feel better after eating.”

He seems skeptical. “Okay. But let me know if you need anything, yeah?”

“I will.”

As you feel the tingle of incoming tears in your eyes, you turn your head away from him. Looking out the passenger window, you think how stark the difference is between being on the receiving end of Jaeyun’s attentiveness when you were just friends, and now that you know the way he really sees you. The crushing weight of your repressed emotions is, at last, gone, and you’re only left with a light-heartedness you haven’t felt in years.

Is there really a universe where every day is like this? It feels too good to be true. 

But when Jaeyun reaches out, the palm of his hand facing up as it floats above your thigh, his expression bashful, you think — you dare to hope — you might soon be living in that universe. You take his hand, and the rest of the car ride is silent, like this one simple touch is all the words you need.

You’re glad you remember what he told you last night. Hearing it again now, in broad daylight, with no alcohol in your system to be blamed for your reactions, would be too much to bear. The mere thought of it has your heart racing, more than it already is from the warmth of Jaeyun’s hand in yours. You look down at it, the way it sits so prettily in your lap, the way his fingers intertwine with yours like it’s what they were meant to do. You crave to touch his hand more, to turn it around and analyze the lines of his palm, to feel the ridges of his knuckles, the smoothness of his nails under your fingers, but you stop yourself. It’s an art piece in a museum that you content yourself with watching from afar, awed.

Too soon, you arrive at Chaewon’s house. The loss of Jaeyun’s touch is almost alarming—what if he changes his mind and this was the only time you’d get to do this?

But as though he can read your thoughts, he guides you with a hand to your lower back towards Chaewon’s and Jaemin’s front door—and he pauses before it, gazing down at you with a smile you want to interpret as reassuring. 

I’m not letting you go this time. I’m not letting that happen.

Maybe you’re overly self-conscious, but you swear a few of your old classmates exchange knowing looks when you and Jaeyun arrive together. Chaewon is the least discreet about it, stopping in her tracks when she sees the two of you, a steaming plate of pancakes in her hands, her smile wide as she gets Jaemin’s attention and nods her head in your direction. You want to escape to the kitchen under the pretense of offering your help, but Jaeyun is already pulling out a chair for you and taking a seat in the one next to it. 

Thankfully, almost everyone is in a state similar to yours, too hungover and tired to really pay either of you too much attention. Their minds are on the food in their plates and the coffee in their mugs—the atmosphere is relaxed, everyone making quiet conversation with their neighbors. With Chaewon on your right and Jaeyun on your left, you’re free to scarf down hash browns and scrambled eggs without having to entertain anyone. He seems to be pretty engrossed in his chat about soccer with Jeno, and yet, he knows every time you need something, standing up and reaching for the bacon or the orange juice before you’ve even said anything. He holds the plate while you serve yourself, then places it back to its original spot, shooting you a smile that never fails to make your stomach twist before returning his attention to Jeno.

Chaewon had kept this afternoon’s activities a secret, only telling you all to have your school uniform ready. Some came to brunch already wearing it, but you and a few other girls go up to Chaewon’s room to change. It feels like being back in a locker room again, a bit awkward, a bit fun, teasing Yunjin for her matching black lace set on this seemingly innocuous day, comparing the stretch marks you’ve obtained in the years since you last wore your uniforms.

It’s definitely odd, seeing yourself in the mirror in that familiar short-sleeved white shirt and knee-length marine skirt. Despite how badly you wanted to grow out of Gimcheon, some things have remained the same—that much, you’re forced to admit to yourself when you head back to the living room and see Jaeyun in his old school uniform, a blast from the past. He watches you come down the stairs with a smile, and you wonder if he’s thinking the same things you are—that you’ve never stopped feeling like a teenager around him, and that no matter where you were in life, seeing him was enough to make your dull heart race.

His uniform still fits him okay, although it’s impossible not to notice how his arms and thighs strain against the fabric now, sleeves not quite reaching his wrists. Try hard as you might, your eyes drift to the way his button-up clings to his chest, and it’s clear he isn’t oblivious to it. You swallow as you walk towards him, hands coming up to fix his tie like it’s second nature. “Seriously, Yun,” you mutter. “It was cute when you were seventeen, but at twenty-eight, really?”

He only smirks down at you, making you more flustered than you already were—and it doesn’t help when everyone in the room ooh’s at your gesture. You take a step back, but the damage has been done. It’s like you’re in high school again, rolling your eyes at your friends when they ask if you and Jaeyun are finally dating, pretending like the mere thought doesn’t have butterflies erupting in your stomach. 

“I remember how Y/N used to fix his tie in front of the school gates every morning,” Chaewon says loudly, and you glare at her. “She said she didn’t want him to get scolded by teachers.” Everyone erupts in a chorus of so cute and I can’t believe they’re still not together and I’m sure they used to have a crush on each other. She looks happy with herself, blissfully unaware of the chaos she’s created for you—it’s been hard enough acting normally around Jaeyun this morning, you don’t need the added spotlight.

He doesn’t seem to share that sentiment, though. When he speaks, his voice cuts through the chatter. “My dad taught me how to tie a tie before middle school. But I was running late once and she fixed it for me. I always messed it up on purpose after that.” He turns to you. Your jaw is slack, your heart a wild, frantic mess. “Guess that trick still works.”

This really is high school all over again. Your classmates act like they’ve witnessed the revelation of the century, cheering and clapping, the boys clasping Jaeyun’s shoulder like he just scored the winning goal. Chaewon squeals. Yunjin pretends to faint. You’re rooted to your spot, too bewildered to react.

“So you really did like her back then, didn’t you?” Jeno asks, and everyone stops talking, awaiting Jaeyun’s answer with what seems like bated breath—you included, as though he didn’t tell you all about it last night.

He shrugs, but his grin, sheepish and bright at once, says it all. “I’ll let you guys come to your own conclusions.” When he turns to look at you, despite the fact that you want to strangle him for putting you on the spot like this, you can’t deny that his confession is a little bit — just a little bit — adorable. You think of fifteen-year-old Jaeyun looking at himself in the mirror, proud of himself for putting on his tie wrong, and you can’t help but smile. Of course, this only makes your friends crazier, but Jaeyun, as if he’s suddenly decided this was enough attention, says, “Is everyone ready? Let’s head out now.”

Chaewon instructs you all to meet in your high school parking lot. On the drive over, Jaeyun apologizes, asking if what he did was too much.

“It’s okay,” you tell him. “Even if I was a little embarrassed.”

“I wasn’t planning on doing anything like it, but seeing you in your uniform brought back memories, I guess,” he says, bashful. “I did say I would remind you of what I told you last night, didn’t I?”

You shrug, smile down at your hands. “You did. But it’s not like I’d forgotten.”

He doesn’t answer right away—but then, he suddenly looks over at you, and says, “You’re really pretty.”

Your stomach flips. You look down at yourself to avoid his gaze as heat creeps up your face. “What are you saying…” you mutter.

“I never told you properly when we were in high school. So I’m telling you now. I always thought you were the prettiest, Y/N.”

You fight it hard, but you can’t bite back your smile. All you can do is hide your grin behind your fist, resting your elbow on the sill of the open window as you turn away from him. For only a brief second, as if spurred on by the confidence his compliment gave you, you change your mind—you turn to him and abruptly say, “And I always thought you were the most handsome.” Then you whip back to the window and grin at the trees lining the road. But you feel his eyes on you, and when you look back at him, he’s staring at you, mouth agape. “Yun! Look at the road!” you chide, laughing.

“Sorry, sorry!” he exclaims, taking his eyes off you. “But—You—Seriously?”

You can’t believe it, how incredulous he sounds, how he seems as surprised as you felt last night. As you still feel now. “Of course,” you say quietly, feeling shy again. 

He’s quiet for a few seconds. Then, “Seriously?!” he repeats, louder, almost yelling.

“Relax,” you say, laughing at his enthusiasm. “It’s not like I was the only one. Half the girls in our class had a crush on you.”

“Did they?” he asks, a shit-eating grin on his lips. You roll your eyes.

“You only received love letters, like, once a month.”

“But never from the person I wanted to receive one from.”

You hold his gaze for a second. Then another, and another—but you can’t handle more than that. The way he looks at you, you feel too seen. Like he can read your every thought, like he can see your heart beating through your chest, your breath making its shaky way up your throat. It makes you too vulnerable, makes your desire to soak in his affection, to let him keep talking to you like this, too strong. It’s a feeling too unfamiliar for you to accept yet.

You return to your spot, turned away from him, elbow on the windowsill. “Whatever,” you mumble.

But it seems like you admitting to having found him handsome when you were teenagers is all the confirmation he needs. Throughout the rest of the afternoon, he sticks close to your side. Since school is out for the summer, Chaewon asked Yunjin to convince her higher-ups to let your group have a ten-year high school reunion there. They agreed and got one of the janitors to act as your supervisor, as if you would damage or steal school property. In any case, he follows you around quietly while you and your classmates roam the old, familiar walls, reminiscing about all the stupid things you did, the gossip that felt like the most important thing in your lives at the time, the teachers you hated, the upperclassmen you crushed on. Mostly, you take loads and loads of pictures, reenacting memories, huddling together in front of the classroom door of your final year. Jaeyun always finds himself right behind you in the group pictures, his taller frame so close to yours you can feel his warmth.

He rests his hand on your shoulder for one of the photos, and your brain short-circuits at a touch that you wouldn’t have thought about twice as a teenager. Sure, back then, Jaeyun’s touch made you feel giddy, but it was also the most natural thing in the world. Linking arms on the way home from school. Your head on his shoulder during a long bus ride. His fingers in your hair when you let him play around with it. He always said it was practice for his future daughter: “I want her to have the prettiest hairstyles in all of her school,” he’d say, as if she was already here. And you’d think to yourself, He’ll make such a great dad. And although he was someone you could tell anything to, for reasons you didn’t like to think too much about at that time, this was something you kept to yourself. Now, you can hardly breathe from a hand on your shoulder. But now, you can also finally admit to yourself why that is.

And with every passing moment, every smile shared, every delicate touch of his hand to your arm, of your fingers brushing against each other, you think that maybe, just maybe, you might finally be able to admit to him why that is.

A while later, when everyone parts ways, heading home to get a few hours of rest before the big day tomorrow, Jaeyun asks you if you can hang back for a bit. He’s so cute about it, so much like a schoolboy asking his crush out, that you can’t turn him down despite the sleep you desperately need.

The soccer field by your school is surprisingly unoccupied—even at this time of year, when the school hallways are empty, there are usually teenagers playing here. You yourself used to spend entire afternoons here, chatting with Chaewon while the boys played soccer under the blazing sun. You remember pretending you weren’t engrossed in the sweat beading on Jake’s forehead or the way his cheeks turned crimson with the effort, and cheering for him whenever he scored a goal and turned towards you, yelling out “Did you see that?!” with that puppyish grin on his lips.

You remember the nights you spent here as well, the last summer before you left, when you and your friends wanted to drink without the adults seeing. You’d lay side-by-side, looking up at the stars as you shared your dreams and fears for the future. If Jaeyun’s hand brushed against yours, you’d wait a few seconds, then move your hand to rest on your chest instead. You always wondered if he noticed it, the small touch, its removal. You know your hand burned with both. 

He leads you to the soccer field now, his hand warm and gentle in yours, like he’s scared holding on too tight will scare you off. He’s silent for a while, quietly bringing you down with him until you’re laying on the grass together—this time, you keep his hand preciously in yours, even as your palms turn clammy, even as the memories of being here like this flood in.

The summer breeze has nearly lulled you to sleep when he speaks, his voice soft, careful not to startle you. “I hated the last day of school.”

You turn your head to look at him, but he keeps his eyes trained on the blue sky above. “Of course you did. You were such a nerd, you would’ve stayed in school forever if you could’ve.”

He smiles, but he shakes his head. “No, that’s not it.” His tone is calm, full of significance, which you feel even more when he rests his steady gaze on yours. “It meant time was running out. It meant I’d spent five years liking you and still hadn’t had the balls to tell you.”

You gulp. You’re suddenly not in the mood to tease him at all. “Oh,” is all you can manage to say.

He laughs—clearly, seeing you flustered is amusing to him. “Yeah.” He props himself up on his elbow, gazing down at you in a way that sends your heart into a frenzy. “I got a little carried away last night,” he starts. “When Chaewon told me about her plans to dress in our school clothes and come here — yes, she told me before everyone else, don’t look at me like that — I’d planned to tell you today, I had a whole thing written out, but last night, you… I don’t know, you were drunk so maybe I shouldn’t have put so much weight to your words, but it sounded like you might like me back? And I couldn’t stop myself. I had to tell you immediately. And today… I’m not mistaken, right? You do like me?”

Tears prickle at your eyes. To think that this has been on his mind for so long, that you’re the reason behind the worried look on his face, that he’s the one asking for your confirmation—you can hardly make sense of it all. If only you’d looked closer, if you’d been less scared, you might’ve been wearing this exact same outfit, laying in this exact same place, ten years earlier. This isn’t to say that you aren’t scared anymore—you’re terrified out of your wits. But looking into Jaeyun’s face, you don’t need to search very long to find reassurance.

“I do, Yun. I really, really do.”

He only stares back at you for a few beats, as if waiting for you to change your mind, to tell him you’re joking. When you don’t, his mouth breaks into a wide, radiant smile, and he lets himself fall on his back, hands coming up to hide his face. 

Suddenly, you realize how real this is. How genuine Jaeyun is. It isn’t a cruel prank he’s decided to play on you, but the truth of what he feels for you. For what must be the first time since last night, you let yourself react the way any sane person would upon finding out the person they’ve loved for years loves them back: you’re happy. Unbelievably, indescribably happy. And it’s terrifying when you know this happiness might be ripped from your hands at any moment—but you’ll worry about that later. Right now, all you see is the man laying next to you, his smile full of light, his sweet, glimmering eyes. A small tear escapes your eye at the same time as a chuckle leaves your throat.

He returns to his previous position, grinning down at you while he rests his upper body on his elbow. “Okay, this is totally cool. I’m not freaking out at all,” he says, making you laugh. His smile widens. He picks a daisy from the ground, reaches for your hand. Tying the stem around your ring finger, he says, “I wanted to tell you this today, in our school uniforms, as a way to get justice for my teenager self. I know it’s silly, but I feel like I’m only able to do this because he liked you so much.” 

But it isn’t silly at all. It’s the nicest, most romantic thing anyone has ever done for you.

He takes a deep breath, looks up from where your hand rests in his, to your eyes. “I love you, Y/N. I’m sorry it took me so long to tell you. And I can’t explain to you how happy I am that I still have a chance after all this time.”

It’s not a singular tear rolling down your face anymore, it’s the whole waterworks threatening to explode the longer Jaeyun looks at you with those eyes, so tender and full of affection. You roll onto your side, resting your forehead against his shoulder so he can’t see your face—it’s enough that he can hear your sniffling, that he can feel your shoulders shake against him, especially as he wraps an arm around your waist to bring you closer. Your feelings overwhelm you—you want to cry, to laugh, to hold him as tight as you can, to run away and stop him from witnessing how vulnerable he makes you. With his free hand, he pets your hair, saying he hopes these are happy tears.

“They’re very, very happy tears,” you reply between sobs. You probably sound ridiculous, but Jaeyun doesn’t seem to mind, holding you through it all.

“Good,” he whispers.

It’s a shame that it took you this long to realize you forgot something you shouldn’t ever have—that people are the most important. Not relying on the ones you love doesn’t make you strong, it makes you a fool. 

Jaeyun’s presence is reassuring, familiar, and you picture a life in which you lean on his shoulder and cry when you need to. In which you hold him tight and share every moment with him, not just the happy ones. It sounds so much better than what you’ve been doing for the past ten years. He smiles at you, and you’re flooded with the relief and gratitude that this is the life he wants, too.

For a while, he just holds you, the sun shining down on your bodies. This is what you were so fearful of—Jaeyun’s familiar scent enveloping you, his hand rubbing reassuring circles against your back, his hair soft in your hands. Eventually, he says, voice just loud enough for you to hear, “Later, will you talk to me? Will you tell me why you drifted from me?” 

There’s no anger in his tone, no admonition. Guilt still pangs in your stomach, but that’s only because you know how badly he deserves an explanation, and because you’re amazed that even now, he’s so patient and understanding with you. “I will,” you reply.

You don’t know how long you stay there, laughing at Jaeyun’s anecdotes of all the ways he tried to show you he liked you. All the times he ran home in the rain because you didn’t bring an umbrella, all the fish cakes he sacrificed because they were your favorite part of tteokbokki, all the pocket money he spent on your favorite snacks. 

“I thought about you so often once you left,” he says. “I worried so much. If you were eating well, if you were making new friends at university. Then if your job was treating you well. I wanted to call you all the time, but I didn’t want to annoy you. I thought you were moving on, and that maybe I should too. But I never was able to.”

You’re a little bashful as you tell him that you never did, either. “I compared all the guys I dated to you. And they were never as nice, as thoughtful, as—”

“As handsome, as smart, as amazing as me, I get it, don’t worry,” he teases, and you swat his shoulder lightly. 

“Obviously, but you don’t need to be so smug about it.”

“If you’re going to tell me none of your little boyfriends measured up to me, of course I’m going to be smug about it, are you kidding me? This is the best news I’ve received in my life.”

You only realize how long you’ve been lying there when your phone dings with a text from your aunt, asking whether you’ll be home for dinner. It’s almost seven p.m. already—the two of you spent three hours, just talking and laughing. He pouts a little when you tell him you should head home, but he obliges anyway.

When he drops you off at your aunt’s house, he comes out of the car with you and hugs you tightly before you head inside. “Thank you for this afternoon. I’ll see you tomorrow, yeah?” he says, lips moving against your hair.

You nod and, with a quick peck to his cheek, you bolt for your front door before he can react and try to do something crazy, like properly kiss you.

“Wait, before you go,” he says as you grab the door handle. Turning around to look at him, breath catches, thinking he’s going to tell you something important, yet another thing that will change your life—“Can you tell me about those lame dudes you dated again?”

You roll your eyes, biting back a smile. “Goodbye, Jaeyun.”

“You love me!”

You smile at him, wide and unabashed. 

Because you do love him. You really, really do.

.

.

You plop yourself on the couch next to your aunt, the latest Drag Race season playing on the TV. She hands you the bag of caramel popcorn and you grab a handful. 

“I heard a car,” she says. “Did Jaeyun drop you off? Is that why you’re smiling so much?”

You only now notice the ache in your cheeks. “I’m not smiling that much,” you say, forcing your features into humorlessness, but the corners of your lips keep rising of their own volition.

“You’re smiling a lot. More than you already usually do with him,” she says, giving you a knowing look.

You gape at her. “Don’t tell me you knew too?”

“Knew what? That you and Jaeyun have liked each other since you were teenagers? I might’ve had an inkling, yeah.”

Her grin is wicked as you bury your face in your hands, groaning. “So it really was everyone but him and me.”

“I think you knew,” she says, her tone gentle. “But you didn’t want to admit it to yourself. Especially in the last few months before you left, you’d always get a look about your face when I mentioned him. You never wanted to say you were sad to be leaving, but it was clear you were, if only because of him.”

You frown. “I was sad to leave you, too. And Chaewon, and Yunjin. And Mrs. Kim, because I knew I wouldn’t find better tteokbokki anywhere else.”

She shrugs. “Sure. But you were sad to leave Jaeyun in particular.”

You fidget with your hands, letting her words sink in. “And I have to leave him again in two days,” you whisper.

She wraps an arm around your shoulder, squeezes it slightly. “But it’ll be different this time around, right?”

DIfferent. You’ll call. You’ll make plans for him to come. You’ll let him into your life, into your heart. You’ll let him break down your walls, brick by brick.

“Yeah. It will,” you say quietly, willing your worries to dissipate.

You meet her gaze, and she smiles. Jaeyun is only one of the many people you’ve kept at bay for too long now.

“Come on,” she says, getting up from the couch. “I’m making meatball pasta, your favorite.”

“It’s your favorite.”

It was one of the few meals she made on rotation whenever she had time to cook—it is your favorite, only because eating it meant you were spending the evening together. You cut vegetables while she seasons the meat, telling each other about your day. Maybe it’s because you’re in such a wonderful mood from your afternoon with Jaeyun, but the atmosphere between the two of you feels particularly light-hearted today, which is why you’re so surprised when she suddenly tells you you should talk about “what happened last time.” Your stomach clenches, but you nod—you knew it was going to happen sooner or later, so you might as well get over it quickly, and she seems to be of the same opinion.

“I know we’re both bad at this, so I’ll keep it short,” she starts, keeping her eyes on the preparation. You really are cut from the same cloth—you continue chopping carrots, glad to have something to do with your hands. “I’m sorry about those things I said. It was an emotional time for both of us, what with Jaeyun’s grandmother and all, but I shouldn’t have let my emotions get the best of me. It’s my fault we never talked about your parents. About your mom. I know you would’ve liked to, but I never could. And you do remind me of her. Gosh, you look so much like her at your age. But you can’t do anything about that, and what I said about looking at you and seeing her, that wasn’t fair. It sounded like I blamed you, which is the last thing I wanted to do.

“She always took care of me, because she was older than me by so many years, you know. She called herself my second mom. And all of a sudden, it felt like I had to take care of her. It’s ironic, since my literal job is to take care of people, but I didn’t know how to, with you.”

“I didn’t make it easy. I barely talked to you,” you say quietly. It’s true that you can’t expect the same maturity from a teenager and a young adult, but thinking back on it, you can’t help but think you could’ve been softer on your aunt. More understanding. You wanted her to replace your parents while resenting her for it. You made no effort at communication yet pushed her away every time she made an attempt to talk to you.

“You were so young, and dealing with all that loss. I should’ve tried harder, but you seemed so independent, spending all that time with your friends, making yourself dinner when I wasn’t home. It felt like you didn’t need me, and I have to admit, I was relieved. I was hanging on by a thread. I didn’t know how I could take care of a whole other human being.”

Your breathing is shallow. You spent so many years struggling, each of you in your little corner, at arm’s length from each other but too scared to reach out a hand.

“It felt like you didn’t want me around,” you whisper, head hanging low. 

“Oh, honey.” She drops her spoon and in a second has you wrapped in her arms, the tightest hug she’s ever given you, tighter than when you first arrived at her house, tighter than when you first left. “I’m so, so sorry. I was so glad to have you here. Sure, it was a reminder that I’d lost my sister, but you were a reason to keep going. I had to go to work so you could eat. I had to stay healthy enough to work. You were the only person on this planet that needed me. I’m sorry I didn’t do a better job of it, and that I didn’t show you how much I needed you. How much I love you. But I promise that I never, ever wished you weren’t with me.”

It’s impossible to keep the tears at bay at this point. Tears start pouring down your face, and at the sight, her own tears quickly follow suit—you sob in each other's arms, apologizing over and over again, and by the time you’re done, the meatballs are overcooked and yet the best you’ve ever had.

Between Jaeyun this afternoon, and your aunt this evening, today has been a whirlwind of emotions—with Chaewon’s wedding tomorrow, you’ll probably be drained on your flight back to the city. You have half a mind to take Monday off, just so you can rest from your holiday. 

For now, you’ll rest from today. You’re exhausted, but it takes a while for sleep to claim you—your mind is reeling, replaying Jaeyun’s words, the unspoken promises they contain. Your heart is still swelling with hope when you finally fall asleep.

.

.

It takes a few seconds for yesterday’s events to come back to you after you wake up. It feels like reliving them all over again—Jaeyun’s face next to yours on the soccer field, his hand in yours on the drive home, the conversation with your aunt that feels like one of many steps towards the right direction. And to think you dreaded this weekend for months before coming here.

When Jaeyun pulls up in front of your aunt’s house, she’s quicker than either of you, opening the door before he’s even reached it and inviting him in for coffee. You make a quick mental note of his outfit, a matching dark green suit and vest with a white button-up that fit him a little too well, the veins that run along his forearms down to his hands prominent and a debilitating sight if you’ve ever seen one. Out of concern for your well-being you put that image immediately out of your head—you really don’t need to know how attractive Jaeyun’s hands are.

While you’re trying to gather yourself, with a wide smile, your aunt stares at him sipping his drink, eyes darting around the room awkwardly. He’s always been a little nervous around her, which confused you back then, but endears you now—before every party he picked you up for, he’d be overly polite, assuring her he’d get you home early and safe, standing with his back straight in your hallway as he waited for you like someone trying to impress their girlfriend’s father. She’d wave him off, telling you you could come home shit-faced at three a.m. as long as you were with “this guy.”

It’s so obvious that she’s over-the-moon about him being her nephew-in-law. When he clears his throat, saying, “I’ll take good care of Y/N, I hope you can trust me,” like this is the seventies and he needs to ask her for your hand, she laughs in his face.

“Oh, I’m not worried about you. It’s her I’m worried about.”

“Auntie?”

She ignores you, slides her elbows on the table towards Jaeyun in a conspiratorial manner. “Listen. She can be very grumpy in the morning—”

“Auntie?!”

“And she overthinks everything, even if she’ll never let you know about it. She gets all these crazy ideas about people in her head, so just make sure to talk to her a lot so you know what’s going on up there. Even if you have to force her.”

You’re glaring at her by the time she’s done, but Jaeyun’s delighted. “Thank you for the advice. I’ll make sure to remember it.”

“Good. Now, off you two go. I’ll meet you tonight for the party,” she says with one last wink at you, unfazed by your I-will-murder-you expression as she gets up to put the empty mugs in the sink.

In the car, Jaeyun breaks the silence first. “So, grumpy in the morning, huh?”

“Oh my God,” you mutter, bringing a hand to your temple like your head aches. “I liked it better when you were terrified of her.”

Jaeyun laughs, reaching for your hand and resting it on your lap. “It’s okay. I’ll cheer you up every morning like my life depends on it.” You purse your lips to stop them from curving into a smile. It doesn’t work. “Plus, I can’t imagine you’d be grumpy waking up to this,” he says, pointing to his face.

You roll your eyes. “Don’t be so sure of yourself,” you say as though you don’t agree with him—seeing him first thing in the morning would surely do wonders for your mood, not just when you wake up, but for the entire day.

You know he’s only teasing you, but you have an unexpected problem to deal with now: thoughts of waking up to Sim Jaeyun, thoughts of being in a bed with Sim Jaeyun, thoughts of what usually happens when two people who love each other share a bed. You gulp. When you look over at him, there’s only a serene smile on his lips. One day in, and you’re already getting carried away. He’s probably not even thinking about such things, and you feel guilty about the dull ache in your stomach created by the pictures that your brain is conjuring.

When you arrive at the town hall, you’re greeted by your old friends, standing on the steps in their best clothes. The weather is perfect, the sun shining down warmly but a small breeze stops you from sweating your clothes off. Chaewon and Jaemin decided against staying cooped up in a small room before the ceremony—they thought it’d be much nicer to be there to greet their guests, and that getting to be around each other would prevent any last-minute nerves.

A little before eleven, Chaewon’s sister and Jaemin’s siblings, as the bridesmaids and groomsmen, start ushering everyone in. Once you’re seated inside and waiting for the ceremony to start, Jaeyun leans down towards you, and, quietly enough so only you hear him, whispers, “Should we hijack their wedding? They haven’t been waiting as long as I have.”

You gasp at his words, lightly swatting his chest while he only grins at you, clearly satisfied with your reaction.

“I’m just kidding,” he says. “This isn’t how I’m planning on proposing.”

“Planning on—Sim Jaeyun, be serious for a second.”

“What?” he asks, feigning an innocent tone even as mischief stays written on his features. “I’m very serious about propo—”

Who knows how his sentence ends, because his words are muffled by the hand you put over his mouth.

The ceremony is beautiful, presided over by Chaewon’s dad, who says that in all his years as mayor of Gimcheon, there isn’t a marriage he’s been happier to officiate than today’s. As Chaewon recites her vows, all you can see is your best friend at fifteen, crying because her favorite idol was embroiled in a dating scandal; at seventeen, making vision boards out of her mom’s old wedding magazines; at twenty-two, giggling on the phone because, “Did you know Na Jaemin has had a serious glow-up since high school?”

At twenty-five, telling you she hopes you’ll find the person who makes you as happy as Jaemin makes her. 

Jaeyun’s hand stays in yours the entire time. You feel him glancing over you a few times, but you’re too scared that if you meet his eyes, you’ll break down crying, and you’ve done enough of that to last you a few weeks.

There are many pictures to be taken outside of the town hall, plus the bouquet toss — when Giselle catches it, Jeno’s face turns crimson — so it’s a while before you can all start heading to the cottage that Chaewon’s and Jaemin’s family have rented out for the occasion, for extended family and friends who couldn’t be lodged at someone’s house to stay in. For lunch, the caterer has prepared a large cold buffet with everything from thin slices of meat to charcuterie boards and three types of potato salad.

It’s a really idyllic place they’ve chosen, especially in the middle of July—the flowers are in full bloom, climbing cream and pink roses spilling over metal trellises, the scent of lavender bushes wafting delicately through the air. Chairs and tables covered in white drapes are neatly set around the garden and huge ribbons made of alabaster-colored gaze decorate a large oak tree. 

You know from a phone call with Chaewon that as hands-on as she was with the wedding preparations, there was one thing that hadn’t been up to her to organize—the afternoon activity, between lunch with family and close friends and dinner with a larger number of guests. Jaemin’s sisters had told her they’d take care of it. “But they’re the kind of people who give people missions to do at parties,” she complained. “I once had to win at rock-paper-scissors with three total strangers.”

“But no one’s forcing you to participate,” you said.

“It was a question of pride,” she replied, firm. “I had to make a good impression.”

You can see the relief flood over Chaewon’s features when they announce that they’ve planned a scavenger hunt for this afternoon, and that those who don’t wish to partake can hang back and have a rest. The groups are assigned randomly, so you’re separated from Jaeyun, but your teammates are friendly—Jaemin’s great-aunt and Chaewon seven-year-old little cousin make for a surprisingly comedic duo, and you and Giselle, who you can confirm once and for all is much cooler than her boyfriend Jeno, spend the whole time cracking up at their antics.

Jaemin’s sisters have created a list of clues to guide you to different places around the venue, where you need to complete little tasks—each team starts out with a different clue, and is guided around by the new clues they find at each spot. In the guest book by the entrance, you each describe a memory you share with the bride or groom; by the lily pond, the four of you take a polaroid picture as a keepsake for the newlyweds; behind the bar, there’s a corkboard on which you can tack heart-shaped pieces of paper and write down your predictions for their marriage. You write down that they’ll have 3 under 3, and Chaewon’s cousin writes that they’ll get to drink milkshakes for breakfast—when you ask him what that’s about, he says that his mom said only adults are allowed milkshakes for breakfast, “and adults are usually married, so maybe that’s what they’ll do.”

You arrive in fifth place, so you only win a piece of candy each—but when you find Jaeyun again, he tells you gloatingly that he’ll share his third-place box of chocolates with you. Slowly after that, more guests start arriving, including your aunt. The main room opens up, and you see just how much effort Chaewon has put into all of this—it’s straight from her Pinterest board, with white roses in the center of every table, tulle curtains draped over the windows, and fairy lights adorning the walls. Candied almonds in small white bags, with a tag that reads C+J, rest on every plate as gifts for the guests. The cottage was the perfect choice for the reception, with its wooden panels that contrast against the cream-colored decorations. They’ve hired Beomgyu, an old high school friend of yours, as their DJ, and for now, as he’s setting up his station, a relaxed R&B playlist drifts quietly through the speakers.

You’re seated between Yunjin and Jaeyun. You mingle at first, champagne glass in hand as you catch up with Chaewon’s mom, at whose house you spent so many of your teenage hours. She has stars in her eyes, telling you how happy she is for your daughter, and when she asks whether there’s a lucky man in your life, you can’t help but glance at Jaeyun, who’s talking with Mrs. Lee, one of his old elementary school teachers, Chaewon’s colleague now. She follows your gaze and exclaims in delight. “Chaewon always said you two would end up together! Well, better late than never,” she says with a wink. Someone calls her name then, and you’re left to process her words.

Considering Yunjin and your aunt had you figured it out, it isn’t so surprising that Chaewon would’ve long been aware of your and Jaeyun’s feelings for each other—what’s taking you aback is the fact she never said anything. She teased you just as much as your classmates did, and she did ask you a couple of times if you really didn’t feel anything for him (which you always adamantly declined, and you understand now that that must’ve only made her only more suspicious of you), but she never pushed any further. Her words from a few days earlier suddenly come back to you—”I promise you someone is out there. Maybe closer than you think.”

You make a mental note to find a minute alone with her tonight, and congratulate her for being much smarter and perceptive than you ever were.

The appetizers start rolling out—Jaeyun is still so engrossed in his conversation with Mrs. Lee that you go ahead and make him a plate with a little bit of everything. When you hand it to him, he looks at you like you’ve just handed him a million bucks. After you go back to your seat, you often feel him or Mrs. Lee glancing your way, and you have an inkling of what they might be talking about.

Before the main course, the parents give their speeches together—Jaemin’s share embarrassing anecdotes of their son and thank Chaewon for taking him off their hands; Chaewon’s mom is so emotional throughout her speech that her husband has to take over her parts. 

The atmosphere at your table during dinner is great, and it’s very entertaining to see the champagne start to get to everyone’s heads—you’ve only had a couple glasses, and Jaeyun is driving later, so you’re both sober watching your friends exaggerate everything they say and laugh over nothing much. When you’re done eating, his hand often finds yours underneath the table, and it never fails to make your insides feel pleasantly warm. 

After dinner, the music suddenly shuts off for a few seconds, before Can’t Help Falling In Love by Elvis Presley, the song for Chaewon’s parents’ first dance at their own wedding, which she wanted to turn into a tradition. Everyone watches the couple gently swaying around the dance floor. They look at each other as though they are the only people in this entire room; on this entire planet. After a minute, other couples start joining them; when Jaeyun stands up and offers you his hand, you don’t even hesitate for a second.

You feel a little shy, standing before him and looking into his eyes, so you rest your head on his chest instead, letting him hold you close to him and guide you around the dance floor, one arm around your waist, holding your hand in his free one.

“Thank you for waiting for me,” you say, lifting your face a little so he can hear you.

He bends down towards you, his lips grazing your forehead as he speaks. “Thank you, too, angel.” The nickname is unexpected, and makes your heart skip a beat. When he presses his lips to the top of your head, you think that if this wasn’t your best friend’s wedding, you might be debating the ethics of leaving before dessert’s been served. “I promise I’ll make you happy,” he whispers.

“You already are.” You wish you could live in the way he gazes down at you, eyes warm and full of adoration. “You make me feel like a teenager. Like I’m still the sixteen-year-old who got giddy at the thought of seeing you at school every morning.”

“Is that right?” he asks, smile turning a little smug. You like nervous, bashful Jaeyun better—this Jaeyun, the intensity of his gaze as it trails down your face until it reaches your lips, the feeling of his thumb roving across your waist, makes you want to curl up and hide your face in the crook of his neck. He makes your knees weak and your breath shaky.

You stop yourself from looking away, eyes set on his as you nod your head.

“That’s funny, because I’m very aware that we’re not teenagers anymore,” he says.

You don’t ask what he means by that, and he doesn’t offer an explanation, so you’re left to ponder his words on your own—although the tone with which he spoke, teasing and enticing, can’t leave you with much room for interpretation.

But just as your eyes drift down to his lips, and you swear he leans a fraction of the way in, the song is over. You step back from him a second after every couple has separated, turning towards the newlyweds and clapping for them. 

It’s back to 2010s pop after that, and he doesn’t let you go back to your seat—the rest of your friends quickly join you anyway, and even you can’t say no to jumping around and screaming the lyrics when it’s Lady Gaga and Black Eyed Peas playing. Jaeyun makes you spin around, his hands firm on your hips during more sensual songs, his worst (or best, if you ask him) moves on display whenever a song calls for it, and you can’t stop laughing. 

You need a large drink of water eventually, and take the opportunity to look for Chaewon. You find her at the dessert buffet, stacking mini brownies on her plate. She looks startled when you call her name. “These aren’t all for me,” she says quickly.

“I’m not judging,” you say, smiling.

“Okay, good, ‘cause they’re definitely all for me. I barely ate all night ‘cause I was so nervous and I’m famished now.”

You laugh and get a plate, filling it with more food for her before leading her to your presently unoccupied table. “Thank you,” she says with an exaggerated sigh as she plops down on Yunjin’s chair. “I love my family, but they’ve been taking up all of my attention. I just wanna come dance with you guys.”

“We’ll join them in a bit. Can I just tell you something first?”

She tilts her head at you, her smile like she already knows what you’re about to say. “Of course. And,” she says, taking your hands in hers, “I’ve got something to ask you, too. But you go first.”

You surprise yourself with how easily the words come to you—no hesitation over how to phrase it, no nervousness. They feel so natural, rolling off your tongue. “Me and Jaeyun are together.”

She squeals, immediately throwing her arms around you. “I knew it! Finally! It took you guys so long, I was so close to intervening and playing Cupid myself. Oh, Y/N!” she exclaims, bringing you into another hug, not letting you place a word. “Love is in the air. You know, I think knowing Jae and I were getting married might’ve been the trigger for Jaeyun. When he told me he wanted to confess to you over this weekend, I was ecstatic. You can basically thank me for having a boyfriend.”

You laugh. “Thank you, Chaewon. You’ve known all along, haven’t you?” 

She nods proudly. “It was always so obvious. Jaeyun told me a few months after high school ended, but you—” She points an accusing finger at you. “You never did! But you tried too hard to pretend like you were indifferent when I mentioned him on the phone.”

You look down at the floor, feeling a little guilty, a little shy. “I could barely admit it to myself, let alone to anyone else. And I was so, so scared, Chae. Even now…” You look longingly over at the dance floor, where Jaeyun is clearly having the time of his life, throwing his limbs around with Heeseung and Jeno—when he meets your eyes, he waves happily, then returns to what seems to be an attempt at the robot. You sigh. “It’s not like I change my ways overnight, can I? Being so far from him, I don’t know…”

“Don’t think about that right now,” Chaewon says, commanding your attention back to her. “Just enjoy it. It’s what both of you deserve. When you run into a problem, you’ll figure it out together. He’s waited this long, I promise you it’s not a little distance that’ll drive him away now.”

You nod. “Okay. You’re right.”

“Of course I am. Now, I have some news to share too. And it’s our secret, okay?”

Excited, you shift forward on your chair, inching closer to her. “Okay.”

She gazes downward with a smile, lets go of one of your hands to rest on her stomach. Your mouth falls open, and when she looks back up at you, her eyes shiny, you immediately feel yours start to burn. “If you say yes, Y/N, you’ll be a godmother soon.”

“Oh my God, Chae,” you whisper, tears already pooling in your eyes.

She giggles. “Jaeyun’s already agreed to be the godfather, so it only makes more sense now, doesn’t it? And yes, before you ask, I’m absolutely using my unborn child as emotional blackmail to get you to call and visit more often. And I’ll be coming to see you in the city and make you take me around cute baby shops and buy me all the food I want.

“Oh my God, Chae. You’re having a whole baby,” you whisper, incredulous. Your heads lean in towards each other, almost bumping as you laugh.

“I know, right? We wanted to wait until our honeymoon was over to start trying, but… Well, I’ll spare you the details, but we’ve never gone at it so much since getting engaged—”

“Alright.”

“So, what do you say?” she asks, a hopeful expression on her face.

You squeeze her hands. “How could I say anything but yes? Of course I’ll be your kid’s godmother. I’m so honored that you’re asking me, when I haven’t been an ideal friend.”

She shakes her head. “Don’t. We understand you, Y/N, more than I think you give us credit for. And I trust you to make up for it now, okay?”

You nod, tears freely streaming down your cheeks now. “I will. I absolutely will. I love you so much, Chae. I’m so happy for you.”

Her laugh is the prettiest sound to your ears. “I love you too, Y/N.”

She leans back, takes a deep breath as she wipes her tears. “Is my makeup okay?” When you nod, she gets up and says, “Okay. To the dance floor!”

Now that they’ve gone through every step and are reassured that their wedding couldn’t have gone more smoothly, Jaemin and Chaewon let it all out on the dance floor. What starts out as a pretty big crowd, a large portion of the guests up and dancing, fizzles out as the hour grows late. The more elderly relatives have long retired, and it isn’t long before the older adults leave, too, finding their children asleep on random chairs and dragging them out of the venue. Soon, the population on the dance floor is more or less constituted of your high school friends and Chaewon’s and Jaemin’s cousins of your age. When Beomgyu starts to play slower songs around the three a.m. mark, you can’t believe it’s this late already. You were having so much fun you had no idea so much time had passed.

The catering crew has cleared the tables and packed away all their silver- and dinnerware, and your friends, in their drunken state, offer to wipe the floors and take the decorations down, but Chaewon and Jaemin shoo them off, assuring them that they’ll be taking care of it with their families in the morning.

You have to admit, now that the energy’s gone down, you start to feel yourself ready for bed, your feet aching from overuse, even though you took your high heels off hours ago to dance with more ease. It doesn’t help that Jaeyun stays right behind you as everyone starts heading off, his hand low and casual on your hip as you wave them all goodbye and promise to stay in touch. He only hangs back when you have to say goodbye to Chaewon—your flight is around noon tomorrow, so you won’t have time to see her again.

Hugging her tight, you tell her again how beautiful she looked tonight and how happy you are for her. You wish her and Jaemin a happy honeymoon, and she winks back, telling you to have fun, too. “But safe fun!” she yells as you and Jaeyun start making your way to his car. “I love you but you’re not stealing my baby’s spotlight!”

Jaeyun is still laughing as he gets in the driver’s seat, while you’re flooded with embarrassment. “So she told you, then?” he asks.

“Yeah.”

“We’re gonna be godparents,” he says, grinning. “Some might say we’re moving a little fast, but I think it’s right.”

You’re smiling impossibly wide. “You’re stupid.”

“And you’re pretty,” he replies, brushing his knuckle along your jaw. It’s an innocent touch, but just like that, the dull ache in your stomach reappears—maybe it’s his proximity all night, all tension and no release, or the fact that it’s the two of you in pure darkness on this late night road, or Chaewon’s comment ringing in your head, but you suddenly find yourself craving for a lot more than an innocent touch. As though he can read your mind, Jaeyun clears his throat. “Do you, um, do you want to go back to mine?” he asks, eyes going back-and-forth between you and the road as though not wanting to miss your reaction.

“Yeah,” you whisper. The air conditioning is on full blast, yet your skin is on fire. “Yeah. I’d like that.”

“Okay.”

You’re silent for the rest of the car ride, mind racing with possibility. Jaeyun’s hand trembles ever so slightly in yours, like he can barely restrain himself, and you agree that the twenty minutes to his apartment are the longest you’ve ever had to endure. You play with his fingers, hoping the gesture will be calming to both of you, but the feeling of his skin against yours only makes your heart race faster.

His apartment is on the first floor of a small building in the center of Gimcheon. He leads you up the stairs, fingers intertwined with yours, only letting go to open his door. “Layla will be excited to meet you,” he says as he turns the key—indeed, you’re greeted warmly by the cream-colored Border Collie. She seems much happier to meet someone new than to see her boring old owner, who notices this with a frown, huffing something about “betrayal” and “your own kids…” as Layla licks your hands and presents her belly for pets.

“I should probably walk her quickly, she hasn’t been out since this morning,” Jaeyun says, an endeared smile on his face as he watches the two of you get acquainted.

“Should I come with?”

Crouching beside you, he shakes his head. “I know you’re tired, angel. I’ll just be ten minutes, you can wash up in the meantime.”

You follow him into the bathroom, where he hands you a towel and tells you to help yourself to anything you need. “Wait here a minute,” he says, then disappears into his bedroom, coming back with clean clothes for you to wear. He’s sheepish as he rests them on the sink counter, a small smile playing on his lips. “Here. They might be a bit big, but more comfortable than your dress.”

“Thanks, Yun.”

“No worries.” He hesitates for a second, then presses a quick kiss to your temple. “I’ll be quick.”

Even after he leaves, the smile on your lips is wide and unwavering, your heartbeat fast, your fingers twitchy and impatient. You find lotion to wipe your makeup off with, and have far too much fun analyzing all of his shower products as the hot water runs over your body. You can hardly keep your giddiness in check at the thought of washing yourself with Jaeyun’s soap, drying yourself with his towel, then wearing his clothes and finding yourself enveloped with the delicate floral scent of his laundry detergent. He gave you a navy t-shirt with the logo of his family’s business on the front and a pair of basketball shorts that reach your knees, and that you have to tie very tightly at your hips so it stays up. You can’t help but admire yourself in the mirror, for some reason feeling more like a girlfriend than ever before in your life.

When you hear the front door open, you come out to meet him in his living room. As Layla trots over to her bed, he stops for a second when he sees you, mouth slightly agape as his eyes rake your body. You feel shy under his gaze, but surprise yourself by also revelling in the attention, in the way his desire is so evident in his gaze, in the smirk that grows on his lips as he crosses the distance to you.

“Nice walk?” you ask.

“Yeah. You look good,” he says, hands finding your hips, shameless in the way he looks down at you now.

In the shower, you were so preoccupied with simply being here that you didn’t spare a thought for what would happen next—now, under the intensity of Jaeyun’s gaze and the effect of his proximity, you feel unprepared, completely at a loss for what to do with yourself.

It’s lucky for you that Jaeyun, on the other hand, seems to know exactly what he wants to do with you.

“Can I kiss you?” he asks, voice low and gravelly unlike you’ve ever heard it before, and it sends shivers down your spines. You don’t trust your voice to work properly, so you nod your assent instead.

Seconds pass like eternity between his question and the moment his lips actually touch your lips. One of his hands leaves your hips to find your chin instead, raising it a little with his thumb so your face is perfectly angled towards his. His touch is gentle, more of a request than a demand, and you crave to melt into it, to let him lead you wherever he wants you.

His lips meet yours, delicate and cautious, like he doesn’t want to scare you off. They move languidly against each other, giving you the time you need to adapt to this without being overwhelmed. You raise your arms and wrap them around his neck while his hand sneaks its way to your lower back, pushing you gently closer towards him, your chest now flush to his. Fire courses through your veins as his tongue meets yours, deepening the kiss and making your thoughts hazy, incoherent, unimportant.

You never dreamed it would be this easy. One kiss, and it’s like a faucet’s opened up inside you, all the desire and want and longing that you’ve kept trapped inside pouring out of you boundlessly. You wouldn’t know how to control it if you had to—and thankfully, Jaeyun doesn’t seem to want you to. He meets you right where you are, holding onto you just as tightly as you are onto him, moaning shamelessly when your fingers tug sharply at his hair, his head thrown back as you pepper his throat with wet, messy kisses. 

His mouth doesn’t leave yours as he walks you to his bedroom. Only when he sits down on his bed do you get a glimpse of his expression—the lust-blown pupils, the reddened cheeks, the lips plump and shiny with saliva. His hands are practically on your ass as he brings you down towards him, helping you into a straddling position on his lap. He presses kisses to your cheek, your jawline, then, resting his forehead against yours, asks with a throaty voice, “You’re okay with this?”

You smile, wrap your arms tighter around his neck. “I’m definitely okay with this.”

“Good,” he replies, then wastes no time pressing his lips back to yours.

Years of repressed feelings come out in this kiss—that much is clear in its desperation, in the way you both grab onto whatever parts of the other you can reach, like you want to tether yourselves to each other. When you break apart for air, Jaeyun whispers in your ear how long he’s wanted to do this, lips brushing against your skin as he speaks, making you shake lightly in his hold. The longer you kiss, the weaker the resistance in your thighs grows, and you soon find yourself sitting right on his lap, his bulge hard and demanding attention beneath you. His grip on your hips tightens, but it’s the only sign he gives you of being affected—only when you roll your hips experimentally against his does he let out a loud moan right into your mouth, which you take as a green light to keep going. 

You push him down onto the mattress, practically laying on top of him as you grind yourself against him, a small whimper leaving your throat every time his erection rubs perfectly against your clit through your shared layers of clothing. He’s still wearing his wedding outfit, and when his hands leave your body to unbutton his shirt, you waste no time in helping him, untucking his shirt from his trousers, unbuckling his belt. He chuckles at your eagerness, but you can’t bring yourself to feel even a little embarrassed—you don’t think you’ve ever desired anything this badly, and it’s messing with your head. Jaeyun looks at you like he could eat you right up, so you decide there’s no use in hiding your appetite from him.

His hands slip underneath your t-shirt, and your skin blazes with the heat of his touch. They trail up your sides, nails briefly grazing your waist and back before they find your breasts. He gently rubs one of your nipples between his fingers, and Jaeyun curses when you release a moan in the crook of his neck, pressing your crotch against his with more urgency than before. “Does that feel good, baby?” he asks, voice breathy as you squirm under his touch.

“Yes, Yun.”

He hums in satisfaction, one hand on your ass to guide your movements against him, the other alternating between your breasts to pay them equal attention, lips never relenting in their quest to leave no inch of your neck unkissed. 

It’s too much and too little at once. A familiar coil tightens in your stomach, and you can’t believe you’re already this close to coming undone from this—every man you’ve slept with before has had to put in a lot more work to get you even near the edge. But with Jaeyun, all it takes is a few minutes of heavy petting and his voice in your ears, telling you how well you’re doing for him, how pretty you look using him to get yourself off.

“That’s it, baby,” he coos as your moans get louder, your movements more erratic. “I’ve got you. Let it go for me.” It’s all you need for your orgasm to wash over you and leave you a trembling mess in his arms, his hold around your waist tight as he kisses your temple and shushes you gently. 

When you’ve calmed down somewhat, he helps you onto your back, shifting so that your head rests on his pillows. Now that you’ve regained your senses, the reality of what you’ve done, what you’re doing hits you. Resting on his elbow, Jaeyun gazes down at you fondly, and although you would’ve reveled in it mere moments ago, the intensity of his attention now only brings heat to your face. You can’t quite meet his eyes, a small, bashful smile playing on your lips as you play with the lapels of shirt collar. He must sense this shift in your demeanor, and asks, “Do you wanna keep going?”

Lust pangs low in your stomach. You force yourself to look into his eyes, giving him an almost imperceptible nod. His desire is so obvious on him, and truth be told, you hadn’t even thought you might stop here when he still needs taking care of. The smile on his lips grows, but when you reach out to touch his erection, he tilts his head, grabbing your wrist and laying it back down next to your body. “I didn’t say I was done with you, baby,” he purrs, leaning down to kiss your neck, one hand slipping under your t-shirt again. 

“But—”

“I’ve waited so long, angel. Dreamed about having you like this so many times. So be patient and give me this much, hm?”

You release a shaky breath. How can you say no when he makes it sound like letting him make you feel good is doing him a favor, and not you? “Okay.”

“Thank you, angel. Help me with this?” he asks gently, lifting his t-shirt you’re wearing over your head. You’d feel shy at lying half-naked underneath him if it wasn’t for the way he admired you, like an art lover in front of their favorite painting. “So fucking perfect,” he mutters, leaving a trail of kisses down your throat until he reaches your breasts. “Can’t believe you’ve been keeping this from me all this time.”

“I’m sorry, Yun.” You’re already squirming at this touch, body screaming for more than the feather-like kisses he presses to your skin.

“No, no, baby. Don’t apologize. I’d do it all over again, knowing I’d get to see you like this in the end. So perfect,” he repeats, and before you can reply, he wraps his lips around your nipple, tongue darting out to lick at the sensitive bud. Your back arches off his bed, but with a firm hand to your stomach, he stops you from writhing away from his touch. 

He seems to be content with doing this for minutes on end, lips alternating between your nipples, fingers tending to the neglected one, teeth sometimes gently nibbling at your skin, leaving behind small marks on the sides of your breasts. “There, now you can’t forget me,” he says with a self-satisfied smirk when he leans back to admire his work.

“As if I could,” you whisper back, hands finding purchase in his hair as you bring him back towards you and kiss him.

But soon enough, another part of your body starts burning from lack of attention, but even as you buck your hips towards him to signal what you need, he doesn’t notice—or doesn’t care. “Yun…” you eventually whine, hoping he’ll understand what it is you want from this one word.

“What’s wrong, baby? You need something?” he asks, faking an innocent tone.

So he does know—he just doesn’t want to give it to you so easily. It’s too bad for you that you’re famously bad at asking for what you need.

You opt instead for grabbing his hand and leading it down to your core—surely, that’s enough of a message. He cups you over your shorts, and your thighs clasp around his wrist, instinctively attempting to create more friction. His hand slips below your waistband, and he groans, forehead falling against your shoulder, when he finds your lack of underwear there. He has direct access to your folds, and he wastes no time sliding two of his fingers there, humming in appreciation. “So wet,” he mumbles, seemingly more to himself than to you. 

“Please, Yun,” you plead, voice almost a wince—and it is in a way painful, having him so close to where you need.

“I’m here, angel. I’ll give you what you want.” And indeed, the next second, the pads of his fingers are on your clit, rubbing torturously slow circles onto it. On the pillow, your head falls to the side in your search for more proximity with him—you feel his laboured breathing against your face, and you shift your body closer to him, worming one of your legs between his. As though this is getting to his head as much as yours, he’s silent for a while, his fingers gathering speed on your clit, occasionally sliding down your folds and inside of you. They go so much deeper than yours can, brushing against that spot that has your nails digging into his skin. But as he brings you closer and closer to the edge, you find yourself not wanting to fall right away, at least not like this.

“Yun…” you breathe out, wrapping your fingers around his wrist. He stops immediately, raising his head to look at you with unnecessary concern, making your heart soften for him.

“Are you okay? Did I hurt you?”

“No, no, I just…”

You squirm uncomfortably beneath him, and his expression shifts—damn him for understanding so quickly what you’re too shy to say. “You just…” he trails, smug. Resuming his kisses along your throat, he says, “Tell me, baby.”

“You know,” you huff. He laughs against your skin, and even in your annoyance, the melodic sound makes your heart skip a beat.

“Hm, but I’d rather you tell me.”

You hesitate for a few seconds. Your hand finds his bulge again, and this time, he doesn’t stop you. You know he wants this as badly as you do, but if telling him is what he needs, then you’ll have to comply. “I need—I want—I want to come on your dick, Jaeyun, please,” you say, forcing out the words as quickly as you can, face burning in embarrassment.

He freezes. You hear his breathing get louder, more rugged, and it’s a few seconds before he raises himself onto his elbows, fingers at your waistband, dragging your shorts down. The smugness has all but left his features, leaving behind something like sternness—furrowed eyebrows, dark eyes, tight jaw. As he lifts over his head the white sleeveless tee he was wearing beneath his button-up, your hands make clumsy work of his trousers, pulling them down his thighs along with his underwear. His cock springs free, tip an angry-looking red, already leaking precum, and you wonder at the self-restraint he must’ve been exercising this entire time—it’s clearly stronger than yours. 

You wrap a hand around the base, transfixed by the sight, and he groans. You pump him a few times, reveling in the small moans that leave his mouth, muffled in the crook of your neck, and in the way his fingers dig into the skin of your hips. He doesn’t let it go on for very long, soon leaning away from you and towards his bedside table. “Let me get a condom, baby,” he says, voice shaky. 

“I’m on the pill. You don’t need to wear one.” His head snaps back towards you, eyes wide like a kid on Christmas day.

“Are you sure?” he asks, but he’s already coming back towards you, elbows on each side of your face, peppering the side of your face with kisses.

You wrap your hand around his dick again, letting his tip graze your clit before lining it with your entrance. “Yeah, I am.”

He releases a shaky breath, finding your hand and intertwining his fingers with yours before he finally pushes inside of you, slowly filling you up until he bottoms out. Slick from your previous orgasm and relaxed from his fingers, you accommodate him easily, only needing a few seconds before you’re already bucking up your hips against him, asking for more. For once, Jaeyun doesn’t tease you—he obliges instantly, pushing into you with slow, precise thrusts that have the coil tightening again in your stomach with embarrassing quickness. It doesn’t help that Jaeyun groans right into your ear, whispering curses, muttering about how good you feel around him, “Like you were made for me, baby.”

His free hand slides beneath your thigh and lifts it up to rest it against his hip—this new angle allows him to go deeper, to hit that sensitive spot with every one of his thrusts. As his movements gather speed, you feel yourself inching closer and closer to your orgasm, and when it finally hits, your nails dig into the skin of his bicep, you throw your head back, and you let the pleasure wash over you, your brain going haywire, a loud moan escaping your mouth.

Jaeyun takes the opportunity to latch his lips to your throat, biting and sucking at the skin there, surely leaving yet another mark for you to find in the morning. You’re holding onto him like you might float away if you don’t, thighs shaking as overstimulation starts to set in—and yet, when he asks with a low, gruff voice whether you can handle some more, you find yourself nodding vigorously, ready to take whatever he gives you.

“That’s my girl.”

He slips out of you and you whine at the loss. But he quickly fills you up again, first turning you onto your side as he spoons you from behind, lifting your thigh to grant him better access and pushing into you again with no hesitation. In this position, he’s able to snake an arm around you and play with your clit, making you throw your head back against his shoulder. His pace is gentle at first, as are the kisses he presses to the side of your neck and to your shoulder as he lets you adjust to this new, deeper angle. But it doesn’t take long for his rhythm to quicken as he seems to be nearing release himself—his thrusts get sloppier, harsher, the sounds he makes more desperate.

You didn’t think it’d be possible, but between his fingers on your clit, his dick deep inside you, and his filthy words in your ears, a chasm opens within you once more and you find yourself barrelling towards it at alarming speed. With a few final hard thrusts and the feeling of Jaeyun’s release filling you to the brim, you come undone for the third time tonight, your throat tight and scratchy from moaning so much.

Jaeyun stills inside of you. Without sliding out, he wraps an arm around your middle and brings you closer to him, his hold tight and reassuring. His chest is flush against your back and you feel it rise and fall with each of his breaths; your breathing slowly evens out, eventually matching the rhythm of his. With his fingertips, he draws unintelligible patterns across the skin of your stomach and waist. Tiredness makes your limbs heavy like they could sink right into his mattress. You must be mere seconds away from sleep when you feel him slip out of you. You roll onto your back as he grabs a tissue from his bedside table, cleaning you up gently as he presses a kiss to your temple. “How do you feel?” he asks. “Do you need anything? Some water? A shower?”

You rest an arm around his waist and wiggle closer to him. “Just you,” you say.

“I can give you that. Easy,” he says, the smile audible in his voice.

.

.

You wake up a few times during the night, unaccustomed to sharing a bed with someone else—and not just anyone at that, but Jaeyun, whose warm body you find yourself shifting closer to whenever you regain half-consciousness and realize you’re not in his arms anymore. He barely rouses as you nuzzle your face in his neck, an arm coming up to circle your waist to accommodate your body against his. You wish nothing more than to stay like this forever, but unfortunately, your faithful alarm clock rings at nine a.m. and as you reach for your phone to turn it off, Jaeyun’s loose hold on you tightens.

“Don’t go yet,” he mumbles, voice muffled against your hair, and his gravelly morning voice sends a shiver right down your spine.

You smile. “I’m not. I can stay ten minutes longer.”

He whines, pulls you in closer to him. Goosebumps appear where his fingers slightly dig into your skin. “That’s not long enough…”

“I can’t miss my flight, Yun.”

“Sure you can,” he says casually, and as he starts to press kisses to your neck, you almost think he might be right. “You can catch a later one. You can go home next week.”

You hum, lifting your head to grant him better access to your throat, shivering when his teeth graze your sensitive skin. “My boss might have something to say about that.”

Rolling you onto your back, he drops his forehead on your shoulder with a dramatic sigh. “Ten minutes, you said?” he asks, with a roll of his hips so small it could be seen as accidental. But with the way his erection presses into you, thick and firm, you have an inkling it was anything but.

“Fifteen if you drive fast,” you say, already starting to get out-of-breath.

“That’s plenty.”

Neither of you bothered to put on clothes again last night, so he easily slides two fingers between your folds, gathering your slick and trailing them upwards until they reach your clit. He seems satisfied with the wetness he finds there, quickly shifting to fill you up with his dick rather than his fingers. And indeed, fifteen minutes are plenty—in the time it takes for your alarm to ring again, he’s made you come twice, his thrusts deep and precise as though he has a knowledge of your body that dates back years and not a mere day. He releases inside of you with a groan.

It does suck, having to leave so quickly. You wish you could lay in bed with him for hours, take a shower so long it has negative environmental impacts, and have a late, hearty breakfast with him. Unfortunately, you have to speed through everything—you need to be at the airport at eleven at the latest, and having not foreseen you wouldn’t be spending the night at your aunt, you didn’t finish packing before the wedding. He seems to be as aware of this as you are, and although he keeps a smile on his lips at all times, you can see your sadness reflected in his eyes at the thought of having to say goodbye, so soon after finally opening up to each other.

But in a way, you find goodbye easier this time around. As you hug your aunt and thank her for letting you stay — at which she scoffs, saying this will always be as much your house as it is hers — you’re armed with the knowledge that you’re on good terms now, and that you’re not going back to another three years of near radio silence. It’s not an empty promise that you make her when you tell her you’ll be in touch.

You’ve never seen Jaeyun as talkative as on the drive to the airport. He blabbers away, filling every second of silence like his life depends on it—you don’t help him, quiet as can be out of fear of breaking into sobs in the middle of any given sentence. You remind yourself that this goodbye is only temporary, that you’ll soon make plans for him to visit, but still, your eyes burn at the thought of going home to an empty apartment and falling asleep in a half-empty bed tonight. He must sense this because he eventually tells you, voice soft and vulnerable, “Don’t cry, baby.”

You purse your lips to stop them from trembling, turning away from him so he can’t see your frown. “I feel like I already miss you,” you say, so low you wonder if he can even hear you.

“I’ll come see you soon. And I’ll text and call you so often every day that you won’t have time to miss me,” he replies, but you can hear it in his tone that he doesn’t quite believe what he’s saying, only trying to reassure you, and himself, maybe.

“That’s impossible,” you mutter. You’re both silent for the rest of the drive, but his hand in yours is warm, and it does more to comfort you than any words could. 

He parks at the airport drop-off area and gets your suitcase out of the trunk for you. He wanted to park where he could leave his car longer, and go into the airport with you, but you convinced him that the quicker your goodbye, the better off you’d be. You have the sinking feeling you might burst into tears at any moment, and you don’t want his last image of you for the foreseeable future to be one with tears streaming down your cheeks, don’t want him to needlessly worry or drive off with a weight on his heart.

He holds you in his arms, hands rubbing reassuring circles on your back. “I’ll come up as soon as I can, okay?” he says. “In less than a month, I promise. Any longer and I might explode.”

You laugh. “I don’t want you to explode.”

“No, that’d be pretty unfortunate.”

With one final kiss to the pretty lips that you’ll be longing for until you see Jaeyun again, you grab the handle of your suitcase and walk towards the entrance of the departures area. “Text me when you land, yeah?” he asks.

You nod. “I will.” You just stand there looking at him for a while—you’re a bit too sad to appreciate the fact that this is your first openly emotional, tearful goodbye, but part of you basks in knowing the separation isn’t hard for you only. “I love you, Yun.”

He smiles, a beautiful mix of sorrow and happiness that you want to commit to memory. “I love you more, angel.”

Every time you turn around, he’s still there leaning against his car, possibly overstaying his time at the drop-off, until you’ve walked too far into the airport and can’t see him anymore.

.

.

It’s already dark outside when a text from Minjeong lights up Jaeyun’s phone. Just dropped her off, it says. I tried to stop her from drinking so much, but she said she was going through Jaeyun withdrawals, whatever that means. Anyways she’s wasted good luck lol

He shakes his head. He’d be annoyed if he wasn’t so excited to see you—he’d told Minjeong to keep you outside for a bit longer after work, not get you drunk. But before he has time to text her back, his phone starts ringing in his hand. Smiling, he picks up, your voice immediately filling his ear.

“Jaeyun,” you whine, extending the second vowel for too many seconds—Minjeong wasn’t just throwing words around when she said you were wasted. You must be in the elevator by now. He has half a mind to come and get you, just in case you’re stumbling around and pressing the wrong floor numbers, but if Minjeong dropped you off at your building and not your apartment, then you must have some awareness left.

He hopes. There’s something important he wants to talk to you about, and he’d rather you were sober for it.

“Hi, baby,” he says.

This is apparently the worst thing he could possibly say, sensing as you make a noise halfway between a grunt and a whine. “Don’t call me baby when I already miss you this much. We’ve talked about this!”

You definitely haven’t. “I’m very sorry,” he says, exaggerating his serious tone, but you don’t catch his sarcasm.

“Yes, you should be.” The telltale beep of your code being pressed into the keypad breaks the silence of your apartment, and Jaeyun’s heart races with excitement. “I’m coming home now, Minjeong took me to this—”

Your next words get caught in your throat the moment you step inside your apartment and see him, a few meters away from you in your kitchen. You stay frozen in place, phone still to your ear as he crosses the distance between you, smiling so hard his cheeks ache.

“Welcome home, angel.”

He’s glad to see you aren’t in too much of a wretched state. Even in your wide-gazed surprise, your eyes are a bit clouded over from the alcohol, and you aren’t standing quite straight on your feet, but the way Minjeong texted him, he half-expected to find you with vomit on the front of your shirt. He steadies you with a hand to your waist, grabs your wrist gently to bring your arm down now that he’s hung up—and right in front of you.

“You’re real?” you ask, and when he nods, as though that was all the confirmation you needed, you throw your arms around his neck. “My Yunie,” you exclaim, voice muffled against his sweatshirt, and he has to bite back his laughter. Even a year and a half into your relationship, that’s a new one. You still get flustered when a pet name escapes your lips instead of his name. Maybe he should let you get drunk more often.

You suddenly lean back, cupping his face between your palms, eyes slightly narrowed as they drift over every inch of his face, like you’re trying to see whether anything’s changed. He lets you, a small, endeared smile on his lips, glad for the opportunity to admire you in return.

You press your lips to his, a little more forcefully than you usually would, then rest your head against his chest once more. “What are you doing here?” you ask. “Did you know I was missing you extra lately?”

“Of course I did. I always know what you’re thinking.”

“Okay. What am I thinking right now?”

He hums, pretends to think for a little. “That you love me and are so happy to see me!”

You gasp. “Yes! You’re so smart,” you exclaim, hugging him even tighter. 

Eventually, he manages to get you out of your coat and shoes, and leads you to the kitchen, where your counter is covered in flour and uncooked, homemade dumplings. He only needs to make a few more until he can start frying them. The rice is already cooked, and a miso and vegetable stew simmers on your stove. You make yourself useful by circling your arms around Jaeyun’s waist, your head resting on his shoulders as you watch him fold dough around a beef galbi filling, your favorite. 

“Do you wanna go wash up before we eat?” he asks softly, afraid that in your sensitive state, you might take his words the wrong way. But to his surprise, you oblige without a word, giving his cheek a kiss before heading to your bedroom.

When you haven’t come back ten minutes later, he goes to check on you, and finds you laying on top of your sheets, feet not even on your mattress but still on your floor like you fell back sitting and just stayed there. You’ve managed to remove your makeup and let down your hair, but you apparently ran out of energy before you could change out of your work clothes. Drool pools at the corner of your open lips. 

Jaeyun’s heart aches with happiness. Every time he looks at you, even like this — especially like this — all he can think is how badly he wants to spend the rest of his life with you. And with every passing day that you stay with him, that you tell him good morning and good night and I love you, he thinks he might have a shot at it.

He sighs, but there’s nothing else he’d rather be doing than slipping your trousers and blouse off of your frame and finding a large t-shirt for you to sleep in, then guiding your body underneath your sheets. You wake up once, giggle at yourself, and immediately fall back asleep.

A while later, after he’s cleaned up the kitchen, had a little bit of dinner — on his own, which he knows you’ll feel awful about tomorrow — and washed up for bed, he gently closes the door of the bedroom behind him, where you’re still in deep sleep.

So he’ll have to wait until the morning to share his news. It’s alright—he has the whole weekend to tell you he’s found the perfect house, not too far from Gimcheon or from Daegu, where your boss has already said you could be transferred. He visited it last week, and in every room, he could picture your future together so perfectly. The kitchen in which he’ll make you a late breakfast on lazy Sunday mornings, the room with a beautiful view over a garden that you could turn into an office for your work-from-home days, the bedroom that he could all too well imagine a crib in. Layla could run around in the garden. You could visit your family and friends whenever you wanted. You could be in Seoul in less than two hours with the train if you ever missed it.

You’ve been talking about moving somewhere together for a while now, but he’s still nervous to bring it up. It’s a huge step, and he can only hope you are as ready as he is to take it—and if you aren’t yet, he’ll gladly wait for you to be. But as he slips into bed with you, your warm body shifting into his embrace even in sleep, he doubts he’ll have to wait long at all. The days of holding back are long gone—ever since it’s fully gotten through to you that he won’t ever leave your side if he can help it, you’ve opened up to him like never before, let him take care of you like he’s always dreamed of.

He looks down at you and your peaceful sleeping face, his initial dangling on a thin silver chain that you’ve worn since you found it again while organizing your jewelry box a few weeks ago. This is enough for now. But one day, if you’ll have him, he’ll make you his with another piece of jewelry, and falling asleep with you in his arms won’t be a once-in-a-while occurrence anymore.

It’s more than enough, he thinks as he presses a kiss to your forehead, and lets the soft sound of your breathing lull him into sleep. It’s everything.

.

.

“My wife.”

Jaeyun’s voice is a low, possessive grunt in your ear. He says those two words like they hold the most precious meaning in the world, and it makes fire rise deep inside you.

You thought the reason Jaeyun had been so antsy during your journey to Hawaii was because he’d never travelled this far. You’d chalked up his need to have his hand in yours or resting on your thigh for the entirety of the flight to it being his first time on a long-distance plane. You easily dismissed his clinginess on the drive from the airport to your hotel as his being tired, which always made him a little needier.

But when he pressed his body to yours the moment the door of your hotel room shut behind you, you finally understood what had actually been on his mind this entire time—the feeling of his erection, hard and insistent on your lower stomach, left no room for interpretation.

To be fair, since getting married three days ago, in the familiarity of your backyard and surrounded by your loved ones, you’d barely gotten any alone time. Relatives of his that lived far away stayed at your house until yesterday night, and at bedtime every night, either one or both of you were too tired to initiate anything. You haven’t had sex since becoming Jaeyun’s wife, and clearly, this has been weighing on your husband.

He kisses you like he has been starving for months, desperate, ravenous, crazed. His arms around you hold you in a tight embrace, your bags haphazardly discarded at your feet. Eventually, he reaches for the back of your thighs and, legs hooked around his waist, carries you to the bed you’ll call yours for the next week. You hadn’t expected to break it in so quickly, but you wouldn’t have it any other way, not when Jaeyun’s tongue laps at your mouth like this, not when his teeth graze your bottom lip so deliciously.

“Need to touch you so bad, my love. Can I?” he asks, voice breathy.

“Yes, Yun, please.” 

He slips a hand below your waistband and hums in satisfaction at the wetness he finds there. “Always so wet for me, aren’t you, baby? Always ready for me to fuck you.”

The feeling of his expert fingers on your clit render you unable to reply to him—it’s not like he’s waiting for an answer, anyway. The way you throw your head back and moan his name is all the confirmation he could need. 

Although you’d be content to go on like this, it seems as though this isn’t enough for him. He quickly withdraws his fingers, swallowing your whine of protest with a kiss. It’s unusual, the speed with which he makes his way down your body until his face is level with your core. He normally likes to take his sweet time with you, trailing kisses all over your skin before giving in to your pleas for more. You take a little pride in knowing that you don’t have to beg—for once, he’s the desperate one, he’s the one who can’t wait a second longer.

It’s obscene, and obscenely hot, the way he presses his nose against the crotch of your sweatpants and inhales deeply, a guttural groan escaping his throat. He presses kisses to your inner thighs and core over your clothes before he actually slides them down your thighs, letting them pool at your knees like he doesn’t have time to take them off completely. He doesn’t bother with your t-shirt, either, simply snaking his hands underneath it until they reach your breasts.

“Fuck, I’ve missed this pussy so much,” he mutters, admiring it like it belongs in a museum. 

You smile. “It’s been, like, four days.”

He shakes his head. “Never going without it for that long again.”

Jaeyun dives into your core, tongue licking a long stripe up your folds before it finds your clit and settles there, alternating between licking and sucking at the sensitive bud, two of his slender fingers quickly sliding inside of you. Your hands find purchase in his hair, tugging at it when a motion of his tongue feels particularly good, hips bucking against his mouth whenever his fingers hit that particularly deep spot inside you. He moans ceaselessly into your core, the vibrations making your thighs shake around his head, as though he needed this as much as you did—if not more. You swear you hear him mutter “my wife” at some point. Embarrassingly quickly, you start to feel that familiar coil of pleasure form low in your stomach, a warm, dizzying buzz spreading throughout your entire body all the way to your fingertips.

Your relief at not having to beg turns out to be short-lived. Jaeyun makes you come on his tongue a first, then a second time, as he is often wont to do. You’re impossibly sensitive, body heavy and boneless by the third time, but he isn’t satisfied. His grip on your hips is firm, and you don’t have the energy to fight it—nor the willingness, really. Tears stream down your face by the time your fourth orgasm hits you, at which point you can’t even tell pleasure from pain anymore. You really do need a break, though, and signal this to your husband — your husband — by lifting his head from your core.

He gives you a few minutes of physical respite, but the words that he whispers against your skin as he presses feverish kisses to your throat and jaw keep you in that hazy, nebulous headspace, and in those few minutes only, you already find yourself reaching for him, cupping his erection over his sweatpants.

You wince when he enters you, overstimulation setting in solely from having him inside you, but you shake your head when he asks if you need a longer break. “Want you, Yun,” you breathe out, holding onto his biceps, nails already digging into his skin.

As he pistons his hips into yours relentlessly, you almost can’t believe this is the same man who was standing before you at the altar mere days ago, the sweetest smile on his lips and tears in his pretty eyes. You guess he’s holding true to one of his vows—he said he’d never make you doubt how much he loves you, and right now, you can’t deny that he’s fucking you like you’re the only woman for him.

You think he must be close when his thrusts speed up and his grunts get louder. And recently, there’s been a new telltale sign that he was inching closer to his orgasm.

“Gonna fill you up, angel. Gonna stuff you full of my cum and make you the prettiest mommy ever. All round and beautiful, and carrying my baby. Show the whole world who you belong to.”

He mutters these words right into your ear just as his breathing gets heavier, more ragged, and seconds later, you feel him spurting ropes of his sperm inside you. When he first started talking to you like this, you assumed it was just long-term relationship dirty talk. But a couple of weeks ago, when you told him you were almost at the end of your last tablet of birth control, he asked how you felt about not renewing your prescription—so not just dirty talk, you realized.

He pulls out of you but stays on top of you, catching his breath as he rests his head on your chest and you play with his hair. Eventually, he grabs your left hand, lifts it to his lips, and presses them to your ring finger, right over the silver band. “Thank you for marrying me, angel,” he whispers. “You’ve made me the happiest man on Earth.”

You kiss the top of his head, basking in the pleasant warmth of his words, of his scent, of his reassuring weight as he lays on top of you. “I’m the lucky one.”

“Will you still feel lucky when I tell you we’re not leaving this room all day?”

When you lift your head to look at him, he’s wearing a devilish grin. “Why not?” you ask.

“Because,” he says, pressing his lips to yours, “I’m fucking the jetlag out of you.” Your body responds to him, heat already starting to swirl in your stomach as though you haven’t already taken more than you could handle—your desire for him is a bottomless well. “And, so that in fifteen years, we get to embarrass our kid by telling them they were conceived in Hawaii.”

Needless to say, over the next week, you spend a lot more time in your hotel room than you’d planned, often only going out around noon or coming back halfway through dinner—whenever Jaeyun sees that ring around your finger, he seems to need some alone time with you.

He doesn't think he'll ever stop needing alone time with you.

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[caratchronicles]

jakeyy🥺

this was so amazing, i loved it. it's soo slice of life coded and the way jake was waiting for so long🫶🏻

i totally get the fmc and i love her soo much, this is so well written

[caratchronicles]

Gemini || w.jh

Summary: As the saying goes, "History repeats itself". Eons after the Second Titan War, the world is left in a similar state of despair. Good prevails, but so does the imbalance and injustice. Now standing on opposite sides, the Gods and Demigods don't think that the damage done by The Aegean War can ever truly be repaired. When yet another prophecy pushes you to fight for your friends, you must decide for yourself: Are you worth fighting for too?

Pairing : Wen Junhui x Fem!Reader

AU : Percy Jackson and the Olympians AU

Word Count : 6,712 (part one)

Warnings : Panic attacks, survivor's guilt and post war depression. Percy Jackson AU aged up! Please every character is over 19 years old. Olympus gods being fucked up as usual. Reader is going through it. Sweetheart Junnie. Lots and lots of yearning. Fighting as a coping mechanism. Appearance of other svt members. ANGST in all caps. Some fluff maybe. Multiple moments of "just get together already" and "they've been through so much"

Author's Note : This fic has been written as part of the blockbusters collab hosted by the lovely izzy @jakedustry, rae @nerdycheol and luna @belovedgyu. Thank you for such an amazing opportunity guys<33

This was a really fun experience and I would like to thank all my cuties @mellowgyu, @choco-scoups, @chogiwaw, @cherrymayz, @livmarauder, @gentleisa, @luvrung, @hopecutie, @pomegranate-teardrop, @paradiseonthemoon, @onionhassayyo, @cxffecoupx for such a fun time! congratulations to all of you for completing your fics and im so excited for people to get to know you guys through your amazing works

That being said, this is not beta-read!! so forgive me if there are any mistakes, I was running on pure vibes lol

playlist for this fic is gemini <33

credits to @im4yeons for the pretty divider!

Under the moonlight —

Come, save me now

It was that time of the night when the sky was pitch black — save for the full moon and the stars shining so bright, a sight almost impossible in the city. Jun winced as he stepped over a leaf, making a crunching sound. The sound of the ocean could be heard faintly from where he was. He found this path accidentally, when he had wandered far into the forest away from the camp. It was late at night then, just like now — something he found solace in.

The path led to a rocky shore, violent waves crashing with the jagged edges. Jun slowly stepped in the sand, taking a deep breath of the salty air as the wind blew around him, pushing his hair back. His shoulders dropped as a slight smile made its way onto his face. He looked around, slowly trudging towards a stone to sit on. The tide was on the calmer side tonight — with lesser, calmer waves crashing on the rocks.

The moonlight reflected off the water, making the place seem almost ethereal. Leaning back, Jun closed his eyes, letting the sound of the ocean wash out whatever worries he had. He opened his eyes after a while and looked up at the sky above him. Full of stars and constellations that he grew up watching. He could see the constellation Draco, its dragon-like tail making it identifiable among the others. Constellation Lyra caught his eye next, marking its harp shape.

Going through the stars, he noted as many constellations as he could, recollecting the stories related to them. He smiled ruefully as he spotted Hercules. That was a story Jun thought about quite often these days. Immensely powerful yet exploited by the gods, being punished for something he didn't even have control over. Jun could think of a few people who came under that category.

A scene flashed quickly in his mind. Bodies everywhere. Explosions. The scent of smoke. Disappointed gods. Demigods kneeling on the floors of Olympus. He blinked it away, refocusing on the stars as he used the sound of the waves to ground him. He took a deep breath, sitting up straight and looking at the ocean.

It was dark and inviting — the unknown somehow calming him rather than scaring him away. He got down from the rock carefully, deciding to return to his cabin to finally sleep. If his calculations were correct, it was about an hour before the sunrise. Even though he hated mornings these days, he also knew that he would be most energised then due to his lineage.

Taking a step towards the path he came from, he stopped when he felt something hard under his shoes. It was a stone pierced through at one edge — a hag stone. Rare. Protective, if the stories were true. Jun observed it under the moonlight before pocketing it and resuming his journey towards the cabins.

Reaching cabin eleven, he quietly closed the door behind him, careful not to wake any of his siblings. Taking the stone out, he felt it once again before placing it by his bedside along with the other shells he had collected from the very same shore. He lowered himself on his bed, pulling the blanket up and slowly drifting off to sleep, hoping that tonight, he won't be plagued by nightmares.

The grass was soft as you walked on it, little bushes brushing past your knees as you passed them — covered with flowers of many different colours. The breeze was cool, especially for a summer month. Spotting a rivulet, you stepped closer and saw little fishes swimming in it. You bent down and touched the water, feeling the cold liquid coat your hand. The fishes circled around your wrist, lightly tapping it and then quickly backing away.

The wind whistled, swaying the trees along with it. You look around with a smile, glancing up at the late afternoon sky. There were very few clouds in sight. This seemed like a nice spot to take a nap. Dipping your feet in the water, you leaned back on your elbows, sighing contently. Your eyes closed shut as you drifted to sleep, the last sight being that of a cloud in the sky which seemed bigger than before.

You felt something wet drop on your skin as you woke up. In the time you had been asleep, the clouds grew bigger and darker, almost covering the entire sky now. Blinking the sleep out of your eyes, you felt something tug at your ankle. Glancing down, you see the water circling around your foot before you felt another pull. Then another. Trying to pull away, you watched with growing horror as the water reached up to your knees, continuing to pull you in.

Looking in front of you, you realised that what was once a rivulet was now growing in size by the second. And it was trying to drag you inside it. Glancing around helplessly, you realised the grass and the trees were gone. There was nothing left but sand. The water had now reached your thighs before you shouted for help. There was no sound other than that of the ocean. You were truly as alone as it looked like.

Your body was getting colder and colder as the water reached upto your chest. You began thrashing, trying to fight back as much as you could but to no avail. The water had reached upto your chin before you stopped moving, seemingly having accepted your fate. You closed your eyes as your ears got flooded and you were engulfed by the waves pulling you deep into the ocean. "You can never escape the sea," a voice echoed. And that was the last thing you heard before your world went dark.

You woke with a jolt, sitting up straight and taking in huge gulps of air. It was just a dream, you think trying to calm yourself down. The only sound to be heard was your heavy breathing and the sound of the clock.

Tick

Tock

Tick

Tock

You get down from your bed, feeling the cold wood beneath your feet ground you slightly. The air was cold, you observe with a shiver, as you go to close your window. You take in the scene in front of you. Large trees at the outskirts of the camp, beyond which it was sea.

Moonlight reflecting off the surface of the water, making it look alluring and inviting. Something inside you shifted at the sight, something primal, ancient almost, reminding you of how long you had gone without the sea. You shut the window tightly, going back to bed hoping you could sleep without any trouble.

You were plagued with dreams of the waves echoing around you.

The early morning sun grazed Jun's face as he looked over at the demigods sword-fighting. Just from the technique, very sharp and clean, it was evident that they were Ares' kids. He was seated on the stairs of the arena having come here almost an hour prior to watch the sunrise. Yawning as he rubbed his eyes, he glanced around and noticed that there were other demigods present as well.

He could spot Chris, clad in his fighting gear, leaning over to whisper something in Lexie's ear. Hearing footsteps, he glanced up to see Mike jogging down the stairs and waving at him. Jun smiled and watched him leave before turning towards the fight. It seemed like the previous match was done and they had found a new opponent to challenge.

Ready to zone out again, Jun froze when he caught a movement from the corner of his eyes. He turns sharply towards the source, hand already on his knife incase it was needed. Just a few leaves rustling. He relaxes, a bit sheepish now as he looked around to check if anyone else had noticed that.

He sees you on the opposite side of the arena, eyebrows furrowed as you tried to make sense of whatever you were reading. You seemed to have trouble, growing increasingly frustrated as the seconds passed. You had a higher degree of dyslexia when compared to an average demigod, something which you hated more than anything — Jun would know, as he was the one who read books out loud for you whenver you asked.

He observed you for a while. Your wavy hair seemed to catch the sunlight everytime you ran a hand through it, an age-old habit of yours. Jun sighed, turning his attention elsewhere. What was the point if you didn't even look at him these days?

He couldn't blame you though, everyone had changed after the war. Some more than the others. He just wishes you wouldn't go out of the way to avoid him everytime you caught sight of him. Honestly, it didn't even seem like the war was over. Everyone was always on edge, as if waiting for the next attack.

Hearing a ruckus, he snapped out of his thoughts as he looked towards for the source. Standing there at the centre was a guy, blonde haired, donning a full armour for the sword fight. Ahh, the infamous Soonyoung. Or maybe Hoshi, as he liked to be called. If Jun had seen you retreating inwards and away from everyone, he could say Hoshi did the same.

The only difference was, you seemed to be spending more time in your cabin and Hoshi seemed to spend more time in figting arenas and grounds. Any news Jun had heard of him recently was always followed by the fact that he had wonded someone with an unnecessarily nasty punch. Which seemed to be his exact intentions again as he lunged at his opponent with a wicked grin.

A loud slam echoed around the arena as the two moved their swords quickly with precise footwork. It was a surprise to see that the other demigod was keeping up with Hoshi for as long as he had. Hoshi was a beast when it came to fighting, his strength and strategies forged by relentless training and discipline.

The clanking of the swords continued for a while longer, both of them maneuvering smartly around each other and looking for any weak points to hit in the opponent. Seemingly having found one, Hoshi quickly manages to push his opponent on the ground and hover over him with his sword in hand above his neck. The demigod beneath him huffed, out of breath and frustrated as he surrendered begrudgingly. Hoshi nods his head, satisfied before he turns around and leaves the arena as quickly as he came in.

You shove your hands deeper into your pockets, shivering slightly as you make your way towards the Dining Pavilion. It was early December, with the first snow of the year having occured just a few days ago, painting the camp white. You follow the footsteps in the snow, left by the other demigods, already looking forward to the warmth of the Pavilion.

You sigh in relief, rubbing your hands when you finally get inside and feel the heat spread through your body. You glance around, setting your scarf down at your table which was as empty as ever. The Ares table was also surprisingly empty, but given that it was quite early in the evening, you figured they were just sparring for sometime before supper. Soonyoung did tell you that they had fixed training sessions and this was one of the slots.

Your eyes then instinctually go to the Apollo's table and you feel a slight pain in your chest — maybe grief — as you take in the number of demigods present. They were all talking, looking happier than ever, but you could see it in the way Connor's smile dropped whenever he turned to his left, only to realise that his twin brother was no longer there with him. Or in the way Mia thought nobody noticed how often she zoned out, almost seeming like she was fighting prophecies in her mind.

If only you had stopped them from fighting in the water

You drag your eyes away from them with a shaky sigh. Everytime you closed your eyes, you could see the day play out in your mind, moment by moment without any mercy. A war inside the ocean, a tsunami washing out everyone who dared to cross it. You let out a huff, trying to fight against the negative emotions taking over your body as you cross your arms.

Since you were earlier than the expected dinner time, you decide to take a seat as you watch the campfire suddenly getting lowly lit, probably Goddess Hestia's doing. You liked Hestia, Jun had told you that she helped him a lot on his quest before the war. She also seemed like one of the only Gods who did not actively look for ways to trouble the demigods, so that was a plus.

Your eyes go towards the Apollo table again as you see Chiron approaching it. He's probably discussing about the Capture the Flag event being held tomorrow. Your eyes involuntarily go to Jun, seeing him talk to Chiron. The first thing you notice about him is his smile, always the smile — gentle and shy.

Infact, you remember the first time you had met him back when you both were ten, you were constantly trying to get him to laugh at your jokes, and he always did, no matter how lame or stupid they were. The next thing you notice are the dark circles under his eyes.

Was he having problems with sleeping again?

He always stayed up whenever the prophecies got too loud. He was one of those, along with Mia, who had the power of seeing the future more vividly than the rest of their siblings. Hence he was also very sensitive to dreams and nightmares, often times choosing not to sleep to avoid them.

You got to know of that fact just a couple of years ago and had tried everything to get him to sleep well, hanging out in the infirmary when his cabin became suffocating for him at night. You had even tried singing to him, something you were terrible at and you still remember the fond look he had in his eyes as he tried not to laugh. That was the night when everything had felt immensely real, your sleepy mind and traitorous heart giving you hope that maybe, just maybe even he felt the same about you.

Well, that was over a year ago, just before the war and you doubt he even thinks about you now after you stopped talking to him and basically threw your friendship away. There was also the fact that most of his siblings died under your leadership in the war. You were sure he hated you, you wouldn't blame him if he did.

Just as you were about to look away from him, he catches your eyes and looks startled for a moment before his face settles into something deeper. The world seemed to still, the rush of the incoming campers almost reducing to a lull as your eyes focus on his completely.

He always had this effect on you and you hated how just one look from him was enough to melt you, especially now that you were sure he must hate you. His lips curl slightly at the edges as he seemed almost relieved, which you didn't know what for. You feel his gaze go all over your face, checking upon you, just like it did after the war ended and you had come back to the medical site.

You still remember the conversation that had gone down right after that, with you refusing to speak to anyone but him just to break the news of his siblings. His shocked face, almost ghostly white still haunts you to this day. You look away, your heart heavy as you repeat all the reasons in your head, for the umpteenth time, as to why you should stay away from him.

He deserves better people in his life than a murderer

All you've caused right from the beginning is pain to everyone around you

Why would he be any different?

You dig your fingers into your sleeves, staring hard at the fire as you wait for your breath to calm down. The fire seemed to grow bigger as more and more campers piled into the Pavilion. You will your legs to still as you unclench your palms and finally feel your breath return to normal.

You had struggled a lot with panic attacks at the start after the war, but now you were getting better at handling them without having to bother others. You had a technique of counting till ten and humming a lullaby right after, which calmed you down significantly these days. You decide to distract yourself by thinking about tomorrow's Capture the Flag and going over all the strategies you had learnt over the years.

You look up, startled from your thoughts as you see Soonyoung sit next to you on the table. You hadn't even seen him approach. Your eyes widen as you take in his state. He was sporting a huge bandaid on his chin and a cut near his eyebrow. "What happened to you?" you ask as you look for any other place where he might be hurt. You looked down at his hands in his lap as he clenched his fist. His knuckles were bruised as well.

"Oh these are nothing, just some fight that went messy," he replied casually, avoiding eye contact. You raise an eyebrow, "A sword fight went so messy that you bruised your knuckles?" you ask already sniffing out his lie. He hesitates before saying, "This wasn't a sword fight, I was engaged in physical combat and the mortals sure know how to throw a nasty punch."

"Gods Soonyoung, the mortals?! I thought you had just gotten into a brawl with one of your siblings. Why were you even messing around with the mortals?" you exclaim. "I was just curious as to how they fight and snuck into one of their events. Their techniques are different than ours and I sure have a lot to learn from them. Maybe I should go back soon and ask them to teach me their ways", he ponders.

"Hoshi, you cannot go to the mortal world. What if some monster comes after you? Do you really want to fight more, especially without anyone helping you?" you knew you had offended him when you saw the expression on his face. You wince slightly as he replies, "You know I can very well handle a few monsters on my own. Need I remind you who lead the war with you? As for the mortal world and the fighting, I know you're worried that I'm fighting too much these days but trust me, this is what Ares' kids do. We study wars and different combat techniques. I like learning them and I'm having fun".

Knowing there was no changing his mind, you let out a sigh as you say, "You're right, I'm sorry. I wasn't trying to reprimand you, just be careful." He gives you a side-hug as he replies cheekily, "It's fine, I know you're worried but I've managed to win a fight with you, I'm sure I can handle anyone at this point".

That gets a smile out of you as you ask, "Who patched you up though? Is someone else handling the infirmary now because that does not look like Jun's work". He clears his throat, avoiding your eyes again as he replies, "Just some mortals, I didn't go to the infirmary." You frown at him, about to question him more when Chiron rises from his seat and announces the commencement of dinner, "Everyone will gather together and go cabin by cabin to the campfire to offer a portion of their food to the gods."

You miss the sigh of relief Soonyoung lets out as you both rise up from your table and fill your plates with food as you wait for your turn. "Now the cabin three, Poseidon's cabin, can go burn their food in the fire." Chiron says, eyeing Soonyoung as you both step closer to the campfire. You let out a chuckle as you see Soonyoung huff. While not against the rules, it was still unusual for campers to sit at the tables of different cabins during meals.

Throwing a portion of your food into the fire, you suppress your laughter as you see Soonyoung throwing only a carrot into the fire. "Geez Soonie, leave some for yourself too. The gods don't need that much food." you tease as he replies, "To hell with the Gods." You pause as you look up at the sky which immediately rumbles with thunder making you both snicker. Zeus was so predictable. You both take a seat at your table, digging into the food as you discuss about the Capture the Flag. Soonyoung starts explaining the strategy that he thought of as you interrupt him, "Wait I'm with the Ares cabin this time?"

"Yes, unless you want to team up with the Apollo's cabin as usual then feel free to switch. I'm sure Jun would love to have you on his team again." he says looking up from his plate, already knowing what your reply would be. "You're a menace. Fine, I'll play on your team. Also, we both know Jun doesn't like Capture the Flag so I doubt he'd want to participate let alone have me on his team." you reply as you glance at Jun before looking away, not wanting to make eye contact with him again. Soonyoung hums looking straight at you as he replies , "That's true but I'm sure he would be enthusiastic to play if it meant that you would stop avoiding him."

"I'm not avoiding him, it's just…complicated", you say looking down at your plate as you pick at the vegetables. "I know", you hear Soonyoung say gently before he, thankfully, changes the topic to the post-dinner campfire.

You both discuss how to sneak away into your respective cabins after just a few songs and Soonyoung's happy that you're a bit more cheerful than before. He saw how shaken up you were when he had just joined you at the table earlier in the night, you were probably going through another panic episode. He hated how you didn't ask for help and wanted to manage everything on your own.

Soonyoung knew you just needed some time before you started talking to Jun again and unlike what you believed he was sure Jun didn't hate you. Quite the opposite actually. Anyone with eyes could see that Jun was smitten with you even after months of silence from your end. Soonyoung just hoped the two of you would figure it out eventually, he missed his friends together even though he was third-wheeling most of the time.

Now, onto the capture the flag game, he couldn't wait to implement the game plan he had learnt from the mortals. He grins excitedly as he goes into the full details of his strategy with you, knowing that you needed a distraction and that you'll have a lot of fun.

You take a deep breath, fiddling with your helmet as you wait for the game to start. Looking over to your right, you spot Soonyoung giving instructions to few of your teammates. Your team consisted of the Ares-Poseidon-Hermes-Hephaestus cabins and Hoshi had gone all out this time with the strategy. The plan was that both of you would be trying to capture the flag of the opposite team while the others either guarded your flag or laid out obstacles for the other team.

You would be running directly towards the other team's flag while Soonyoung would take a sneakier path that he was sure most of the campers didn't know about. You double-checked that it wasn't very dangerous because you were sure if given the chance, he would go into the labyrinth as well.

Your path was much simpler, you just had to run through your side of the forest, cross the river and then cross any of the obstacles laid out by the other team. You had your bracelet in your pocket, one that was gifted by Jun ages ago, which would transform into a sword when clicked.

Each of the participating cabins had contributed atleast one magical item for today's game. Jake from Hephaestus cabin had this idea of forging hot metal which would increase the temperature within seconds once activated, disabling the opponents from the fight.

To nobody's surprise, Soonyoung had liked this idea very much and encouraged the team to use them whenever they were stuck in a fight. Strapping a few of these balls inside your belt, you looked up when Soonyoung approached you.

"Are you sure you're ready to swim across the river? I know you have been staying away from the water for a while", he says with a frown, looking worried. Well, you had thought of this multiple times after Soonyoung had explained his strategy. Though slightly apprehensive, you knew you had to face your fear and get over with it. You had avoided your water powers for almost a year now and it was starting to take a toll on you, being that far away from the water.

"I'm sure Soonie", you reply with a smile, assuring him. He nods at you as he moves to the others, ordering everyone to get to their positions quickly. You hear Chiron blow the horn, signalling the start of the game as you exchange your signature fist-bump with Soonyoung before running off into the forest.

The woods were pitch-black, and you stand still for a few seconds waiting for your eyes to adjust to the darkness. Since you had grown up training in the woods, the path to the river was almost muscle memory. This part of the forest had the least number of monsters so you knew you had to minimise the time spent in this patch.

You run quickly, leaves crunching beneath you as the wind pushes your hair back. You reach the river in record time, taking a deep breath in as you try to keep your nerves at bay. You feel the memories of the war threatening to take over your mind before you block them and jump into the water.

The moment you touched the surface of the river, it felt like a thousand needles had penetrated into your skin. You felt the water seep through your clothes as you allowed yourself to be dragged into the river. You breathed out calmly and felt the bubbles rise up towards the surface.

You hoped the water could still recognise you. Soon enough, you could feel a bubble form around you, breathing becoming a lot easier. Your clothes started drying as the bubble took you to the surface of the river. With little to no difficulty, you manage to swim to the shore, feeling energised by being in the water.

Being away from the ocean for so long had definitely taken a toll on you. Your immunity and stamina had reduced significantly, something Soonyoung had pointed out, worried if you would be able to do this for the game. It was the doubt he had that spurred you into action, making sure that you would be the one to capture the flag before him. That was how it was with Soonyoung. If there was anyone who could push you to your limits so that you improve, it would be him.

Getting out of the river, you quickly double-check for all your weapons before you start running towards the hill which you were sure had the flag of the opponent team. You come across a huge chunk of leaves, a poorly laid trap by the Apollo team. You step aside swiftly, continuing your journey. At the foot of the hill, you hear the rustling of a few branches which makes you pause.

You take out your bracelet, which immediately morphs into a sword, as you brace yourself for an attack. You see Connor jump down the tree and step in front of you, followed by many others from the opponent team. You tap your foot, a bit unsure if you could take on so many demigods in a fight. It had been quite a long time since you had been in a sword fight and the clock was ticking. Taking a deep breath, you reach for the heat bomb fastened to your belt before dropping it.

You see their faces morph into panic and then confusion as they all gather around the ball, bending down to look at it. Had they not learnt anything during training? You count till three before watching the smoke start to rise from the bomb.

You slip away with a slight smirk as they start shrieking at the rapidly rising temperature. Though lasting only for a couple of minutes, the heat bomb did have rapid affects. Everyone would have to vacate the area within a minute if they didn't want to be severely burnt by the heat. Jake really outdid himself this time.

Keeping the time in mind, you run as fast as you can up the hill only stopping once you're sure you got a safe distance away from the bomb. You wait for a minute to catch your breathe before starting to run up the hill once again. You really wanted to get to the flag before Soonyoung. Reaching the top, you slow down to a tip-toe, not wanting to alert the demigods guarding the flag.

Peeking your head out of the woods, you look around trying to locate the flag. This was a barren patch of the hill, with little to no grass growing on it. Slowly taking a step forward, you keep your sword ready just incase it was needed. Seeing the flag at the edge of the hill, you smile triumphantly before you notice the person beside it.

Oh.

Even though he had his back turned towards you, you could still recognise him anywhere. You take slow steps towards the flag, hoping they would not notice. You'd rather not fight with Jun today. You stop in your step as Mia looks up from her seat beside the flag and notices you. Well, there goes your plan of not fighting.

She whispers something to Jun and you stay rooted at your spot as he turns towards you. Something which you didn't want to decipher crosses through his eyes as he takes out his sword and steps towards you.

"Look, I don't want to fight. Can you just give me the flag? I'll get out of your hair after that. I just really need to beat Soonyoung", you say as you look into his eyes. You could feel yourself getting pulled into them before you shake your head slightly and look away. It was always those damned eyes. Jun suppresses a smile, deciding to tease you slightly as he replies, "Tell me why you've been avoiding me for so long first and maybe then I'll give you the flag. Otherwise you'll just have to win it from me."

Your breath stutters as you take in his words, your gaze jumping around all over his face. He had grown his hair slightly and a few strands were falling into his eyes. You clenched your hand, fighting the urge to brush them back. This was not the time to be having these thoughts about Jun. You smile, deciding to go along with his teasing as you reply, "Game on then, Mia you're the referee for this match."

Mia raised her eyebrows as she nodded. She didn't want to witness a match between the two of you. There were already enough moments like these throughout the year, but if this was what it might take to get you both to finally talk to each other, then she would be all for it. She couldn't stand Jun moping around for another day.

You both unclasp your swords and stand in front of each other. Though Jun preferred Archery more than sword fighting, he was pretty good at using a sword as well. He had grown up observing Soonyoung and you training, and he had picked up on a few tricks himself.

Stepping forward, he waits for you to deliver the first blow. He had no plans of playing the offensive today. Quite frankly, the only reason he suggested this match was so that he could spend some time with you where you didn't act as if he never existed.

You take a swipe at his side, watching him block your sword and pushing it away slightly, making you frown. Why wasn't he attacking you today? You go at him with even more force but watch him do the same thing again. "Why are you not putting your full effort today Jun?" you ask, your frown deepening. "What do you mean, this is my best", he replied, casually stepping away from one of your attacks.

You scrunch your eyebrows, before deciding to play a move which would force him to attack you. "Look, you really aren't doing your best! You could've easily defeated me right here. Why are you going easy on me?!" you exclaim after seeing him twist his wrist and disarm you for a second, before kicking your sword back towards you. He just smiles slightly, deepening your frown. Gods, he was so annoying.

Remembering that you still had a match to win, you come to the conclusion that his strategy might just be to distract you from bringing their flag to your team. Deciding to finish the fight, you fling your leg around his, his sword rattling somewhere away as you point yours to his neck.

You both huff, taking deep breaths of air as Jun starts to smile. "You're still as competitve as ever, glad to see that hasn't changed", he says, looking up at you, making you roll your eyes as you pull your sword away from him.

You stretch your neck as you pick up the flag, looking at Mia who simply raises her hands in surrender. You stop near Jun, who was still laying on the ground as you say, "And you've gone soft, Junnie." Looking at the smile he gives you, you can't help but break out into a grin of your own before schooling your expression. Stepping away from him, you nod at both of them before breaking into a run down the hill. You still had a match to win.

The way back to your team wasn't very difficult. You just had to set off the heat bomb once, though this time they were faster in running away than before. The swim across the river was also easier than before, which was something that made you feel more energised than ever.

Reaching your team site, you see Soonyoung tapping his foot on the ground with his arms crossed. He breaks out into a smile as you run towards him while removing your helmet and say, "You didn't even stand a chance Soonie, I got there before you."

He takes the flag out of your hands with a chuckle as he ruffles your hair. "You are correct about that, the climb up the cliff was way too difficult", he says with a groan as he stretches. "I told you it was reckless and difficult but when do you ever listen to me", you scold him as you cross your arms. He just laughs at you fondly before you ask, "Did the other team even manage to capture our flag?"

"No, our defense was really strong. They spent most of the game in a sword fight and at last they gave up", Soonyoung replied with a shrug as he leads you to the rest of the team. The team breaks out into cheers as they see the flag in Hoshi's hands. This was the first Capture the Flag you had participated in after the war and you were glad you had managed to win for the team.

You see the opponent team approach as you all gather towards the fountain waiting for Chiron to announce your team as the winner. You spot Jun, only to find him already looking at you with a smile. You frown at him in return. Weird, didn't he hate you? You hear Soonyoung stifle a chuckle making you look at him with the same frown still present on your face.

"What's so funny?" you ask him. "Nothing, just the fact the you're so oblivious it's actually hurting me", he replies with a shrug, still grinning. Was he talking about Jun? Just as you're about to question him further, you see Chiron emerge, everyone hushing each other to listen to the winning announcement.

Chiron clears his throat, pushing his glasses up as he says, "The winner of this week's Capture the Flag competition is Team 1 which was led by Soonyoung. They especially had very good defense strategy. Give them a round of applause." You grin as you clap with the rest of the demigods, happy about how the day had turned out.

Everyone started dispersing when Connor suddenly shouts, "Oh, what is that?". You turn to look at where he was pointing and see the Oracle of Delphi slowly approaching the crowd. Shriveled-looking with long black hair clung to her skull, she wore a headband and a tie-dyed green dress. Her beaded necklaces moved with each step she took.

You take a step back, trying to blend into the crowd hoping that she wouldn't approach you regarding the prophecy. Remembering that the Oracle's presence always affected Mia and Jun more, your turn to look at them. You see Jun clutching his head, before his gaze suddenly snapped to you.

His worried look only scared you more as you took another step back, watching the crowd split to make way for her. She, slow as ever, continues to walk towards where you were just moments ago and stops in front of Soonyoung. You huff out a breath, relieved, immediately feeling guilty later for such a reaction.

A green mist pours out of her mouth, surrounding each one of the demigods as her hissing starts echoing inside your head.

You shall go east, along with the daughter of sea

A journey, embark on it or destruction you shall see

Venturing into the ever-changing maze

You shall realize the fate in the haze

Face the undefeated once again

Conquer it and power you shall regain

The Oracle of Delphi collapses onto the rock beside Soonyoung, her eyes turning black, probably never to move again for many centuries to come. You make your way through the crowd, reaching Soonyoung and placing a hand on his shoulder. You feel the eyes of rest of the campers on the two of you as Chiron ushers all the cabin heads to the Big House.

Turning back, you look at Jun standing with his lips pursed and arms crossed. He meets your eyes almost immediately and you could see the waves of worry in them even from such a distance. The quest mentioned a Daughter of the Sea. Unless Poseidon had a secret daughter you never knew of, it was you that was supposed to go on this quest with Soonyoung.

You look back at Hoshi worriedly and he reaches up to squeeze your hand on his shoulder slightly before letting go as you both walk towards The Big House together. Looking back, you see all of the other cabin heads following you, Jun included, with his head down and fist clenched deep into his pocket.

You face the door again, the voices of Mr.D and Chiron already audible. This was the first quest assigned to a demigod after the war, nobody daring to seek the Oracle till now. Taking a deep breath, you raise your hand to knock on the door before hearing a faint "Come in". You look at Soonyoung as he opens the door for the both of you to step in.

Here we go again.

[angeliicide]

UNDER THE SEA || Theme Series 01 › Request

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[caratchronicles]

oh these would eat for gemini pt2