KPOP STAN WARNING

MAGGS ~ EST. 1998. SVT Ult. But major Enhypen brain rot at the moment :/

[eoieopda]

triple-dog dare | lsm

“Bambi.”

The sternness of his tone surprised both of you, so much so that when you snapped to look at him, both of you froze. Your moon-sized eyes were further proof that your childhood nickname still rings true to date, although your being the deer made him the oncoming car in this scenario. 

He didn’t love that analogy.

Recovering quickly, he pulled the Ace from his sleeve: the surefire way for one of you to get the other onboard:

“I triple-dog dare you to come with me.”

pairing: lee seokmin x reader summary: when you're left off the guest list to seokmin's parent's thirtieth anniversary party, you're content to keep your questions to yourself and stay home. seokmin, on the other hand, is not content. in fact, he pulls the one card he knows will always win. au: childhood best friends to lovers genre: fluff, angst, smut type: one-shot rating: 18+ only. minors do not have my consent to interact. wc: 13k cw: pov switches, complicated sibling dynamics (seokmin’s), there is in fact one (1) bed, halmonis gone wild, stupid childhood nicknames, fingering (v), oral sex (m receiving), multiple orgasms, implied penetrative sex (p in v). reader notes: afab, uses she/her pronouns, wears a dress/heels to the party, is implicitly an only child. the setting is intentionally ambiguous, so she's not implicitly korean and/or asian. there are no descriptions of body shape/size, complexion, etc. a/n: thank you to the incomparable @daechwitatamic for beta-ing this! it's been a long damn time since i've written anything, so this might not have seen the light of day without jo, the hype-man. on that note, i suck at summaries; just read the fic, lmao. svt masterlist. svt permanent taglist. multi permanent taglist.

For being the walking disaster that he is, there have been shockingly few moments in Lee Seokmin’s life where he’s needed to shove his oversized foot into his oversized mouth.

Prior to the incident at your apartment, the last time he’d embarrassed himself like this was when he’d asked his oldest sister, Soyeon, in earnest whether or not she was pregnant, only to learn that she was just bloated; and he’s just an ass.

To your credit, you’re far from cruel when he slips up, but that almost makes it worse. You visibly deflate when he asks his well-intentioned but ill-fated question, rather than letting him have it the way his two siblings would have done.

The day in question went like this:

He asked, “Did you reserve your room yet for the 31st? If not, we can double up. It’ll be a lot cheaper.”

And you blinked, stunned like you’d been slapped. “Have I what?”

It dawned on you both at that moment that, for whatever reason, his parents’ thirtieth anniversary party was in fact news to you. Two things then happened at once: you tried to hide your surprise and the twinge of pain that comes with being excluded; and he racked his stupid brain to find any explanation for why you had to feel either one of those things.

The best option he found was to gently toss his middle sister, Seonmi, under the metaphorical bus. 

“Seonmi’s been working on something special for them. You know how she gets,” he waved dismissively. “So obsessed with finding the perfect napkins — ” He wiggled his fingers for emphasis. “— and creating custom cocktails, that she misses the forest for the trees.”

You didn’t look convinced. Likewise, you didn’t look any less uncomfortable.

Fuck.

“I’m sure it was an honest mistake.” To drive his point home, he reached from his spot on your couch to give your knee a reassuring squeeze. “I have a plus-one, so it’s not like it’ll be a logistical problem. You belong there as much as we do.”

And he meant it, wholeheartedly. 

All his life, the running joke has been that Soonyi and Minseok Lee have four kids: two biological daughters, a younger son, and his otherwise unrelated twin, who spent more time sleeping on his top bunk than in her own home next door. 

The way he saw it — and the way he’s sure his parents would see it — is that no family gathering is complete without you. That’s a hill he’d die on if need be.

You shifted in your seat, which caused his hand to slip off your knee, whether or not you meant for it to happen. Glancing uneasily out your window, you worried your bottom lip between your teeth, mumbling, “I don’t know…”

Seokmin frowned. You didn’t see it, though, and therefore weren’t moved by it. Instead, you cycled through your anxious thoughts at high velocity. If he was still touching you, he’d be worried that your sparking brain might catch him on fire.

“What if it’s not a mistake? I mean, what if it’s a couples thing?” 

He couldn’t even classify these questions as rhetorical because he wasn’t meant to hear them in the first place. Though you asked out loud, each one of them was for your ears only. From his half of the couch — miles away — his frown deepened, unbeknownst to you.

“You know, Seonmi follows me on Instagram; she’d know that Kai and I broke up a few months ago. Maybe she doesn’t want me to feel awkward? Even if I went, and I didn’t feel weird about that, her expecting it to be weird might make it weird, right?”

Fuck.

You’d spiral all day if Seokmin didn’t stop you. As much as he loves how thoughtful you are, he knows better than most that you have a tendency to take it too far, inflicting that relentless consideration on yourself until it wounds. 

“Bambi.”

The sternness of his tone surprised both of you, so much so that when you snapped to look at him, both of you froze. Your moon-sized eyes were further proof that your childhood nickname still rings true to date, although your being the deer made him the oncoming car in this scenario. 

He didn’t love that analogy.

Recovering quickly, he pulled the Ace from his sleeve: the surefire way for one of you to get the other onboard:

“I triple-dog dare you to come with me.”

Begrudgingly, you’d conceded, just like Seokmin hoped you would. You sat with him while he figured out travel plans to the mountain resort, helped him visualize what the hell he needed to wear to an event like this. When the time came, you sent him half the cost for the room he booked, even though he repeatedly insisted that you didn’t need to chip in.

Now, that unsolicited sum sits untouched in his Venmo balance. You sit next to him on the night train out of town.

Sit, he thinks, is a bit of an understatement. You’re barely upright, so exhausted from your work day that his shoulder and side are bearing most of your weight. His arm went from tingling to numb an hour ago, but Seokmin doesn’t mind. There isn’t a burden he wouldn’t carry for you, up to and including you yourself.

Besides, he’s not worse off for being left to his own devices. In fact, he keeps himself thoroughly entertained by taking selfies of the pair of you. The aftermath will stay securely in his camera roll — largely because you’d kill him if you saw how squishy your face is, pressed against his coat, or how your little pout trembles slightly, almost as if you’re trying to talk through your sleep — but he still finds it worth the risk. This mochi-cheeked version of you is one of his favorites.

When Seokmin has amassed enough silly photos to comprise a dossier, he tucks his phone back into his pocket with a self-satisfied smile. You’re still out cold, so you don’t stir at his subtle movements or the sound of the concession trolley rattling your way down the aisle.

The girl manning said trolley is significantly outweighed by the thing itself. She hardly looks old enough to have graduated high school, he figures, and he can’t imagine how it is that she’s working at this hour — or how she got stuck doing this job, when it takes all she’s got to maneuver the giant metal contraption through all the train cars.

“Anything, sir?” She asks politely, albeit slightly out-of-breath. 

Even though she’s speaking to him, her gaze is directed squarely at his hat, leading him to believe that she may also be too shy for her job. Nonetheless, it’s been two entire hours since his dinner, and he’s on the brink of starving to death, so he coughs up a few bills in exchange for several different snacks. 

She could do him the kindness of assuming his massive pile of food is for sharing, but she doesn’t. She gestures to you and whispers, “Anything for your —?”

Seokmin intercepts the question, knowing exactly where it’s headed: in the same direction as the million others like it that he’s heard over the years. 

“— parole officer?” He supplies with a smile, “No, this nap is fueled by a lot of crab rangoon. She’ll be out for the duration, I fear.”

Both halves of his response seem to stun her, which means he has to cover his inevitable laugh with a fake cough. 

This bit of yours will truly never get old, although the implications that prompt it did a long time ago. It was a stroke of genius on your part, dodging inaccurate references to your relationship status by offering up something too absurd to converse around.

“You two make such a cute couple,” an Uber driver once told you.

“He’s not in a relationship,” you’d politely corrected him. “He’s in witness protection. I’m duty-bound to keep him and his identity safe.”

The silence turns awkward, so Seokmin thanks the girl and gives her a smile he hopes says, “you’re allowed to run away from me now; I won’t take it personally.” She bows her head a little too eagerly, then skitters off with a grimace, like she pulled something in her neck.

Alone again with you, he wiggles gently upright in his seat so that you can rest more comfortably against his pectoral, rather than his shoulder bone. Even though you’re still asleep, Seokmin swears he hears a quiet mmpfh, as if you’re expressing gratitude. He bites his lips to keep from smiling, knowing that smiling in your proximity is one step away from laughter: the only thing you’ve never been able to sleep through.

Instead of giving into the urge, he murmurs, “You should get paid royalties whenever we use that joke. Being as smart as you are should pay off.”

Now, he knows he’s not simply hearing things because you’re just barely loud enough to overcome your own mumbling. 

“Agreed,” you sigh on an exhale before slipping off to sleep again.

“Well?” 

There are two beats between his first question and his next: the unfilled gap you’ve left in the conversation and the cab’s trunk shutting firmly. “‘s that cool with you?”

Seokmin stares at you, staring at him. His expression is soft, like your lack of responsiveness is something to be fond of, rather than annoyed by. It’s unexpectant, too, leaving the door wide open.

You blink. “Sorry — I — What did you say?” 

Hitting him when he least expects it, you shift your suitcase from your dominant hand so you can gesture properly to the bright, poorly crocheted bucket hat flopping over his forehead. “It’s a bit hard to hear you. That hat is so loud.”

His quizzically raised eyebrows drop in an instant. Likewise, that airy smile of his flattens into a straight line. 

Bullseye.

“Is it me that you hate?” He asks, tone dead serious as he points his finger towards his own chest. “Or is it the very concept of whimsy?”

You’re too busy biting back a grin to protest when, without being asked, Seokmin reaches out and takes the handle of your suitcase into his own hand, as well as the garment bag you’d draped over your arm. Before turning away to abscond with both sets of luggage in addition to his own, he shoots you an incredulous look. It dissolves entirely before his face even disappears from view. 

“This is an objectively delightful hat,” he mutters, nonetheless, in furtherance of the bit.

He spots a member of hotel staff standing on the sidewalk directly outside the hotel’s double doors and pleads his case to them. “She made me this hat, you know,” he announces, gesturing back to you with a nod.

The valet’s uniform hat casts a shadow under the lamplight, but it doesn’t do enough to hide the expression on their face. It is abundantly clear — even in the dark — that they didn’t hear a single word Seokmin said before he offered up that bit of trivia, seemingly apropos of nothing. They muster up a customer-service smile that doesn’t reach their eyes and tell him it’s a wonderful hat. Meanwhile, you roll your eyes from behind because nothing either of them just said is true.

That hat is the byproduct of delusions of grandeur and innumerable skeins of color-conflicting yarn. You made it for yourself, believing that you were the kind of cute and kitschy person who could pull it off; and inconsolable weeping Christ, were you wrong. It was — no, is — your greatest fiber arts failure.

Frankenstein’s floral monster would be in a secondhand shop somewhere if you’d had any say in the matter. It isn’t because you didn’t. Seokmin “rescued” it from the “to donate” pile on your bedroom floor. Since then, he’s worn it at every — public — opportunity, season be damned.

Admittedly, he’s exactly the kind of cute and kitschy person who can pull it off, but you’ve decided out of sheer pettiness to keep that appraisal to yourself.

You take your time catching up to him, both because his long legs make it hard to keep pace; and because the room is reserved under his name. After all, he’s the welcomed guest, not the reluctant party-crasher. The receptionist is already handing him a white keycard when you finally reach the desk. Seokmin holds it up between his index and middle fingers, closed-eye grin sparkling in a matching shade of ivory.

Though the journey up to your shared room is long, the real trip is being confined to an elevator with mirrors for walls. 

No matter how hard you try to avert your eyes, you manage to keep finding some new, horrible angle of your stale, post-train state. It’s torture. Three versions of you stare back with deep, dark undereye circles; and all you can think about is how dull your complexion is — especially in comparison to Seokmin, who may as well be bioluminescent with the way he glows from the inside out.

It’s joy, you know, his primary state of being and something he radiates like no other. He’s happy to be here, happy that you’re here, and happy to be happy. Whether or not he means it to be, it’s infectious. Now, you feel yourself starting to smile, too.

Despite your quiet observation, you must have missed him looking at you. Seemingly out of nowhere, he carefully sets down your belongings, raises his now-empty hand, and cups the right side of your jaw. Unaware that you’ve frozen solid, he swipes his thumb carefully over your cheek, tilting his own head to the side and frowning.

“I got you bad, huh?”

You blink.

“The zipper on my coat,” he explains, laughing. “Looks like it took a bite out of you when you used me as a pillow on the train.”

For reasons you can’t possibly explain, the only word to roll off your tongue is a sheepish, “Sorry.”

For a second, Seokmin is just as confused as you are about whether you’re needlessly apologizing to him or his coat. He chuckles quietly at how easily distracted you both are, then he gets back to the point: “Does it hurt?”

“No.” 

Your response comes unnaturally quick. Your pulse does, too, when you finally make eye contact with him. After clearing your throat, you give him a half-hearted smile, ignoring whatever medical event you seem to be experiencing. “I didn’t know it was there until now.”

He hums in acknowledgment, then rescinds his hand. You watch in silence while he re-encumbers himself with your luggage and turns back to face the elevator doors, which open almost immediately.

Seokmin steps out easily, like the weight of your respective burdens doesn’t mean a thing. “I’d say this way, please, but I’ve already forgotten the room number,” he admits with a sheepish laugh. “The keycard’s in my pocket.”

You take his cue and reach into the front, right pocket of his coat for the keycard. As soon as you see the room number, you snort.

“You booked room number 218 because that’s your birthday, and then… what? You forgot your own birthday?” 

“I’m deeply flawed.” He sighs, put-upon. “Now, let’s go, Bambi. It feels like you packed a week’s worth of bricks.”

There’s no time to point out that you never asked him to carry your suitcase or bag for you in the first place. Likewise, there’s no opportunity to ask exactly how many bricks is a week’s worth. He’s on the move again before you can blink, energy evident in each step regardless of how late it is.

Once again, you follow Seokmin’s lead. Despite the signage, which is clearly visible on the wall, he walks confidently in the wrong direction, prompting you to grab him gently by the elbow and steer him the opposite way. His smile doesn’t falter; he plays it off as if he was just testing how closely you’re paying attention. 

It takes several turns down several additional hallways before the pair of you reach your target. When you come to room 218, you tap the keycard against the reader, causing the lock to click open. You turn the handle, push the door open into the room, and step awkwardly out of the way so your personal bellhop can get by.

“This is what I was trying to tell you when you so viciously insulted my favorite accessory.” Seokmin nods his head towards the center of the room. “All of the rooms Seonmi included in the reservation block have a king-sized bed — singular. The rooms outside the block are criminally overpriced for ski season.”

It’s far from the first time you’ve doubled up, so you shrug. “Just like old times, right? Like, when you thought your house was haunted, and you forced your way into the top bunk with me?”

“First of all,” he says as he sets both of your suitcases down and places one hand on his hip, the other pointing at you. “We were six.”

After locking the door behind you, you toe off your shoes, smirking at him from over your shoulder. “What’s your second point?”

“It was haunted —” He insists. Then his stern expression melts into something smug, the way it always does when he’s about to blatantly rewrite history. “— and you asked me to come up there because you were scared.”

A laugh slips out of you automatically, but you selflessly decide to let him have this. Crossing to him, you pat him on the bicep, patronizingly simpering all the while, “You are the brave one.”

Even though you’re both cowards, and he knows it, he pockets this little victory with a pleased hum and a grin.

Turning away from him, you make a beeline for the closet area near the door. There, you shuck off your coat and hang it up, out of the way. While you do, Seokmin passes you both your garment bag and his. From there, the pair of you work in efficient silence: you, pulling your respective formal wear from their bags and smoothing out any wrinkles; him, tucking away your extensive collection of toiletries in the bathroom.

When everything is in its place, you turn back around and notice for the first time how beautiful the room actually is. Though the shades of the floor-to-ceiling windows are almost completely drawn, the snow-covered mountains are at least partially visible through the gap in fabric. If you had the time, you’d spend all day tomorrow sitting on the forest green, velvet chaise directly in front of the window, staring at frosty peaks so massive, they feel close enough to touch.

To your right, an electric fireplace heats the room, while a portrait-framed television hovers on the wall above the mantle, flipping through famous artworks as a screensaver. In between flashes of Van Gogh’s Almond Blossoms and Klimt’s The Kiss, you catch a glimpse of Seokmin’s smile reflecting on the black screen.

Awestruck, you turn to him and sigh, “Don’t let me get used to this.”

He jerks his thumb to his right, gesturing towards the bathroom. “Don’t judge me if I steal one of the bathrobes. They’re probably more expensive than half the shit in my apartment.”

“I won’t, but they’ll bill you for it when they figure it out,” you warn him. “On that note, do you need to shower or anything before I start my skincare side quest?”

Seokmin shakes his head, causing the crocheted abomination to flop. “All yours. My hair’ll get weird if I don’t deal with it tomorrow before we head out.”

And with that mental image of his insurmountable cowlick, you quickly grab your pajamas and shuffle off towards the bathroom.

The first few seconds after you close the door are spent gawking at the insanely intricate, geometric tile pattern in the walk-in shower. Thinking of how much time it must’ve taken to lay each one of them, you set to work on your own tedious task: your ten-step regimen of cleansers, toners, serums, and moisturizers. Seokmin says otherwise, but you don’t think any of them truly make a difference. As stupid as you know it is, the routine itself is therapeutic, even if your skin is no more bouncy and glowy than it was before.

When it’s all said and done, you emerge from the bathroom to find your best friend stretched out on the half of the bed nearest the door with his eyes fixed on his phone screen. It’s the side of the room he always chooses, claiming that it’s to protect you from any intruders, but you know the truth: he’s too much of a freeze baby to sleep near the window, and he knows you like it cold.

“Feeling refreshed?” He mumbles to the best of his ability; his sweatshirt hood is pulled up and drawn so tightly that it squishes his cheeks and chin, restricting his movement.

Chuckling quietly as you go, you pad over to your half of the bed and slip under the comforter. Like a moth to a flame, the other occupant sends his last text, tosses his phone to the side, and scoots closer to you, eager to siphon whatever extra body heat he can. His head winds up on your shoulder, while your cheek rests against the top of his head.

“Before you tell me that I look it, I’d encourage you to stare long into the abyss that is my under-eye circles.”

When he laughs, it’s merely a puff of air from his nose. “You never look as tired as you feel,” he says distractedly, fiddling with the drawstrings of his hoodie. “Pretty miraculous, given how little sleep you get.”

That comment warms you up so thoroughly, you wonder if he can feel it. Then, you wonder if that was the point. You intend to tease him for that, but then it dawns on you how fidgety he’s being. It’s rare for him.

“You okay, Thumper?”

It feels silly, using that nickname after so long. Your clumsiness stuck around for the ride, continuing Bambi into perpetuity; but he grew out of his companion name when he hit puberty, and his giant feet were suddenly proportional to the rest of him. 

He’s certainly no bunny, nor is he a child, but the low ebb of anxiety rolling off of him reminds you of the scared little neighbor boy you used to know. It fits, even if it is silly.

At first, Seokmin begins his explanation without peeling his gaze off his restless fingers. “Apparently, Seungcheol and Mingyu are in town.”  Then, his eyes slowly lift up to find you peering down at him. “They want to meet up to go snowboarding before we leave.”

Ah.

There it is: the top-secret look in his eye that only you can decipher. The one he’s been practicing for years, at your insistence, for moments like this, when he needs to be talked into something. When he needs to be brave and avoid missing out on something he’d love, solely because it freaks him out.

You respond the same way you always have; the way you once pinky-promised you always would: “I triple-dog dare you.”

He sighs deeply, neither fully resigned nor relieved, but then he nods. His head knocks slightly against your shoulder as he does. “I’ll do it.”

And that’s that; it’s settled.

Or so you think.

A beat passes in silence, until Seokmin suddenly pipes up again, “But you’re going to have to hold my hand on the chair lift, or I’ll pass out and fall to my death.”

“Deal.” 

You grab his hand now in consideration of your promise and scratch affectionately at his palm. Surprisingly, his thoughts haven’t made him clammy. His skin is even softer than usual, likely due to the expensive hotel lotion he’s undoubtedly now harboring in his suitcase. Tongue firmly in cheek, you look at him sideways. 

“Just — leave the hat in your suitcase, okay? The snow will be blinding enough.”

Seokmin’s been dressed and ready for at least thirty minutes, but you’re still standing exactly where you have been for the last forty-five. Face pinched, you turn this way and that in front of the mirror, smoothing fabric that’s already wrinkle-free, apparently for the hell of it.

“I’m oh-for-three.” Your exasperated sigh is punctuated by your bare, right foot stomping on the carpet. It doesn’t make the impact you likely hope it will, at least sonically. It does, however, speak volumes about how close to the ledge you are.

“All of them looked good,” he says earnestly. “I think this one is my favorite, though, if that means anything.”

Apparently, this is the wrong answer. Your wild-eyed gaze lifts from your own reflection until you’re staring him dead in the eye through the mirror.

“Why did I even pack this?” You ask, “Do you see this?”

Suddenly, you lift a manicured hand to point at your neckline, from which he’d admittedly been averting his eyes. “This is too much cleavage for a family function, isn’t it?”

As quickly as you glanced at him in the first place, you go right back to fussing with your dress, thankfully missing the way he swallows thickly.

Fuck, now he’s staring — but you’re the one that made him look in the first place — and he can feel heat rising to his ears, a dead giveaway. His sudden silence does enough to communicate his struggle. He has no idea how to respond without vaulting over the boundaries of your friendship.

Is it hot in here?

Deciding to rely on his usual tactic, he jokes his way out.

“If you think I’ll ever side against tiddie…” He forces a grimace, shaking his head gravely. “Then you really don’t know me at all.”

You laugh loudly, and whatever one-sided tension filled the room snaps like a twig. Better still, the smile you give him stays on your face while you reassess your dress. Seokmin takes it as a personal victory that you commit to his choice, rather than cycle back through your options for the second time. 

While this means that you’ll both be able to hit the open bar sooner rather than later, the biggest upside is that he no longer has to keep excusing himself to the bathroom so you can change again, and again, and again.

You finish up quickly, tossing on jewelry, and then turn to him. His shoulder keeps you steady while you slip into your devilishly high heels. Seokmin pays them little mind now, however; his attention is drawn to the accessories you’ve chosen. Sure, they match perfectly with the rest of your outfit, but that’s not what strikes him. It’s the fact that everything you’ve picked was gifted to you by his parents at one point or another.

Unable to stop himself, he reaches out and gently taps on one of your dangling earrings. “Eighteenth birthday,” he muses to himself. 

Then, both his gaze and his hand lower to your necklace. He skims his fingertip along the delicate, gold chain, inadvertently making you freeze up. “Christmas 2019?”

You shake your head slightly, though it barely counts as movement.

“Ah,” Seokmin corrects himself. “2020.”

Sensing that he’s somehow made you uncomfortable, he reels himself back in and clears his throat. “Shall we?” He asks, furnishing you with a bent arm to loop yours through.

You take his cue, link your arm to his, and sigh, “I suppose we shall.”

The walk to the elevator is quiet, in that neither one of you says a thing. Seokmin can hear the gears in your head turning, though, without any conversation to drown them out. 

You step inside that glorified, mirrored box; and for a few minutes, he lets you work through the thing he knows ruined your sleep last night. That is, until he hears your breathing come a little quicker than usual.

“Hey.” 

It was supposed to be a jumping off point. He was going to go from there and reiterate that you belong here with him. The plan was to reassure you for as long as it takes to get you to believe it, but you look up at him almost helplessly, and his Etch-a-Sketch brain is wiped clean in an instant.

The very best he can do is smile and offer a single word: “Hi.”

“Hi,” you whisper back, eyes twinkling. 

Your plagued frown curves slightly back in the right direction. The creeping shroud of doom lightens, if only a little bit.

“That’ll do, pig.” You swat his arm, but he says it again, emphatically, “That’ll do.”

Halfway through you scolding him for quoting Babe at a time like this, the elevator door reopens, ready to regurgitate the pair of you out onto the ballroom level. 

Unlike the lobby, which sits only one floor below, this floor looks like it was ripped straight from the pages of a fantasy novel. Everywhere he turns, there’s something new — and vaguely elven — to look at. Fairy lights hang in perfectly spaced arches from the lofted ceiling, delicately illuminating the exposed, wooden beams above. The chandeliers — plural — are crafted out of antlers of some kind, cutting between rugged and highly refined.

As stunning as it all is, Seokmin’s mind snags on a single conclusion. You’re the one who voices it, though, much to his surprise.

“This is the most Seonmi thing I’ve ever seen in my life,” you whisper to him, all without taking your eyes off the extravagance in front of you. “Is this a dress rehearsal for her wedding next year?”

He bites down on his lips hard to keep his laughter to himself. Of course, you’re dead on. Nothing about this space feels like his parents, who are supposed to be the sole focus of this entire event. He already found it odd that they agreed to such a big to-do in the first place — especially when it would require their loved ones to go out of their way, literally and financially — but this is….

“Am I being petty, or is this kind of… selfish?”

Petty, no. 

Psychic? Probably.

“You’re right, and you should say it.” Seokmin nods and withdraws his arm from yours so that he can drape it properly around your shoulder. “This way to the beer, please. We’ll need it.”

Merely four steps in the direction to the bar, and a screech rings out from somewhere neither of you can locate. In fact, Seokmin’s head is turned the opposite way when someone launches themself at you, damn near ripping you from his hold.

“Oh, my god! I knew you’d come!”

Soyeon’s relief in seeing you is palpable. Seokmin can practically feel his bones being crushed as she hugs you tight, swaying from side to side. He catches a glimpse of your expression, which barely peeks through the curtain of his oldest sister’s hair; you’re far happier now than you were in the elevator.

His sister kisses the side of your head. “I missed you so fucking much. I love my residency program, but I hate how far away it keeps me.”

A solid minute passes by like this. When it starts to get unbearable, Seokmin clears his throat, hoping to remind his sister that she hasn’t seen him in months, either; and he’s also standing right here.

Instead of greeting him, Soyeon shoots you a wry smile. “Who is he today? A fugitive you’re harboring?”

In tandem, the two of you appraise him with thoughtfully narrowed eyes. See, this he didn’t miss: being both of his sisters’ least favorite younger sibling.

“Oh, no, though I can see why you think that.” You shake your head, then reach out to pat his shoulder patronizingly. “If anyone asks, this is a foreign diplomat, and I’m the interpreter he can’t understand a word without. Best not say hi to him; he won’t know what you’re saying.”

Soyeon nods, though Seokmin wonders if she truly  gets what you’re trying to achieve. Not quite, he realizes a moment later. Instead, she covers his chin with her hand so she can squeeze both his cheeks at once.

“He’s adorable,” she coos. “Doesn’t look old enough or mature enough for diplomacy, though.”

Seokmin rolls his eyes. “Well, we can’t all be doctors, can we?”

Again, in tandem, all eyes on him widen with feigned shock. Between overlapping gasps of “he does understand!” and “someone’s been studying!”, he shakes off his sister’s touch and scowls.

“If you’re going to keep bullying me, can you at least do it at the bar? That way, I can numb my suffering with booze.”

At this, Soyeon drops the charade and pulls him into a hug like a vice grip. She holds him so tightly that his vision starts to get spotty. It’s not until he gently pats her back, begging for air, that she lets him go.

“I missed you too, Thumper,” she swears, prompting you to snicker.

Now, he’s annoyed for a completely different reason — one that makes even less sense to him. That nickname hasn’t bothered him in the last decade, so it shouldn’t now. Then again, the only person who’s called him Thumper since middle school is you.

The rules are different for you, if they exist at all.

“And I promise to catch up with you later, but I’ve got five thousand questions for Bambi, and the answers aren’t half as juicy with you around.”

Just like that, his plus-one is subtracted.

As much as you love Soyeon, she’s no Seokmin. With him, talking is easy; he never rushes to fill silences, doesn’t steer the conversation with a white-knuckled grip. 

On the contrary, his oldest sister comes forward with a pickaxe, smashing through small talk while she mines for the wild stories she thinks she’s missed out on since moving away.

You don’t blame her, really. If you spent all your hours in a hospital, only sleeping in the lulls between other people’s trauma, you’d probably become just as intense — the human equivalent of a cracked-open fire hydrant — in the search for closeness, too.

In the thirty minutes you sit with her, you brief her on all the cliffhangers you’d left her with the last time you saw her.

Yes, you’re still stuck with your lease in the same apartment; and the old lady next door still regularly sets off the building’s fire alarm by accident.

No, you decided not to stay with Kai and haven’t spoken since the breakup; he needed more of your time and energy than you wanted to sacrifice for him.

No, Seokmin still hasn’t gone out with anyone that you know of in months. In fact, it’s been so long since either of you have touched on this topic, especially compared to how little time he and the last girl were together, that you can’t even remember her name. 

Beyond that first, limited fact, you keep your mouth shut about the rest. It’s not your business to share; and it wouldn’t kill her to ask Seokmin about himself for once.

The longer you spend with her, the more frustrated you find yourself getting, although you keep this fact to yourself, too. Soyeon and Seonmi have both spent their lives fussing about Seokmin, talking about him like he’s some helpless baby, without doing much to get to know him.

That’s it.

If you were at all confident that Soyeon would take the initiative, you’d let her find all of this out on her own. She won’t, you know, but maybe it’ll sink in if she hears it from you.

“Seokmin’s doing really well, now that you mention it,” you offer, though she barely mentioned him in the first place. “He got promoted last month; he’s now lead architect on that massive commercial lot downtown. Apparently, it’s still a secret, whatever it is they’re putting there. Must be something special.”

Seokmin is something special, you all but yell inside your head.

Soyeon’s eyes brighten. 

Nobody loves secrets quite like she does. You wait for the barrage, anticipating all the questions to which you’ll have to respond with “seriously, I don’t know,” but they don’t come.

Instead, she puts her drink back on its coaster, reaches out, and squeezes your wrist with her slightly chilled hand. “I’m grateful that he’s always had you, Bambi. If he didn’t, I don’t know if he’d lean in to opportunities like that.”

The look on her face tells you she means it. Maybe that’s what makes your stomach sour: that she can sit there, hearing of Seokmin’s accomplishments, and still find a way not to credit him for them.

Anger ignites inside of you. The flames lick up your esophagus, ready to explode, and you suck in a breath with every intention of letting her burn.

But then an arm slinks around your waist. Seokmin’s head bumps slightly against yours until you’re cheek to cheek.

“I hope I’m interrupting something.”

For a second, you think his slight tipsiness caused him to misspeak. Tilting your head to the side the best you can, you look at him out of the corner of your eye and catch his very subtle wink.

Soyeon opens her mouth, but Seokmin makes his wish a reality.

“Sorry, sis,” Seokmin says, entirely unapologetically. “I just found out that the band takes requests; and I’ll be goddamned if Bambi and I don’t show you clowns the meaning of dance.”

It takes no encouragement whatsoever for you to slip off your stool, get to your feet, and inch your way closer to his side. Then, like a starting gun was fired, the two of you bolt clumsily away from the bar, with you shouting “sorry!” over your shoulder as you go.

Your heels skid against the dance floor when you finally reach it, but Seokmin steadies you before you can eat shit in front of god and everyone.

“You’re way too expressive, you know that?” The fact that he’s out-of-breath doesn’t keep him from laughing. “I could’ve seen that grumpy turtle face of yours from space.”

Unintentionally, you prove his point, drawing your eyebrows together and frowning. “I do not —”

“— Also, I lied,” he interrupts yet again.

This, coupled with the everything else going on, leaves you too stunned to speak.

“This band is all trot, all the time. They don’t take requests — trust me, I tried — but if you stay here with me long enough, we can kill two birds with one stone.”

Seokmin doesn’t wait for you to answer because he knows it’s a yes. He doesn’t wait for you to assume your position, either, and instead holds your left hand in his right before placing your right on his left shoulder. This close, you feel the urge to tell him how handsome he looks with his hair parted off his forehead. You don’t, however.

The music swells behind you. Seokmin leads, and you follow, swaying slowly and moving across the floor.

“Two birds?” You remember to ask, one eyebrow arched.

His right arm lifts. “Spin,” he whispers. You step under his arm, then twirl. While you’re facing the opposite direction, he continues, “There. Do you see it?”

“Oh, my god.”

You do.

The bar stool you were just occupying is now filled by Seokmin’s great-uncle, Hajoon, while his new and much younger girlfriend, Yunhee, hovers near his shoulder. Even from this distance, you can see the look of abject distress on Soyeon’s face, totally unhidden by her attempt to seem engaged.

You return to your position in front of Seokmin, your hand accidentally landing on his bicep, rather than his shoulder. Flustered by the deceptive bulk there, you immediately scoot your palm back to where it belongs.

He leans in so that only you can hear him. It doesn’t feel necessary at all, given how loud the band’s horn section is, but you don’t recoil this time. 

“They had me trapped over by the appetizers,” he explains, low voice making you shiver involuntarily. “Every time he started a story with when I was your age, I wanted to point out that Yunhee hadn’t been born yet.”

You can’t help the laugh that erupts out of you and therefore can’t pull your head away from Seokmin’s ear in time to save him. Instead of wincing or complaining, he looks at you and breaks into laughter of his own as soon as your eyes meet. The effect doubles, and before you know it, both of you are teary-eyed.

“How the hell did you get away from him?”

It’s a feat you've never once managed. Uncle Hajoon’s inability to read a room is equal parts due to his horrible hearing and his tendency to never stop talking. Even if he did leave space in the conversation for you to excuse yourself, you’d never successfully get the message across.

Seokmin lifts his arm again but not for you. He takes his leave to spin himself, simpering as he goes, “That’s where Yunhee came in handy, actually. I didn’t know she had it in her, but she’s not as much of a dud as we initially thought.”

“Oh?”

“She told him that I should be able to dance with my girlfriend, and he shouldn’t keep me any longer.” He shrugs. “It didn’t seem like the time to correct her.”

All the heat in your body goes straight to your cheeks. Nonetheless, you attribute it to the dancing and choke out, “No royalties for me, then.”

“Not this time.” Seokmin shakes his head. “I said that Soyeon was trying to catch up with everyone and would love to hear his stories.”

You bite back a grin. “You’re a bastard, you know that?”

“Maybe.” He smiles with every single one of his teeth. “But you’re free.”

“Surprisingly so. I haven’t felt the Eye of Sauron on me at all yet.” Just in case your statement serves as a jinx, you glance around the room for Seonmi. The tension you’ve been keeping in each one of your muscles slackens when, once again, your radar is blip-free.

“Dinner was supposed to start ten minutes ago. If I had to guess, she’s either leaving a scathing Yelp review or personally waterboarding the chef as we speak.”

“Both at the same time,” you counter, earning a wry smile. “She inherited your mom’s self-assuredness. If she believes she can, she will.”

After the pair of you dance through two more songs, the band breaks, and the hotel’s battalion of waiters come in, bearing domed, silver trays. Seokmin takes off in a hurry for your assigned table in the far corner of the ballroom, so famished that he barely remembers to tug you along behind him.

Through the meal and all its complimentary wine pairings, you do your best to focus on the conversation. Seokmin introduced you to the few people sitting with you that you haven’t had the occasion to meet yet. While he does what comes naturally to him, charming them with ease, you struggle for the first time to pay attention to him.

A few tables over, Seonmi sits down with her fiancé, joining the company of her parents; Soyeon and her date are there, too, leaving Seokmin out by design. Like an insane person, you can only watch her, rather than Seokmin’s blatant theft of bites from your plate. She laughs at whatever jokes her mother cracks, but you’d recognize that look of veiled angst anywhere. She isn’t happy, you realize. You can’t avoid the feeling that you’re the reason why she isn’t.

Time passes, somehow too quickly and too slowly. The plates are emptied, then cleared away by the wait staff — except for your half-empty glass, which is your third. Much like the other guests at your table, the joyful buzz you’d been feeling so far leaves, too.

All that’s left is you, Seokmin, and that ominous, storm cloud you can’t seem to shake.

“You’ll probably feel better if you talk to her.”

He’s always more observant than you give him credit for. You snap out of your zoned-out stare across the room in order to look at him. You frown. “I doubt it. She already looks pissed. Me parading my presence here despite her isn’t going to help anything.”

“Bambi,” Seokmin sighs, not impatient but gentle. “She’s not exactly warm, but she has always liked you. There’s literally no reason why she wouldn’t be happy to see you —”

You open your mouth to argue.

“— that happened over twenty years ago, and you really need to stop feeling guilty about it —”

You close your mouth, cross your arms self-consciously, and sink in your seat. Despite yourself, you glance over at him and catch the way he’s looking at you. He doesn’t need to say the words out loud for you to hear them.

It’s either the unspoken dare, his reassuring, soft-eyed smile, or all the blasted merlot that does you in. You’re not sure which of the three was the coup de grâce, and as you slink off towards her table, you realize it doesn’t matter. For one reason or another, you’ve decided that fear isn’t going to get the better of you this time.

Seonmi somehow senses you coming. Even without the band underscoring your movement, your timid steps across the mahogany parquet should’ve been impossible for anyone to pick up on. 

Must be an older sister thing, you think, being doomed to keep a perpetual eye on others. 

She doesn’t say anything when you slip into the chair next to her, which doesn’t bode well but isn’t a deal breaker, in and of itself. The important thing is that she doesn’t get up to leave. You tell yourself that this is a good sign. The knot in your stomach begs to differ, however.

Say something.

Say anything.

“Everything’s… lovely, Seonmi, seriously.” You gesture around you, smiling, but she only gives you a cursory look. “You’ve really outdone yourself with this one.”

Seonmi takes a sip of her cocktail — something bitter, the petty voice in your head assumes — and lets the corner of her mouth rise slightly. If it’s the closest thing you’ll get to a smile, you’ll take it. She hasn’t granted you a proper one in the decades since you got gum in her favorite Barbie’s hair.

“Thanks, kid,” she sighs, setting the drink back down on her personalized, cardboard coaster.

You can’t remember the last time she called you “Bambi”, let alone your real name. Just like Seokmin, you’ve always been a child to her. Apparently, you always will be, no matter what you do.

Her grip around the glass remains rigid, not unlike her overall posture. Condensation weeps under and around her manicured fingers, uninhibited. You watch those droplets soak through the coaster’s design, darkening her parents’ initials and wedding date, while you mull over whose turn it is to talk.

Ultimately, as is usually the case, Seonmi makes this decision for you. Without so much as a glance at you out of the corner of her eye, she muses, “It was a lot of work, getting all the details ironed out.”

You pick up on the subtext immediately. One of those details would’ve been the guest list; another, the invitations. Seokmin assumed it was all an accident and said as much to you no fewer than a hundred times, but this little comment from his sister blows his assurances to smithereens. 

Your exclusion wasn’t an accident at all.

Suddenly, somehow, the room is twenty degrees colder. You shoot a panicked glance over to where Seokmin was just sitting, wanting nothing more than to slink back to his warmth with your tail between your legs; but he’s not where you left him. In fact, he’s nowhere to be found.

Fuck.

“Ah,” is the best you can do.

And then the two of you sit awkwardly in silence while the seconds age in dog years.

You should’ve brought a drink over with you so you’d have something to do with your hands. Or your phone — except you left it on its charger, you idiot — or a time machine, so you can revoke your bullshit decision to walk over here in the first —

“He deserves that, don’t you think?”

The combined suddenness of her voice and the switch in topics makes you jolt ever so slightly. You try to pass it off, to pretend that you’re simply adjusting the skirt of your dress, but your efforts go unnoticed. Seonmi is too busy pointing casually ahead, drawing your focus to the center of the dance floor.

Like absolutely no one else is watching, Mr. Lee twirls around his laughing wife, his heart-shaped smile beaming so brightly that it almost hurts your eyes. The love of his life has to hold one of her hands over her mouth to keep her laughter from bursting out; the other hand is raised with the rest of that arm, allowing her husband to spin himself underneath. When he’s halfway through, she surprises him, drops her arm down, and embraces him fully, giggling all the while.

It almost makes you tear up — Mr. Lee’s unabashed, silly love, and how much it reminds you of his spitting-image of a son; the way Seokmin’s mother’s eyes sparkle in the same blissful, radiant way his do. Maybe the same can’t be said for his older sisters, but it’s abundantly clear where Seokmin came from. It’s even clearer where he should end up.

“Yes,” you breathe, and it almost sounds like a laugh because of course, he does. Before you can stop yourself, you ask, “Is that really a question?”

No, you realize too late, it’s bait.

Without batting an eye, she counters, “Is it really so hard for you to let him have that?”

Seonmi turns her head to look you dead in the eye. Confusingly, despite her words, there’s nothing in her tone or gaze that reads like malice. If anything, the slight furrow of her brow shouts concern.

Your mind is spinning too fast to keep up with. Whatever her next move is, you’re too dizzy now to see it coming and too disoriented to follow it. With the knot in your stomach tightening further, you stammer, “Is — what?”

“God,” Seonmi drops her face into her hands. “You don’t get it, do you?”

A fish on dry land, all you seem to know how to do is open and close your mouth. You may not be literally flailing, but with the state your mind is in, you may as well start.

“Seokmin loves love.” 

She says each of these words slowly, like she’s trying to hammer each nail through a thick skull. 

“It’s the one thing he’s wanted most since he was a kid, yet I can count on one hand the number of short-term relationships he’s been in. He doesn’t ever bring anyone home to meet us; he doesn’t bring anyone to weddings, or parties, or holidays; he just brings you.”

Of course, you’ve been right there through all of his situationships. He’s always scant on details when they end — and you’ve never pressed for any — but you know better than anyone that nothing has stuck long-term. 

You’ve never thought about how odd this really is, but with Seonmi spelling it out for you now, you can’t come up with a single, good reason why someone as objectively incredible as Seokmin can’t make these things work — or why, even as you rack your brain, the only constant you can find in his life is you.

She glares now, as if she’s daring you to speak; as if you’ve got anything she’d deem worth adding. The bulldozer revs up again, whether you’re ready or not: “You’ve always been the only person he saves space for, whether or not there’s a place for you, and he has no room left in his life for someone to love him like that —” 

Seonmi points again to her parents, who are circling slowly on the dance floor, talking softly to one another. 

“So, what is it? Do you truly not see what he’s missing, or are you choosing not to because you like his attention?”

Your eyes burn with tears, but you can’t let them fall, and you can’t wrap your head around why that is. 

Who are you hiding them from: Seonmi or yourself?

The longer she stares at you, the muddier it gets. You don’t want her to be right. You don’t want to be the kind of person she’s describing; but there’s something awful whispering in the back of your mind, saying that you might be. 

You’ve left every relationship you’ve been in, telling everyone who asks in the aftermath that you like being on your own better. But that’s bullshit. It’s not your own company that you keep when you’re single; it Seokmin’s. 

He makes sure that you never spend a day feeling alone, that he’s always available over the phone in the rare times he’s not physically with you. As his best friend, he treats you better than every single one of your exes ever has. Like you’re worth more than anyone else will credit you.

What kind of friend are you if you feel relieved whenever his relationships expire?

Seonmi’s hand drops, landing half-heartedly clenched on the tabletop. Just the same, her voice drops until it’s almost a whisper. 

“I am begging you,” she pleads, eyes narrowing desperately as they search yours. “If you don’t want him, someone else will. Please just —  get the hell out of their way.”

By the time you reach the elevator, all you’re left with is a blur. You’ve already forgotten how the conversation ended, or which one of you was the first to get up. If she said anything else to you, it was drowned out by your own hammering pulse and a looping chorus of voices validating your biggest fear, stating in no uncertain terms that you don’t belong.

You’re shaking when you reach your floor. Heels clicking under unsteady footsteps, you make for room 218; and as you go, you shove your hand into the well-concealed pocket of your dress for the keycard Seokmin forgot to grab himself on the way out earlier.

He’s certainly not in the room when you finally step inside, although you have no clue where he’s gone. It’s for the best. The door closes behind you, and with no one to see it happen, you burst into tears.

All rational thought flies out the window, shaken off by the tornado of utter confusion tearing through your brain. You grab your suitcase, needing nothing more than to be anywhere else, and begin haphazardly throwing your things back inside of it.

Why did you still come with him, knowing it wouldn’t end well? It wouldn’t be the first time you’ve told him no; he would’ve listened if you truly meant it.

If you didn’t mean it when you initially tried to squirrel your way out of this, why not? Was it just your friend asking sincerely that won you over without a fight; or was it because you knew, deep down, it’d hurt to see him bring someone else?

Why would it hurt?

The answer to that will crack the foundation of everything the two of you have built, but only if you admit it to yourself. It can’t threaten you if you don’t say it out loud, don’t make it real.

So, you won’t. 

You’ll bury it deeply enough to forget about, repour the concrete, and tiptoe through the rest of your life with your best friend still at your side.

That is, if your friendship survives the weekend — rather, your sudden departure from it — at all.

“Halmoni, it’s time to go back to your hotel, okay?” 

He coos this, as if he’s pleading with a toddler at bedtime, because that’s exactly what it feels like to wrangle the drunk, 80-year-old clinging to his arm.

Physically, she needs to hold onto Seokmin to keep herself steady. Mentally, she’s ready to run and has made several attempts to do just that when she thinks his guard is down. It’s no wonder the hotel staff cornered him and begged him for help; she’s too wily for those who don’t know her.

The manager had at least done him the courtesy of hailing a cab. It sits out front, warm and waiting, while he shepherds his grandmother through the lobby.

“— and another thing!” She slurs.

There is never not another thing. She shouldn’t bother concluding her sentences in the first place; she’s never done talking.

“I told your sister — I said, Sunny —”

Seonmi, he dares to presume, although he doesn’t dare to correct her.

“— you can’t have stuff like this —” She gestures animatedly, albeit vaguely around her. “— in places like this and expect retirees to pay for it! I said — oh, what did I say? — Ah, I said, ‘find me the cheapest motel in the area, or I’ll be staying in your room with you’ —”

Her kitten heels hit the brick outside with an angry thwump.

Seokmin can’t help himself. “She didn’t go for that?”

“No!” His grandmother squawks. 

The driver sees the ball of a woman wobbling his way and quickly exits the cab, skirts around it, and flings the back door open for her. 

“I can’t imagine why, halmoni,” he lies through his teeth, which shine down on her in his best, least sincere smile. “You’re a blast in a glass.”

She roars with laughter, even while two grown adults work together to pour her into the backseat without bumping her head on the doorframe. “Glast in a blass!”

“Exactly. Can you —?”

He gives up before he finishes voicing his request; it’s no use. Instead, he bends down to hug her and finagles the buckle of her seatbelt while she’s too distracted to fight him off. That click is the most beautiful sound he’s ever heard, after the clunk of the door shutting her in.

By the time Seokmin turns to the cab driver, his grandmother is fully slumped in her seat, pilled peacoat rising and falling with every wine-laced breath.

“I am so sorry.” He sighs, which devolves into a sheepish laugh, and fishes all of the cash out of his pocket. No tip could possibly cover the emotional toll of this ordeal, so he does his best and gives the driver everything he has.

The driver’s eyes widen. Seokmin gets the impression that he doesn’t quite understand the task he’s undertaking. 

Poor bastard.

Seokmin continues, “My grandfather is at the inn already; he didn’t feel well enough to come here, but he’ll be ready to get her inside once you drop her off.”

“Sounds easy enough.” The driver smiles and holds out his hand to shake. 

Seokmin reciprocates, and he declines to explain just how wrong that assessment is. He thanks the man and chirps a quick goodbye to his grandmother before rushing back inside.

Walking into the ballroom, he hopes to find you and Seonmi laughing about whatever misunderstanding had gotten in your way before. At the very least, he expects you to still be sitting next to each other at the same table. That would be good enough, he thinks; he could assist in repairing the situation from there.

The problem, it seems, is beyond his help. Neither one of you occupies the same table. If his quick scan tells him anything, you’re not even in the same room.

No matter which way he turns, he can’t spot you. His sister, on the other hand, is near the far corner, having what looks like a nightmarish conversation with their parents. There are approximately five billion things Seokmin would rather do than get in the middle of that, but you don’t have your phone on you, and he has no other way to find out where you went.

Above the heads of the two women, Seokmin’s father catches sight of his approach. They lock eyes; there’s something insane in his father’s gaze. The older man shakes his head, mouthing “no.”

Seokmin stops short, raises his hands with the palms up to get across his confusion, and mouths back, “Bambi?”

In response, his father extends a single finger and points upwards. He then makes a shooing motion with his hand. His wife and daughter are so engrossed in their argument that neither of them catches the pantomime or Seokmin’s quick exit, back the way he came.

On the elevator ride upstairs, Seokmin worries. The most likely explanation is that you went to find your phone so that you could find him – but you haven’t texted or called him in the time he’s been looking for you, so he supposes it isn’t likely after all. 

Maybe, he thinks, the wine caught up to you. You’re not as strong a drinker as you think you are. While he walks down the hallway to room 218, he steels himself. Even though you both hate it, he’s ready to hold your hair if he walks in and finds you with your head in the toilet. That dress looks too good on you not to be expensive; he’d rather talk you out of your embarrassment tomorrow than have you shell out for dry-cleaning.

You didn’t deadbolt the door behind you, which strikes him as odd. In fact, you didn’t even close it properly; it isn’t latched. All he has to do is tap on it for the door to open.

“Bambi?” He calls out before stepping inside entirely, thinking it’s only decent to confirm in advance that he’s not an intruder. “Sorry for disappearing. I had to pour my grandmother into a cab – it was exactly as awful as it sounds.”

The faint rustling sound he hears isn’t coming from the bathroom, which is both dark and unoccupied. Part of him wants to take this as a good sign, but the rest of him wonders if he’s walking in on a burglary. That flicker of fear is followed by a stupid sense of validation: 

You always laugh at him when he cites this as his reason for choosing the bed closest to the door; you claim it’s statistically unlikely. Finally being able to say “I told you so” after a robbery wouldn’t make either of your belongings magically reappear, of course. That said, it might make him feel a little better.

But the figure rooting through your suitcase isn’t a bandit at all. It’s you with your coat on.

“Um,” he starts, unintentionally startling you. “What is….” 

His question peters out when you look up at him. There are broken mascara tracks down your cheeks, as if you tried to wipe them off without actually looking at them. Above them, your wide eyes are wet, like you’re seconds away from crying all over again. Even worse, you’re trembling.

Seokmin’s only instinct is to reach for you. Before he can wrap his arms around you, you jerk away from him. “Please don’t.”

So, he stops, though he doesn’t understand why. This is quite literally the only time in your life that you’ve pushed him away.

“What’s going on?” Ideally, he’d project calm at a time like this. He just sounds desperate. “What happened with Seonmi?”

“She — um, she didn’t — It wasn’t that bad; I’m just… You know how sensitive I get when I drink wine.”

Like a switch flips, a half-hearted smile takes over the bottom half of your face. It’s not real; if it was, your eyes would light up and crinkle at the corners. Whatever that look is, it’s bullshit.

Seokmin gestures to your suitcase, where everything you brought with you has been unceremoniously shoved. “Sensitive enough to, what, run away? No. I’m not buying it. She said something — or did something — to make you this upset. Bambi, what happened?”

His urgency is selfish, he knows it. Seonmi’s always been way too intuitive for her own good. There’s no way she hasn’t noticed the way he looks at you when you aren’t looking; how god-awful he is at acting platonic.

He tries — has been trying, for a long time now — to shake these feelings off because he knows you’re not emotionally available. Because he knows who he’s supposed to be for you, and how devastating it would be if he threw your friendship away.

That devastation is right in front of him now; and it’ll  push you out of his life forever if he doesn’t shut it down. He has to get in front of it.

You strike first, though. “Seokmin, why didn’t you bring anyone else?”

There are two ways for him to interpret that question: with the emphasis on anyone, meaning not you; or as an escape route. For your sake, he chooses the latter.

“She gave me a plus-one, not a plus-two,” he says softly.

Despite his tone, it must hit you like a punch. You nod curtly, once. “Got it. Basic math. Thanks, Seokmin; that was never my strongest subject.”

Foot, meet mouth.

You immediately set back to work, reaching for the lid of your suitcase to close and zip. Before he thinks once, let alone twice, his hand darts out and flattens against the mesh inner pocket on the top, preventing you from doing so.

“No.” He shakes his head firmly. “Not happening.”

You don’t scowl at him the way he expects, nor do you even stop to look at him. It’s far worse than that; your eyes start swimming, focused helplessly on your suitcase. 

When you speak, your voice cracks. “I shouldn’t have come in the first place. I knew that this invitation shit wasn’t an accident; I knew I wasn’t welcome to —”

“— You came anyway.” Seokmin doesn’t mean to snap at you, but the point is moot. Softening at the edges, he quickly continues, “And I’m glad that you did because I don’t want to be here with ‘anyone else’.”

It’s not the whole truth, so it may as well be a lie. You know him too well for him to get away with it; it was stupid of him to try. Your head turns, and the slight narrow of your eyes says it all.

I triple-dog dare you to tell me the truth.

This fork in the road has two dead ends. His only options are to do just that or double down and lie straight to your face, while you see straight through him. Either option pulls the pin, he figures, so it’s no longer a question of who gets hurt; it’s who gets hurt worse.

Seokmin jumps on the grenade.

“I don’t want to be with anyone else!”

It comes out too loudly, startling you. In a way, it’s angry, too. He wishes could project that anger onto Seonmi for starting shit, as usual, but the person he’s maddest at is himself for putting you both in this position.

For the first time ever, he can’t decipher the expression on your face. He’d shove his foot into his mouth to try and keep himself quiet, but his adrenaline is firing on all cylinders, and he can’t seem to stop shouting.

“And I’m really fucking sorry to say it because I know you don’t want to hear it, not from me or anyone else. So, you can leave, alright? I’m not going to stop you.”

The force of the surprise almost knocks the air out of him, so quick that Seokmin can’t process what’s happening until his back is flush to the wall behind him — until your hands, flat against his white button-up, curl to grip the fabric, and you kiss him so hard that he sees stars.

You’re surprised too, it seems. When you pull away, chest heaving, you freeze in the same way he does. Eyes searching the other’s, unsure of what to do now that twenty-plus years’ worth of boundaries have been blown to bits.

You whisper, “Are you still sorry?”

Of the five million feelings swelling inside of him — fear, kind of; joy, yes; fucked up by your blown-out pupils, definitely — regret isn’t one of them.

Actually…

He cups your face in his hands like water from a spring, drinks down the sight of you in this new and perfect light. “I’m only sorry that it took me this long to tell you,” he confesses before kissing you back twice as hard.

You’d ask Seokmin to pinch you and prove to you that you’re not dreaming, but the fear you feel at the thought of waking up is too overwhelming. 

Even if it wasn’t, he can’t help you, can he? 

His hands are far too busy.

Your pretty dress is long gone now, having been shucked off and tossed somewhere out of sight. In its place, it’s Seokmin’s body that now drapes over yours, warm in touch and tone, like molten gold. 

His middle and marriage fingers curl inside you, working you up again; and all you can do is cling desperately to his hair, whimper, and wait for the fall.

“I take back what I said earlier,” he murmurs between nips and kisses at your neck.

You can’t ask him to elaborate. You’re too close to careening over the edge for the second time tonight; too busy babbling fucking nonsense.

His simper against your throat reverberates all the way down, lights up your every nerve in tandem like a switchboard. “Only an idiot would tell you to be less expressive.”

The pad of his thumb swirls over your clit; its movement synchronizes with his middle finger inside of you, targeting your weak spot. He presses down on that spongy patch of nerves, and your hips buck involuntarily, a hallmark of your body begging for you while your words fail.

“You were right, though.” 

You summon all your concentration. “I’m always right,” you counter. Seokmin pulls his mouth away from the underside of your jaw just to look at you pointedly. “You’ll have to be more specific.”

He picks up the pace of his ministrations, pulling no punches. You’re teetering on the ledge with no real ability to lift your own neck; your head crashes back against the pillow as you wail, clenching and gushing around his fingers.

“I do know how sensitive you get,” he snickers before slipping his fingers from you and sweeping down to kiss you sweetly.

The ringing in your ears has barely subsided, but you’ve decided not to take anymore of his teasing laying down. Slipping your fingers from his hair, you move your hands to his shoulders; and with whatever muscle control you still maintain, you flip him off of you, onto his back.

“How long —” 

You climb over his lap and straddle him, placing your palms flat against his chest. It’s as much a show of dominance as it is a carefully disguised trick for balance. 

“— have you been waiting to say that?”

Caught red handed, Seokmin shoots you that trademark, heart-shaped smile. His cheeks were already flushed from the effort he just expended on you; that perfect pink only deepens when he blushes and laughs, “What, you think I can’t come up with killer lines in the heat of the moment?”

You scratch your nails gently down the lines of his abdominal muscles. “Nope,” you purr.

Sitting up on his elbows, Seokmin tilts his head to the side and narrows his dark eyes at you. You’re nowhere near used to seeing him look at you like this, like you’re something to be devoured. The feeling of being wanted so badly makes your stomach flip.

“Give me some credit, won’t you?” He asks, voice low. “You’re a knockout; you’re naked in front of me for the first time; and it’s a miracle I can talk at all when I feel this concussed.”

When you lean in, he licks his lips expectantly. You’re close enough to kiss him, of course, but you stop a few millimeters shy of your mark and watch him fight the urge to pout. His eyes search yours, almost pleadingly.

“Is that why you’re still not naked?”

Seokmin’s next move is to reach for the black briefs he’s still got on, but you stop him, encircling each of his wrists with your hands.

“Ah, ah, ah,” you tut with a patronizing shake of your head. “You’re fired. I’m in control now.”

If the little sigh he lets out is any indication, he is very much on board with your self-promotion.

He takes your cue and reels himself in, allowing you to move further down his body, your fingertips hooking under his elastic waistband and tugging as you go. When his length finally springs free, you duck your head to take him into your mouth, beyond eager to feel his weight on your tongue.

“Oh, my god,” he groans, eyelids fluttering, while you swirl your tongue around his head. “Feels s-so —”

The rest of his sentence gets stuck in his throat; you take what you can of him down your own throat, working whatever remains with your hand. 

Seokmin wants so badly to watch, you know he does, but he’s sensitive, too. His head tips back, eyes closed and mouth hanging open.

It’s messy, the spit dribbling down your chin and the sound brought forth by the suction of your mouth around him. The obscenity of it all spurs you on. Nothing inspires you quite like Seokmin’s breathy whines and low moans, though. Above all else, it’s his reaction to you that slicks the inside of your thighs.

You’d give him the ending he deserves, right down the back of your throat, but you feel his fingertips graze your shoulder, beckoning you to look up at him.

Voice rough, he pleads, “Come here.”

With his steadying hands on you, you move back into your original position with your bent knees on either side of him. You immediately spot the indent his teeth have left on his lower lip, which is now slightly swollen. Delicately, you brush your thumb over the mark. “Oh, you’re a goner.”

Seokmin looks at you pointedly. Though you tease, you’re even worse off: drunk on the taste of him, as much as the sight of him underneath you, wanting you just as badly.

“Alright, alright,” you concede. “I am, too.” 

The hand you use to wave dismissively at him then reaches down between your thighs, fingers wrapping around his cock and lining it up with your entrance.

“But I’m taking you down with me.”

And you do.

So thoroughly that you barely recall him staggering off to the bathroom when all is said and done, the wash cloth he returns with to clean you up, or the way you slump into his waiting arms before promptly falling asleep.

You sleep so soundly, in fact, that you don’t stir when the sun blares through the open curtains. Likewise, when Seokmin carefully maneuvers himself out of the tangle of your limbs and places your head on a real pillow instead, you’re none the wiser.

What finally gets to you is the thwack of the expensive, hotel-issued shampoo clattering against the floor of the shower, echoing off the tile like a sonic boom. You sit bolt upright in bed, staring bleary-eyed in the direction of the bathroom. 

As if on cue, Seokmin pokes his head out of the doorway to see if you managed to sleep through the noise. Damp hair splays over his forehead, hanging just as loosely as his lazily-knotted bathrobe. If you weren’t still too sleepy to function, you’d love nothing more than to grab him by that tie and drag him back to bed.

“Shit. I’m sorry, Bambi,” he coos, though his mouth is full of both toothpaste and a toothbrush in a distinctly greener shade of blue than usual.

You merely point at his mouth with a half-powered look of distress, otherwise unable to put your suspicion into words. He doesn’t get it; he glances down at his chest, looking for what he assumes is a stray glob of paste.

When you finally do speak, it’s a prayer: “Please tell me that’s not mine.”

Seokmin blinks at you, then down his nose at the toothbrush he’s using. He cocks his head to the side, opens his mouth to assure you it isn’t, and finally, when the realization makes his eyes widen, he groans.

You wail, “Noooooo!”

Memories of your last trip together clash before your mind — specifically, attempting to navigate a drug store in a foreign language while you shopped for the replacement toothbrush Seokmin is currently holding.

Ears bright red with embarrassment, he ducks back into the bathroom. Immediately, you hear a rush of water from the tap, which nearly drowns out his feeble cry of “I’m sorry!”

“I know it’s an honest mistake, but how do you make it twice?” 

You collapse back onto the pillows and bury your face in your palms; and you stay that way, even when you hear him padding softly over to you. The mattress shifts under his weight as he makes his way, one knee at a time, until you feel him looming over you. His hands reach out and gently pull yours from your face.

Before you can get any ideas, Seokmin flattens himself on top of you; a weighted blanket, smelling like vanilla and spearmint. He folds his arms across your chest and props his chin up on the top of his right wrist, bright eyes sparkling as he peers up at you.

Suddenly, you find it very difficult to be annoyed with him. The worst part is that none of this is by design. He always just looks at you this way, not to get out of trouble but because you’re you.

Your hand reaches out of its own accord and brushes the remaining damp strands off his forehead. When your touch lingers, Seokmin leans into it, warming your palm with his cheek.

“Hey,” you say, after failing to come up with anything better.

He beams. “Hi.”

“Why are we awake at this hour?”

That smile of his evaporates slowly, giving way to a grimace you’ve seen before. “Seungcheol and Mingyu want to meet up at the ski lodge before the post-brunch crowd gets there,” he explains. “And I told my parents we’d get breakfast with them first, since yesterday was… well, mostly a disaster.”

“And it will conveniently provide you with time to think of a way out of snowboarding?” You chuckle quietly and pat his cheek.

Seokmin shakes his head firmly, then stretches his neck enough to kiss you.

“No,” he mumbles defiantly against your lips. “I never back down from a triple-dog dare.”

[allbeoms]

I know it's real, I can feel it! | ONE

Pairing: OBGYN!Beomgyu x Neonatologist!Reader (fem!reader)

Tolerance for Choi Beomgyu? Negative. Feelings for Choi Beomgyu? Inconclusive. Pregnancy test in your hand? Positive.

Synopsis: The universe likes to toss you a bunch of "Fuck You!"s. Like almost not getting into med school, you and your long-term boyfriend failing to get pregnant, and by sending your undergrad nemesis, Choi Beomgyu, to med school just so he can transfer right into your hospital.

But perhaps the biggest one was the positive pregnancy test in your hands after a drunk one night stand with him.

Genre: Enemies to lovers, slowburn, doctors, eventual smut, angst (?)

Pt.I Word Count: 4.5K

Warning: Mentions of infertility, mentions of miscarriages, grieving, accidental pregnancy, explicit language, IVF, mentions of premature babies in the NICU, unprotected sex, drunk sex, etc.

Note: Better late than never! Please enjoy part one of the fic <3 It's been a while since I've written anything. I hope that it isn't too rough.

Please like, reblog, or comment if you love it <3

“Baby Lee gets to go home today~” You sing-song, as you admire the tiny (but mighty!) 34-week-old breathing on his own after weeks of being on a breathing tube. You carefully place your stethoscope over his heart, hearing the rapid beating of a strong heart. A huge grin stretches your face as you coo at him in celebration.

Moments like these made being a neonatologist rewarding. The babies that you cared for were the newborns in the NICU facing complications after birth. It saddened you to see them so tiny and weak. While mentally taxing, you wouldn’t trade your job for anything else in the world. You took pride in being a damn good neonatologist. It was your mission to make sure that every baby got to go home to their families. Because you may never experience the feeling of taking a baby home.

When you stand up, you meet eyes with the NICU nurses hovering over you as if for any second you were going to snatch the baby and run off.

“He may be discharged,” you confirm with a quiver in your chuckle.

With a little extra skip in your step, you make your way out of the NICU to change and try to catch your best friend, Ari, at the tail end of her lunch. Luckily, Ari worked with you as one of the NICU nurses. If you two weren’t gabbing together at lunch, you two were doing it in the nursery, corridors, supply rooms, and parking lot. You owe her the moon and stars for lifting you up on your worst days. Without her, you wouldn’t have been able to celebrate your one-year anniversary as a neonatologist (last week!).

During your first week at the hospital, one baby was getting progressively worse. It led to you having a tough conversation with her parents about considering comfort care. The parents had screamed at you for not trying hard enough and threatening to sue you for malpractice, assuming it was because they were uninsured. You didn’t take it personally, understanding that your hurt feelings were an anthill compared to the mountain of fear and desperation the parents had in their hearts as you delivered the news.

 And then she asked if you were a mother. Before you answered, she shook her head and stared at you with cold eyes. “Of course not. How can you be when you thought for one second that I’d rather have her dead?! I hope you never have a child!”

You won’t. For years,you and your boyfriend have tried. You were successful once. After three positive pregnancy tests, you went to the doctor, trembling with anticipation. You left with a shattered heart after discovering the sac was empty. It was later reabsorbed just as the doctor said it would be. Was it the vitamins you were taking? The exercises you were doing? The body and skincare you were using? Although your boyfriend didn’t blame you, you knew that deep down he felt that you were the problem as well. You’ve tried to bury that guilt, but when the lady hit you with the realization that you never were going to be a mother, all the emotions came pouring out.

Ari had found you typing your resignation on your phone, sobbing so hard you could barely make out what you were writing. Somehow, she was able to break apart the clouds of misery over your head, calming you down enough so she could remind you that crying this hard is what would make you a great neonatologist.

“It’s proof you care so much. Besides, half the doctors and nurses here don’t have a baby yet. You aren’t alone.”

“Yeah, but… I don’t think I’ll ever have a baby.” Your vision became blurry again and your throat got tighter. You confided in Ari about your infertility, and she surprised you when she grabbed your hands firmly to chant, “You’ll have one! You’ll have plenty! Because each baby that you love and care for will also be yours!”

Her words felt like medicine for your aching heart. She made a beautiful point. These babies were also yours. You felt the responsibility and concern for their life just as their mothers did. After all, a baby could never receive too much love. Your friend on the other hand…

You stare at your friend from across the café table, full of admiration and gratitude.

“You’re doing it again.” She laughs while scraping her fork against the bottom of her container.

“What?” you cover your mouth to prevent your food from spilling out.

“Thinking about how I stopped you from quitting again?” She shakes her head with endearment. “You’ve already paid for my lunch like 5 times, let me live with you for a month, and gifted me the heels I wanted.”

“It still doesn’t feel like enough. I need to take you to the moon and stars.”

While stuffing your mouth with more beef, you happily update Ari that you were able to discharge Baby Lee, gushing about how cute he is. You hope that in a few months, his photo update will be on the photo wall outside the nursery.

“I wanted to hold him, but Lia probably would’ve chopped my arms off and then hit me with them.”

Ari snorts as she picks the hard sugar pearls off her cupcake before going in for another bite. “You know we don’t play when it comes to the babies.”

“I hold the babies less than I thought I was going to.”

You sigh playfully, but Ari was able to spot the lingering sadness in your eyes.

“Are you guys still trying?” Ari tilts her head, asking softly.

You shake your head slowly. “I mean, I think we’ve given up on the idea. Even though we haven’t said it out loud.”

“Have… you ever considered doing IVF?” Ari continues to make sure her voice is soft, just as she always did when discussing the subject.

She mainly asked out of curiosity. She knew you were intelligent enough to have considered all your options. If you hadn’t done it by now, it meant you had a reason.

You sit back on your chair, crossing your arms over your body protectively. “Kind… I mean of course I’ve thought about it. But… I guess I’m just scared. Getting my hopes up and failing over and over? Not to mention the chance of miscarrying? Having the baby and then losing it… Hell, I don’t know if my heart can take it.”

If you knew it would work, it would be a different story...

“I-I’ll adopt eventually. I just need to grieve over missing the experience of carrying a baby first.”

Ari nods slowly and gives you a small smile. “Yeah… well, I know that you’ll become a mother one way or another. I was asking because I just heard some amazing news about our new OBGYN. He has extra training in endocrinology. Nurses have been chit-chatting about his high success rate.  Makes sense on why the director wanted him transferred over here.”

You spin your water bottle between your fingers as you listen, your eyebrows drawing up at the mention of a new doctor.

“Apparently, Nora had an appointment with him, and she wouldn’t stop going on about how gentle and understanding he was. Well, after a 30-minute ramble about how hot he is first. I don’t know, I feel like if it’s true then someone as gentle as him could be good for you?”

Before you could stop it, the corner of your lip twitches up into a smirk. “He’s hot?”

Ari’s eye twinkles as she leans in from across the table, switching into gossip mode. “Multiple sources - Chae, Saki, and Jina - have been hit with the Dr. Choi Fever. They’re driving Soobin crazy. They refer to him as Dr. Choi with the sexy doe eyes, Dr. Choi with the long legs and nice ass, Dr. Choi with a soft voice and Daegu accent that rumbles straight to - well, you can guess. Think that’s what’s really getting people pregnant?”

With a giggle, you lean back on your chair.

“Hell, maybe I should go see him.” You chew on your fingernail as you try to envision what he could look like. It’s been a while since rumors of a hot doctor went around.

“Mhm.” Ari leans back, swiping your water from your hands to take a giant sip. With a smirk, she asks, “How’s your boyfriend, ___?”

You purse your lips to hide your smile. “You ass.”

Both of you erupt into a fit of giggles that only best friends could.

It’s been an hour since you’ve fallen into your bed alone, scrolling between your apps. You didn’t tell Ari, but the truth was that you and your boyfriend, Jaeil, weren’t doing well. She wouldn’t be surprised, though. She was used to your on and off relationship, and even though she still gave you 100% of her attention and comfort, you didn’t want to abuse it. Deep down, you wondered if she truly was annoyed with it.

This time, things felt different. It’s been weeks since you and Jaeil have seen or spoken to each other. It didn’t help that you both fell toward the silent treatment. He was clearly waiting to see if you were going to break first, and your competitive nature wasn’t going to allow it.

The last time you saw each other, you had turned him down for a kiss by mistake. It was after an exhausting 15-hour shift, and affection was the last thing on your mind. Jaeil took it personally and despite you trying to reassure him that it was more about how tired and disgusting you felt, he argued about how distant you were becoming. It wasn’t until he said your emotional unavailability was a contributing factor to your inability to conceive that you snapped. With tears in your eyes, you told him to go home. He left with a quiet, “I’m sorry, but think about it.”

What was there to think about? How could the handful of times that you were moody cause months of infertility? And what about the times you were hopeful as a fool?

Although you guys haven’t officially called for a break, you felt you were on one. Surprisingly, you don’t miss him. It's a relief to come home and not have to prepare dinner or find something to watch together. Instead, you had breakfast for dinner, showered with water straight from Earth’s core, and plopped yourself on your bed in your ugliest (favorite!) pajamas. The best part? You didn’t have to speak. And with the next few days off that meant more days not having to use your voice!

You toss over to your side, noticing Soobin’s text messaging coming in.

Soobie: LOL did ya see us in the photo Taehyun uploaded?

You smile as you open Instagram.

The first photo to appear is of Taehyun’s two-year old daughter, who was grinning brightly in her duck overalls, and perfectly hairspray-ed pigtails. She is definitely his twin!  

The next photo was of him and his wife sharing a kiss with the caption Happy Anniversary! Four years down and only a lifetime to go!

“Awwww… how sickening.” You say with affection as you scroll through the reception party photos he included in the post.

The nostalgia hits you as you see all your friends again. Kai serenading Taehyun who had his head thrown back with laughter, Yunjin on the floor holding up the bouquet she squished on her way down, and you and Soobin screaming when a sparkler was popping out of control. You replay the memory of you and Soobin struggling to light up the sparkler. When it finally lit up, the sparkler gave one large crackle that caused you both to scream as if you two had lit up dynamite. You spit out a laugh, it coming to an abrupt halt when you scroll to the next photo.

Yeonjun was posing on the dance floor with star glasses on, and right next to him? Choi Beomgyu. Beomgyu was grinning off to the side, devil horns held up. Perfectly fitting for the son of Satan, actually. The hatred started brewing at the pit of your stomach the longer you stared (partly because it was annoying how attractive he looked).

You knew he was a part of the wedding party, but he hadn’t been able to make it until the day of the wedding due to his residency. You thought that when you’d see him, you’d feel the same ugly hatred you’ve always felt for him in undergrad. But why did it cause you to run out of air, your conversation with Yunjin trailing off into nonsense, as he walked out of the groomsmen’s suite?

His hair had been tousled with a few strands falling over his forehead, the ends of his hair curling outward. He stood tall with strong shoulders as evidence that he was taking care of his physique. Yunjin looked over to see what caught your attention.

Beomgyu laughed beside Soobin, his face scrunching a little before he looked around the room. You knew you should look away before he caught you, but you couldn’t. His eyes jumped from face to face until they landed on yours.

Feeling your breath return, you gave him an eyeroll as if reinforcing your hatred for him. He smiled softly and fondly, as if to say, “Come on, do you really mean it?”

Beomgyu was the last one to join your friend group and the one that you couldn’t get along with (his fault, of course). You had met him, before he joined your friend group, on the worst day of your life. Whether it became the worst day of your life after meeting him is debatable.

You were standing in the narrow corridor, fanning yourself after running three blocks. It didn't help that everyone was crowded together, the lecture room locked as your Anatomy & Physiology professor was running late. You nervously went over your notes, your hands shaking from the adrenaline of realizing you forgot today was the final exam. While most of the students were using the time to review their notes, others chose to pass time differently.

Trying to calm yourself down enough to retain your notes, the sound of a heated make out session kept infiltrating your ears. You look over in disgust to find Beomgyu and his girlfriend’s mouths open as they pass over each other's tongues, Beomgyu the one resting on the wall while his girlfriend was the one leaning over him.

It was comical how nauseated you were over passing the exam, meanwhile others like Beomgyu only took the course to ensure his tongue didn’t block someone’s airway. When the girl moaned, you finally snapped and turned to shout at them. “If you’re hungry, the cafeteria is that way. Quit trying to eat each other!”

Beomgyu had raised an eyebrow as he fell back against the wall, sliding down a little, hand slipping in his pocket. You snapped your eyes away in disgust, afraid of what you might see if you kept staring.

He wipes his mouth with the back of his arm and laughs. “If we’re hungry, you must be starved.”

You opened your mouth to snap back, but your stomach did it for you. The growl was loud enough for several heads to turn your way. Beomgyu pointed an eyebrow at you with a smirk before letting out a loud “Aha!”

Reeling back with an eyeroll, you made room for the professor to unlock the door. Once the door was open, you rushed inside the room, not out of embarrassment, but of annoyance. You worked hard on the exam, motivated to pass and never see him again.

Obviously, it wasn’t the last time you'd see him. The next semester, when you were going to meet Yeonjun for some donuts, your skeleton nearly jumped out of your body upon seeing Beomgyu standing next to him.

When he turned, he locked eyes with you. It took a few seconds before the recognition shone in his eyes. He grinned and pointed to you, “Ah, the prude!”

What you wanted to reply back was I’m not a fucking prude, you fucking barbarian. We wouldn’t have a problem if you learned to control your saliva. Instead, you settled on one word.

“Whore.”

Beomgyu scrunched his face and gave you a scrutinizing look as he huffed through his nose like a child.

Confused, Yeonjun looked between you guys, waiting until one of you explained what was happening.

You turned to face him with a fake smile. “Yeonjunnie-jun, he’s not joining us, is he? Dunno if we could enjoy our donuts with someone who doesn’t know how to eat his food quietly. Nom Nom Nom.” You open and close your hand for emphasis.

“Can’t help it when the food gets good. But…” He looks you up and down purposefully, tilting his head as if he’s confirmed his conclusion, “Don’t think we’re going to have that problem.”

“Thank you, truly.” You place your hands together and shake them for emphasis. “And thank your girlfriend for her service, yeah?”

After that interaction, you begged Yeonjun not to be his friend. Whatever void in his heart Beomgyu was fulfilling, you told Yeonjun you would make up for it tenfold. Unfortunately, Beomgyu and Yeonjun stuck to each other like two pieces of chewed up bubblegum.

It was game over when Beomgyu met the rest of the group, magnetizing them with his boisterous personality. Eventually he was upgraded to permanently in the friend group status.

He would annoy you about a million things, but it all eventually would come back to you being a "prude". The more you tried to defend yourself, the more he would think he felt you were proving his point.

“For fuck’s sake-“

“Oh!” Beomgyu covered his mouth like an old maid, mocking your cursing.

“-I didn’t care about the kissing! You were being so fucking loud about it!” You shouted at him from the beanbag next to his.

“Not my fault, I’m good at it! Tell me, ___.” He sat up and put a hand over his chest.

“You make out with people silently?” He asked in a hushed whisper as if trying to preserve your “secret”. Mind you, this was only the hundredth time he had brought this up. By this time, the others knew to tune you both out.

“I-“ your voice got caught in your throat.

 “Never been kissed?” He bat his eyelashes, small lisp from his Daegu accent.

“I have.” You snarled the last word as you threw him a look.

He didn’t move an inch. “With tongue?”

“I-“

He kept staring at you, until the stupid smile grew on his face.

You closed your eyes in frustration.

With a victorious laugh, he leaned over to the coffee table, pinching salt onto the back of his hand. Nonchalantly, as if talking to the table he said, “If you were jealous, you could’ve just said so from the beginning. Maybe I would’ve let you join us.”

“Jealous?! If I wanted to drown, I could get creative with a water bottle.” You watched him lick the back of his hand before holding the shot of tequila to his mouth.

He looked at you, giving a small shake of his shoulder, “She wouldn’t have made a sound if she was drowning, sweetheart.” He smirked as he tipped it all back, quickly reaching for the lime to suck on.

“Pussy.” You muttered before taking one yourself and getting up to leave the conversation.

“I have an idea!” Beomgyu announced to the group with a clap. “A game of Never Have I Ever.”

You gave him the death glare, already knowing that he had some ulterior motive ---to shame you, of course. He was already picking up that you could count all your partners with one hand. The others didn’t catch on and turned to him at full attention. Beomgyu grinned innocently at them, eyes momentarily glancing your way.

Chaewon turned from one of the bar stools in Taehyun’s kitchen. “I love Never Have I ever!”

“I’m not playing.” You muttered, hand already wrapped around your purse chain.

With a whine, Yunjin threw her arm around you to steer you back toward the beanbags. “Come on, it’ll be fun! Don’t leave early.”

Beomgyu raised his eyebrow at you, satisfied with your attempt to leave. He leaned back with two arms behind his head, mocking, “Yeah, don’t leave early.”

With a huff, you let Yunjin drag you over to share a beanbag with. She wrapped her arms around your waist in a hug. Yeonjun quickly went over the rules of the game in case anyone forgot and added that a sip of his infamous jungle juice had to be taken for anything done. You held your cup out as he filled it.

Everyone took turns asking questions, and for the most part everyone asked normal silly questions like “Never have I ever went commando in public”, “Never have I ever had a crush on a friend”, or “Never have I ever dated in secret”. But every time it got to Beomgyu, his questions were calculated to humiliate you. Questions like “Never have I ever made out with someone unless they were my boyfriend/girlfriend”.

A chill shot down your spine when he asked his next question.

“Never have I ever… been naked in bed with a guy.”

You froze, eyes flickering up in distaste. How humiliating. Now he would know that you definitely never had sex, but much worse even made it past a kiss. He watched as you didn’t take a sip from your drink, tilting his head back in realization that his suspicions were right all along. All the girls (and Kai) took one. You thought about lieing, but couldn’t when Yunjin and Chaewon knew the truth.

After glancing between you and Beomgyu, Yunjin quickly told you to drown your cup down. She shot him her own fair share of a glare, realizing too late why he was insistent in playing the game.

"It's just a stupid game anyway," she reassured you.

Beomgyu responded by tipping his cup over, not a drop falling out, just to prove a point – he had practically done everything.

You left the party shortly after while everyone was blabbing about their responses in the game (and too drunk to really notice). Beomgyu had his eyes closed and head over the edge of the beanbag, but when you lifted yourself up, his eyes peeked open, and he tried to reach for the hem of your shirt as you passed by. You made sure to hit him with your purse before walking out, over playing this game with him.

The walk wasn't too far to your dorm across the street, but you still couldn’t wait until you were inside to release your tears. While waiting at the light, you rubbed your eyes with your thumb.

When your phone buzzed, you lifted it to see a message from Beomgyu, who shouldn’t have your phone number at all. So who gave it to him?

Maybe Beomgyu: Did I fo tioi far?c - gyuu

Beomgyu (who had just highlighted your inexperience for nothing but his own enjoyment), yup, took it too far.

Only after you climbed four flights of stairs and got to your door, did you realize you left your keys at Taehyun’s.

You took a deep breath to prevent kicking the door in uncontrollable rage. And with closed eyes, you retraced your steps back down to the front desk for a spare key. On the way back, you decided not to torture yourself and take the elevator instead.

Jaeil was inside, taking off his earbuds as you stepped beside him (later on he would tell you that he did it in hopes you would talk to him). You greeted him softly, often seeing him around the building and campus. As the elevator doors were closing, you caught Beomgyu lazily jogging across the window to get to the entrance of your building. Despite the doors already closing, you pressed the close button a billion times.

Your phone buzzed again.

Maybe Beomgyu: im soery let me make it up go you

Maybe Beomgyu: Can you cokne fown?

Thinking over the pain he just caused you, you turned to Jaeil, noting his blushing cheeks.

“Jaeil… do you…would you like to come over for some chicken and beer?”

Pushing you to Jaeil was the one positive thing that Beomgyu had done. Well…

You roll your eyes at the situation you’re in with him currently, but remind yourself that you don’t regret the time you’ve spent with Jaeil.

Just as you closed the app, a text message came in from your boyfriend.

Jaeil: Can we talk?

You tap the side of your phone. Without responding, you tuck your phone under your pillow and fall asleep.

You attempt to cool down your cup of coffee as you type in notes regarding the baby last seen for jaundice.

Whenever your mind wasn’t thinking about the babies, it was thinking about how you agreed to meet with Jaeil over lunch. You lean in for a sip of your coffee, shocked when it’s still scorching.

“Bad news, babe.” Ari spins over to you, taking your cup of coffee to take a sip. You open your mouth to warn her, but it’s too late. You tuck your face in and nod when she yelps in pain.

“My fault, I know!”

You chuckle as you take the cup back from her before she forgets again and attempts another sip.

“Please don’t tell me it’s baby Choi.” Your eyebrows knit in concern. Baby Choi had just taken a nap after finally accepting a bottle.

“Try, Dr. Choi.”

You raise your eyebrows. You had forgotten about him with how crazy today was going.

Emma walks over in a rush, placing her arm on your shoulder. “Director Jung told me to notify you of a high-risk delivery they need you in. Both of you.”

“Oh no.” You stand up with concern. Once Emma leaves, you turn back to Ari. “Okay, really quick. Go.”

 “He….” She pauses for dramatic effect, then rushes the rest of her sentence out, “Has a girlfriend!”

You snort through your nose. You feel only a tinge of disappointment considering you hadn’t even had the privelege of seeing him yet. Walking toward the delivery room, you say. “I bet he does. What was it again? Dr. Choi with the submissive doe eyes? Dr. Choi with a nice ass? Dr. Choi with a baby-making voice?”

Ari suddenly smacks your arm. You tilt your head, confused. “What? Isn’t that-“

“Hello,____.” A breath tickles your ear from behind you. You freeze staring at the matching horror in Ari’s eyes.

The hair on your arm stands up. Hell, the hair on your eyelashes and nose probably did too because the way your name was said with that voice sounds way too familiar for comfort.

With wide eyes, you whip your head around to look over your shoulder.

Right when you turn around, a flash of white teeth shows beneath a small, satisfied grin. It had been the reaction he had been hoping for and thinking about since the moment he transferred in.

“You’re the one spreading the rumors about me?”

No no no.

Choi fucking Beomgyu.

Masterlist | Pt. II Coming Soon

Taglist: @whoisgami, @seungminnieinthebuilding

Join the taglist! <3

[supi-wupi]

Tutor Me, Pretty Boy - Jeonghan

pairing: jeonghan x reader synopsis: Jeonghan is Y/N’s assigned peer tutor. Except he doesn’t help her study, just flirts the entire time. Y/N threatens to report him… but he doubles down. She learns more about flirting than calculus. Everyone in their department starts shipping them HARD wc: 3.4k genre: Fluff, Comedy, Academic AU, Academic Rivals (but make it stupid), warning: Flirting, Bad Pickup lines, more flirting is done then tutoring, a/n: erm.. missing him so much.... (no u didnt see the old a/n...)

There are exactly three things you expect from a university-sanctioned peer tutor.

- Punctuality. - Professionalism. - Someone who doesn’t wink at you before you’ve even sat down.

Yoon Jeonghan fails on all three counts.

He strolls into the tutoring lounge twelve minutes late, iced coffee in one hand, an unopened math workbook in the other, and a smile so lazy it might as well be asleep. His hair is tucked behind one ear in that infuriatingly casual way beautiful people do when they’ve never had to struggle with a middle part in their life. He looks you up and down like he’s just realized you’re not a figment of his imagination.

“Oh,” he says, grinning. “Cute.”

You blink. “Excuse me?”

“For a panicked freshman. You looked like you were about to cry over that integral.”

You cover your notebook like it's a sacred relic. “I'm a second-year. And I wasn’t crying.”

He sits across from you anyway, long limbs sprawling like he owns the space. His iced coffee makes a dramatic clack on the table. “Second-year? Even better. That means you can legally hate Calculus and no one will judge you.”

You open your mouth. Close it. Your being to regret everything.

Somewhere in your emails is a chain from the tutoring coordinator that says Jeonghan came “highly recommended,” which either means he’s good at Calculus or someone owed him a favor. Judging by the fact that he’s now doodling tiny sharks in the corner of your notebook, you’re leaning toward the latter.

“Shouldn’t we be reviewing… functions or something?” you ask weakly.

“We’ll get there.” He leans in like he’s about to tell you a secret. “But first, tell me about your math trauma.”

“I don’t have math trauma.”

He raises an eyebrow. “That’s what someone with math trauma would say.”

You stare at him. You stare at your notes. You stare at the door and seriously consider walking through it and never coming back.

Instead, you say, “Fine. I don’t get limits. I don’t get derivatives. And my professor speaks in emoji metaphors.”

Jeonghan whistles low. “That’s rough. Alright. Let’s try this—explain limits to me like I’m five.”

You take a breath. “Um… it’s like… when something gets really close to a number, but doesn’t actually become that number?”

His smile softens, just slightly. “That’s actually not bad.”

You blink. “Really?”

“Yeah. I mean, wrong, but charmingly wrong.”

You throw a pencil at him.

—

Thirty-seven minutes in, you’ve learned three things.

Jeonghan’s handwriting looks like the result of a pen having an existential crisis.

He hums when he thinks, like a glitching lullaby.

He’s not actually terrible at teaching. When he stops flirting.

To your horror, you're starting to understand the chain rule. To your even greater horror, Jeonghan seems genuinely invested in whether you pass next week's quiz.

“See? You got it,” he says, pointing to your scratch work. “Just don’t forget to multiply the derivative of the inside function.”

You nod slowly. “Okay. That actually makes sense now.”

He beams at you like a proud kindergarten teacher. “My work here is done.”

You glare. “You didn’t even open the workbook.”

“It’s for aesthetics.” He flips it open upside-down. “Look how studious I seem now.”

You want to scream. Or laugh. Or maybe both.

When the session finally ends, Jeonghan slides your paper back toward you. On the back of it, he’s written something in slightly more legible handwriting:

“In case of emergency (or boredom) — 010-XXXX-XXXX. – Jeonghan, your favorite chaos tutor.”

You stare. “Are you seriously giving me your number right now?”

He shrugs, gathering his things. “Some people say thank you. You say sarcasm. I can work with that.”

“I’m reporting you.”

He stops in the doorway, looking over his shoulder with a grin that borders on lethal. “You won’t.”

You hate that he’s right.

—

Study Session Notes

(Filed under: “Why am I like this?”)

Y/N’s Session Notes:

Jeonghan is the worst.

Jeonghan is hot.

I hate that both are true.

...Chain rule actually makes sense now??

I need new pens. And new dignity.

Jeonghan’s Session Notes:

Y/N chews on their pen cap when nervous. 10/10 adorable.

Still doesn’t know what a limit is, but they looked at me like I was the limit and they were approaching.

Might be in love. Might also be bored. Further observation required.

Session grade: A+ for cuteness. D for math. Improvement pending.

—

Jeonghan shows up to your next session not with a textbook, not with your quiz review, but with two bubble teas and a smug expression that screams I’m your problem now.

“Don’t worry,” he says, sliding one over. “This one’s only 60% sugar. I figured it matched your vibe.”

You look at him. You look at the cup. You take a sip.

It’s disgustingly good.

“You can’t keep bribing me with drinks,” you mutter.

“Oh, I can. I’ve got a loyalty card and no shame.” He taps the table with a mechanical pencil. “Alright, student. Let’s make some tangents less painful today.”

You swear you see stars for a second—not because of the math, but because Jeonghan’s rolled up his sleeves and you’re only human.

You try. You try really hard to focus.

You try not to notice the way his brow furrows when he’s explaining, or how he twirls his pen between his fingers like a magician, or how he says “Good job” like it’s an inside joke just for you.

“Okay,” he says, voice low, leaning closer over your notebook. “Say you’ve got a function like f(x) = x². What’s the derivative?”

You stare at him. You stare at the page. “Two x?”

He gives you the most sincere look of awe you’ve ever received for basic algebra. “Look at you, baby math genius.”

You scoff. “You can’t just attach ‘baby’ to things and make them compliments.”

“Baby genius,” he insists. “Baby scholar. Baby cutie.”

You throw your eraser at him.

He doesn’t duck. He just grins wider, catching it mid-air like the smug menace he is. “You’re lucky I’m here. Without me, you’d probably be writing a heartfelt apology to your math professor in the form of interpretive dance.”

You’d protest, but you have considered it.

“Jeonghan,” you say with as much composure as you can fake, “can we please just do one problem without flirting?”

He taps his chin. “Hmm. No.”

“I’m being serious!”

“I know,” he says, and that smile flickers into something softer. “But you’re cute when you’re serious, too.”

You should walk out. You should burn your notes and take up interpretive dance. But instead, you feel the corner of your mouth twitching into a smile.

Just slightly.

Dammit.

—

Midway through the session, you actually—reluctantly—start enjoying yourself. He walks you through derivatives again. This time, he doesn’t tease every five seconds. Only every ten.

You even manage to solve an entire problem on your own. His reaction?

He slaps a glitter sticker on your notebook.

“I got those from my niece,” he says, clearly proud of himself. “Only the best for my star pupil.”

“It’s a frog with a tiara,” you point out.

He leans back and folds his arms. “Exactly.”

You don’t know whether to laugh or cry.

—

Study Session Notes

(Filed under: “Flirting Is Not a Teaching Strategy, Sir.”)

Y/N’s Session Notes:

I got a sticker. An actual sticker.

I also got the derivative right. Me!

I can’t tell if this is a crush or Stockholm syndrome.

Jeonghan smells like mint and bubble tea and academic destruction.

He called me star pupil. I have to legally change schools now.

Jeonghan’s Session Notes:

Y/N still won’t admit they like me. But they smiled today. Real smile. 12:47pm. I saw it.

Got them to do a derivative and drink their tea before the ice melted. Progress.

Sticker power: undefeated.

Might actually want them to pass. Not just for their grade. For their face when they get it.

Session grade: B+ for brain, A++ for dimples.

—

The third session starts innocently enough—Jeonghan’s hair is tied back today, a few loose strands framing his face in the kind of way that makes your brain forget its job.

He walks in late, obviously, and you swear you see someone from your department snap a photo of him entering the library lounge.

“They’re calling us the Calculus Couple now,” he says, dropping his bag with a thud. “Should we release a statement or just let the rumors make us famous?”

You blink. “People are talking about us?”

He shrugs like it’s nothing. “Apparently I haven’t shown this much ‘academic commitment’ since first year, so congratulations. You’re already a miracle worker.”

You try to act unimpressed, but your face feels warm. “We’ve had two sessions.”

“Two and a half,” he corrects, winking. “Last one went a bit over. Must’ve been the excellent company.”

You roll your eyes but don’t deny it.

He opens his textbook and flips dramatically to the chapter on product rule. “Alright, love of my life. Let’s ruin your afternoon with this beautiful monstrosity.”

“You cannot call me that and then make me do calculus.”

“I must, actually. It’s in the tutor handbook.”

“It’s not.”

“It is in the handbook I keep in my heart,” he says solemnly.

You briefly consider slamming your own head into the table.

—

Half an hour in, you’re starting to get it.

Not because Jeonghan’s particularly helpful—he keeps trying to use dating analogies to explain math, like “If f(x) is you and g(x) is me, then f(g(x)) is destiny”—but he’s there. Every time you pause or hesitate, he’s patient.

“You’re overthinking it,” he says gently. “What’s the derivative of x² again?”

“2x.”

“Okay. And what’s the derivative of sin(x)?”

“cos(x).”

“See? You know this stuff. You just think you don’t.”

You blink, startled by the sincerity.

Jeonghan tilts his head, watching you. “You’ve got a good brain, Y/N.”

You look down at your notes. “I think it’s just... hard to focus when someone’s calling me ‘baby genius’ all the time.”

“I could stop.”

You glance up. His voice was quieter than usual.

“I could stop flirting if you really wanted me to,” he says, watching you closely now. “I don’t want you to think I’m not taking this seriously.”

And that’s the moment it happens.

The moment your stomach does a stupid, traitorous flip because you realize he is taking this seriously. Maybe not the study part. But you?

You look at him and say, “...I didn’t say stop.”

His lips twitch into a slow, devastating grin.

“Then I’ll keep going,” he says, and it sounds a little less like a joke this time.

—

After the session, you pack your things and try not to smile like an idiot.

Just before you leave, Jeonghan slips something into your notebook.

You unfold it outside the building. It’s a frog sticker with a glitter heart.

Underneath, in his loopy handwriting:

“Product rule: If I’m f(x) and you’re g(x), our love is f(x)g′(x) + g(x)f′(x). Sorry. Not sorry.” — Your favorite tutor

—

Study Session Notes

(Filed under: “Why Is He Hot and Good at Math?”)

Y/N’s Session Notes:

I understood product rule today. Genuinely.

He said I have a good brain. Not a hot brain. Not a sexy cortex. A good brain.

He asked if I wanted him to stop flirting and I said no.

I am in so much trouble.

He gave me another frog sticker. This one has a heart. I need to scream into a pillow.

Jeonghan’s Session Notes:

She got product rule right on the third try. Nearly cheered out loud.

Told her she had a good brain. Might’ve also told her I’d stop flirting if she wanted.

She didn’t want me to stop. She looked a little shy about it, but she said it.

The frog sticker legacy lives on.

Session grade: A for accuracy, S-tier for how soft she looked saying “You don’t have to stop.”

—

It starts with a 3 a.m. text.

JEONGHAN: are you up?

YOU: unfortunately.

JEONGHAN: wanna crash office hours with me tomorrow? i heard my TA loves when people breathe too loudly

YOU: i do have a question about the assignment are you actually going or do you just want someone to suffer with you?

JEONGHAN: yes

You end up meeting him at the coffee cart outside the math building, both half-asleep and clinging to lattes like lifelines.

His hair’s down again, tucked into the collar of a sweatshirt that says “I Cried in Stats and All I Got Was This Hoodie.”

“Cute,” you say, gesturing at the hoodie.

“I thought I’d wear something inspirational,” he replies, yawning. “So. Ready to watch a grown man with a PhD judge us for being alive?”

—

Office hours are awkward.

You and Jeonghan squeeze into a shared chair because “there were no other seats,” even though there were definitely at least two.

The TA is explaining derivatives and Jeonghan’s knee keeps bumping yours under the table.

It’s nothing. It’s just space logistics. It’s absolutely not making you forget what a function is.

Your question gets answered. Jeonghan’s gets a “come to class more” look. You both make it out without crying.

But afterward, as you’re walking out of the building, he says it:

“I like doing this with you.”

You stop walking.

“This,” he says again, eyes soft. “Studying. Talking. Pretending I care about calc. I like being around you.”

Your heart does a very, very illegal thing in your chest.

“Oh,” you say, which isn’t a real sentence.

He clears his throat. “I mean, not just because you're good at explaining things. You’re just... fun. You’re smart. And I feel like—”

He stops. Frowns. Then switches gears so fast you get whiplash.

“Wait, okay, ignore that. That was dumb. What I meant to say was: are you free this weekend? I could use another session. Maybe somewhere not a library? You know, where the fluorescent lighting doesn’t make me question my life choices?”

You’re still reeling from the almost-confession, but you manage to nod. “Okay. Yeah. I’m free.”

He grins, all charm again. “Perfect. It’s a date.”

You open your mouth, about to say something clever.

But he beats you to it.

“Study date. Obviously.”

You both walk off in silence after that—him whistling like nothing happened, you practically vibrating from the chaos in your ribcage.

—

Study Session Notes

(Filed under: “This Man’s Smile Should Be Taxed”)

Y/N’s Session Notes:

He likes being around me. He said it. Like, with words.

I was this close to seeing his real feelings before he panicked and made a joke.

Study date this weekend?? Not a regular session. Not the library.

Does he realize he confessed and un-confessed in the same sentence or is he just naturally confusing?

Either way, I’m wearing lip gloss.

Jeonghan’s Session Notes:

Told her I like her. Not that directly. But it counts.

She looked like she was gonna pass out. Cute.

New plan: study date in a neutral, non-academic setting. Like a café. Or a rooftop. Or a planet with no math.

Reminder: don’t call it a real date unless she says it first

Also reminder: stop thinking about kissing her. Just for five minutes. Please.

—

You meet Jeonghan on a Sunday afternoon in a café with window seats and overpriced tea. He insisted on it “for the vibes,” he said. But you think he just wanted a setting where he could flirt without being shushed by librarians.

The plan was to review integration.

Instead, he brings you a drink with your order written on the cup and a winking smiley face beneath it.

Instead, he leans forward halfway through the session and says, “You know, I really have learned something.”

You raise an eyebrow. “What? That math is a metaphor for life? That you can pass calculus by smiling enough?”

“That, and—” He pauses. Then, softly: “I like you.”

You blink.

He laughs—quiet and nervous, for once—and tucks his hair behind his ear. “That’s not... a joke. Just so you know.”

And your heart, which has been holding its breath for five whole chapters, finally exhales.

“You’re kind of the worst tutor ever,” you tell him.

He grins, relieved. “But I’m great company, right?”

You nod, slow and sure. “The best.”

You both forget to open your textbooks after that.

—

Two weeks later, the campus forums blow up.

[studybuddies anonymous forum thread ] user5821: is it true the girl from calc got with the Pretty Boy tutor??

user8439: they were at the campus café holding hands I SWEAR

user9300: someone PLEASE ask if he ever taught her actual math

user4442: doesn’t matter. she learned something more powerful: flirting.

Jeonghan sends you screenshots with dramatic captions like, “we’re a movement now,” and “this is my legacy.”

You roll your eyes. He kisses your cheek anyway.

—

Final Study Session Notes

(Filed under: “We Passed Math and Each Other’s Love Tests”)

Y/N’s Session Notes:

Actual academic outcome: A- in calculus. (Will take it.)

Emotional outcome: in a situationship that is no longer a situation. It’s just a ship now. A Jeonghan ship.

Pretty Boy Tutor turned boyfriend material.

Also: he says “I like you” like it’s a new kind of language. One that only I speak.

Final hypothesis: I didn’t learn calculus. I learned him.

Jeonghan’s Session Notes:

She kissed me first, technically. (It was during a review session. Very romantic. I forgot the integral rules after that.)

She’s officially mine. I’m still her tutor for appearances. (And for the excuse to keep “study sessions.”)

Final thoughts: She’s smarter than me. Cooler than me. A better student.

But I flirted my way into her life anyway.

And now I’m never leaving.

—

You’re seated between Jeonghan and Seungcheol in the dining hall when the topic of “how did you two get together” comes up.

“He flirted with me instead of teaching me anything useful,” you say.

Seungcheol deadpans: “That checks out.”

“I taught you something,” Jeonghan protests.

You look at him. “What, exactly?”

He leans in, voice low and smile smug. “How to fall for me.”

Seungcheol throws a breadstick at him.

—

You’ve graduated. Degree framed, back straight, cap flung dramatically into the sky.

But your biggest accomplishment?

Still dating Jeonghan.

—

“Why are we at the library again?” Jeonghan mutters, peeking over your shoulder at your work-from-home spreadsheet like it personally insulted him. “You’re not even a student anymore.”

“I’m trying to concentrate,” you reply, typing another formula into your budget sheet. “And our apartment has you in it. Which is the opposite of concentration.”

“You say that like I’m a problem,” he says, and promptly slides into the seat across from you with the kind of dramatic sigh that screams I miss being the center of your attention.

“You are the problem.”

“You didn’t complain when I was the problem in your bed last night,” he says under his breath, grin smug.

You resist the urge to chuck your pen at his face. Mostly because you need it.

—

Ten minutes later, he’s scribbling nonsense on your notepad:

“Do you miss your Pretty Boy Tutor?” “Y/N, I know taxes are scary. Let me comfort you.” “My love for you is more confusing than this spreadsheet.” “Will you marry me so I can stop pretending to be helpful?”

You pause at that last one.

He’s twirling his pen between his fingers, eyebrows raised like he absolutely meant it but also like maybe he’s joking unless you say yes.

You push the notepad back toward him and write:

“Yes. But only if we never do a budget together.”

He grins like the sun’s come up just for him.

“I accept your deeply unromantic proposal,” he whispers.

Then: “Does this mean I have to start tutoring you on wedding planning?”

You grin back. “Only if you want to fail spectacularly.”

He leans forward, lips brushing yours. “Been failing since Day One, babe. But somehow I still got you.”

—

Bonus Study Notes (Filed Under: Marriage Prep 101)

Y/N’s Session Notes:

Turns out, flirting is a lifelong skill.

So is budgeting. Jeonghan has no clue. He spent 300k won on aesthetic mugs last week.

Wedding theme: "Not academic, but aggressively hot."

Official title: Mrs. Pretty Boy Tutor.

Jeonghan’s Session Notes:

She said yes.

I win.

Also: i need to hide the mugs before she finds the receipt.

[siyalogue]

I HAVE A GIRLFRIEND?, PSH (PART 2)

• SYNOPSIS: Sunghoon thought nothing could make his life worse than the flood of anonymous love letters cramming his locker thanks to Jay and his girlfriend's legendary campus romance, until a rumor sparks that he's dating you, the campus's sharp-tongued, designer-draped cautionary tale he can't stand. The feelings? Entirely mutual. You're not sure why Park Sunghoon, the painfully breathtaking keyboardist of HYPHENIX, seems to have personal vendetta against you. Especially when you've never even had a proper conversation, you didn’t even know he had such an expressive talent for glaring. But if he wants to act cold, you aren't about to play nice either.

Now, in a twist neither of you saw coming, the rumor you were supposed to deny has turned into a full-blown fake relationship and it's spiraling way more than it should have.

• PAIRING: Park Sunghoon x afab!reader

• WORD COUNT: 18.3k

• CONTENT TAGS: Non idol au, university settings, fake dating, enemies to allies to ?, rich girl x popular boy, grumpy x grumpy lmao, not proofread, lmk if I missed something.

PART 1

• Park Sunghoon's spin off from: I DON'T LIKE YOUR GIRLFRIEND

• SERIES MASTERLIST

• AUTHOR'S NOTE: This is Sunghoon's spin off from my most beloved fanfic "I don't like your girlfriend," also, YN from IDLYG is named Mia here for better understanding, same universe, different love♡ I hope you'll enjoy reading this♡♡

Your parent's house was too grand, pristine and far too quiet but it wasn’t the type of quiet which would tear you down. You were happy that your mom and dad were there to take care of you. You had been in your parent's house for two days, not feeling it in you to stay alone while you recovered. You were thankful your mother didn't ask many questions, just took care of you with quiet understanding. You hadn't meant to scare them, collapsing right after Sunghoon left, his words still echoing in your ears as you drifted into unconsciousness. When you became conscious, the sterile scent of the hospital along with your parent's concerned whispers greeted you.

You didn't ask your parents who bought you there, didn’t really care about that. At that moment all you cared about was that you didn't want to go back to the apartment, to the campus, to him. So you asked your parents if you could stay with them, curled up on the bed inside your room. You left your phone turned face-down most of the time, didn't inform anyone what happened other than your class representative and professor. There wasn't anyone who would be concerned enough anyway.

You sighed as your thoughts once again drifted off towards the incident. You never understood why Sunghoon was so bitter when it came to you, that every time something happened he always assumed the worst so easily. You weren't even angry at first, just confused and shocked, that he said it all without even asking what happened. That letting you explain your point of view didn't matter, as if your heels and designer outfits meant you weren't supposed to get exhausted, as if you deserved all the accusation he threw at you.

You thought, just for a moment, that the version of you he may have painted in his mind was starting to fade, replaced by the real you, that maybe he saw through you after the close proximity and shared silences. You let yourself believe that whatever grudge he had held against you had dissolved slowly in those half smiles and longing stares. You thought that maybe you'd finally found someone who would hold your heart gently. But in the end, he shattered everything. Your heart, your trust, and the foolish hope that maybe, just maybe he saw you for who you really were.

Then you thought that maybe it was indeed your fault, that you let your guard down so easily, let him sit closer to you without snapping, let him hold your hand, let him drape his stupid blazer over your shoulders even when it was just two of you and he didn't need to act, let him look at you as if you weren't the same girl he couldn't stand once.

And you let yourself dare to hope that maybe you both could at least have a decent friendship when this all would end. But the moment he lashed out on you, the illusion broke, yours not his. You couldn't even defend yourself, but then again, what was the point of defending when he had already decided that it was your fault.

You never really expected him to defend you, but you didn't expect him to break you either. You wanted to cry, you thought that maybe once you were left alone tears would come but they didn't. The pain just sat in your chest, heavy and deep somewhere in your heart. Maybe you subconsciously held it in, like breaking down would make this feel too real. You weren't the type of person who let others walk over you so easily, but you thought Sunghoon would be different, despite your better judgement.

Your thoughts were interrupted when you heard a knock on your door. The door creaked open and your housekeeper smiled softly at you before opening the door further, “Miss Mia is here to see you.” Mia smiled at you, holding a small paper bag in her hand as she entered the room after softly shutting the door behind her. You sat up straight, combing your hand through your hair to tame them a little. “Hey,” she started, sitting at the edge of the bed, “you didn't answer any texts or calls, and when you didn't show up in the university for 2 days straight, I got worried.”

You smiled softly at her, though seeing her face only made your heart ache more, “thank you Mia, you didn't have to come all the way here, I'm feeling fine now.” She scooted closer, hand resting on yours, “I had a feeling this would happen,” she squeezed your hand, “that you'd burn yourself out. I told Sunghoon I wanted to check on you, but he insisted you were okay. Still I went back to the venue after he dropped me off, just to be sure and found you passed out.”

Your eyes widened, “you were the one who took me to the hospital?” She nodded, making herself more comfortable, “I couldn't leave you like that.” You swallowed the lump in your throat, the silence between the two of you felt a bit suffocating. “I came to see you today because Sunghoon's been acting strange too, he is distant and closed off. He didn't say anything, but I figured something must've happened between you when he refused to talk about you.” Her concerned eyes found yours, “did something happen?”

“I'll tell you that," you intertwined your fingers with her, hesitantly, “but can you tell me first what happened before Sunghoon came to meet me?” Mia blinked, surprised at your request but nodded nonetheless. “He didn't really say much,” she recalled as she told you what happened, “I was loading the last box when you were gone to grab us some water, you left and he showed up after a few minutes.” You nodded, waiting for her to continue, “as soon as he saw me he asked what I am doing here and where you were, I told him you were inside and before I could finish speaking he muttered something under his breath and started walking towards you.”

Your lips pursed into a thin line, “looks like he already assumed the worst without even asking anything.” Mia looked at you with confusion in her eyes, “tell me what happened?” You paused, before sighing, “I got us the water, was about to walk back when I felt dizzy and I sat down to ground myself, then he suddenly showed up and before I could even say anything he started lashing out on me.” And you told her every little thing he said, the way he said, what expression he had, how much wronged you felt and Mia just listened to you with a bewildered expression like she couldn't believe you were talking about the same Sunghoon she knew.

Her expression slowly turned from confusion to complete disbelief. Her eyes widened, lips parting slightly in shock. By the time you were done explaining everything, her voice was barely a whisper, “I can't believe he said all that to you.” You laughed bitterly, shaking your head, “neither I did, until he actually said those things.”

She looked at you like she wanted to apologize on his behalf, trying to make sense of why he behaved the way he did, but nothing came out of her mouth. Because both of you knew there was no good explanation for what he did, at least that's what you both thought. And you weren't sure if you wanted his apologies anymore.

“You don't have to carry the guilt of his actions though,” you assured and she shook her head. “Ava never treated me right, that's half the reason why the boys are always so protective of me, but Sunghoon was never like this, I don't know why he said those things to you, I'm feeling so angry at him,” she put her hands on her head. You fiddled with your fingers, “I thought maybe things were starting to smoothen out between us.”

She looked at you, noticing how different you looked than the confident girl she had come to adore, “I'm sorry you had to go through that, he wasn't always like this. I mean, he gets annoyed, sure, but he was never this cruel.” You weren't sure what to say. “He is one of the most thoughtful people I know. He always looked after me even when Jay and I weren't together, trusted actions more than words, stayed by my side when I felt lonely, understood me even when I didn't speak anything. He knew what to say to make things feel better, he was always there to support me so I don't get how that Sunghoon could turn like this.”

You just sat there as you watched her speak because the Sunghoon she was talking about, the soft one, the thoughtful one, had never existed in your world. He always assumed you were at fault, he never really trusted you, he left you when you needed him to be there for you the most, he didn’t even try to understand you, didn't question your silence, he said things to you that only made everything far worse, if he wouldn't have gotten benefit from this deal he would've never supported you.

Then you remembered the way he looked at Jay and her at the yacht, the realization dawned upon you like a crash. Mia smiled faintly at you, unaware of the weight her words carried for you. Smiling back at her, you nodded, as if smiling could help dull the sting in your chest.

Sunghoon was rehearsing for their upcoming gig in their music room, alone. It was getting dark, he should've gone back home, but his thoughts were anything but silence. His mind kept on drifting towards the day when he lashed out on you. He remembered you telling him you could handle those things but he still found himself getting his keys.

He wasn't sure why he needed to be near you, neither your parents or any university student were going to be there, he didn't need to act like your boyfriend that day. He could have rested, maybe caught up on some sleep but he couldn't help but think about you. Especially when the thought about you managing everything alone was circling in his mind.

So after contemplating for a good amount of time he finally left his place and drove towards the event hall. He reached the venue, thinking maybe he'd spot you scolding the staff member for minor inconvenience, or pacing around frantically trying to get everything done. He expected he'd see you in your signature high heels and even higher attitude but instead he saw Mia. She was walking towards a truck with a box in her hand, then keeping it in the truck already filled with numerous other boxes. He stopped dead in his tracks, confusion lacing over his features.

His eyes scanned the surrounding area instinctively, expecting you to be doing something else, maybe even sitting close by taking a short break, but there was no one around other than Mia, loading the last box inside the truck in this heat. His chest tightened at the sight, where were you? As he walked towards Mia who was still unaware of his presence, she leaned against the truck, wiping her forehead with her hand, looking exhausted and alone. He approached her, asking why she was here and where were you. Her eyes widened, she told him you were inside and it was enough for him, of course you would sit inside and let others do all the work.

He made his way towards you, jaw clenched, ears ringing as pieces began to click together in his mind. You were sitting inside the hall in AC while Mia did all the work in the heat, He scoffed, of course you'd think you're too pretty to be doing anything like that. You, proving once again that everything he ever thought about you was right. He found you sitting on a chair, head thrown back in complete ease and then without thinking he lashed out on you barely giving you any time to react before he walked off.

He spotted Mia still standing near the truck, she approached him the moment she spotted him, asking if you were alright. He nodded, telling her you're okay. It wasn't like you were doing much anyway. Mia nodded reluctantly, throwing one last glance towards the hall before getting inside the car. He dropped her off then immediately went home, he kept his eyes on the road but his grip on the wheel was a little tighter than necessary.

His mind was swirling with different scenarios where he found you behaving entitled, and then it drifted towards all the moments he spent with you. Even Jieun liked you, and that kid rarely liked anyone. He thought maybe he was wrong about you but you just proved him right. Still, there was something tugging at his chest, he didn't know why his chest felt heavy, why leaving you alone in the event hall didn’t feel right. He didn’t know why the words he said to you didn't feel as justifiable as they did when he said them to you, but he knew that he wasn't going to let you take advantage of his friends like you did with others.

“Park Sunghoon!” He flinched when the door of the music room burst open and Mia stepped inside without waiting for him to say anything, and slammed the door shut. He gulped as she walked in front of him before grabbing a chair to sit. He didn't say anything, just watched her take a few deep breaths trying to calm herself down.

“What is wrong with you?” Arms crossed tightly across her chest, “why are you acting like nothing happened?” His shoulders stiffened, “what are you talking about?” Mia narrowed her eyes on him, “you're seriously asking me that after avoiding talking about her, you know she didn't attend any classes for the past three days right?”

“Yeah, I know,” he muttered, avoiding her gaze, “I just think she's avoiding me after what she did.” Mia scoffed, “you think she's the type to skip class just to avoid? And what did she do exactly?” Sunghoon said nothing, still avoiding her gaze. “She fainted Sunghoon,” she said flatly, “I went back after you dropped me off and saw her passed out, I wanted to ask you about her but you kept avoiding me, you walked away from her thinking she was being lazy and she collapsed.” His eyes widened at her words, “what?”

“You heard me,” Mia ran her hand through her hair, “she did everything on her own, the staff member had an injured arm so she stepped up to help, she loaded those boxes in the truck. She hadn't eaten or rested, I just happened to notice her while I was out to get some snacks, I saw her almost collapse against the truck, I forced her to stop and offered to keep the last two boxes in the truck and she told me she'll go and get some water for both of us.”

Sunghoon finally looked at her, hands curled into fists, “why didn't you tell me?” She huffed a long breath, “I tried Sunghoon, I said I wanted to check on her, you said she's fine, I didn't know you lashed out on her until she told me everything.” He pulled at his hair, disbelief etching on his face at his own stupidity, “shit, I didn't know that, I didn’t know she fainted.” Mia scoffed, clearly irritated with his actions, “now you know, and it wasn't just that, you tore her apart Sunghoon, you accused her of things she never did, you didn't even give her a chance to explain herself!”

“I thought she made you do all the work,” he mumbled, head dipped low in shame, “you know you've always been too kind to say no.” Mia sighed, “she isn't who you think she is, Sunghoon. It's about time you realize that, she even helped me with Kuro Hana booking. I'm not mad you misunderstood, especially because people always think negatively of her,” she shook her head in disappointment, “but I'm disappointed that you didn't even try to understand, the Sunghoon I knew would've never done this.”

Sunghoon's fingers hovered over his keyboard, Mia's voice echoing louder than any other note he could play. He had been so sure of his assumptions that he didn't bother to stop and think. Now, the guilt was sitting on his throat like a weight he couldn't swallow. “She's at her parent's house,” Mia mumbled quietly as she watched his expressions change, the words barely reached his ears but he stood up from his chair, legs stumbling into motion before his mind could catch up. “You'll get home safe right?” He asked as he grabbed his jacket and bag, hands trembling.

“I'll be fine,” she said with a smile, a knowing look plastered upon her face as she watched him, “Jay's already on his way.” She stood up to follow him to the door, “Sunghoon, don't just show up, apologize properly. I'll not say it's going to be easy, but since you made the mistake, don't run away from owning up to it.” He nodded, walking towards the door but stopped abruptly, one hand placed on the doorframe as he turned back towards her. Sunghoon raised his eyebrows and she smiled, nodding her head and urging him to go towards you. He gave her a half smile, nodding back before he ran off the building to get to you.

You weren't expecting a knock on your door, especially since you already told your mother you weren't in the mood for dinner. Your housekeeper peeked inside the room with a curious expression. “There's a guest at the door Miss,” she said, smiling gently at you, “it's young Mr. Park.” Your heart skipped a beat, hands clutching on your blanket before you threw it aside, slipped into your slippers and made your way out of your room. By the time you reached the living room, your mother was already smiling brightly, ushering Sunghoon inside. He stood in front of her stiffly but still gave her a small smile.

Your mother's eyes fell upon you before Sunghoon's did and she smiled, “you didn't tell me you invited him over.” She then turned towards Sunghoon, squeezing his arm, “stay for the dinner, with you here she'll at least come and have dinner together.” Sunghoon waited for you to say something. You wanted to deny her request, turn your heel and walk inside your room to mop around in peace but you didn't want to cause a scene, especially since your mother had no idea about what happened. So you nodded.

Dinner at your parent's place had never felt so suffocating. The dinner was served, the table set immaculately with the kind of perfection your mother maintains like a second nature and tonight you had to play your part in order to get done with this quickly. You barely looked at Sunghoon. He sat across from you, occasionally glancing at you in between engaging in a conversation with your mom. His usual confidence had worn thin, his voice hesitant as he talked with her. You were sure Mia had told him everything, you could see it in the way his knuckles tightened as he clutched his glass of water, how he kept fidgeting with the napkin on his lap as you ignored his presence.

Your mother carried the conversation all throughout the dinner, blissfully unaware of the weight behind your silences. She spoke about her upcoming projects, asked Sunghoon how his band was doing, even teased you both about inviting his mom and him for tea with you and her. Your replies were short, just a few words of acknowledgment and soft hums as you ate your dinner.

Eventually, the plates were cleared away by the house staff and your mother stood up, stepping back from the table, “I need to review some emails before tomorrow's early meeting. Honey, could you please see Sunghoon off for me? I feel terrible for leaving early.”

You nodded, “of course mom.” She patted Sunghoon's cheek lovingly before she walked away and you were left with him, alone in your kitchen. You stood up slowly, adjusting your sweater, trying your best to not look into his direction. He stood too, hesitantly, mouth parting but closing as if he couldn't decide what to say. You walked towards your hallway when he finally spoke, “I didn't know.” You stopped, hearing his footsteps nearing you, “I didn't know about the hospital, or you passing out. I swear I didn't know, otherwise I would've come to you sooner.”

You didn't respond, not yet. He walked beside you when you started walking towards the living room. “I was angry,” his voice sounded a bit desperate now, “and I already had these stupid assumptions about you, and maybe I just wanted a reason to push you away, and when I saw Mia….and you weren't there, I just….” he swallowed hard.

You looked at him finally and you could hear the tremble beneath the sigh he let out when your eyes met, “I shouldn't have said what I said, I should've talked with you first, let you speak at least. I just let my emotions take over me, I felt frustrated and confused and I didn't know why I did that, but I also know no amount of excuses would ever erase what I said, but I'm sorry, I'm so so sorry.”

He was rambling, and it was honestly the first time you'd heard him speak so much in front of you. He kept going on about how sorry he felt towards his actions, not to seek your forgiveness but to unburden himself from hiding his remorse from you. “I'm sorry,” his tone was softer now, “I'm sorry for everything.”

He stepped closer and his face somehow looked more softer than you remembered. He looked tried, like he had been losing sleep over what happened too. You gave him a short nod after you were sure he had nothing else to say. Just a small nod, nothing more nothing less, no words of comfort, no yelling, just a silent acknowledgement that his words had reached you, that his apology has been received.

And then you turned around as soon as you reached the front door of your parent's house and then walked away without another word. He watched as you entered your room, you didn't slam your door, didn’t even give him a second glance, you just left him standing there at your door, still clutching the guilt you had handed him back without a single sound. And somehow your silence hurt him more than your sharp words ever could.

The low hum of amps dying out filled the music room, dirt particles swirling under the overhead light, the final chord of the rehearsal still hung in the air. Sunghoon sat at the edge of the bench, staring blankly on the floor, his fingers still resting on the keys though the practice ended 5 minutes ago. Heeseung announced the end of today's session and everyone began to pack up. Jay's eyes fell upon Sunghoon but then he made his way out of the room, Jake's hand clapped his shoulder before he too slipped out. Only Heeseung remained, leaning against the wall, arms crossed over his chest as he watched Sunghoon pack his own things.

It had been like that since last week, Sunghoon, though he was giving his best with the practice, was most of the time out of it. They all felt it, something unspoken clawing at the space between them, things hadn't been the same after that incident, though everyone was trying to act normal. You were still involved in his life, still showing up on time, looking perfect, but he could see that the things weren't the same. You didn’t linger much near the boys, you didn't roll your eyes when Jake teased you, didn't give Heeseung any witty remarks, didn't tease Jay about his love story.

You kept your distance, smiled only when it was necessary, talked only when addressed to. You were civil with them but you didn't even look at Sunghoon, not really. And even when you did look at him, he could feel the distance, the weight of the thick wall you put between you and him made of all the words he shouldn't have said to you. And of course everyone else would catch up that Sunghoon's apology has not been accepted, that you were closing off again, and the only person who could perhaps fix it all up was doing nothing else other than drowning in his own misery.

“You're going to lose her at this point,” Heeseung's voice echoed through the music room, making Sunghoon freeze in place. Heeseung pushed himself off the wall and walked a few steps closer, “what is going on in your mind? Do you even care enough to try harder?” Sunghoon's shoulder stiffened but he didn't speak, “why are you pretending like this is how you are now?” Sunghoon turned around, voice laced with confusion, “what are you talking about?” Heeseung sighed, crossing his arms across his chest, “this version of you, the one who shuts everyone out, who lashes out without thinking, who doesn't make much effort to make things right, this is not you Sunghoon.”

He placed his hand on Sunghoon's shoulder, sighing deeply, “you've always been cold and quiet, but you had your own way of looking out for others even when they didn't ask for it, you defended Mia and Jay in front of half of the university, you made sure Ava was actually getting what she deserved for playing with Jay's feelings,” Heeseung squeezed his shoulder, his voice quieter than earlier as he spoke “you let me cry on your shoulder all night when she moved to London, you care but now you're acting like you don't care at all.”

Sunghoon exhaled a deep breath, hands clutching onto his bag till his knuckles turned white, “I don't know what to do, she didn't yell at me, didn't slam her door on my face, didn't cause a scene. She created distance but still showed up, and her silence is more deafening than her rage. I have no idea how to handle that.” Heeseung sighed, adjusting his bag on his shoulder, “you don't know or don't want to know? I know you, you're not the kind of guy who'd walk away from someone you hurt before making things right, you sacrifice your own happiness if it makes someone you love happy. So stop pretending you're fine, and mend things quickly, because if you don't…” Heeseung trailed off for a few seconds, “you're going to lose something you'll regret for a long, long time.”

The rooftop was dressed in a halo of warm lights strung overhead, gold and ivory draping the corners of the open-air space. Everything about the setting screamed luxury, the velvet rope barriers, waiters weaving through the crowd with flutes of champagne and a grand stage framed with crystal panels that caught the lights just right. HYPHENIX was about to perform today and the buzz had already begun. Sunghoon stood at the edge, looking at the text he had sent you earlier today. It wasn't much, just a plain text requesting you to attend their performance followed by the address.

He sighed, slipping his phone back inside his pocket. He wasn't sure if you'd come, but he texted anyway, clinging to the quiet hope that maybe you would show up. He didn't know how to ask for your forgiveness, and didn't have the right words lined up yet. But what he did know was that he was going to try his best to slowly mend things back, this time he wasn't going to let you walk away without putting up a fight.

His eyes trailed towards Jake who was talking with few of his classmates, an easy smile etched upon his face. Away from him, Heeseung sat at the back, texting profusely on his phone, eyebrows furrowed in concentration.

Sunghoon's eyes then scanned the rooftop until they landed on Jay, who was standing near the stage with Mia, who was adjusting his collar while mumbling something he couldn't quite make out. The sight distracted him for a bit, even though watching Jay and Mia together was very normal for him.

He was used to looking at them and feeling the quiet ache of longing and often times his mind had wandered towards the what ifs, like would the situation be different if it was him instead. And he could feel the similar ache bloom inside his chest again, but tonight it was for someone else entirely. The longing was still there, the only difference was, this time it was for you instead.

Sunghoon sighed, despite trying to keep his thoughts contained, they slipped past his control, drifting back towards you. Watching Mia adjust Jay's collar made him recall the moment he spent with you in his bathroom before his cousin's wedding. The way your fingers slightly brushed against his chest as you tied his tie, the way he couldn't keep his eyes off your lips. He was lost in his own thoughts again, and these days he didn't even make an effort to hide it. “You should really stop looking at someone who already belongs to someone else like that in a public setting, people might get confused about your intentions.”

Sunghoon flinched, like your voice snapped him out of whatever fantasy that was swirling inside his head. He turned towards you immediately, eyes locking with yours with something unreadable flashing inside them.

“I wasn't looking at Mia,” he muttered, eyes taking in your appearance as if he couldn't believe you were actually there. “I never took Mia's name,” you leaned against the railings, eyes straight ahead, “but I guess that says enough, doesn't it?” He didn't reply immediately, and the silence between you was filled with the ghosts of too many things neither of you had courage to say.

You could feel his gaze linger on you, though you couldn't figure out what meaning they held. It was always like that with him, he let his guard up way too high whenever it concerned you. Letting out a quiet breath, you cleared your throat, voice softer than before, “it's not my business who you look at,” then your eyes met his, “but maybe next time, try not doing it while your apparent 'girlfriend' is standing right next to you.” With that, you straighten yourself up and walk off towards the opposite side of the rooftop, leaving Sunghoon standing there watching you go.

The band was finally called on the stage, the rooftop was now filled with cheers and applause as all four of them took their positions at the stage. You leaned against the bar counter, Mia sitting right beside you as she cheered for them. Your eyes found Sunghoon, his fingers moving over the keys like it was his second nature, his head tilted just enough to let the soft lighting hit his cheekbones. His head lifted up, eyes scanning around the rooftop, you thought he was looking for Mia but then his eyes landed on you.

The performance went on, but his eyes found yours again and again, not blatantly but between the verses, in fleeting glances he disguised as nothing. You didn't react, didn't give him the satisfaction though you could feel your heart hammer loud against your chest, hands clutched together. You hated that he had such a strong effect on you, especially when you had no idea since when it had started being that way. Every time your eyes met his, you could feel the hollowness in your heart clawing up at your throat. But you kept it together, he had hurt you, it was only fair you'd take your time accepting his apology.

The music faded, and the crowd erupted with cheers and as Sunghoon's eyes found yours one last time you heard a quiet, hushed voice speaking from behind you. “He's so obvious,” a girl gushed, giggling slightly. “Who?” Another one asked, then you heard her sigh, “the pretty keyboardist, he kept looking at her like she's the only person in this room.” You didn't turn around to look at them, didn’t even flinch but your lips twitched slightly as your eyes flickered towards him. He was talking with someone along with the others, and Mia nudged you, a knowing smile plastered on her face, “did you hear what that girl said?” She whispered close to your ear and you just rolled your eyes, shaking your head, “don't do that.”

You were about to leave the event when Sunghoon called your name, you stopped, turning around in confusion ready to make an excuse to avoid him when he cut you off, “Yeji is here.” Your eyebrows creased but before you could ask him something, Yeji engulfed you in a hug, “I missed you, it has been a while since I last saw you.” Your eyes widened but then you hugged her back, smiling gently when she pulled away, “I'm sorry I've been busy, why didn't I know you were going to be here?”

She shook her head, “I had some other work, but then it ended early so I decided to surprise him.” You nodded in understanding, “I see.” She held your hand, her genuine happiness after meeting you made your heart full, you looked at Sunghoon before you fixed her hair, “how was your performance? Everything went well?” She beamed at your question, “oh it was amazing, everyone congratulated me for it.” You mirrored her expression, “see? I told you that you'd do great, I was right.”

She nodded her head, jumping slightly in excitement, “Sunghoon was there for me, he said you were busy so you couldn't join, but I really miss spending time with you, can you please come home tomorrow? Even mom was asking Sunghoon about you.” Your smile flattered for a second but you covered it up, you opened your mouth to speak when Sunghoon cut you off, “she's busy these days-” you tugged his sleeve when you noticed Yeji's expression shift, “I'll come tomorrow, I promise.” Her eyes widened, “really?” You nodded, embracing her in a hug while Sunghoon just watched the two of you with a small smile on his face.

You heaved a tired sigh after a tiring day at the university. You were about to enter your car after checking your schedule for the next day when Sunghoon called out your name, you turned around to find him running towards you. “Yeji was asking if you're coming home?” He asked, eyes flickering across the parking lot after he calmed himself down. You hummed, “yes, I was heading there right now actually, she texted me too.” Sunghoon nodded, placing himself between you and your car when you tried to get inside. You looked at him in confusion. “Um, let me drive you there, they will ask questions if we'll go there separately.”

You closed your eyes momentarily and exhaled a deep breath, “we can just answer their questions then.” He stopped you again when you reached for the door, “uh, it will probably get late, my mom would kill me if I let you go alone.” You sighed as you still opened the door, his shoulders sagged, “let me park my car in my apartment then we'll go together from there.” You got inside, quickly driving off before he could properly react to your words. He fumbled with his keys as he drove off to your apartment, sighing in relief that you at least agreed with him.

You were sitting on the living room sofa with Yeji curled up beside you, head resting on your lap as she showed you the pictures of her performance on her phone. You occasionally laughed along with her when she told you some funny memory of the event while giving your own comments on other things. Sunghoon watched everything from the hallway, his mother passed by you, gently brushing her hand on your back as she placed the bowl of fruits on the table for you to eat. Yeji sat up, giving you space and you took the bowl in your lap, eating the fruits while also occasionally feeding it to Yeji.

“She blends in so well with us,” his mother spoke beside him, “I'm so glad you chose her.” He looked at his mother as she cupped his cheeks before walking away. His eyes then landed back on you, the way you were so comfortable around his family like you had always been a part of them. His family was picky when it came to accepting other people inside the family but you managed to somehow make your own space without much struggle.

Hours passed and the evening stretched lazily into dusk. The chatter from earlier had faded into a soft hush as you reached for your bag, giving Yeji a goodbye hug and a promise to visit again. You were about to call out his mom when she emerged from the hallway. “I don't want you to go,” she mumbled as you hugged her. “I'll try my best to visit often,” you smiled, adjusting your bag. “Sunghoon,” she called out and you saw him come out of his room, “drop her off, will you? It's getting dark.” He just nodded, making his way towards you, grabbing his keys wordlessly as you murmured quiet goodbyes once again.

The car ride back to your home was quiet. Outside, the streetlight casted long shadows over the dashboard, and your reflection caught faintly in the window glass as you stared at the traffic passing by. He pulled up in the parking lot of your apartment, getting out to open your side of the door. You stepped out, grabbing your bag to head inside when he stopped you. “What?” You turned around to face him, your gaze unreadable. “Why are you doing this?” He asked as he looked at your face like he was trying to read something. “Doing what?” You blinked, keeping your bag on the hood of the car.

“This,” he gestured between the two of you, “you show up to my shows, you talk with my friends, you make plans with my family.” He stepped closer, eyes narrowing slightly, not with anger, not with confusion but hurt, “you're not pushing me away by rejecting my apology but you are not pulling me back either by accepting it. You're just floating somewhere in the middle and I don't know where I stand with you anymore.” Your fingers curled into a fist as he continued, “you haven't yelled at me, didn't curse me out, you just shut yourself off, and every time I think maybe I can try to fix, you're already gone.”

Silence stretched between you for a while, then he spoke again, quieter this time, “I never wanted to hurt you and I'm trying, I'm trying to fix this, but I can't do that when I don't even know if you want this thing to be fixed or not.” You exhaled sharply, the ache in your chest finally cracking through your composure, “why do you even want to fix this? You've already painted me as the villain of your story, what is there left to fix? You already said what you wanted to say, you made it clear what you thought about me.”

You gulped the lump forming in your throat as he stilled, “I didn't yell because I didn't have the energy to convince you I'm not the entitled, spoiled brat you thought I was,” your voice cracked a little, “you didn't even give me the space to explain myself that day, you just tore me apart, piece by piece and you didn't even care to spare me a second glance.” You looked away, wiping the tear that managed to fall off your eyes after days of hurt, “I was exhausted, but I did my best, and you? You just stormed in and humiliated me, you treated me like I was heartless.”

You took a shaky breath, looking into his eyes. He opened his mouth but no sound came. “You said I was exploiting Mia's kindness, and yes, I know, I know damn well I'll never be her, I'll never be as kind and soft as her, and that I'll never be able to make a place in your life like she did, but does that mean I deserved getting blamed like that?” His eyes widened, horrified, “No-” your voice finally cracked fully, tears streaming down your face without any control, “then why do you hate me so much? Why was it so easy for you to tear me down? Why didn't you think, even for a second, that I might be hurting too?”

He stood there frozen, the sight of your tears and the weight of your words crashing into him like a storm. “I've been trying so hard to move past it, I've never let anyone's opinion get to me like this, but somehow those words stung even more when they came from you. And yes I'm tired of pretending that I'm okay, I'm not. I'm hurt because I never expected that from you. I knew you couldn't stand me, I tried to make peace with it, I thought you'd realize that I'm way more than those rumours paint me to be but I was so wrong.” Sunghoon stepped forward without hesitation, hands reaching out towards you and you didn't pull away. He held your hand in his, you let him.

He tilted your head up with his other hand, wiping the tears that kept flowing the more you looked at him. “I'm sorry, I'll be better I promise you, give me another chance, let me fix this please? Hmm?” You looked at him, the slight tremble in his voice and the glossiness in his eyes made your chest tight. “You can hate me all you want, punish me for the things I said even, I'll not complain once, just don't shut me out of your life.” You didn't answer him, just stood there for a while, letting him hold your hand as your sobs subsidized and you calmed down. You sighed after a while, softly releasing your hand from his hold. You took your bag and slung it on your shoulder wordlessly before looking at him as you spoke, “get home safely.”

Mia had dragged you with them to their usual hangout place off the campus, the riverfront. Jake and Sunghoon stood a few feet away from you by the railing with Jake rambling about different things to do at his lake house for his birthday party. Jay stood beside Heeseung talking about their latest gig. You were sitting on the bench with Mia as she showed you pictures of their last trip. Mia excused herself when Jay called her and then came Heeseung with a grin too casual to be completely innocent. He sat beside you, arm lazily draped over the bench behind you.

“Tell me you're coming,” he said, looking at you with his doe eyes. Your eyes narrowed at his sudden interest in you, “to?” He smiled, “Jake's lake house for his birthday party.” He pointed towards Jake who was very animatedly going off about his plans, “I could use some help with the adult supervision.” You rolled your eyes and he continued, “seriously, you've become a part of our group now, it won't be the same without you and I need someone to keep me grounded.” You let out a smile at that, shaking your head but agreeing nonetheless.

“Guys, I know this is common knowledge between us but I'll say it again that I just want a quiet birthday,” Jake declared, getting everyone's attention, “we can drink, dance, have fun but only us.” The rest agreed, choruses of agreement echoing through the air, until Mia interjected, “I love the idea but no one will throw anyone into the lake at midnight,” she glared at Jake, who raised his hands in fake innocence.

Heeseung leaned closer, “see? It will be peaceful.” You nodded and he took out his phone as he looked at you, “let's take a selfie so you remember who convinced you for this.” With the same smile, he slung his arm around your shoulder and positioned his camera. You raised your eyebrows but then adjusted your position to pose for the picture. As Heeseung looked at the picture, you saw movement in the corner of your eyes, you looked up to see Sunghoon walking away after muttering a quiet, “I'll be back.”

Jake called after him, “don't leave me in the middle of discussion, we still need to discuss the room arrangements,” but Sunghoon was already walking away. Heeseung watched him go, eyes glinting with a mischievous sort of awareness, “isn't that interesting?” He smirked as he looked at you, “if you ever want to make someone jealous, I feel like it would definitely work if you do it with me.” You rolled your eyes, finally understanding the goal behind Heeseung's actions, “that wasn't my goal.” He shrugged, “doesn’t hurt.”

“Wow this is way better than I thought,” you complimented Jake as you reached his lake house. It was an elegant mix of rustic wood and modern luxury, perched on the edge of a glimmering lake that twinkled under the late evening light. Tall glass windows bathed the living room in moonlight. Laughter and sigh of relief echoed through the house as everyone finally relaxed. You slipped off your shoes at the entrance, walking across the polished wooden floors as your eyes trailed up to the open staircase and then towards the fireplace already stacked with logs. Everything about the house was warm, lived-in and private, you already loved it.

“Okay,” Jake announced dramatically from the living room after you were done with the dinner and you made your way inside, “none of you thought it would be better to do room assignments before reaching here.” You glanced towards him as he pointed an accusing finger at everyone, “I know I didn't do it, but it was because Sunghoon decided to randomly vanish in the middle of the discussion, and Jay and Mia were busy doing…whatever they were doing.” Jay raised his eyebrows at him while Mia just gave him a sheepish smile. Your eyes fell upon Sunghoon who was leaning against the wall, close to where all of your luggage was kept, beside him stood Heeseung watching everything with an amused smile.

Jake rolled his eyes, shaking his head in disappointment, “whatever, you guys decide the rooming situation, Jay and I need to check the outdoor grill and lights to see if they work properly so we don't have to struggle much on my birthday night." He motioned Jay to follow him and the two of them disappeared behind the patio door.

You saw Mia flop on the nearest couch as her gaze bounced between you, Heeseung and Sunghoon. “So?” She started, “since there are 3 bedrooms, it's obvious we will room in pairs.” You nodded, smiling at Mia who nodded back, “guess we will be stuck with each other.”

Before Mia could open her mouth to agree with you, Heeseung cut in trying his best to suppress his grin, “actually no.” Everyone blinked, Heeseung continued looking at Mia intensely, “you should room with Jay.” Mia's eyes furrowed in confusion, “what?” Heeseung shrugged, “you and Jay fought right? It's a perfect chance to make up, you know? Sharing a room, talking it out. It's either that or both of you will spend this gateway with awkward avoidance.” Mia looked still confused at Heeseung's words but decided against refuting. You looked at Heeseung, already sensing something mischievous brewing behind his smile.

Heeseung looked at Sunghoon for a second before turning towards you. “I don't mind rooming with you,” he added smoothly, making his way towards you, “we can have so much fun.” You barely walked in his direction to ask what was going on in his mind when you saw Sunghoon shift. He pushed off the wall, leaning down to pick up his luggage and yours before walking towards the staircase. “Hey!” You called out but he was already halfway up. “You're rooming with me,” he said without turning around. “Excuse me?” You asked, climbing a few stairs as Mia and Heeseung trailed behind you.

He stopped at the top of the stairs, turning around to look at you, eyes flickering with something intense behind them, “I'm not letting you room with him, so let's not even start that conversation because I won't be participating in it.” He turned and disappeared down the hallway, your bag still in his grip. Heeseung whistled under his breath as he slung his arm around you while Mia muffled her laugh, clearly amused at the exchange. “Jay and I aren't even fighting,” she chuckled and Heeseung wiggled his eyebrows at you before turning his head towards Mia, “you aren't? Could've fooled me.”

Mia shook her head, taking her and Jay's bag, “why am I even surprised at this point?” And made her way towards the next room. Once Mia was out of sight he looked at you, “you're welcome.” You just glared at him, elbowing his side, “you're evil.” He hummed, crossing his hands across his chest, “I'm a good friend. Also someone had to push the pieces forwards before both of them died of lack of communication and courage.” He grabbed his and Jake's bag before making his way towards the last room, humming something as he skipped away. And you sighed, massaging your temple before making your way towards the room despite the loud thumping inside your chest.

You paused outside the door for a minute, fingers brushing against the doorknob as you took a few deep breaths. The room was spacious, with an attached balcony, giving you a perfect view of the lake. You entered the room, your luggage neatly placed at the foot of the bed, your eyes scanned the room to see Sunghoon standing near the couch, rummaging through his bag with more effort than necessary. The door clicked shut behind you and his shoulder tensed, sensing your presence. He sighed, turning towards you, “I didn’t mean to make that choice for you,” he stated, voice calm but still stiff, “I just didn't like the idea of you sharing a room with Heeseung.”

You folded your arms across your chest, “isn't that too extreme for someone who is fake dating?” He looked down, turning back towards his bag, “this isn't about us fake dating, at least not now.” You walked up to him, and he noticed before sighing, “are you even close with Heeseung to share a room with him? If yes, since when did that happen? Since Mia is sharing a room with Jay, then you sharing a room with me makes more sense right?” You blinked trying to speak when he panicked, thinking you would get a wrong idea of his words, “I mean, you can share a room with whoever you want, it's just…”

“It's just what?” You raised an eyebrow, waiting. He ran his hand through his hair, “it didn’t feel right.” You tore your gaze away from him, unable to find words to say when your eyes fell on the bed, one bed. Neatly made, untouched, your luggage still placed at the foot. “You've been here before right?” You looked at him, “you knew about this?” You questioned, motioning towards the single bed. “I did,” he paused as he looked at the bed, “I just didn't care, I don't know what Heeseung is on about, but I'm not going to let him finish what he started.”

You blinked, startled by his honesty more than the audacity but then you shook your head because you knew Heeseung wasn't going to let you undo the arrangements. So you made your way towards one side of the bed, Sunghoon stood in his spot, unsure of what to do, but then quietly he murmured, “I'll take the couch, you take the bed.”

You pulled your charger out of the bag, “that couch won't fit you, it's too small.” His eyes naturally fell upon the couch, and he sighed, “I'll sleep on the floor then.” You looked at him for a quick second. “Don't be dramatic,” you cut him off, untangling the chord, “I'm not that heartless, just make sure to stay on your side of the bed.”

He didn't reply but you could hear the small exhale of relief he let out at your words. He made his way towards his side of the bed and laid down. You climbed on the bed after changing into comfortable clothes, keeping a careful amount of distance between your bodies. “I'm not doing any of this to mess with you,” he spoke after some time. You stared at the ceiling, “then why are you doing this?” He paused for a long time, and you closed your eyes thinking he wouldn't answer when he exhaled sharply, “I'm trying to undo the quiet between us, I just don't know how to go on about that.”

“You're already doing it,” you said after some time, he turned his head to look at you, “what?” You sighed, “you're talking with me instead of assuming things and avoiding, that's a start.” His breath hitched but you didn't look at him, “I don't want this silence either, but I needed it, I needed the space, I needed to know that I'm not the only one hurting.” He gulped, “I know I didn't handle any of it right.” You nodded. “No you didn't,” you finally turned your head towards him, “I don't want to keep reliving that day, I don't want to carry the weight of it in every room we walk into.”

He shifted, now laying sideways, “I mean it when I said I am not doing this to mess with you.” A ghost of a smile passed over your lips, “then don't mess it up after this.” His heart skipped a beat, “I'll try my best to not do that.” You finally pulled up the covers closer, closing your eyes. The tension still sat in between you, the wounds wouldn't close overnight, but you felt lighter now. And Sunghoon shifted to lay on his back, feeling a bit more relaxed than he had been in a long time.

The soft light of early morning filtered through the curtains, you stirred beneath the warm sheets, shifting slightly. The room was quiet, peaceful even, except for the steady set of heart beat thumping under you. Your eyes flew open, taking in your position. Your leg was thrown over Sunghoon's waist, arm snaked over his torso, and your face nestled into the crook of his neck. You blinked rapidly, trying to catch up on what was happening, through the corner of your eyes you could see he was completely awake by the way he was scrolling through his phone. You pulled away with the speed of a startled cat, making him flinch at the sudden action of yours.

“I- what the hell?” You screeched, sitting up fully, face heating up in embarrassment. He had one of his arms draped behind his head as he looked at you, deadpan, “you told me to stay on my side of the bed.” You blinked once before nodding, “I did.” He nodded solemnly, “yeah and then you spent the whole night clinging onto me like a koala.” Your face burned up, “why didn't you push me away?” He shrugged casually, “didn't want you to wake up accusing me of ruining your beauty sleep.” Your jaw dropped at the accusation but before you could say anything he cut you off, “also, you held on pretty tight, so I don't know if I would've escaped even if I wanted to.”

You grabbed the nearest pillow and threw it at his face, which he caught easily, a faint smirk adorning his face. You flopped back on the bed, your side, turning your back against him, “you're really annoying.” He chuckled, getting up from the bed and going inside the bathroom to get fresh. And you pulled the covers over your face, silently screaming at yourself for how your morning unfolded.

The patio of Jake's lakehouse had turned into a warm cocoon of laughter and chatter. Pillows were scattered everywhere over the outdoor loungers, mugs of hot chocolate in everyone's hands, and speakers playing Jake's playlist softly in the background. Your eyes fell upon Jake who was laughing with Heeseung as the latter played bartender with sparkling water and soda. Jay leaned against the couch as Mia slipped into his hoodie. Sunghoon made his way towards Heeseung, joining him and Jake.

You sat on a wooden deck, bundled in a thick sweater and a blanket thrown over your lap. The firepit glowed gently in the middle, embers floating up into the chilly night air. You saw Mia make her way towards you, throwing half of the blanket over her lap as she made herself comfortable beside you. She didn't say anything right away, just let her eyes wander across the patio before they fell on you. “He's stupid,” she mumbled, pouting, and you blinked, “what?”

“Sunghoon,” she sighed as she looked at him, where he was helping Jake clean up the table after Heeseung spilled the water and soda all over it, “he doesn't think things through, especially when he's hurt, or overwhelmed. But he's not cold, he's soft in a way that you need to squint to properly see.” You hummed in response, not entirely sure how to respond to her. She looked at you, “he messes up because he's scared, he gets in his own head and convinces himself he will ruin things, and ends up doing exactly that, but please…don't give up on him yet, he's trying, he might be scared of his own feelings and not know what to do with it and try to push people away, but I believe he knows he doesn’t want to do that anymore.”

She stood slowly, brushing invisible dirt from the hoodie and adjust the blanket over your lap, “I'm not asking you to hurry, or even forgive him, I'm just trying to help you see things from his perspective because I don't know what the hell has gotten into him ever since he met you, he just malfunctions.” That pulled out a soft laugh from you and Mia smiled, tucking your hair behind your ear before walking off towards Jake, leaving you alone with your thoughts.

Sunghoon sat beside you where Mia was sitting a few minutes ago. You glanced at him but he didn't speak, instead he just held out a stick with two marshmallows in your direction while taking a bite from his own. You took it wordlessly from his hand, fingers brushing against his lightly as you took a bite of your own. Everyone huddled around Jake as the countdown of his birthday began, and when the clock hit midnight he let out a loud and exaggerated gasp as he shouted, “I'm now officially one year wiser and hotter!”

Everyone laughed, surrounding him with hugs and wishes. Jay brought the cake, candles flickering under the breeze as Heeseung pulled out a funny birthday hat for Jake to wear. You stood beside Sunghoon as you all sang loudly, shoulder brushing against his as everyone swayed with a mismatched rhythm. Later, after the cake and all the chaos settled, Jake insisted it was too cold so he ran inside to seek warmth and others also dispersed somewhere else. You stayed outside, now on the patio's stairs when you felt a blanket being draped over your shoulder. You turned your head, watching as Sunghoon sat close beside you, draping the same blanket over his own shoulders.

“You look calm today, and you didn't pull away from me either,” you hummed at his observation, eyes trained on the lake, “yeah, I didn't.” He sighed as he looked at you expectantly, “then should I take this as a sign?” You breathed in deeply, “it's a beginning, not a promise.” He nodded gently, lips curling into a small smile, “it's better than you shutting me out completely, I'll make sure to earn the rest.” The silence stretched between you, the crackle of dying fire filling the empty spaces between words neither of you rushed to break in.

Sunghoon shifted in his place, the blanket rustling due to his movements. Before you could see it, you felt the way his fingers brush against the back of your hand. Your head turned towards him, but he wasn't looking at you, his movements were tentative and testing as if he was giving you a chance to pull away, you didn't. Sighing, he reached for your hand properly, his fingers curling around your wrist gently as if he was afraid to hurt you. He turned your hand over his palm, examining the faint shimmer of your red nail paint under the moonlight.

“Red suits you,” he murmured, voice barely audible if it wasn't for you sitting so close to him. You looked at your hand before they fell back on him, his expressions were still unreadable but you saw him gulp as his fingers paused, hovering your palm like he's debating whether to hold on or let go. You looked at your hand again, and this time you saw it, he was trembling. It was subtle but unmistakable, though he was trying to be neutral, you could feel his hand shaking against your palm. The sight made something sharp twist in your chest with the realization that he wasn't afraid of you but of losing you.

Your gaze softened, and without saying anything, you gently intertwined your fingers with his, tighter and more certain. You gently rubbed your thumb against his skin to ground him, you could feel his nerves ease a bit. He exhaled softly, shoulders relaxing in a way that a simple contact was all he needed from you. And even though not many words were exchanged between you, the silence felt less strained and more comfortable.

Sunghoon was sitting in front of you at the cafe where you usually had your lunch. “There's this uh ... .art auction gala,” he started, rubbing the back of his neck as he looked at you, “both of our parents are attending, your mother must have told you about it. Mine kind of assumed I'd bring you along, yours too probably,” he bit his lips, “so, would you maybe go with me?” You hummed as you tilted your head, pretending to think although you knew you had to attend their auction anyway, “you're just asking me that because your parents said?” Sunghoon gulped, eyes turning wide, “uh, no! That's not the case, I want you to be there too.”

You sighed, crossing your arms and leaning back against the chair, “okay, I'll go.” He leaned forward, chest against the table, “seriously?” You nodded, avoiding his gaze, “but if I get bored, you are taking the responsibility of explaining my exit.” His lips twitched, as he gave you a relieved smile, “that's fair, I'll take the responsibility.” You hummed in response before continuing to eat the rest of your lunch as he sipped his coffee.

The gala was all glitter and wine, conversation danced around wealth as you walked beside Sunghoon after being greeted by both sides of families with happy smiles. “Yeji didn't attend?” You questioned as you noticed her absence. He hummed, “she is busy with her exams preparation, didn't want to risk an entire evening nodding at art she didn't understand.” You nodded, then both of your mothers approached you, looking radiant in their evening gowns and delighted expressions.

Sunghoon straightened up and you stepped closer to him as they approached. “You two are stealing the show here, many of our friends had asked us about you two,” your mother beamed, squeezing your hand. Sunghoon's mother leaned closer to her son, elbowing him lightly as she whispered, “you aren't being subtle with your glances, but I am loving it, you two look lovely beside each other.” Both of you laughed and politely nodded with their words, the kind of personality you master when your family comments on things you can't escape from.

“Honey, you know Mrs. Jung from Busan right? Come with us to say hello to them,” she spoke, grabbing your hand as Sunghoon's mom nodded along. Your expression flattered, you weren't in the mood to entertain their conversations. You opened your mouth to protest but Sunghoon chimed in seamlessly, “umm, I need her to be with me, I wanted to show her around a bit, you don't mind me stealing your daughter right?” His mother laughed along with yours, “okay, you can have her. If you want, you know where to find us.” With that they left you two, mumbling something along the lines of young love and can't bear a second away from each other.

Sunghoon led you towards the room where art pieces that were kept for auction were located. “Thanks for saving me,” you mumbled, sighing in relief and he shrugged, “I know how those conversations go, also I took responsibility to refrain you from getting bored.” You both walked inside the room, scanning each painting and giving your opinions when you felt his gaze on you. Turning towards him you raised your eyebrows at him, he cleared his throat, “you look nice.” You smirked, a teasing smile etching upon your face, “like my whole face situation or my outfit situation?” He groaned, throwing his head back, “everything combined, I just thought you should know.”

You chuckled softly as both of you made your way towards another painting, the art piece that caught your attention was a burst of red and stormy gray, bold, chaotically organized but a bit messy. It felt familiar though, you sucked in a breath, stopping to look at it for a second too long. “You want it?” Sunghoon asked as he stood beside you. “It's dramatic, I think it suits me,” you replied, laughing in quiet amusement. He huffed, crossing his arms across his chest, “since you want it, I want it too.” And suddenly you found yourself bidding against him at the auction, volleying numbers like tennis balls while sitting beside each other as other guests watched with amusement and both of your parents in confusion.

“You're going to lose,” he muttered as he raised his hand. “In your dreams, Park,” you countered with a sweet smile. It was safe to say that you won when the auctioneer dropped the gavel with your name on his lips. You turned towards Sunghoon with a triumphant grin and he sighed, “I can't believe you went that high.” You shrugged, signing the documents, “I believe in art.” He rolled his eyes as both of you walked out of the venue, “more like you believe in making me lose.” You laughed loudly at that, nudging him with your elbow, “same thing, Park.”

Sunghoon's driver opened the door for you and him and you sat inside. The car ride home was quiet, the air cool and soothing against your skin that you felt your eyelids drop. Sunghoon froze for a second when your head dropped on his shoulder, before he reached beside him to grab his blazer and drape it over your shoulders. You nestled your head closer, softly sighing at the warmth, one of your hands curling around his, interlacing your fingers with his. He sighed, tightening his fingers around yours, and clicking a picture of your intertwined hands for keepsake.

The driver announced your arrival but he didn't move, his eyes scanning your face as you slept peacefully on his shoulder. He walked you off towards your apartment when you stirred awake, his blazer still draped across your shoulders. “Thanks for today,” you mumbled, as you opened your door. “It's nothing really,” he mumbled, scanning your face for longer than he meant to. You shifted your weight on your other leg under his gaze, and you heard him sigh, “I missed this.” He stepped closer, adjusting his blazer on your shoulder just to avoid looking at you directly, “I miss you.”

Your fingers twitched at your side before you slowly, hesitantly, reached out. Your hand found his, a bit unsure like you're still deciding if you want this. His breath hitched, but he didn't move. “You won't let me regret holding on right?” Your fingers tightened around his slightly, like you were afraid everything would fall apart. His thumb brushed over your knuckles trembling, you could feel his nerves match yours. He leaned closer to softly press his lips against your forehead, his actions were careful, but full of everything he still hadn't figured out to say. He pulled away after a few seconds, squeezing your hand one last time before letting go, walking back towards the exit with a small smile on his face, “good night.”

The food fest was in full swing by the time you reached the campus, music thumped in the background, laughter echoed through the stalls. You walked along the lantern-lit path with the rest of the group. Heeseung and Jake walked ahead of the group, with Jay and Mia a few steps behind as they discussed the food they wanted to try. Sunghoon walked beside you, hands in his pockets as you sighed. “You look like you're enjoying this way too much,” he teased, nudging you with his shoulder. You stumbled a bit, holding onto his sleeve as you glared, “I don't know, I'm feeling a bit sensitive today.” He frowned, slowing down a bit, “we can leave if you want.”

You shook your head, about to say something when Heeseung's voice broke into the air, “are you guys sure you're still fake dating?” He waited so he could walk with you, a lopsided grin etching up on his face, “because if this is still fake, I'd like to apply for the next rom-com with Sunghoon.” You pushed him a bit, scoffing at his words, “shut up.” Sunghoon didn't say anything, but he pulled you slightly towards him when he saw a hole in the path so you won't trip. Jay chuckled, catching on, “Heeseung's just bitter he wasn't the chosen one.”

Heeseung scoffed, giving Jay a bored look, “shut it, I know I'm an excellent boyfriend material.” As Jay shook his head and continued his conversation with Jake and Mia, Heeseung leaned closer to you, “jokes aside, I'm happy to see you being this happy again.” His words clung onto your thoughts even after he left you alone with Sunghoon, a small smile etching on your lips. Even though your emotions didn't directly concern him, he still made sure to make things feel lighter for you and you will forever be grateful for his quiet support.

You had fun for a while, the sky darkened and night arrived, but somewhere between the food stalls and central lawn, the crowd thickened. There was shouting, too many voices rising at once, the temperature of the surrounding rising up, someone shouted about someone knocking over a display. You felt the commotion before you became a part of it, someone bumped into you, pushing you into the crowd, panic rose in your chest. You pushed past a few people to get out of the crowd, only to get pushed back inside. Your breath quickened as you looked around to find anyone from the group when you heard a strong call of your name.

“Hold my hand!” Sunghoon shouted as he pushed a few people away to get closer. You reached towards him, and he held your wrist firmly before pulling you towards him and murmured, “stay close.” He started walking back towards the area with less crowd and you weren't sure what exactly happened but someone shoved others too hard, then you heard the sound of metal collapsing but the next thing you registered was a shout, and the sight of Sunghoon gritting his teeth, holding onto his forearm.

“Are you okay?” You gasped, noticing the blood that smeared on his forearm. He looked at you before holding your hand again as he started walking, “I'm fine, let's get out of here first.” When you noticed you were around the area of the campus parking lot, you tugged him towards your car, occasionally looking at his injured hand. Your hands were shaking as you took out a first aid box from your car and began to treat his wound, cleaning up the blood, applying ointment before wrapping the bandage. “How did this even happen?” You questioned as you tied the knot, he shrugged, “someone collided with the stall, the metal name plate dropped down with the impact and was about to fall on us when I tried to dodge it.”

“How can you say you're okay after that?” You mumbled, examining his hands for any other injury. He sighed, running his other hand through his hair, “I didn't even think much, I just saw you get dragged into the crowd and panicked, you already told me you weren't feeling it, we could've just gone back home.” Your eyes burned with tears but you couldn't say anything, too overwhelmed by the way he was being open about his emotions for you. “I'm fine now, and so are you,” he said, stepping closer to you, “look at me.” You did, and he was already looking back at you, he exhaled when your eyes met his, like he was holding something back.

You parted your lips to say something, maybe about how he should've been more careful, that he should go to hospital first thing tomorrow morning to get it properly checked when something shifted and he leaned in to capture your lips with his. There was no hesitation, no second guessing in his movements. Your breath hitched, and he shifted your body against your car, caging you with his body pressed against you. His hand cupped the back of your neck, tangling with your hair as he pulled you closer, tilting his head to deepen the kiss. Your hands instinctively gripped his shirt as your lips moved in sync with him, kissing him back with the same intensity.

You gasped against his mouth, and he pulled away for oxygen, resting his head against yours. You could feel your heartbeat racing against your chest, not expecting to kiss Sunghoon like you did. He looked at you, pupils blown wide, mouth parted to breath easily and when you opened your eyes to look at him, he didn't give you another second before diving right back in. You cupped his face to pull him closer, one of his hands cradling your head as he groaned against your lips.

The kiss started frantic, hungry before it melted into something softer, more fragile. The hand that cradled your head, shifted to cup your cheek, his lips lingered against yours, warm and slow. He finally pulled back, just barely, his nose still brushing against yours. He turned his head when he heard some voices from far away, stepping away from you to scan the area to check if someone was looking.

You frowned, following his actions to see no one when he abruptly turned around after he was sure no one was coming near the parking lot. You yelped, almost colliding with him but he pushed you back towards your car, picking and placing you up on the hood as he kissed you again, you gasped against his lips, hands circling around his neck as he settled between your legs, pulling you closer with his arms around your waist.

You weren’t sure how long you spent kissing him under the moonlight, everything seemed to blur into nothing, but that hardly mattered when you had a beautiful boy holding you like you were everything he’d ever wanted, kissing you like his life depended on it.

You pulled away from him when you heard his phone ringing, he groaned, giving you a quick peck before stepping away to answer the call. You slid down the hood, adjusting your clothes and hair as you leaned against your car and waited for him to end the call. He walked back, running a hand through his hair, “Yeji called, she needs me to pick her up.” You nodded, opening up your car door to get inside. He leaned down when you were adjusting your seatbelt, tucking your hair behind the ear, “we'll talk about this tomorrow okay?” You smiled, fixing his hair as he kissed your palm before moving away.

You woke up to the sound of rain tapping against your balcony, you made your way towards the glass doors, the sky outside was painted in greys and blacks, the kind of sky that made the world feel like it has gone mute. You made your way back towards your bed, texting Sunghoon before curling inside the covers, drifting back to sleep. You stayed in bed longer than you should've, then you sighed after deciding to finally get fresh and eat something. You checked your phone to see any text from Sunghoon, but it still showed unread.

You got up, brushed your teeth, took a shower before making yourself a quick breakfast and coffee. Outside, the rain didn't let up and you checked your phone just in case, he should've been up by now. You'd half expected a reply waiting for you, maybe a quick ‘good morning’ or even ‘we need to talk’ but there was nothing. You kept your phone aside, taking out your laptop and tab to finish the work that had been pending. You weren't sure how much time had passed since you started working, your eyes flickering to your phone screen more frequently than you'd like to admit.

You opened Instagram out of boredom, or maybe out of instinct and there it was, Mia’s story, just a photo of two coffee mugs across from each other, the steam curling in soft tendrils above them. The caption read ‘catch-ups on rainy days hit differently.’ Your stomach sank so quickly it felt like the floor had dropped beneath you when you saw Sunghoon's account was tagged in it. You stared at it for a few seconds too long, your mind tried to rationalize it, your heart trying not to sink further but it did. You tried not to spiral, really, you did.

Outside, the wind picked up, the trees swayed and the glass doors of your apartment rattled slightly at the impact. You realized you won't be able to get out of your apartment with this type of weather so you busied yourself with your laundry, and rearranging some of your room. You answered a few unanswered texts, calling your mom to check up on her. The night fell and the silence of your apartment wasn't helping with the commotion going inside your head and still, your phone remained silent with his unread text even as you drifted off to sleep again with a heavy heart.

Sunghoon laid on his bed, staring at the ceiling. He had been awake since dawn because he couldn't get the weight off his chest. The rain hadn't stopped, it drizzled against the window like a clock counting down the time he hadn't replied to you. His phone was unlocked, the notification of your name glaring at him from the screen. He wasn't sure why he felt so nervous to reply to you, his heart was haywire with emotions. He sighed, picking up his phone and texted someone else instead.

Sunghoon sat in front of Mia's bedroom window, playing with the sleeve of his hoodie as she slid a cup of coffee in his direction. The rain pattered softly outside as both of them sipped coffee quietly. Sunghoon sighed, getting tired of not saying anything, “I think I messed up.” Mia tilted her head, confusion gracing her face, “what happened?” Sunghoon swallowed, looking down, “I kissed her yesterday.” She blinked, “you kissed her?” He nodded, the tip of his ears getting pink just at the thought, “it wasn't planned, just the heat of the moment, and now I don't know what to do.”

Mia leaned back on the headboard of her bed, folding her arms as she sighed heavily, “first of all I want to know why you are here and not with her.” He looked at her, fidgeting with his hands, trying to find correct words, “I'm feeling scared about the reality of it all. I couldn't stand her not too long ago, made some really stupid decisions based on assumptions, then I begged for her forgiveness, and she started letting me in again, and yesterday I kissed her. I'm not sure if I'm allowed to want this.”

“Why wouldn't you be?” Mia questioned, leaning forward. He ran his hand through his hair, “what if I mess it up again? What if I hurt her?” Mia stayed silent for a beat before answering, her voice calm and grounded, “are you sure that's the real reason and not you being terrified of falling in love?” He looked at her with wide eyes, like her words pierced right through him, “Sunghoon, she's not someone you can hold at arm's length, she knows what she deserves and even if it will kill her, she'll move on and a day will come when there will be someone else by her side and it won't be you if you keep on being indecisive like this.”

He didn't speak, but his lips parted as if to say something but then no words came out. Mia watched the way his shoulders slump, “you have been scared because you can't even point out when it wasn't just a fake setup for you, but Sunghoon, you already fell even if you're too stubborn to admit it. Even Jake can see it and that says something, you kissed her because you meant it, she kissed you back because she knew that too. So don't leave her hanging in silence once again, don't make her believe you regret it just because you're scared.”

He exhaled a shaky breath, rubbing his hands against his jeans to ease the trembling when Mia spoke again, “also, you haven't called me your pretty girl ever since she came into your life, fake girlfriend or not. I noticed it long before, and deep down you did too but you just don't want to accept the fact that things are changing.” Sunghoon let out a soft chuckle before biting his lips, “I guess so.” Mia smiled, adjusting the sleeves of her hoodie, “you've played every note of your life perfectly Sunghoon, for once, play something honest even if you fumble.” He nodded, getting up and gently patting her head before he walked out of her apartment.

The university buzzed with regular chatter, students were lounging across the campus, or were rushing towards their next class. The rain had stopped for a while, and the sun was up bright, unlike your mood. You woke up still feeling sour about last night and by the time you reached campus the hurt from last night had settled into you like a quiet storm beneath your skin. You hadn't seen Sunghoon all morning, or more like you avoided seeing him at all.

Others could feel the gloom settle on you, and their wariness only doubled your irritation. So when your class ended early, you heaved a deep sigh before gathering your belongings to at least get away from the preying eyes and hushed conversation. But the moment you stepped outside of your class, you saw him, leaning against the pillar, scrolling through his phone as he waited for you. Deciding to ignore him like he did, you walked right past him towards your next class. He looked up after a few seconds to watch you going in the direction of your next class.

“Hey,” he huffed, falling into steps beside you, which you ignored so he tried again, “I texted you.” His voice was soft and unsure as he said that to you as if he already knew the damage his actions have done and that he fucked up yet again. You scoffed as you stopped and turned towards him, your expressions unreadable, “yeah, at 3 in the morning.” He looked down for a second, guilt visibly blooming across his face.

“I was with-” he started but you cut him off, “I know, I saw her story.” He stilled slightly but you resumed walking, letting him trail beside you, “this isn't even about you meeting Mia, out of the whole 24 hours you couldn't even take a few seconds to reply to me?” You paused, exhaling hard to contain your emotions, “I waited all day, just to see Mia's story with you instead and it made me feel like I was asking too much by hoping for a single message when you deliberately told me we would talk.”

His shoulders slumped like his world was crumbling right under his feet, “I didn't mean to hurt you.” You paused your steps again, making him look back at you, “you never meant to hurt me yet you keep on doing it again and again.” The silence hung heavily, you weren't yelling or crying and you being calm somehow always made Sunghoon spiral even more. “I panicked, I always panic around you, so I went to Mia to seek some clarity.” Your eyebrows creased but you nodded, not giving into his explanations easily. “I just needed someone to help sort my head out before I ruin things again,” he mumbled dejectedly.

Your gaze softened at his dejected tone, but you sighed, feeling torn between choosing to understand him and validating your own emotions, “you did all of that yet failed to think about how not saying anything was already ruining something.” The clock above showed the time your next class was scheduled so you adjusted your bag on your shoulder, “I need to go, can't miss my class.” He stopped before you could take a step closer, “can we talk later?” A tired sigh escaped your lips, looking straight ahead to avoid melting into his puppy eyes you spoke, “I don't know, you tell me, it isn't me who keeps messing up.” You smiled at him before walking away, you knew you didn't hate him, it was quite the opposite actually but you needed him to be sure of what he wanted first.

You stood by the entrance of the grocery store near your apartment, arms crossed tightly across your chest as you kept frowning. It started pouring as soon as you were done buying your fruit juice, which you drank after getting bored. Also, what kind of store doesn't keep umbrellas for sale? You thought it would be a quick stop, the sky was clear seconds ago, you didn't bring an umbrella with you or your car for that matter. Your phone had died a few minutes ago so you couldn't even distract yourself with some other things.

All you wanted was to get comfortable and watch your comfort movie to distract you from Sunghoon but the rain showed no signs of stopping. You exhaled, leaning against the glass wall of the store as your thoughts drifted off towards him again. You weren't mad at him, you were just tired of the push and pull game he was playing unintentionally. You looked towards the sky, and a few drops of rain splattered across your face, you wiped them off, contemplating whether waiting or just making a run for it would be a better option.

You decided to just run. The rain splashed against the pavement, soaking your shoes as you ran towards your apartment complex. The droplets slid into your eyelashes, making it hard for you to see, your sweatshirt clung to your body, and the cold air made your skin crawl. You turn around the corner of your apartment complex when you notice a figure talking to the security guard. You lifted your hands above your head, shielding your eyes from the rain and that’s when you saw him, Sunghoon, standing outside the security room of your apartment complex.

He turned just in time to see you, his eyes finding yours through the relentless rain. For a second, he stood still, breath hitched, his expressions unreadable and then he ran, no hesitation, no words, just the frantic sound of his shoes splashing through puddles. Your heart lurched in your chest and without thinking, your feet moved too, legs carrying you toward him, water soaking through your clothes as the world blurred around you. He wrapped his hands around you with a kind of urgency that almost made you lose your balance. One hand circled around your waist while the other cradled your head as if he was afraid you'd vanish.

“I couldn't find you anywhere,” he breathed, pulling your body closer, “I called you, texted you and even asked your parents, Heeseung, Mia, Jake and even Jay but none of them had any idea about you.” Sighing, you buried your head at the crook of his neck, “I got stuck at the grocery store and my phone died.” He buried his head on your shoulder, “I thought I lost you, that I pushed you too far.” You pulled back slightly, rain dripping down your face, “you didn't lose me, but you aren't exactly making me feel like you want to keep me either.”

“I know,” his voice cracked, “I know and I hate the fact that I made you feel like that.” He hesitantly reached up to cup your face in his, wiping the droplets of rain on your face before pressing his forehead against yours, “I don't want to run away from my feelings anymore, I don't want my fears to be the reason I'll lose you.” You grabbed the hem of his shirt, trying to ground yourself from getting overwhelmed by your feelings, “then act like it.” He didn't give you a verbal answer, just a nod of his head before his lips pressed against your forehead.

“I'll poke your eyes out if this will happen for the third time,” you mumbled, circling your hands around his waist and burying your face in his neck. He sighed, but you felt a soft chuckle leave his lips, “and I swear there won't be a third time, I can afford to lose you.” The sincerity in his voice despite his light tone made your chest tighten. You pulled away, brushing his damp hair which had fallen over his eyes, “let's get back inside and talk, we'll get sick otherwise.” He followed you without a word, hands tightly gripping yours as you led him into your apartment.

The silence inside your apartment was heavier than the rain outside after you handed him some spare clothes, a towel and guided him towards your guestroom to get cleaned up. The sound of running water echoed through the walls as you showered, and you tried to ignore the way your hands trembled as you scrubbed your skin. Now, both of you were sitting on the opposite end of your couch, all dried up and comfy, with a blanket draped across your legs. The only thing that was bridging the gap between the two of you was your hand in his, which he refused to let go.

“You know,” he started, holding your hand tighter, “I thought I understood what love felt like.” Your gaze flicked over him as you waited for him to continue. “I used to think I was in love with Mia,” your chest tightened at his words, “and maybe I was, but it was a kind of love where I knew she would never be mine, that she belonged to someone else, Jay was her beginning and end as well, and while I did love her, I never hoped.”

He glanced down at your intertwined hands, thumb brushing over your knuckles to ground himself, “with her, I was okay with caring from afar because it was easier when I didn't expect anything in return. But you, you ruined that kind of safe love for me.” You gulped as your heart thudded against your chest, he shifted closer, legs touching yours, the warmth of his body seeping into your skin. “You made me greedy, made me want things, made me hope and think I could reach for something and maybe it wouldn't slip away.”

“I couldn't stand you and messed up countless times because I was afraid to care again,” he whispered, voice cracking, “I knew how it felt to love someone who was already someone else's, but you, you weren't anyone's and you weren't mine either and that scared the shit out of me.” You bit the inside of your cheeks to prevent yourself from crying, though the tears had already welled up inside your eyes. “I didn't expect to fall for you, and I don't expect that from you either. Because even if you don't, I don't want to live quietly anymore, I need you to know how I really feel about you.”

He pressed his forehead against yours, still holding your hand tightly in his, you felt him exhale a shaking breath before he cupped your cheeks with his free hand to make you look at him. “I love you,” he whispered and it was so quiet you thought you heard it wrong but then you felt the way his thumb trembled slightly against your skin, and he cleared his throat to speak again, this time a little louder, “I'm in love with you, Princess. You're the first thing I think of in the morning, and my last thought before I sleep. I see you laughing with my friends, getting along with my family and it makes me breathe again, you feel like home.”

You let out a shaky breath, heavy with all the feelings that came crashing down the moment he confessed to you, “I never expected to fall for you either. But I did, somewhere between fake dating you to you being an ass and then not giving up even after I closed myself off, I did. And I hate that I care so much about you, I've never cared about a man before, but with you, I care so damn much, you make it so hard to stay mad.” You lightly hit your head on his shoulder. “And you make it so easy to love you,” he mumbled, wrapping his hands around you. “I love you too.”

The evening air inside the campus was buzzing alive with existent chatter as HYPHENIX decided to conduct an impromptu show for the students. The mini show was a hit so far, many students joined to watch. The music paused for a second, Jay and Jake reached towards water bottles and Sunghoon adjusted his mic towards his keyboard. You and Mia stood in the front corner, watching their performance and shenanigans with amused grins. Heeseung smiled at the crowd, deciding to engage in a light conversation.

“Are you having fun?” He smirked and the crowd erupted into loud cheers, Jay smiled, asking the crowd to cheer more loudly. Heeseung laughed at the enthusiasm, eyes shining as he scanned the crowd, “do you guys have any questions?” He asked, leaning his weight on one leg waiting for them to say anything when someone yelled from the back, “hey! Sunghoon! Are you still dating or not?” There was a beat of silence throughout the crowd, Jake choked on the water, and Jay chuckled into the mic. Heeseung just blinked between you both.

Sunghoon didn't even flinch, he instead adjusted the mic towards him, brows raised, and an amused smirk lacing up on his face, “yes I'm still proudly, permanently, and a little pathetically in love with her, and still dating her and I still can't believe I'm with someone so perfect.” The crowd erupted into various excited reactions, loud gasps, excited squeals, and you even heard someone shout, “he's so whipped.” You covered your face with your hands as everyone around you started gushing but you couldn't help the smile that was plastered on your face as you locked eyes with Sunghoon.

“Everyone, I'm hers and she's mine, so if you ever thought about approaching her, back off, cause I don't play when it comes to my woman.” And he shifted his mic back towards his keyboard after signalling others to start the melody of their final song of the day. Everyone laughed, mumbling choruses of, “yeah, we won't approach her.” Sunghoon's eyes found yours and he gave you a soft smile, and you knew in that moment, despite everything, he wasn't saying it to the crowd, he was saying it to you.

The show ended with a blur of cheers, laughter and fading chatter and you barely got a second to breathe before Mia held your hand and tugged you towards the boys. Jake smiled widely as he noticed you and Mia arrive near, eyes darting between you and Sunghoon who was looking at you, “someone's down bad,” he teased Sunghoon, “my man, I've been with you since we were kids and I've never seen you so expressive about your feelings in front of so many people.” Jay laughed, tugging Mia closer to him, “he didn't ever stutter, not a single awkward pause like he didn't just spend weeks pretending he hated her.”

Mia laughed along, leaning into Jay's touch but her eyes were trained on you, “I still remember Sunghoon running behind her to accept his apology, and I loved that you never gave in too easily, walk him like a dog, babe.” You choked on the air as others laughed loudly. Sunghoon's ears turned red, “okay, wow, stop.” Jake just waved his hand towards him, “no, no, no, just a few weeks ago this guy was all about ‘we are just fake dating’ and now he's declaring his undying love for her at the shows.”

“The tension between you two was insufferable at the start,” Jay amused, “it's kind of poetic how a dumb rumor turned into this.” He gestured towards Sunghoon and you. Sunghoon rolled his eyes before making his way towards you, giving your shoulder a light nudge, “alright, that's enough.” Your cheeks heated up as he looked at you, and you looked away. There was a brief pause, before Heeseung, who was packing everything up, joined in the conversation with a lazy smirk on his face, “glad the fake dating plot finally ran its course after Jay and Mia's strangers to lovers arc,” he chuckled, “two for the books, now.” He then looked at Jay and Mia teasingly.

“Are you secretly jealous that you didn't get your own cinematic romance arc yet?” Jake teased, wiggling his eyebrows in the most unserious way possible. Heeseung scoffed, tugging his bag on his shoulder, “please, why would I be jealous? I'm living the dream life, single, peaceful and unbothered.” Sunghoon jumped in with a teasing smile, “are you sure about that?” Heeseung narrowed his eyes, “what do you mean by that?” Sunghoon grinned, “you know what I meant by that.”

Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion, “what are you guys talking about? Jay?” Jay nodded, “yeah, someone he's been texting nonstop these past few days.” Heeseung gave him a flat look, rolling his eyes, “I always text her.” Jake slung his hand on Heeseung's shoulder, “‘always’ meaning once every few months until recently.” Heeseung's lips parted, but before he could say anything Mia chimed in, “wait- who are we talking about? Her?” Jay shrugged, “his childhood best friend.” Heeseung sighed, rubbing his temples, “we are not doing this right now.”

“Oh but we are,” Jake grinned, leaning closer to Heeseung. Sunghoon leaned against you, “leave him alone guys, he's got his own mess to sort.” You raised your eyebrows at the implication as you pushed him off you, “there's a mess?” Heeseung shot Sunghoon a look, “traitor.” You chuckled, smiling at the exchange, “so I will take that as a yes.” Mia looked at you as she made her way towards you, linking her arm with yours, “how come both of us didn't know about your childhood friend?”

“He rarely talks about her,” Jake replied, then after a second he fake-gasped, “Heeseung, are you in love?” Heeseung's eyes widened as he pushed Jake off him, “I'll literally loosen all your drum heads right before soundcheck.” Sunghoon laughed as Jake's smile flattered. He slid his hand across your shoulder as he teased Heeseung, “think of it as karma for every time you teased me about her.” Heeseung didn't answer right away, instead his eyes found yours, “I'm glad you two got it right.”

And maybe it was the way he said it, or because you could smell Sunghoon's signature scent and his warmth against your body that made you believe he wasn't just talking about your fake dating anymore like he was talking about how your dynamic had changed with each of them, how things would be better now that everything was fine between you and Sunghoon.

You smiled, pushing Sunghoon's hand off your shoulder, to which he frowned very visibly, but you just ignored. “I'll get back my bag from the locker rooms, you guys go ahead.” Sunghoon held your hand as you stepped forward, “want me to come with you?” You declined as you bid them goodbye and everyone nodded their heads and you made your way towards the locker rooms.

You were heading down the quiet hallway from the locker rooms, your bag slung over your shoulder, the chatter of a mini show long forgotten as the sky darkened when a hand suddenly wrapped around your wrist, tugging you sharply into an empty classroom before shutting the door closed. Your back hit the wall, you opened your mouth to scream, instinctively, but a warm hand pressed gently but firmly against your lips. Your heart pounded in your chest, eyes wide, then you finally recognized the person who dragged you in, Sunghoon.

“Shhh,” he whispered, eyes gleaming with mischief as he removed his hand, “were you going to yell, Princess?” You narrowed your eyes at him, as you shot back, “I was going to knee you.” He placed his hand on the wall beside your head, head tilting to the side with a teasing grin, “kinky.” Your mouth parted in astonishment, brows creasing, “Sunghoon.” His eyebrows shot up in surprise before he groaned, his free hand circling around your waist, “finally, this is the first time you've ever said my name.”

You froze for a second, completely caught off guard that he noticed. He pressed his body closer, tilting his head, “not Park, or Mr. Park or any other ridiculous nickname but my real name.” You scoffed, trying to shove him off you but he didn't move, instead his smirk just deepened, “say it again.” You rolled your eyes, “nope.” He frowned, cupping your face, “please, say it.” You sighed looking at his puppy eyes, “Sunghoon…”

“You ruin me,” he groaned and next thing you knew, his lips were on yours in a messy and heated kiss. His hands cupped your jaw, another rested on the wall to brace himself. Your fingers curled around the collar of his shirt to pull him closer. He groaned, licking your bottom lip once before pulling away, pressing his forehead against yours, “do you avoid saying my name on purpose? Or do you just like torturing me?” You heaved a breath, nose brushing against his, “you're imagining things.” He chuckled in amusement, “no I'm not, you call everyone by their name, Mia, Heeseung, Jake and even Jay, but never me.”

You swallowed, but then your chest tightened as he looked at you for an answer, “I didn't realize it mattered to you that much.” Your voice came out more softer than you intended and he kissed your nose, “it shouldn't, but every single thing you do matters so much to me.” You blinked up at him and you felt his hand rub a gentle pattern against your back. “I've kissed you, I've held you, fuck, I've nearly lost you twice, and still you never said my name,” your heartbeat stuttered, “so say it again, say my name.”

“Sunghoon,” you whispered his name like a confession only he was meant to hear. And he groaned, throwing his head back, before looking at you. “Fuck, it sounds so good when you say it,” he whispered, barely holding back. You chuckled, playing with the buttons of his shirt, “careful, you sound obsessed.” He laughed, “I am. With you.” And then he kissed you again, slow and aching, like his name on your tongue wasn't enough, he needed to hear more, like he needed all of you to stay sane.

“Stay over at mine, my family is out for a 2 day trip,” he mumbled against your lips, pressing his body closer to cage you in between him and the wall. “Umm, okay.” You sighed against his lips and he pulled away before giving you one final peck, “I can never get enough of your lips Princess.” And with the way he dived right back in to capture your lips in his, you weren't even doubting his words.

The hallway light flickered behind you as Sunghoon pushed open the door to his room, muttering something about how Heeseung's childhood best friend is coming back to the city for her 6 month exchange program and how excited Heeseung is at the news. You walk behind him, humming occasionally when you bumped against his back after he stopped abruptly. You stood beside him, eyes following his line of vision to notice the painting, the one that you had smugly won at the art auction, hanging right above his headboard.

He blinked, turning towards you, “Did you?” You smiled, entering his room before he closed the door behind him, “surprise! I asked your mom to help me with this one.” He looked at the painting before looking back at you, mouth parted in disbelief, “you liked this painting though, why would you…?” You sighed, taking off your heels and making yourself comfortable over his bed, “too many reasons, first is because I won it, other is because you liked it too, then third because like I said your room was very bland.”

He ran his hand through his hair, chuckling lightly, “you're unbelievable.” You smirked, leaning against the headboard, “I'm thoughtful.” He walked towards the bed, throwing his head on your lap, a content sigh leaving his mouth when you ran your fingers through his hair, “I hope you liked my gift Mr. Park.” He groaned, burying his face on your stomach as you laughed at him, “you're impossible, call me by my name.” You hummed, placing a kiss on his head, “okay Park Sunghoon, let's get cleaned up so that we can head to bed.”

You both stood inside his bathroom, standing side by side after both of you finished brushing off your teeth. He nudged your shoulder with his playfully and you glared, taking out your products to do your skincare routine. Sunghoon folded his arms across his chest, now taking a step back to give you some space, he stood behind you, watching you fondly through the mirror. You kept your products aside after your final step when you felt Sunghoon press a kiss against your bare shoulder, from where the strap of your tank top slipped a little.

You froze for a second, breath hitching as he gave light kisses on your shoulder. His movements weren't rushed, they weren't teasing, just soft and warm against your skin. He gave you a final kiss at the back of your ears, this one more lingering than the previous ones before he stepped back, stretching his hands nonchalantly. You shook your head at his behavior and turned around to face him, and he just placed his hands on your waist to lift you up and put you on the bathroom counter.

“Sunghoon!” You gasped, holding onto his shoulders as he adjusted your legs so he was standing in between them. He smiled, circling his hand around your waist to pull your body closer, “I think this is my favorite version of you.” You relaxed against him, tilting your head, “what version?” He hummed as if he was thinking deeply, “the one where to let me get closer, the one where you don't hide behind your coldness.” You chuckled, trying not to think about the impact his words had on you, “you're lucky that I show this version of me you know?”

He nodded, tucking your hair behind your ear, “I know, and I don't ever wanna mess that up, not again.” You sighed, placing your hand on his chest, right where his heart is, “you won't, not tonight, not ever.” He closed his eyes, pressing his forehead against yours, “I know I'm not that good with words, but I hope you know you're it for me.” You pulled him closer, head finding home at the crook of his neck, “you are not bad with words, you just speak them when they matter the most.”

He pulled away to press a kiss against your shoulder, then the underside of your jaw. “You're not only stalling but also ruining all of my effort after I did all that skincare,” you mumbled, fingers curling around his tank top to pull him closer. He laughed, brushing his nose against yours lightly, “my bad princess, let me just kiss you real quick so both of us can sleep.” You closed your eyes and this time, when your lips finally met his, soft and warm, you let yourself melt into him like you've been waiting for him your whole life, and maybe, just maybe, you have.

[siyalogue]

TAGLIST: @kristynaaah @mrsjjongstby @rosepetals09 @velvetyvannie @norihoyeon @01209r @dearestdreamies @makgeolli-jw @snesible @minhaemin @spicy-secret-sauce @miniature-tragedy @angelhyuka @fancypeacepersona @heeseungsgf26 @blvengene @umanjofantasma @sjakewrld @evanleeisahoe @graythecoffeebean @lostgirlysstuff @jjsshii @yayayawnnz @hollxe1 @quilevyt @lunaryoongi @theyluvjake @djjazz14 @tiny-shiny @dolletwons @evxnsbae @sunooqvrlsx @giiayujeon57 @bryxwdz @resolutelyzealousscout @b3lly-we1lyy1009 @jayhoonsgf @mymentalityprince @nevernowsa @schniti-is-in-the-house @somayya @enhastolemyheart @xoxo-seraphine @clumsycat143 @enhabiblr @into-the-distance @caratstick @iicereblogs @xoxorara @atashiboba @mermioshka @sassystay-bunny @izxoxoxzi

[caratstick]

Ahhh part 2 did not disappoint they were so cute. Perfect dose of angst. Can’t wait for the next spinoff teased at the end there 👀

[hannieoftheyear]

RED WINE NIGHTS [L.SM]

what's the worst time to hook up with your best friend and change your relationship forever? probably the night before he gets on a plane and flies far away to become a world famous star.

pairing: formula 1 driver!dokyeom x f!reader

genre/au: friends to lovers, idiots to lovers, angst, smut.

word count: 24,5k (oh my god i'm sorry)

content warnings: mentions of food, repressed feelings, messy hookups, reader is dumb, dealing with insecurities, one murder joke, alcohol consumption, jealousy, a car crash (no one gets hurt), seungkwan is a plot device | explicit smut: multiple smut scenes, masturbation, oral (f rec.), fingering, manhandling, he is very strong, protected sex, hair pulling (m rec.), multiple orgasms, sex with a lot of feelings.

🎧: this town — niall horan, don't say you love me — jin

note: this is for the 'Lights Out' collab hosted by the amazing @camandemstudios ! thank you so much cam @highvern and em @gyuswhore for letting me be a part of this collab ♡

thank you ro @shinysobi and em (again) for helping me with the banner ♡ lots of thank yous to aeris @aeristudios for reading this over for me and ensuring me it wasn't trash ♥︎ and alta @haologram for helping me brainstorm the first few scenes, they wouldn't have gotten done if it wasn't for you ♡ and to everyone who kept sending me encouragement, trixie @joshujin rae @nerdycheol and more people I'm sure I'm forgetting thank you too! I really couldn't have finished this if it wasn't for all of you 😭

THIS FIC IS FOR +18 READERS ONLY! MINORS CAUGHT INTERACTING WILL BE BLOCKED.

go check out all the amazing fics in the collab masterlist ! ♡ check out my main masterlist ♡ dividers used

I apologize for any mistake about f1 racing and races in general 😭 I had no time to catch any race while writing, but I did my best trying to remember the few I watched! this isn't realistic at all but i hope you have a good time reading hehe

last note: it's not specified, but I did imagine red bull Seokmin while writing, so, do with that what you will

hope you enjoy!! I can't wait to read your thoughts!!

The clock on the restaurant’s wall signals it’s barely 3:30 pm when the waiter walks towards your table with your order. His smile has the needed amount of politeness, mixed with a little bit of judgment at you for ordering two burgers with a side of fries at this hour.

You thank the young looking waiter as he sets the plates on the table, right before looking at the man sitting across from you, wide eyes and wiggly eyebrows to annoy him further.

“Don’t you love we’re doing this?” The salt shaker is heavy in your hand, coating your fries with a thick layer of salt before even tasting them.

Seokmin chuckles, shaking his head and extending his arm to lift the top bun of your hamburger. The tomato slices get squished between his fingers as he takes them out of your burger and puts them on his own.

There’s a faint shade of pink extending from his cheeks to his ears, probably from the unwanted attention of undoubtedly being judged by your snack choices.

“We could’ve waited until later, you know?” His mouth is full from already diving into his meal, and you chuckle in response as you salt his fries too. “Hey—stop that! Don’t tamper with my food!”

“I don’t want to hear you whining about them having no flavor in five minutes! I’m saving myself from misery!”

“You’re trying to poison me and stop me on my way to stardom!” He complains but still doesn’t stop the salt attack, “the people are going to wonder where the next big star went away to.”

“The people… being?”

Seokmin nearly chokes at the dry bread tickling the roof of his mouth, “a lot of people watch Formula 2, you know?”

The two older ladies sipping tea on the table beside yours whisper as they side-eye you two.

“They’ve been rooting for me. They even celebrated that I’m moving on from being a reserve driver and racing properly this season.”

“Oh, I’m sure…”

You didn't know that something other than Formula 1 existed before your best friend got scouted to race. Being subjected to weeks long bullying by all of your friends, and a thousand comments of ‘what did you think the One stood for?’ was enough for you to want to learn the basics.

But it was after Seokmin started racing and people started stopping him on the street, begging you to take their picture with the smiley man they knew from watching his races on TV, that you understood. It was big.

Now, after months of being a reserve driver, another thing you learned existed because of him. He had the chance to compete in a Formula 1 Championship for real. You didn't ask what happened, why the driver he's replacing can't finish the year. You celebrated his dream coming true.

“They're excited about me moving up the ladder!”

“Definitely,” you tease, hoping he knows you’re as proud of him as a best friend can be.

How couldn’t you be? The boy you used to save a seat for at lunch during the high-school days, the one who’d pirate formula 1 simulators to play during the little free time he got, who everyone doubted he had what it took to race professionally. He succeeded, and you got to see him through his journey with your own eyes as his personal cheerleader.

You see it every day, with every selfie taken with a fan, with every broadcast news showing his face, with every highlight of a race showing on TV. This is what he was meant to do, what he loves shyly, but with all his heart. And now, he finally has the chance to prove himself as a worthy driver after being overlooked by his team for so long.

“By the way," Seokmin starts as the first fry crunches between your teeth, "you have to watch every race now."

As if it wasn't already your plan, a sigh leaves you before responding, "Watching rich men drive cars fast every week? Oh! The dream!"

The grannies judge your dramatics before sipping on tea again, but you've learned to get used to being stared at. You had to, not knowing who could recognize the man who inhaled his burger in the time it took you to eat five fries.

"I expect feedback every Monday," his words come out muffled by the napkin wiping his mouth of any possible stain. "Are you eating these?"

You're quick to slap his hand away from the side of nuggets you ordered. “You said you didn't want any. Live with that."

It's always the same with him. Going out to eat anywhere, he never orders everything he wants, only to take a bite out of your order later. A new flavor of ice cream, pistachio flavored popcorn, nutella-filled churros, the list of things you never finished ‘cause he begged to try them is endless.

The crunch sounds of his fries takes you out of your thoughts, and you look up to find Seokmin's mouth moving.

"You still haven't told me why we had to drive three hours to get burgers at 4 pm."

"I did tell you!" A fry flies from your hand and hits him right in the face. He eats it like he hasn't eaten one in ages. "You just never listen to me."

"No, you didn't!" Seokmin smiles as he purposely annoys you. "I'm not buying that you just wanted to spend time with me."

"Why do you think, then? If I'm such a mean friend who doesn't want to spend time with her best friend before he disappears forever."

"Let me guess…" his finger taps repeatedly against the corner of his mouth as he thinks, unknowingly entrancing your eyes to look at the lower part of his face. "You want to kidnap me so you'll never have to be away from me."

It's common knowledge among everyone in your life that you and Seokmin are a package deal. From always seating with the other in high school to sharing any and every class possible in college, even if you weren't doing the same majors. An elective class showed up on both programs? You were doing it. You work well together, so why waste it?

The news that he was going to be racing more often was like a punch in the gut. When he became a reserve driver —and you learned that those existed only because of him, he stopped being needed on the paddock too often, and his visits to his hometown became more frequent.

Now, he's spending the rest of the season as a proper formula 1 driver. His dream come true. You should be proud. You are proud, but can't help feeling like a part of your heart crumbles a little every time the reminder hits that you won't see him for months, you won't hear the loudest laugh ever known to man, you won't have a shoulder to cry on.

How is life supposed to continue? There are other people in your life, other friends that you cherish, who will hang out at your apartment when you ask, watch the races on your couch, and tease Seokmin in the group chat. But none of them are him. 

Seokmin squints at your thoughtful state, his face the entire view in front of you, and suddenly the half-eaten burger on the table becomes the most interesting thing in the small restaurant.

You take another bite to fill your stomach before it starts aching. "You'd love to live off my cooking, admit it."

His laugh echoes around the room, contagious and warm, and your laughter quickly joins. The idea of you producing any kind of meal is always funny to him.

Burned pancakes, cakes hard as bricks, brownies with zero flavor, some people are just not made for the kitchen, and that's okay. Seokmin's been your victim countless times. He always ate what you presented with good intentions, but not even his kind smile managed to hide the disgust in his eyes as he swallowed.

"I'd love that, you're right," he's breathless, trying to tone down his squeals after the scene he himself made and stealing a few fries from your plate in the meantime.

"If I'm not feeling like racing one day, I'll ask you to send me some of your undercooked cookies."

The memory he's talking about flashes through your eyes. "They were supposed to be like that!"

"With burned down edges too?"

"You're so mean," you avoid his stare by looking down to the table, finding there's hardly any food left, courtesy of the fried-potato-stealing. "You're about to lose your one and only fan."

"You're finally admitting you're my fan?"

"Well! Not anymore!"

"Like you don't love to watch me."

He smirks as he drinks the last of his soda, the sprite zero he insists is the best drink ever even if no one on the planet likes it, and your throat dries at the sight.

There's a line, and a blurry one at that, that you're never sure if he crosses on purpose or if it's your mind playing sick games. Your amicable, smiley, gentlemanly best friend couldn't be implying something else.

You do love watching him race. The interviews he gave after his F2 races, with the sweaty hair falling in front of his face and that tired smile he flashes to every interviewer. You watch everything.

Your camera roll is filled with blurry pictures of your computer screen, his face present in every single one of them, either celebrating a win or being embarrassed at a mistake. Always with the intention of sending them to him, let him know you were watching. Still, they don't leave their place in your phone gallery. But you never delete them either.

Suddenly, the urge to clarify something he didn't even imply takes over you, "I've never missed any of your races." 

You catch it before he even replies, that soft glint in his eyes that appears when he's happy. "I know."

His smile is assuring, like the toasty air that envelops you when walking past a bakery, like that one weighted blanket saved for the coldest winter days, like a warm cup of tea before sleeping.

You've celebrated every step forward he took in the racing world. When he got into Formula 2, his first podium, his first pole position, when his team finally promoted to being a reserve driver for Formula 1. Things kept changing, but your friendship didn't, you stayed strong and cheered for him every step of the way, and he stayed the kind Seokmin you loved, even with all the fame that came with his job.

So, why does it feel different this time? He's always flying from one country to the other, except for the times he isn't needed on the paddock on race day, and doing video-calls instead of hanging out when he's away became normal for you two a long time ago. It shouldn't be different, yet it is, somehow.

The waiter comes with the check Seokmin asked behind your back, giving you no chance of paying for the meal before he's giving the boy his card and telling him to give himself a 20% tip.

But the boy's gone before your hand even reaches the depths of your bag, leaving you squinting at your best friend. "You shouldn't be paying for your celebration."

"Let me spend my money however I want," he starts grabbing his things, ignoring your moment of stubbornness. "If I want to spend it on you, I will."

"But—" his index finger places against his pursed lips, the shut-up gesture that always makes your blood boil.

It isn't his first time doing this. It's been happening since he realized that paying for meals behind your back was the only way he could get away with using his money on you since you've prohibited him from buying you gifts. It's annoying, and you'll pay him back. One day.

When he notices you're in no rush to get your things and leave, Seokmin stands on the side of your chair, towering over your, too calm, body ominously. "Are we done now? Can we go home? I still need to clean up my apartment."

Your phone's dry with no texts received during the meal time, so you lock it again and take a few seconds to place it properly on your bag, not sparing your friend a glance.

"Why do you wanna end the day so badly? Are you tired of me already?"

"I never get tired of you," Seokmin snatches your bag out of your hands and begins walking away with his long legs and big steps, your legs almost running to chase after him. "I just want to  find out what you're hiding."

His smirk can even be heard as he pushes the glass door open.

"What could I possibly be hiding?"

"I don't know, maybe Seungkwan murdered the guy I'm replacing, and you want me to have an alibi."

"Shit, you weren't supposed to find out!"

His car stands out parked around the block, red and shiny, spottable it from a mile away. "Fine, if you're in a hurry, we can go back. It's okay."

Still, you refuse to get in the car, leaning against the passenger door as if time wasn't moving. With the keys spinning around your finger, you're not even sure how you got them. But, you congratulate yourself mentally for stealing them from him at some point, one last attempt to make the afternoon longer.

"It's a 3 hour ride back. Whatever you're planning can't take longer than that." Seokmin stands just a few feet before you, eyes narrowed in an intent to analyze and catch any of your signs, something he's worriedly good at. "Stop with that! Can't someone want to spend an afternoon with their best friend who she never sees? Is that a crime!"

Seokmin smirks lightly, eyes locked with yours as he teases, "I'll miss you too." "Oh, shut up!" Unable to stand under his gaze for long, the car keys fly from your hands to his, a sign of defeat. "Fine, let's go."

He chuckles in disbelief, walking not to the driver seat, but towards you. "I'm driving?" "You're literally a professional driver," the words blurt out of your mouth, as if a teasing reminder could draw a wall between Seokmin's body and yours. "Yeah, at 200 miles per hour." His smirk hasn't faltered since leaving the restaurant. He even looks… amused at your intents of joking your way out his interrogation.

Your eyes concentrate on the opened buttons of his shirt, almost all you can see from your point of view without tilting your head up. "My record so far is 50."

"Should I call the police?" Seokmin chuckles, and you want to die, his shoulders bouncing at the rhythm of his chest rising right in front of your face. "People drive like crazy here! No one uses their side signals anymore! I need to be prepared!" "Fine, I'll drive. But we're getting home in two hours."

You grunt in response, glad to not have to drive, but annoyed at everything that his return entails. The next morning, he'll leave, again, for longer this time, with less free hours he can spend talking to you. That's not a life you want to live in. A life where the robotic sound of Seokmin's chuckles breaking through the video call is the next time you'll hear his laugh.

Neither the TV or the phone screen do justice to everything Seokmin is. Through your eyes, he's the person who'd never judge you when you tell him your weird dreams, the one you'd learn things about a rich men sport for. He's… the sun, your sun. After today, the sun will go away from your sky, leaving your days blue, cold, and sunless.

Sitting on the car's leather seat, it feels like an eternity since you got to the restaurant, yet it wasn't enough time. "Don't let me fall asleep."

"I can't make any promises," Seokmin starts the engine, but when you turn your head to glare at him, he's already focused on you. "You've slept through my loudest alarms!"

"That was one time!" Something in his eyes renders you incapable of maintaining eye contact for long, and it's easy to use the road ahead as an excuse, "eyes on the road, Formula 1 boy."

The buzzing all around you stops, your eyes shooting open and settling on the familiar gray columns and walls of the garage. Hours spent sleeping, hours missed. You wasted your time.

A ruffling sound turns your neck to the driver's seat, where Seokmin's snacking on a bag of spicy Doritos and already looking at you.

"You fell asleep," he says with a mouthful, smiling like it's funny.

Like it's funny that your last hours alone with your best friend flew by cause you were so weak you had to fall asleep. "Tell me something I don't know, Sherlock."

You regret the tone you used as soon as Seokmin raises his eyebrows and turns to unlock the car doors. "O…kay, bad mood after a nap. Got it."

He's out of the car in a beat, only his arm in your sight as he grabs the keys without looking in.

"It's not that—I'm sorry." The passenger door shuts closed behind you as you flap your arms in the air to draw his attention back, "I just didn't want to spend our last hours together passed out."

Seokmin stops in his tracks and turns around, barely a few steps away from the car, and from you, "You're acting like you're never going to see me again."

"Well, you'll be much more busy!" He looks unconvinced, shoulders still slouched due to your outburst, so you keep going, "what if the fame gets to your head and you start ignoring my calls, or leaving me on read after the third voice note telling you the gossip around school."

"I'd never do that! Gossip is my main priority." The corners of his mouth lift as he sees you walk up to him, ready to go up to his apartment after all. "Funny."

Countless times you've done the same, walked the same cold garage and hopped on the same elevator, with the same Seokmin who's walking by your side but ever-so-slightly ahead of you.

As he turns to click the button to his floor, you check your phone again and see the text you've been waiting for. "But, seriously, don't start ignoring my calls, or I'm flying to whatever country you're in, and making you pay for the plane ticket."

He chuckles again, and the same warm nostalgic sensation takes over your every organ, again.

There's nothing out of the ordinary as you get out of the elevator, steps coordinated walking the hallway you know by memory. It's suspiciously silent, as if the echo of your feet against the tile floor was enough for you two. But you're not ready to say goodbye. "We're finally back here." Seokmin fidgets with his keys, awkwardly standing beside his door and facing you. "You can drop the act now."

"What act? We spent the day together like I wanted," You cross your arms in front of your chest, giggling at his confused face."You're finally rid of me, happy?"

"Yeah, yeah, like I believe that." Seokmin sticks his ear against the wooden door, trying to hear even a sliver of a noise from inside his own apartment.

"Okay! Bye now!" With a slow pace, you begin walking away, the elevator still waiting for you. "Call me when you leave for the airport, okay?"

He, then, realizes you're actually leaving. You almost miss the small smile and the wave of his hand before you turn and walk away. All you get before he clicks his door open, defeated.

"SURPRISE!"

The screams from inside Seokmin's apartment reach you before you even turn back around, right when he starts laughing and locks eyes with yours.

You're back by Seokmin's side in seconds, with your hands on his back and pushing him inside his crashed home. "You didn't think I was just going to leave like that, huh?"

A walkway forms between all your friends, letting the man of the hour in as someone closes the door behind you. Everyone greets and hugs Seokmin, who's still in a bit of shock that all of this happened behind his back. Thanks to you.

“How did all of you get in?” Seokmin's smile is as big as ever, glancing at everyone before setting his eyes on you. 

“I gave them my key.” You shrug.

You've always had a key to his apartment in case of emergencies—the emergencies being either Seokmin getting his arm stuck between the wall and his too big bed, or times he forgets to do the dishes before flying to a country on the other side of the world.

"I didn't give it to you so you could pass it along to everyone!"

"Acting like you weren't pouting thinking I had nothing planned for you."

Everyone laughs at Seokmin getting exposed by your comment, but he gets over it quickly as something else catches his attention. 

There's a huge poster hanging where Seokmin kept an undecorated wall, with hand-painted blue, red, and white letters spelling the guest of honor's name. Just his name.

Someone you don't see pops open a bottle of champagne, and everyone goes wild with celebration, claps, and a few whistles here and there. Seokmin gets forced into the living room by Chan and Mingyu, who swear he'd previously told them they could use his fancy new washing machine before dates.

You've been with him the entire afternoon, so you let the rest of the guys harass him for a while.

Music starts blasting through the expensive speaker system Seokmin set up—another reason why you wanted the party to be at his apartment. The playlist had been kept a secret from you. Everyone was afraid of what songs you’d add if given the chance, and it almost made you go crazy. But the music is not eardrum-shattering, so you let it be.

The layout of Seokmin's apartment is tattooed in your brain. How many nights have you crashed on the very same couch Wonwoo's playing with the X BOX in right now? Or how many times have you come in the middle of the racing season to take care of Seokmin's plants?

Someone screams in the living room, followed by a choir of laughter and flashes of phone cameras. The guys are making sure Seokmin won't miss their pranks.

"Did he figure it out?" Seungkwan catches you in the kitchen, about to raid the wine cabinet.

You could walk around Seokmin's apartment blindfolded. You know in which kitchen cabinet is everything you need, where he hides the fancy wine, and you’re the only one he doesn't give shit to for drinking it.

"He suspected I was planning something, but I handled it like a champ."

"You hit him in the head and gave him temporary amnesia?"

The corkscrew in your hand works as a temporary threatening device, and Seungkwan throws his hands in the air with a pout and a frown of eyebrows of the same threat level.

"He looked really shocked," Seungkwan continues after you've placed your weapon back on the counter. "I don't think he expected all of us to be part of the surprise."

"What else could he expect?"

Seungkwan shrugs as an answer.

Grabbing one of the two matching wine glasses from the cabinet—your favorites, your mind drifts back to Seungkwan's statement as you fill your glass past the recommended amount.

Sure, Seokmin suspected there was a surprise waiting back for him. But why would his group of friends not be a part of it? Everyone wanted to celebrate his success, his final step up to where he always wanted to be. You made sure everyone came, put Seungkwan in charge of setting up the party while you distracted Seokmin all afternoon. It was a perfect plan, and it worked! He was as shocked as ever.

The taste of dry and sweet red wine dampens your lips, and you gulp down half the glass, enjoying the taste. It's a tradition. Drinking red wine on special occasions. For tonight, you didn't wait for Seokmin, afraid to interrupt his time with his other friends before snatching him back with you.

"Ew!" Seungkwan's hand gets dangerously close to the glass in your hand before you slap it away. "Grab your own glass! You know where they are."

“It's just a sip!” His eyebrows frown again, this time genuinely offended.

“You know you can die.”

“From what? The possibility of getting in contact with someone's saliva? Tell that to your past self from the college years.”

“I'm still in college!” You defend yourself, even if fighting against the memories of your slutty era is pointless. 

“Stalling entering the job market doesn't count.”

“Now I’m definitely not giving you anything.” You gulp down the rest of the wine while purposely holding eye contact with Seungkwan. He doesn’t stop you. "Hope you get h.pylori and die."

"You don’t get—Hey I wash my hands!" Someone entering the small kitchen interrupts Seungkwan’s declaration.

Vernon pops into view for two seconds, putting his hands on Seungkwan’s waist to move him a bit to the side and be able to reach a forgotten bowl full of chips left on the counter. You don’t miss the touch or your friend getting red as a tomato.

"I'm not talking about hands." Hiding your giggle behind your empty glass, it’s clear your friend’s now focused on something else.

"Bitch,” Seungkwan mutters, crashing into none other than the man being celebrated while on the way out.

Seokmin emerges through the kitchen door, hair a mess and with more buttons of his shirt opened. The wine bottle sitting on the counter beside you draws his attention immediately.

“What happened to you?” You can’t help but chuckle, your eyes following him until he stands against the wall just by your side.

He grabs the wine bottle from the counter and drinks straight from the tip, gulp after gulp falling down his throat as he quenches his thirst. “You left me alone with feral people and drank our wine alone.”

You laugh, handing him a matching wine glass as he grabs another bottle for himself after tasting yours. “I wanted to give you some time with them after having you all for myself.”

The guys always whine about not spending time with Seokmin in between the races he attends. They complain about you getting all the privileges and not sparing even a phone call for them—which you are guilty of. So, you don’t want to hear their bitching and whining again after tonight.

“Never do that again.”

Seokmin sighs dramatically, now pouring himself a proper glass of wine and then pouring the rest of it on yours before discarding the empty bottle in the trash can. He doesn’t waste time, clicking your glasses together in a toast and downing the liquid at record speed.

You do the same, eager to get on with the party. Hoping that it will never end.

The front door closes shut under the push of your hands and there's finally silence.

You look back at the, somehow, clean living room the guys left behind, but sigh at the reminder of everything that was left in the kitchen. It's not the worst you've seen, but it's not something you want to deal with.

Seokmin's grabbing stray beer cans and putting them away in a trash bag he placed on the floor. He shouldn't be cleaning up the mess that solely exists because of you. But he's nice, too nice, and wouldn't let you close to the mess.

“Go see the guys out and I'll clean up.” He said, ushering you away from the messy kitchen and into the pathway to the door.

“You need to rest for tomorrow. Let me, please.” You tried to take the bag from his hands, but he’s faster and stronger, and it was away from your reach in less than a second.

“Stop arguing with me on our last moments together!” He retorted, using your words against you, and that won him the argument.

But now, with your one job done, and your friend ignoring you in the name of dish washing, your mind wanders to dangerous places.

After tonight, it will never be the same. He’ll be too busy, too famous, wanted by everyone around him. He said he’d never stop annoying you, but what happens when the rich parties inevitably make him realize the people back home don’t compare to his new circle?

The surge in thoughts about the future triggers the hangover headache prematurely. Red wine always has two different possible outcomes: either you make bad and stupid decisions or you get the worst hangover ever known to the human species. Seems that tonight you’re getting the latter.

“I'm making us hangover smoothies. I don’t want to feel dead tomorrow.”

His blender is where you knew it would, sitting untouched and with a layer of dust accumulated on top.

Seokmin doesn’t argue with you, “use anything I have left. Can’t let it go to waste.”

Opening his fridge after his approval, you’re met with the squeaky clean white interior and a few vegetables you’ll for sure use. “Why do you have an unopened bag of spinach when you’re leaving for months?”

“So you could use it for your anti-hangover concoctions," he lies, and you side-eye him so hard he bends over laughing. “Use it all and stop judging me.”

Every green vegetable you find goes into the blender, with a lot of lemon juice and the last few ice cubes that weren’t used for drinks.

Blender noise fills the comfortable silence that falls between you two as Seokmin finishes the dishes and rests against the cabinets behind you. Your body tingles, feeling his stare on your back, watching your every more.

The kitchen is too narrow, and Seokmin knows you hate it because you told him about a million times. There isn’t space for him to be standing where he is, yet, you can’t find it in you to complain. It’s the last time you’ll have him this close to you for a long time.

Seokmin’s eyes follow you as you find the glass cups you always use for your smoothies and pour the green liquid in.

“I have to clean that now.”

“Don’t complain about my good deed,” you roll your eyes as you hand him his part of the hangover cure, “I'll do it tomorrow in the morning."

He chuckles and gulps down the drink, as he always does despite not believing when you say it helps with feeling better after drinking. You rest your hips against the counter, angling your torso backwards and hoping the added centimeters between you will help the suffocating feeling of Seokmin standing so close.

The overpowering taste of spinach takes a few sips to get used to, but you don't flinch at the bitter taste, knowing you're under Seokmin's scrutinizing gaze even if you're avoiding his eyes.

“It's not your best,” he says, reading your mind.

“You're the one that forced me to put in a whole bag of spinach!”

Knowing there’s no way you’ll finish the awful smoothie, and using it as an excuse to still not look at Seokmin, you put the half-empty glass in the sink.

“I told you I had it just for you,” he states with full honesty. And you hate that you believe him.

There it is again. The invisible line about to be crossed. There must be something in the air. Maybe the mix of questionable old vegetables and lemon juice made you delirious.

“Should I feel insulted?” 

“I knew you’d want to make a smoothie so neither of us feel like shit tomorrow,” Seokmin shrugs, like it’s the most normal thing in the world. It could be. It should be. But, judging by your pulse accelerating, it doesn’t feel like it. 

“Yeah! And now the only thing I’m capable of making in a kitchen is ruined!” You try to joke, to ease the tension in the room, to stop being so twitchy under Seokmin's gaze. But everything feels too warm, too something. “I’ve never put that much of anything into my creations.”

To your demise, Seokmin chuckles, getting off where he was resting against and taking one step into your personal space.

“So, when I peed purple for a week straight, that was a complete coincidence?”

Your breathing stops as he stretches in front of you to place his empty glass on the counter. His expensive perfume is all around you, his chest your sole view, and you get goosebumps at the warmth of his body against yours.

“How was I supposed to know that beet turns pee purple?”

His head’s tilted down, eyes on you again and resting his body on a hand too close to yours on the counter.

“It doesn’t unless you put too much in what you eat!” His smirk is all you need to know he's teasing you on purpose. But you can't seem to shut up, wanting to fill an incoming silence at all cost. 

“Well, I hope you enjoyed your last party and last smoothie with me, ‘cause no other hangover cure will ever compare to mine.”

Seokmin takes a deep breath, realizing, once again, that even if things aren't changing, a lot is. His kind smile turns sad as memories flash through his eyes.

“I had a lot of fun. Thank you.”

The moment's changing. You feel it in the air. All the borrowed time you got with him, time you took for granted, is now coming to an end. He'll leave and you'll stay behind, like you always do.

“The guys are all going to miss you,” words stumble out of you, the only way you find to freeze time, to be with him for a little longer. “I can't believe you agreed to let those two use your washing machine! I swear if they call me to come help them I'm—”

Words stop coming out of your mouth, a pair of lips against yours sealing them shut.

Seokmin's hands cup both sides of your jaw, so gently you barely notice them there over the feeling of his mouth against yours. The noise all around you quiets down for the first time since the big news.

That is, until you realize what's happening, and your hands, that were sneaking up his torso and almost wrapping around his neck, push him back.

His wide eyes connect with yours as your eyelashes flutter open. “I’m sorry, I—” He starts, and both of your apologies come out over the other.

“N-no, no, it’s okay, I just wasn’t expecting it,”

“I’ve been wanting to do that all day,”

“It’s not that I didn’t like it,”

“And you wouldn’t shut up, so I—”

“Actually, I think I did like it—”

“What?” You both ask at the same time, registering what the other was saying.

Can he sense the rapid beating of your heart? Is that why his smile keeps widening?

You're sure the warmth you feel growing on your face is visible from a mile away. Concealing your thoughts and feelings is hard in his eyes. He reads you like an open book, there's no way he can't see the fireworks he just lit up in you.

For the first time since knowing Seokmin, no words come out of your mouth, too focused on the growing electricity all around. You pushed him away, but he’s still close, too close. His kiss’ repercussions in your body and soul aren’t disappearing, the feeling of his lips against yours so palpable you’d think they were still there.

All the times you found yourself contemplating how it’d feel to kiss your best friend, and all the times you ushered the thought away, the conclusion was always a negative one. Everything would change, it wouldn’t work, or he’d hate you.

But now, he isn’t backing away, there isn’t disgust in his eyes, which haven’t left your lips since you separated. You’re still you, and he’s still him, standing in his kitchen, using the narrowness of it as an excuse for your closeness.

“You did that to shut me up,” you repeat the last part of his confession.

“And you liked it,” he chuckles again, but you catch as he takes another deep breath, a nervous tick he's always had.

“You're so annoying,” you mutter, with your lips still tingling from his touch.

“Yeah, but you're still gonna miss me.”

Maybe Seokmin knows you too well. Maybe he knows that his smirk and his stare going from your lips to your eyes make a mess of your organized mind. You had a plan for the night. A well thought out plan that didn’t include making eyes at each other and reconsidering your friendship.

“Yeah, I will,” you reply in a beat.

Because you will. Because the thought of being away while his life changes so much is scary. Because you’ll become nothing to him while he’s everything to you. Because you won't be with him while his dreams come true. Because you’ve been standing on the sidelines for so long, loving him more than you should.

And yet, he’s here now. Your Seokmin. Refusing to leave your side, with the buttons of his shirt enticingly open and his parted lips a remainder of where they just were. His stare’s lost on the lower part of your face, mind racing with thoughts you hope are similar to yours. Desire. Longing. Want.

Seokmin takes the tiniest step forward, enough to have your chests colliding. You’re not breathing, you can't, waiting for what his next move will be. His hands find their place on both sides of your waist, holding you in place even if there’s no chance you’re running away.

With his face so close, his breath fans over your awaiting lips, a sick game to have you at his mercy. His smile fades the closer he gets, eyeing you for what it feels like hours before asking, “Can I kiss you again?”

Your response is automatic, as if your body knew what he’d say. “Please.”

It comes out as a whisper, and you barely finish the word before he’s on you again.

All doubt is erased the second his lips mold with yours, evaporating into the steamy atmosphere. Letting yourself dwell in this re-kindled desire, you sigh as he dominates the new kiss, soft yet needy as his hands push your chest further against his.

Your hands find the back of his neck, threading with his hair and tightening your grip. Seokmin bites at your lower lip in retaliation. Both pushing and pulling, bringing the other closer until there’s no speck of space left between you.

The marble counter digs into your lower back, but that pain becomes the least of your worries when Seokmin’s tongue swipes your lower lip, asking for access. The mess of teeth and tongue flushes your whole body from top to bottom.

The lemon and spinach mix with the faint taste of wine as your tongues meet. It’s messy in a way you never thought Seokmin would kiss like.

How many girls had the honor of feeling him against them, his lips gliding over theirs instead of yours. All the opportunities you missed due to digging your feelings into a grave they’re now popping out of. You can’t help melting against him. Finally yours. 

A hunger you’ve never felt before runs through your veins, looking for a way to feel Seokmin everywhere all at once, to get back all the time you could’ve gotten with him. His muscles tense under your touch, hands wandering everywhere you can reach. You know he feels it too. The want.

You moan in his mouth, and something takes over him. His arms get loose before you feel his hands gripping at your thighs, lifting you up until you’re sitting on the counter. The frenziness of it all blurs your surroundings. The sound of Seokmin’s forgotten glass falling into the sink is merely a background noise along with the wet sounds echoing in the kitchen.

Like a magnet, his hips find your legs spread for him, pushing his growing hard against your core with the barest amount of desperation, and that has you moaning sloppily against him once again. Thank the universe for making you choose to wear a skirt for the party.

Wanting more of him, your hands make space to sneak between your chests, undoing the last buttons holding Seokmin’s white shirt together. His warm skin gets chills under your cold fingers. His lips go still on yours as you feel down his chest, breathing into your mouth the further down you get.

Years of forbidding yourself even from peeking at him if he was showing a bit of skin. Years of wondering how his golden skin would feel against yours. Neither the past or the future matter. Now, you’re nothing more than two people looking to fulfill years of accumulated longing.

You tease his hardness over his jeans, earning a groan against your throat as Seokmin kisses down your neck. The both of you refuse to take your hands off the other, making it a chore to unbuckle the expensive belt he's wearing.

“Are we doing this?” Seokmin asks, voice hoarse against your skin.

In the haze of his hands on your ass and his lips pressing on your pulse point, feeling the acceleration, there's no time to doubt what you want.

“If you have a condom, then yes.”

Like the human of the male species he is, Seokmin takes out one out of his wallet at your request. He lays it on the table with a smirk, lips red and swollen all because of you.

“Should we talk about it?” He asks again when he feels your hands toying with the hem of his jeans.

The few layers of clothes don't do anything to hide Seokmin's bulge pressing against your core. And his hands go up and down the sides of your thighs, to tease you more or to draw your attention, you’re not sure, but it sends waves of arousal crashing through your body.

“What’s there to talk about?” It sounds stupid the second it leaves your mouth.

What should you say? That things won’t change after this? That things changed already? That you wanted this for so long you forgot how life was like before him? Too much talk. Too many feelings you don’t want to deal with just yet.

Seokmin looks at you, a mix of desire and scepticism all across his face. “You know—”

“Let’s just,” you interrupt him before he says anything that could break you, “see how it goes. We can talk after, but I need you right now.”

His throat bobs at your words. A fight going on in his mind that your hands interfere with, caressing his lower back.

“We don’t have to if you’re not sure.” You can pretend this never happened if he's doubting everything.

He takes another deep breath, releasing in half a moan that does nothing if not encourage the pulsing of your core against his. And you're sure he can feel it.

“Seok—” His mouth smashes against yours, cementing his decision.

Melting at his touch again is easy. The sound of fabric and metal hitting the floor draws your attention to the lack of another layer between you. He's big. Big in a way you know you'll feel his stretch for days after.

Your legs wrap around Seokmin's hips, pushing him so closely against you there isn't a single atom separating your bodies. His mouth on yours is merciless, his tongue working as if trying to memorize every crevice.

“I really, really want to eat you out,” he sighs into your lips.

“Nothing's stopping you, driver boy.”

Seokmin sees it in your eyes. A glint of desire that mirrors his. “You have the next world champion between your legs and you’re making jokes?”

Your eyes are locked with his as he sinks to his knees, his hands holding your thighs open until you're all he can see. His gaze turns hazy, descending down your heaving body until it lands on your poorly clothed core. His fingers hook on your sides, leaving you bare for his eyes to see.

The kitchen grows hot with every second Seokmin spends admiring the mess of juices he caused with a few kisses. All you want is for the ache to stop, to shrink before his stare and be satisfied from the years-long accumulated desire.

He takes you in, just millimeters away from where he wants and almost tipping you over the edge of the counter.

An experimental lick between your folds makes you both mutter equally hungry curses. His breath against your wet core drives a shiver up your body, followed by a rush of liquid fire through your veins.

“You haven’t—raced even o–once,” Half of his brain is paying attention to you talking, the other half concentrating on kissing your inner thighs and spreading your folds. Your pulse races, growing expectant seeing his lack of shyness. “You don’t have—fuck—bragging rights.”

Words get stuck as Seokmin attaches his mouth to your mound again, decided on making your brain scramble to make sense. 

He mumbles something in response, muffled by his tongue lapping at your juices and moaning like a starved man. You grip his hair, keeping him in place as the familiar fire begins to pool at the base of your stomach.

“I’m not—” he nods against your core, cutting away any possible thought from your head.

You feel his smirk against you, as if the embarrassingly quick way he has you done for him was amusing. He knows your signals, learned to interpret your body language, all for this moment. To please you correctly.

Delving his tongue in your entrance, your whole body quivers as his nose bumps against your clit. Your insides clench around nothing, walls begging to be stretched and dripping arousal for him to taste.

Your hand tightens on his hair as your hips grind against him, chasing the light ahead with your eyes shut tight.

“Fuck, you're so good,” your words feed his eagerness, now more determined to show you just how good he can make you feel.

Each swipe of his tongue gets faster and harder, and he doesn't seem to mind that your hand's keeping his head suffocatingly close to your core. You'd be worried if it wasn't for the mix of grunts echoing against the kitchen walls at every wave of arousal dripping out of you. He might even be enjoying it more than you.

His hands try to keep your legs open for him, but you lose control of your body feeling the coil snap hard at the flick of his tongue. It's his strong hold against the trembling of an earth-shattering orgasm sending trembles down your body.

Your body goes limp, weight falling back when you let loose Seokmin’s head and place your hands on the counter for support. He licks every sensitive part of your core, looking straight into your eyes as he cleans you up. A menace.

Oxygen takes work to get in your lungs. Mixed feelings colliding and getting your soul sucked out of you was not how you planned to end the day. But Seokmin gives you no time to ponder about it any longer.

His lips find yours once again, letting you taste yourself on his tongue. You bring him closer, attempting to get rid of his godforsaken shirt so you can see him properly.

“Are we in a rush?” He chuckles, but lets you take it off him without getting in your way.

“Mhm.” The plastic packet warms up in your hands before you tear it open and roll the condom down your friend's length. “If you're not in me in the next two seconds, I might die.”

“Glad you're not dramatic.” His hands grip your thighs wrapped around his waist like he has all the time in the world.

“I'll go home and take care of it myself, then.”

Something inside him snaps at your teasing. A mix of desire and wonder flashes through his eyes. But before you get to question it, you feel the head of his cock dragging along your lower lips.

He prods at your entrance, and for a second, you worry if it'll fit. Every cackle you let out at your romance books comes back at you like a boomerang in the form of your hot best friend filling you up and stretching your walls in new ways.

Seokmin's hips stutter when he's all the way in, your insides quivering around him trying to get used to the stretch.

“I need a second,” you say at the same time as he announces, “I'm not gonna last.”

Your bodies are so close, you're not sure who chuckles first, but the vibrations travel from chest to chest and all the way down.

Slowly, the dragging along your walls beats the uncomfortable position on the counter. Seokmin’s strong arms hold you against him, setting the pace with his hips and moving your body to wherever he wants.

You let him take control, indulging in every feeling he sparks. From his fingers digging into your flesh, to his cock gently prying you open with every stroke. His soft grunts by your ear only egg you further. Everything is him. Time should stop right this second and never resume.

Your nails scratch Seokmin’s back when he reaches that point that makes you squirm, and everything turns blazing hot.

Seokmin’s thrusts lose control, making you lose your breath as he lifts you off the counter and drills into you, searching for his orgasm. Your arms wrap around his neck, fearing your inevitable fall to the floor. But, once again, Seokmin’s full of surprises.

His biceps cage your torso to his, almost effortlessly keeping you in the air to thrust with no control. You take it all, everything he has to give as he mumbles nonsense praise into your ear.

Waves come crashing out of nowhere, and Seokming holds you through it all. Shaking in the air as your walls pulsing around him trigger his pending orgasm. You’re so sensitive you can feel his length twitching and unloading into the condom.

A choir of deep breaths and curses echo around the silent kitchen. Seokmin sets your limp body on the counter again, discarding the used condom in the trash. You should probably take care of that.

There’s so many things to do still. “We should finish cleaning up.” Your voice comes out half a whisper.”

Seokmin pulls his pants back up after retrieving your panties from wherever he threw them. Your body craves something. More. You don’t do silence. You can’t.

You could say something more, start a serious discussion about your friendship, about the future, his future.

But there’s so many things to do. Clean. Talk. Leave.

One of your hands flies across the narrow kitchen and finds Seokmin's wrist. His eyes haven't changed in the seconds of ruffling silence. A glare of hope flashes through them.

There's so many things to do. But only one that you want to.

Pulling him back against you is easy. Finding his lips and opening up for him again is even easier. He lets you take control, nods against the skin of your neck when you mumble instructions in his ear, and carries you across his empty apartment into his bedroom.

The coffee burns the roof of your mouth before you gulp it down. Hopefully, the warm drink will help the ache on every one of your muscles. The bitter taste makes your forehead hurt, the perfect excuse to hide your face behind the mug and ignore everything else.

A pair of eyes in front of you digs holes through every surface you put between you and him.

“If you don’t spill the beans in the next five minutes, I’m leaving.” Seungkwan’s voice tears the invisible wall down.

“I already told you what happened,” you mumble as you take another sip.

The cozy coffee shop near your place felt like a nice place to sit down and have a hard conversation at first. But now, the tired people who just want their morning coffee to go to work feel like they're judging you.

They must all see your messed up hair and realize you've been wearing the same clothes for over 24 hours. Even the shame must be seeping through your pores, filling the air inside the place with the distinct smell of embarrassment.

Looking everywhere but at your friend, you first hear his sigh, then his hands are taking your distraction away from you.

“You slept with Seokminnie,” he starts, and you mutter a chorus of r-rated curses that don’t do anything to stop him. “That doesn’t explain why you called me at 6 in the morning and forced me to have a terrible breakfast just hours before my flight.”

“I needed to eat something and you guys ate everything left last night,” you avoid the topic, and Seungkwan sighs dramatically, again.

“You didn't go to the airport.”

Seungkwan, with his judging eyes and exaggerated grunts, has been your voice of reason since forever. He lays it thick, rips the band-aid off, whatever you wanna call it. You need the shock, you need to hear the words from someone else. Maybe it makes sense if it's not coming from your own over-thinking mind.

“He probably doesn’t even want me there.”

“You know,” he sets your stolen mug on the table, ready to dig and poke until you give him what he wants, “for someone with that many master degrees, you’re pretty stupid.”

“What the hell, dude!” There's nothing throwable at your reach, so you slap his hand away from the table.

“Why are you being like this?”

“I think sleeping with my best friend is a very reasonable thing to freak out about.”

“You said it was good!”

Seungkwan’s eyes are as wide as bowling balls. The initial sex news didn't surprise him at all, but your stupidity seems to have reached unprecedented levels.

“Did you accidentally tell him you’re in love with him or something?”

There's a beat of glaring silence before you say, “you know I didn’t do that.”

It's a recurring thought that you're used to covering up with much more important subjects. It's something you're entirely too careful about to just blurb it out in the middle of a careless bone.

He checks out his notifications with a shrug. “That explains why he’s not replying to my texts and screaming at me, I guess.”

“You’re texting him?!”

Your arm flies into Seungkwan’s personal space a bit too late, and he instantly holds his phone out of your reach.

“Team business! Go away!”

You scoff, but his attention is now on texting someone. To your knowledge, everyone on the team had the same flight except for Seungkwan, who had to get one later for reasons he decided not to tell you. You're glad he's here, still, witnessing his most dumb friend.

“What the hell did you do?” He asks again after he locks his phone and puts it in his pocket.

“Nothing! I just woke up and left.”

Seungkwan glares at you. You glare back. He's no mind reader, but he must be seeing something in you, and you desperately want to find out what it is and hide it.

“What?”

“Did you talk, at least?” You shake your head. “Left a note?” Another shake. “Why?”

“I don’t know! I couldn’t stay there.”

You ghosted your psychologist months ago, but you know she'd say something about not being able to face the consequences of your actions. You'd argue that you just wouldn't want to hold Seokmin back from what he always wanted. Tie him to you and his past life.

“So, you’re making me your accomplice.”

“And I'm the dramatic one.” You don't know how many more eye rolls you have in you.

Seungkwan crosses his arms on the table, which means the conversation is now a serious one. “What should I say if he asks where I was? Or if you talked to me?”

“Just—” air leaves your lungs in a sigh. “Don’t tell him, please? I can’t talk with him right now.”

“You’re going to have to, eventually. You know that, right?”

“His mind should be on his race in a few days. He needs to train, and I don't want to bother him with useless drama.”

“He won't contact you if he thinks you want space.”

“I need space! I'm going to talk to him after I practice my speech. I promise.”

After life restarts, when your Seokmin-less days become the new normal and the dread keeps you company, you'll do it. When you're sure you can live without him.

“Okay, now that the freaking out is over, can you please tell me what happened? I want excruciating detail.” The last of your coffee finds the wrong pipe down your system and you choke at Seungkwan's ask. “It's like being inside a soap opera!”

—

Every muscle ached. The soft mattress you were laying on did nothing to help your body stop tensing, but there were two big arms keeping you close to a human-shaped heater.

His skin felt soft all around, nothing in between you and him but an invisible wall you began to build as soon as you gained consciousness. His sheets enveloping you smelled like him, sweet and expensive.

You almost closed your eyes back and pretended it was all a dream. You'd wake up and you'd be back at your place, just another more than friendly dream about your best friend. Nothing out of the ordinary. But you couldn't.

Reminders of the night all over the bedroom attacked you when you opened your eyes.

In the corner of the room, his luggage judged you as you tried to free yourself from his grip. The party clothes scattered around the floor, the used condoms on the bathroom bin, framed pictures of the two of you over the years. Every stage of your friendship plastered inside the four walls.

There was time before his alarm went off. The alarm that'd set off his bright future.

Getting dressed was the easy part. Covering every bit of skin of your body Seokmin made his, dressing up with the clothes he took off. Putting yourself back together.

Your face in the mirror was the first jumpscare you confronted. Tear stains decorated your cheeks, your natural make-up a mess on your skin. His mess. Your heart squeezed as you scrubbed your face with foamy soap, trying to hold off on tearing up and making noise.

Seokmin's deep unknowing breaths were all you heard. His eyes fluttered closed and the tiniest smile on his face broke you a little more inside. You'd just ruin him.

Somewhere in the living room was your forgotten bag, with your half-charged phone and two sets of keys to different apartments. Seungkwan must've put Seokmin's back inside your bag without you noticing.

Outside the bedroom, beginning to forget the night before was easier. Without the constant reminders, and his fingers so close to where you always wanted, the journey to forget began.

The last reminder made you jump. Green goo stuck to the dirty blender still on the counter, with a broken glass dumped in the sink, victim of two rushed people out of their mind.

For once, you wished you were drunk. You wished there was an external component to help you blur the events of the night. Memories that will inevitably hurt you and the friendship you've built for so many years.

Maybe, if you fuck up first, the heartache would be easier, too. If it was your fault, and not his. If you broke his heart before he had the chance to figure out he could do better.

Closing the door behind you, cementing your decision, was the hardest thing you did that morning.

—

“I should’ve known there was a vibe after that bullshit you told me about dying and whatever,” Seungkwan observes after carefully listening to your rendition of the morning.

“What are you talking about?”

“You were making a scandal about me drinking from your glass and then Seokmin came in and drank straight from your bottle. I couldn’t believe it, but you're both so weird I didn’t think much of it, and—”

His rambling continues, and you'd be offended by him calling you weird, if you weren't busy having slight memory issues.

“When did he—I don’t remember any of that.”

“Oh, but it happened. My memory never fails.” At your confused expression, he presses. “Were you that drunk?”

“I wasn’t drunk! And I made hangover smoothies after, I told you.”

Everything feels so natural with Seokmin, that sometime during your friendship you stopped paying attention to his actions so you wouldn’t overthink about what they meant.

“I still hate drinking from the same cup.”

“Oh,” Seungkwan wiggles his eyebrows and gets his hand slapped again, “It’s just your awful memory then.”

“Shut up, asshole. My memory’s just fine.”

Seungkwan checks his watch out of habit. He probably should already be leaving for the airport, needing to get there a few hours prior and all that.

“You need to go.”

You don’t want to keep him any longer. He also has his future ahead. Having an existential crisis can wait.

“I don’t want to leave you freaking out. What if you do something horrible? Like getting a face tattoo?”

“Fuck, I should cancel my appointment, then.” Seungkwan laughs, though skeptically. “I can figure it out, I promise.”

You know he's worried. About you, about Seokmin. His eyes analyze every micro-expression on your face, and you try to be as serious as possible.

“I'm always a text away,” he settles on saying. “A call too, but let's do those less often.”

“Don't worry about that. I need peace and quiet, and you talk too much.”

“Bitch,” he mutters and pretends to gather his things. But he should be doing it for real. 

“Okay, now leave!” You usher him away, leaving him no choice but to obey after making a scene. “Have a safe flight!”

“Hope you had safe sex!” He yells back, louder than he needs to.

“I hate you! And I hope your plane crashes!”

“I'll miss you, too!”

People stare at you, and now that Seungkwan's out the door and moving on, you care.

There's so much silence without him, just you with your thoughts and judging stares from the other clients in the café. The pressure’s there, all around you, to get it together.

Will you be able to live without Seokmin this time? Not just kilometers away from you, but actually ignoring you? It's your fault, there's no denying it. 

You'll get it together. You'll reach out to him first. Fix your friendship after fucking up tremendously. Easy.

The first few days pass with dread. Empty and gray. Sticking to your new routine is the way you found to not get lost in the emptiness, or in the unwanted thoughts.

Going back to college fills your every day. New classes to attend, assigned readings, essays. Anything you can do to stop the tsunami of thoughts, you do. But, if the three books and the open laptop in front of you prove something, it's that it’s not working.

You managed to snatch a table for yourself at the library—not that it was hard since no one willingly is on campus on a Saturday afternoon, decided on putting your mind to work on something. But you’re not stressed enough to do school work yet, and the people all around you talk so loudly, you find yourself listening to them to pass the time.

Gossip about people you don’t know is always interesting. Some girl kissed her friend’s ex at a party, another girl failed her first exam in her life, then a muscular guy chased the librarian around to look for something too specific. Fun to hear, but you take your phone out anyway. Less possibilities to form a thought.

You sip from your untouched black coffee on the table, only to realize it’s not coffee and it's not yours. It’s what Seokmin always drinks: a matcha with three packets of sugar. You always put his order first, and you must’ve automatically ordered his favorite instead of yours this time. Embarrassing.

The green drink goes down your throat with a sting.

Scrolling through social media, you can't escape your wrong-doings, or your algorithm. The timeline’s filled with clips and posts from the Qualifying, mostly people complaining about their favorite driver's position on the grid for Sunday.

There's only one person you'd share tweets with and laugh about the ridiculousness of some people's opinions.

Further down, you see what you were half avoiding, half expecting to see.

“Lee Seokmin, eliminated in Q1.”

You had talked about it, the possibility of him not doing great during the first races. Even though your little knowledge of how races work and his refusal to tell you the team's strategies snowballed in your brain into the idea that it was impossible for him to do poorly.

Starting P16 isn't bad for a first race in a Grand Prix. It can't be! Your fingers itch to text him, to encourage him, somehow. His chat glows on your screen, almost growing cobwebs from the inactivity.

Seungkwan was right. You knew it even before he said it out loud. Seokmin wasn't going to contact you first, he'd wait until you were ready to talk, not wanting to pressure you.

His profile picture taunts you. A photo you took yourself over time he came to visit. He'd made you drive him to the beach and you watched him surf for hours, not without hearing at least five pleas for you to join him.

You had your fun, staring into the ocean, seeing Seokmin riding the waves infuriatingly well. Was there nothing he was bad at? You remember taking your phone out, recording him riding the tallest wave you'd seen until then. Then a picture, and more as he came out of the water and ran to you with the biggest, proudest smile on his face.

Your stomach turns. That won't ever happen again. You're sure he'll never direct a smile that is happy and warm to you ever again.

You lock your phone and put it away before you do something stupid. He's probably busy for the race the next day. A text from you will only make things worse, you're sure.

—

Against your better judgement, and breaking your promise to not think about a certain driver, you find yourself seated in front of your small TV. Your inner alarm clock woke you up almost automatically to catch the tests before the race starts.

Race Day craze was all over your social media, with clips of every driver and predictions being almost inescapable. You couldn't catch the pre-race interview some driver is always subjected to, but you're on time for everything else.

Seokmin's face fills your screen before you have the chance to open the camera app. The dark blue uniform makes him look serious, his smile nowhere to be seen on his concentrated face.

The last time you saw him, he was peacefully sleeping on his bed with his lips curled. That Seokmin looks nothing like the one being filmed as he puts on the colorful helmet and gets in the car.

Your heart pounds inside your chest as if you were the one about to drive, and a mix of nervousness and excitement reverberates from your head to your toes. For a moment, even if your best friend hates your guts, you're as happy for him as you've ever been.

Regret. A painful regret punches you in the gut. He doesn't look sad, but there’s something missing in him. The little wrinkles beside his eyes, that shine of warm happiness that followed him everywhere.

Seokmin hates you. He has to. You changed everything then dipped before you could make sense of what happened, together. The Seokmin you see on your screen must no longer be your best friend. Not even your friend.

You look at his contact again, unsure if he'd want you to reach out after all. You lost him for good. All the hope you've harbored trying to get your feelings in order, now gone.

His voice coming from the speakers startles you. It’s important for drivers to check if their mic and radio work, and usually they’ll just say nonsense or sing a song they like so their engineers know what the issue is, if there’s any.

The last time you heard his voice, he was mouthing lust-filled nonsense against your naked back. 

Then, the first lines of a song you thought Seokmin would never sing in public reach your ears.

“You're insecure, don't know what for.”

You cackle as your eyes go back to the screen. You can’t see his face under the helmet, except for his crescent moon shaped eyes as he sings.

“You're turning heads when you walk through the door.”

Could there be hope?

To everyone listening on the paddock and at home watching the TV, Seokmin’s just singing a 2011 pop staple. But, to you, it’s a sign that your best friend might not hate you after all.

Countless were the karaoke nights you sang that song together until your lungs couldn’t take it anymore. Seokmin, as always, gave the performance of his life every single night, out-singing you and your pitchy screams.

But it wasn’t about the singing. That song became a joke between you two. You’d hear it in the supermarket and you had to send him a voice message. When it came on the radio, you’d look at each other with twinning grins and burst out laughing. It was your song, and now, he’s singing it knowing the whole world is watching him.

Does he know you’re watching too? He has to know you’d never miss something so important to him. You waited for him outside a class after your first fight. You paid for his meal one time you argued and he left the restaurant. Across the timeline of your friendship, you fought so many times, but never failed to be there for him.

People laugh off screen, and Seokmin keeps singing until they tell him everything's working fine. He concentrates on the car and the circuit in front of him, arms tensing as he fixes his posture.

Seokmin starts the race quickly after, and you watch it all with more enthusiasm than ever. You don't want to miss any detail to make sure you tell him everything after.

Unfortunately, he doesn't earn any points for the championship. But ending at P17 isn't bad at all! Sometimes finishing the race in one piece is all that matters, or so Seokmin said a lot of times after you made fun of him during his F2 era.

From the way he gets out of the car, you can tell he's disappointed. His slouched shoulders that don't match the weak smile he shows the camera give it away.

A few reporters rush to shove their mics in Seokmin’s face, ignoring the sweat dripping down from his hair onto them. You barely hear some of the questions thrown his way, but he picks some one by one and answers perfectly.

“How do you feel after your first race?”

He rakes his fingers through his damp hair before answering, “It was all I ever dreamed. A little disappointed at the result, but now I can only go up!”

His answer eggs the reporter on, who chuckles as the few that didn't get their questions chosen move on to other drivers.

“It was a good start today, but you couldn't recover the spot you lost after the pit stop.”

“It was unfortunate, yeah. The soft tyres we changed into degraded quickly and I couldn't gain back any spot,” Seokmin replies expertly. “Still, I'm happy to have finished, and I hope I have a good season ahead!”

“Your family must be very proud of you, seeing you race after being a reserve driver for so long.” The reporter sounds captivated by Seokmin, continuing with the interview when he could’ve stopped after the race feedback.

“I hope they are,” he chuckles and your stomach turns. “Everybody back home was excited to see me today.”

“I'm sure they’re waiting to call you as soon as you’re done here.”

“I’ll be waiting by the phone, mom!”

There’s no denying the natural charm Seokmin delivers with each word. His answers are all effortless, and he doesn’t look bored or bothered by the questions. You knew it before, but it gets clearer and clearer that that’s where he’s meant to be.

“Anyone special back home? Any girl you’re hoping to impress?”

Seokmin chuckles with embarrassment, and you feel heat rushing up your cheeks.

“There might be. I'm not sure, yet.”

“C'mon! Now you're a professional driver, who would let you get away?”

“I wish it was up to me,” he chuckles again with an unreadable expression. “It was good talking to you, man! See you after the next race!”

“Sure will!” The reporter replies and the next driver shows up on screen. But your eyes follow Seokmin's figure blurring further and further in the background until he disappears.

You can fix this. You won’t let your stubbornness get in between him and you. He gave you the sliver of hope you needed. Whether he meant it or not.

Bitter taste envelops your tongue from biting your nails, and you're sure you're carving a hole on your floor from pacing in circles. Your phone stares at you from the other side of your room, laughing at you.

Every minute that passes after the race that you’re not calling Seokmin is a wasted one. There really are only two options: either you call him and confront your mistake, or you never talk to each other again.

Both scenarios would result in losing him. Though, living in a world where Seokmin isn’t a part of your daily life seems even worse than admitting your feelings out loud. There has to be a way to keep him by your side still.

Seokmin’s picture shows up on your screen. Your phone is in your hand and you’re calling him. Blood pumps faster and faster from your heart, but there’s no time to panic.

“Hi,” Seokmin’s voice buzzes through the line.

The shock of him not ignoring your call makes you unable to speak for a few seconds. You were panicking so much, you forgot to rehearse what you were going to say to him.

“Hi, loser,” you say quietly over the silence.

His guard is up, no trace of a smile in his tone as he replies, “You saw the race.”

“I told you I wouldn’t miss it.”

Your earnest words fade into the awkward silence. You knew you'd have to push through it to get him to hear you. The next questions mumble out of your lips, so quickly you regret them instantly.

“How are you? How’s the fame treating you?”

“It’s fine. Nothing really changed, just more people watching.” His tone's flat like never before.

“I hope you're not too bummed about the result. I know you're going to do great in the coming races!”

He only hums in response.

The deafening silence creates a black hole inside your room, sucking any idea you could possibly get to alleviate the awkwardness. He’s waiting for you to talk, that’s clear.

“Listen, I wanted to talk to you, about…” the words take work to get out of you, and in the end, it doesn’t even sound like you intend to. “What happened at the party.”

“You left,” he says, with simplicity, with hurt.

“I panicked,” you rush to half-explain. “I'm sorry.”

There’s so much more behind your words, so many things you can’t bring yourself to address out loud.

“We could’ve talked about it, together.”

“I know. I know you wanted to.”

Seokmin's doing a great job at presenting the facts, but not helping you form a forgiveness-earning speech. Dryness was expected from his part, but you didn’t expect words to be so hard to find after hearing his voice.

“There’s no excuse for what I did. I was awful. I shouldn’t have left and I shouldn’t have ghosted you all week when it was so important for you.” Your throat tightens as tears begin brimming from your eyes. “I’ve been a terrible friend, and I’m truly sorry.”

The line falls dead as he considers your apology. Knowing how important this race and the entire week was for him, you don’t expect Seokmin to forgive you easily. You don’t even deserve it. And if he’s willing to give you another chance, you’ll work hard to earn his trust again.

You can almost picture his face as he breaks the silence. “I didn't mean for it to change things between us.”

Seokmin's words leave a sour aftertaste, even though it’s what you wanted to hear. He wants to stay friends. You should be thrilled.

“Good,” you exhale. “I don't want things to change either.” If there’s disappointment in your voice, he shows no signs of realizing.

“I'm sorry if I made you uncomfortable.”

“No, stop that.” You jump in place. “You didn't do anything wrong. It was me who ran away like a coward.”

“You're right,” he chuckles in response, and a sense of familiarity takes over the call. “And I had to clean the blender.”

“Fuck! I'm sorry for that, too.” He's back to teasing you, and you're easily embarrassed.

You laugh together as if everything was okay again. As if the ghost of his fingers on your skin and his tongue on yours didn't wake you up every night in a cold sweat.

“Can we just—It may not be fair for me to ask you this, but, can we pretend it didn't  happen?”

It. You can't even say it.

His breathing slows, thinking carefully. You fear you're about to lose him, again.

“I don't want us to fight,” you over-explain, and he sighs.

“Me neither.”

“And you actually can't be mean to your fans, so, you'll be forced to talk to me no matter what.”

After what it feels like years, your body relaxes. Hearing him chuckle because of you again feels good, warm, right.

“You're my fan now?”

“I've always been. Ever since you got your driver's license.”

You're so honest, the rest of the truth almost slips out. But it's not fair to him. You can't just blurt everything out over a call and expect him to be okay with it.

Instead, you let him ramble about the car, the race and the team. And you hear and comment about every detail. Because you're also excited for him.

You talk for hours, and the awkwardness fades away as the call progresses. With you telling him how it feels to go back to college and him explaining the differences between f1 and f2 to help you understand things for the next races.

He doesn't have to know that you googled everything the day before. You're happy he's willing to talk to you like everything is normal again. You won't waste your second chance.

Your windbreaker jacket fights for its life against the storm you didn't realize was coming into town until it was too late.

The rain and you have become one.

Your socks stick uncomfortably to your feet inside your drenched sneakers, and you can only hope the jacket covered your bag enough so your things didn’t get ruined.

You enter your building, in a better mood now that there’s a roof over your head after walking from the bus stop. Almost instantly, you open the camera app, take a photo of your soaked hair sticking to your face and send it to Seokmin before hopping on the elevator.

In hopes of restoring most of the normalness you’re able to, you’ve begun texting every day with him, mainly with mundane updates about your days that easily turn into conversation.

A new notification makes your phone buzz in your hand, and your heart races with anxiety and excitement; the new mix of feelings you started getting when talking with Seokmin.

Getting a text from your best friend shouldn't feel giddy, it shouldn't draw an instant smile on your face and make your hands tremble.

Still, you try. You try to answer his questions about your new major as a best friend would. You send him posts you see on your timeline about the racing season, and he sends you memes about university. You try not to zoom in on the mirror selfies he sends daily and try not to remember the feeling of being wrapped in those same arms.

It's late at night for you, but for Seokmin, the day just started. ‘Heading out to train’, said his last message before your storm selfie. That was over half an hour ago.

You change into dry clothes and flop down on your couch as your blood pressure drops seeing his new texts.

‘You need to stop your hate for umbrellas’, reads the immediate response to your photo. You'd argue that it wasn't your refusal to carry umbrellas this time, and you genuinely didn't know it was going to rain. But the next few texts restrict the oxygen flow to your brain.

Seokmin's sitting sideways, with his full body on display and his side profile almost testing you from far away. The angle makes it so the empty gym occupies most of the photo-space, but your eyes don't see anything else other than him.

Two dumbbells sit at the sides of his feet, probably unused as he doesn't look sweaty yet. The black shorts he's wearing don't do anything to hide his thigh muscles as they tense from the position he's in. Muscles you felt slapping against your own not long ago.

Deep inside you, a sliver of guilt appears, trying to overshadow the turmoil beginning to pool at the pit of your stomach.

You've tried to push down everything Seokmin makes you feel that you shouldn't. But it's so hard when the very sight of his body takes you back to that night again.

The lights inside your home remain off. You forgot to turn them on when you came in, and only a few rays of the street lampposts bleed through your curtains. It's so dark, it's easy to step over the embarrassment and let the desire, that you fought so hard to hide, win.

As your hand pushes down past the hem of your jeans, the inner fight going on in your mind blurs completely. That night is burned on your eyelids like a tattoo. It follows you everywhere you go, but it’s forever only in your mind.

Your body quivers imagining Seokmin’s hands are touching you and not yours. You burn with embarrassment and lust, body flushed as his muscles flex below you. How it would feel to have his fingers inside you, longer, deeper, and looking to please you until you’re done for.

The ghost of that night drives you to the finish line. Sticky, tired, and knowing it can never happen again.

Your phone buzzes on the table with more notifications. You never answered him, blinded by what isn’t real.

If Seokmin notices you leaving him on read for a suspicious amount of time, he doesn’t comment on it. His next few texts are all complaining about the new routine they have him on, but then saying he enjoys the challenge and seeing the results.

Those results are going to make your life really hard moving forward.

When old people complain about the new generation being addicted to their phones, you always argue that it’s the new way we have, as a society, to learn new things every day. Sure, you can get misinformation from anyone, even on the internet, but the easier access makes everything faster.

Besides, the older generation is just as addicted as they claim others to be. You’d go even as far as to say that it’s worse for them.

You would, but you’ve been proving old people right for the past few days.

For Fridays to be your busiest day of the week, full of classes and group meet-ups for projects, your screentime resembles too closely the one of a 10 year old addicted to tiktok. You’ve been constantly checking your notifications for the past two days, and always see your lockscreen empty.

Waiting for your order at the coffee shop you had a heart to heart with Seungkwan a few weeks ago, it just looks like Seokmin decided to hate you again.

Reeling back to when you apologized, everything seemed fine! Your last text conversation didn’t differ from how you’ve been talking.

If you did something to pass him off again, it would be nice for him to tell you for once.

The bartender's loud voice startles you out of your thoughts. “Iced matcha latte!”

You groan at your changing coffee order but take the cup from the worker regardless. The table you've become a regular off is empty, and you sit on your self-assigned chair to contemplate your life's twists and turns.

The text conversations with Seokmin don't stray far away from friendly updates and banter here and there. He hasn't been available for calls either, so you know you didn't slip and said something you weren't meant to.

The last picture Seokmin sent you catches your attention. He had the day off and his teammate invited him to spend the day at his yacht.

Blueish teal water surrounds him, but even if there's nothing inherently insinuating about the picture, you can't avoid looking at his face for longer than necessary. Your eyes then steer to his naked shoulders, imagining what's below the edge of the photo.

You've sunk your teeth on those shoulders, felt that very same nose against your core and came so hard you forgot how to breathe.

Seungkwan’s name flashes on your screen with an incoming video call, making you jump on your seat and gaining you a few weird looks. 

After taking a deep breath, you check your airpods are still connected before accepting the call.

“I can't believe I have to call you myself to get in touch with you!” He accuses as soon as you pick up.

You try your best not to gasp too loud. “You told me not to call you!”

“A text wouldn't hurt either,” Seungkwan rolls eyes. “And I know you've been texting ‘Mister Yacht Party’, so don't tell me you haven't had time.”

With everything going on, and you trying to ignore anything even remotely related to Seokmin in case you slip up, you’ve forgotten about the other relationships in your life too. Your incapability to interact normally with Seokmin made you grow apart from everyone, in case they ask, in case they realize.

“Okay, I yield. I'm sorry, I should've texted you.”

Seungkwan, even if he knows what happened, is still as busy as Seokmin. You didn’t want to bother him with your college girl problems.

“Thank you. That's nice to hear.” He shows a genuine smile. “How have you been?”

“Classes and group projects and all. I don't want to annoy you with my boring routine.”

“Not that I like being annoyed, but you should tell me anyway! It's not boring to me if you like what you’re doing.”

It's heartwarming and annoyingly sweet of him, and you'd tear up if you weren't in public. “Thank you, really, but I want to talk about you! The new hotshot mechanic in Formula 1!”

His ears grow red with embarrassment. “I'm just observing the actual mechanics do their job for now.”

“That's how you learn! They'll eventually ask you to hold some tools and then you'll be working with the cars in no time!”

“Let’s hope the universe hears you,” he chuckles his words out.

In the background, you see a shadow of a figure moving before hearing Seokmin's voice. You don't quite get what he's saying to Seungkwan, but your body freezes as their focus goes away from you.

You haven't called Seokmin since you apologized weeks ago, because he's busy and you still received his daily updates anyway. But his recent silence put a stop to any progress you thought you made.

A door closes on Seungkwan’s side of the call, and his attention comes back to you. You have to pretend to be cool about it.

“So, how do you feel about that new lifestyle of his? Partying with famous people and all.”

“It doesn’t matter what I think. I’m a mechanic, not his manager,” he throws you a glitchy knowing look. “I'd like it more if he found a way to get me invitations, though.”

“I'm sure they all invite their teams to their rich men hangouts.”

“Well, they invite their friends and I'm trying to replace you.” You're about to argue when he continues, “But I'm not letting his dick anywhere near me, so I guess I'm at a disadvantage.”

You choke on your drink. “Don't say that out loud! What if he hears you? Oh my God.”

“Oh, don't be dramatic.” His evil smirk shows you no compassion. 

Your eyes scan the café in search of any wandering stares. “I shouldn’t have told you anything.”

“Too bad, you can't regret it now!” Seungkwan tries, but your worried expression doesn’t go away. “Don't worry about your sex drama. He just left anyway, he won't hear.”

The little information about Seokmin piques your interest. You guess it's his day off, since Seungkwan isn't working either, but he clearly had plans. You're not part of them. You haven't been for days now.

“Where did he go? He hasn't texted me in days.”

At your question, Seungkwan's expression turns. “Oh, shit,” he mutters under his breath.

“Are you kidding? What? What happened?”

“No, it's nothing. I'm sure he'll tell you.”

“So, there is something.” Nothing Seungkwan says helps calm you down.

“I didn't say that.”

“Come on. Did I upset him? Is he avoiding me? Is he getting drunk with Charles Leclerc again? Or worse, with Max Verstappen?”

Is it possible that Seokmin simply got tired? Maybe he realized texting wasn’t enough to keep a relationship going and decided to pursue something within his reach.

“You didn't do anything,” he sighs. You can't tell exactly why.

“Then, what? Where did he go?”

“He's doing something for his publicist.”

Whatever you thought his answer would be, that isn’t it. You didn’t even know Seokmin had a publicist, though it makes sense since he’s a public figure.

At your expectant face, Seungkwan realizes you need much more information than what he’s providing. “I shouldn’t be telling you this.”

“I'm going to fly wherever you are with the sole purpose of snapping your head off.”

“You don't scare me. You can't run a full block without getting the air knocked off you!”

“Besides the point! Just tell me already! I have no one to gossip with about famous people besides you, come on.” It's just gossip, you repeat to yourself. Celebrity gossip.

“Fine, but don't freak out, okay? Promise?” You nod, unsure but determined to know. “He's… on a date.”

For a second, your heart stops. “A date.”

“A PR date.” You glare at him, confused and paralyzed. “You know, when two managers arrange a dinner with two famous people to, like, boost their popularity.”

“Why the hell should he boost his popularity? He's a driver, not a fucking pop singer.”

“I know jack shit about marketing, don't ask me!” Seungkwan throws his free hand in the air, with his eyes wide at your reaction.

Your mood drops to new lows. If you weren't in a busy café, you're sure your throat would begin closing as a warning for incoming tears.

“Look. They just have to be seen hanging out. It doesn’t mean anything.”

“It sounds like something if this is why he's been avoiding me.”

“I'm sure he has his reasons.”

If it was just a PR strategy, Seokmin would text you complaining about it. At least past Seokmin would have. The Seokmin you didn't ruin.

Any effort you were doing to seem uninterested fades. “Who is she?”

“Nope! We're not doing this.”

“W-why?”

“Because it doesn't matter!” Seungkwan almost yells.

“It does! His publicist team wouldn't choose someone random. They at least have to seem to have chemistry.”

This is what you were afraid of, Seokmin finding new people and realizing you're not worth the trouble. It makes perfect sense he'd want to stop contacting you altogether.

“You didn't even know what a PR date was 5 minutes ago. You don't know how it works.”

“But it makes sense! You can't deny that.”

“I can. And I will,” he asserts. “You shouldn't overthink about it. It's just a one time thing.”

“Yeah, you're right.” Just a one time thing. “I don't care.”

“Good.” Seungkwan exhales in relief. But his relaxation is short-lived.

“I don't care if he dates! He has all the right to.”

“Oh, boy,” he mutters as you start your ramble.

“He's a free, single man who just became famous. Of course he has all kinds of beautiful women lining up for a chance.”

“That’s not what I meant, just saying.”

“It's a matter of time before he gets married to a beautiful and rich model who'll give him children with symmetrical faces and buy them designer onesies.”

“Your twisted mind keeps surprising me, years after years.”

“It's not twisted, I'm being realistic.”

Being realistic is the only way you can save yourself from bad situations. You set the expectations low enough that nothing surprises you, nothing tears you down, because you were prepared.

You and Seokmin are nothing more than friends. If you were anything more, the distance and his new relationships would make everything harder. With your busy college schedule and his training, there could be nothing else.

You'd hold him back. And that would be worse than seeing him date anyone else.

The next day, the news and social media are filled with photos of the new hot couple out to dinner. But you don't allow yourself to care more than you should.

The numbness helps. Even if your eyes itch at every new angle of the two of them talking at the table. Even if he shows her that same smile that makes your stomach flutter. Even if that girl isn't you. It shouldn't be you. It could never be.

After the spectacle the day before, you should’ve expected to find that girl’s face in the foreground as soon as you turn on your TV. You gave Seungkwan’s words some thought and believed him when he said it wasn’t something to worry about, that it was just a one time thing. It certainly is not.

They came into the paddock with their arms interlocked, ready for the cameras to show them to the whole world. As Seokmin went to get ready, she stood on his team’s side, with her effortless beauty and perfect fitting outfit.

The sour mood kept getting worse as the race preparations started. Seokmin doesn't hesitate and radio checks like normal, no singing involved.

It's your fault really. You had your expectations too high for the reality you live in. Seokmin’s not going to sing One Direction before every race to get your attention. Stupid.

The first hour blurs past with a debilitating heartache. Every time Seokmin does a successful overtake, the camera focuses on his new date. Her reactions fuels social media just as much as him doing well.

You don’t catch the rest of the race. You mentally can't handle it.

It's late in the evening, so the cashier at the supermarket doesn't look at you weird for buying a ridiculously priced red wine. It's too late when you realize the brand you gravitated towards.

The race is on its last laps when you get back. Your eyes stick to the screen, that you forgot to turn off when storming out, even if you don't want to. It's a tense game of overtaking, falling behind and the ranking changing with each lap before it finishes with Seokmin positioning P11.

You watch as he celebrates with his team. Everyone with smiles on their faces and palming Seokmin on the back. And she's also there.

He was really close to gaining points for the championship, which is huge for a new driver. You know he's probably at it inside his head, telling himself that he should've placed in the top 10.

The sports channel's now airing an old basketball tournament, formula 1 long gone from your screen. You stare at it blankly, with only Seokmin’s face as he got out of his car in your mind. You want to tell him that he did awesome. That no matter the position he ended at, with all the maneuvers he managed against the other drivers, he cemented himself as someone to watch out for.

You turn the TV off and head to bed, hugging the unopened wine bottle and trying to convince yourself not to do anything you'll regret. You know it's too late when you hear his voice over the speaker.

“Hi?” The sound of a door closing echoes through the line.

Once again, you called him. Instead, this time, there was no hope that he'd answer.

“Congrats on today.” There's no cheer on your tone. “You did great.”

“Thank you. I just got to the hotel.” You hum in response, not knowing what else to say. “I-I wondered if you were watching.”

“I was.”

Silence follows your affirmation. He didn’t expect you to call. You didn't think you would either.

“I'm guessing you saw…”

“I couldn’t really ignore it,” you say dryly.

“I was going to tell you but-”

You interrupt him, “It's okay if you didn't want to.” You know you have no right to be upset by a date, he doesn't owe you an explanation.

“I wanted to.”

“Oh.” He doesn't owe you an explanation. Doesn't matter how bad you want one.

“I just didn't know how.”

You think about it for a second. Does that mean he can just ghost you entirely? Do you have the right to complain when you did the same thing not long ago?

“I missed you these past days,” you decide to admit. “You didn't need to go all silent treatment on me.”

“I'm sorry, I really am. It was just—a weird situation.”

“Kwannie told me about it.”

“That weasel,” Seokmin mutters. “Yeah, he knew ‘cause I was with him when my manager called me.”

You chuckle, fixing your posture and laying face up in bed. “He didn't want to tell me but I forced him.”

For a second, everything feels normal again. Your smile shows back up as you stare at the ceiling, hearing Seokmin laugh lightly at what you said. He’s still your best friend.

You hear ruffles of sheets on his side. He's also in bed. “Why did you want to know?” If you shut your eyes, you could picture him laying with you.

“Why did I want to know the reason why my best friend was ignoring me?”

“Okay, fair. I'm sorry, again.”

“I was actually sad, you know,” you chuckle your words out. “I bought wine to get sad drunk and all.”

“Are you drunk in bed? What time is it?” Your stomach does a funny flip at his concerned tone, but you push it back down.

“I know it’s barely after noon for you, but it’s night time here,” you remark before taking a deep breath. “I didn't open the wine. I called you instead.”

“Good, ‘cause you can't be trusted when you're wine-drunk.”

“Okay, now I'm getting offended! When have I ever misbehaved when drunk?” You regret the teasing question as soon as it leaves your lips.

“Do I have to remind you of the last time we drank a whole bottle of red wine each?”

The conversation was going there regardless, but you still lose your breath at his mention. The forbidden topic. You shouldn’t be talking about it, but you need to clarify something to him before trying to delete it from your memory. It’s not much of a confession, you just need to get it out there.

“I wasn’t drunk.”

“I know,” he replies almost too quickly.

“It wasn't like I didn't know what I was doing.”

Seokmin might’ve initiated the kissing and touching, but you were just as eager as him. After all that time, he was kissing you like it meant something, and it was easy to ignore the uncertain future when his hands were on you and he was licking his way into your mouth so good.

“After you left, I just thought-”

“You shouldn’t worry. You didn't do anything wrong.”

The burden of that morning comes creeping into your mind. He still sounds hurt talking about it, and you wouldn't hold it against him if he still resented you.

“I know you don't want to remember it.” His words are so quiet you almost break. He might’ve forgiven you, but you didn't mend the wound you left him with.

“It's not that. I-” You want to explain, but you can't finish the thought.

“It's okay.”

“But it's not!” The darkness allows you to speak your feelings out loud. In the pitch black of your room, no one can judge you. “I do remember it. Like, a lot. And it's embarrassing.”

From the other side of the line, only breathing sounds can be heard. You shouldn't have said anything. You need to learn to shut up and stop making everything weird.

“I remember it, too,” he replies, shy and quiet. “Every day.”

Oh. Goosebumps creep up your body, your blood sizzling traveling through your veins from head to toe.

You want to believe him so bad. “You don't have to say that just because I did.”

“I'm not. You need to stop putting words in my mouth.” Seokmin sounds severe, tired of going around circles but never getting to the point.

“I can't really see your reactions through a call.” You try to hide your nervousness behind a chuckle. “You could be making puking faces and I wouldn't know.”

“Isn't my word enough?”

“It's not. Sorry,” you chuckle again. What else can you do?

“Close your eyes,” he instructs.

“For what?” You ask, incredulously, but still do as he says.

“Close your eyes. Imagine me there, like we're talking face to face.” He sounds so calm, all while your thoughts reel looking for an answer as to what he's doing. “Are you laying down?”

“Yes.”

“What would you say if I was there?”

“I-I don't know.” Your voice shakes, anxious and expectant.

“If you were here with me, I'd be the happiest man in the world,” Seokmin admits, and your heart stops.

“Aren't you happy living your dream?”

“It's not the same if you're not here watching.”

“But you did well today!”

“And I wanted to celebrate with you. But you weren't there.” While the celebration seemed nice on TV, he's telling you another story. “I didn't go out with them. I came straight here to the hotel. I was about to call you when I saw your name on the screen.”

Your legs shake lightly with excitement. All that sadness you felt taking over you dissipated with each of his words.

“I missed you. So I called.”

“I'm glad you did.”

Ending the conversation at this moment, switching the topic even, would be the wise decision. You didn't have a single drop of alcohol, but your mouth is unrestricted.

“I wish I was there with you for real. Not in your imagination.” You swallow hard, but it's not enough to stop your blabbering. “I don't like not being with you.”

After a pause, Seokmin finally speaks up again, "You could be.”

You chuckle in disbelief. “I can't go to a race.”

“I don't mean to a race. Or at least, not just one.” You're speechless, scavenging in your mind for any other thing he could be talking about. At the silence, Seokmin continues, “You could be with me.”

“What are you saying? Seokmin, please.”

“C'mon,” he spits out, as if it was obvious. “You know.”

“Know what? I was just saying-”

“You know how I feel about you.”

—

The bed dipped where your bodies were tangled together. It was too hot, your skin glistening with sweat, but neither of you cared.

His arms wrapped around your waist, flushing your back against his chest to keep you from escaping. You were too sleepy to even think of the possibility. His steady breath and the beating of his heart were more calming than anything.

Nothing seemed real. Your eyelids felt heavy after being up all night, and you were sure the sun would come up any minute. Time, unfortunately, still moved.

You were almost drifting to sleep when you heard his voice.

“This,” his words slurred, as if he was on the verge of falling asleep, too. “This meant something right?”

You didn't know if he was awake, if he wanted an answer. He surely felt your lungs suddenly not filling with air.

“Yes,” you replied. Only with the lights turned off and in the limbo between days you could admit something like that.

“I don't think I can ever go back.”

—

For the tenth time in the night, your heart stops. You're shivering, beginning to sweat from the overwhelming sensation. For how much time have you waited to hear him tell you this?

“You can't say that. Not right now.”

“When should I? There's no such thing as the right time. I feel it, right now. I l-”

“Don't. Please, Seokmin,” you choke out, trying and failing to stop the cascade threatening to fall from your face. “We can't.”

“Why?” Your eyes are still closed, imagining his reactions like you've memorized his face and his every expression. “Why can't we try? Don't you feel it too?”

“It's not that simple.”

“But it is! Why are you so against it?”

“Because I don't want us to change!” You yell into the air. To him. Pleading to the universe.

“It won't. I know it won't because it never has.” Seokmin's not calm either. You can tell there's something brewing behind his thought out words. “I’ve liked you all this time, all these years. Since I was nobody and you insisted on coming to watch me get my racing license. You were the only one there, you were always the only one supporting me at the beginning.”

“I didn't say anything then because I didn't feel worthy. I never thought you'd look at me the way I looked at you. And that night,” he continues. “I kissed you that night because I wanted to since forever. You were acting like everything was going to change drastically, but my feelings weren’t going to. And they're still the same. You finally looked at me when I was leaving and I thought it was my last chance. Then, you wanted to act like nothing happened, and I accepted. I went on with it, thinking that at least I was still in your life. But it's not enough. It's not enough anymore.”

“Seokmin, please.” Tears stream down your face, nothing working to stop them. “I'd just hold you back.”

“Why? Why? I want this! I'm asking you!”

"Because! You're moving forward, doing something with your life, getting to where you always wanted, and I'm stuck here, studying like I've done all my life, watching everything from the sidelines.” Hiccups force you to take a breath, no matter how hard it is. “I'm not worth it. You should be with someone with a future. With someone you can hug, and kiss, and actually be with.”

“I don't want anyone else. I want you,” he pleads quietly. You're breaking him, again. “I don't care about having to video-call to talk. I'd gladly do it with you.”

“It might seem like enough now, but you'll get tired. We'd start hating each other for being busy the only time one of us had time.”

“You're always so pessimistic. We can make it work! We've been doing it for years now!”

“But it’s different. I-I don't think I could handle it.”

“Tell me. Tell me you don't want to be with me.” He asserts. Done. Tired. “But I can't go back to how it was. It'd hurt too much.”

Everything stops as his words settle in. You don't have any more teats to spill. The thing you feared became real. Your relationship isn't enough, he wants something you can't give him.

You clear your throat, “I'm sorry.”

You've said those words too many times to each other. But this time it's not to take what you did back. You know you're breaking his heart, but there's nothing else you can do.

“It's done then.”

You hope he doesn't hear you getting choked up. It's not fair to him when it's your fault.

“Goodbye,” It's a whisper of your name, but it hurts like a gunshot.

You start living zoned out. Seconds blend into hours and hours blend into days, seamless. Your body works on autopilot, repeating the same cycle day after day: go to classes, eat, sleep, repeat.

The past weeks were just a test, nothing compared to the real thing. Living a life knowing you will never have Seokmin by your side again.

Roughly two weeks have passed since the cursed phone call that changed it all. Two weeks since you had to admit the worst part of your insecure brain to him. Two weeks since you broke his heart. But you push through it, even if it seems like days will never have bright colors again.

From time to time, you check your phone in hope to find something, and disappointment is always the result. You've exchanged texts with Seungkwan, disclosing the least amount of detail possible to his gossiping self, but even if you want to believe things will get better, it never feels normal. He'll always be in Seokmin's team. Even him talking to you feels like treason.

Is there a world where this wasn't the end result? Maybe if you weren't a coward.

Stepping slowly on the grey cement, you get out of the library and see your bus speed away from your stop. Another small consequence of your actions. You've given up on anything working your way by now.

You wait for the next one with a blank mind. Standing at the bus stop, staring at your feet, you try to think of something that aren't Seokmin's last words to you, ever.

It's done then. They sounded so harsh at that moment, but the more you think about it, the more you realize how badly you hurt him. It was for the best, you think. It has to be. You're saving both of you from a worst heartbreak. If you let yourself fall more deeply, it'd hurt more. You can't handle that.

The Sunday sun makes your skin prickly with sweat. You didn't put in sunscreen before deciding to kill time in the library doing God knows what. A day full of regrets, it seems.

When you finally sit on the bus, some time later, you don't fight the urge to check on the latest sports related news. You aren’t in each other’s lives anymore, but that doesn’t mean you won’t check on his career. You’ll never stop supporting him.

Your Seokmin related news have been scarce since that call. Of course, you chose one of the few race free weekends to end your friendship. You knew how he spent his free weeks, but you didn’t hear anything about him either. You didn’t ask.

This week’s race was one Seokmin had been expecting since the first moment he got the news that he’ll be racing. The São Paulo Grand Prix was specifically hard for him. Not only is the weather in the region unpredictable, it’s also not located on flat ground, which means it follows the ups and down of hills, and it’s a counterclockwise circuit, which has different repercussions on the driver’s body.

You may not have hourly updates of his life anymore, but you’ve built an entire encyclopedia of Seokminisms. With the anxiety that comes with having to follow his team’s past success on the circuit, combined with the special training to get the body ready for the race, Seokmin probably hasn’t left the gym in days.

The race started while you were waiting on the sidewalk. Seokmin started at P10 and quickly gains a few spots as the laps progress, positioning P7 by the time you reach your home.

But, with all the sad groveling you’ve been doing, you haven’t checked São Paulo’s estimated climate for the weekend. You realize your mistake the second the sun stops illuminating your screen, replaced by a gray, worrying layer of clouds covering the sky. The narrators all comment on the weather change and the start of the rainfall, expected in the region at this time of the year.

Racing under the rain is normal, every driver has done it countless times. It's the decreasing ability to see past one meter ahead that worries you.

Your remote is in your hand the moment you sit on your couch, without even taking your outside clothes off. Your eyes glue to the screen. Seeing the amount of laps decrease without any incidents lets you breathe, but the anxiousness never leaves.

Seokmin manages to block drivers from passing him, and not even his rushed pit stop prevents him from staying within the scoring positions, but when he celebrates through the radio, you can almost hear the toll the circuit is taking on him. Racing counterclockwise pushes the driver's neck to the right, straining the body uncomfortably.

The storm worsens each minute that passes, and you wonder why they haven't stopped the race yet. With 4 laps left to finish, maybe there's hope it can be done. For a second, you think that too.

Seokmin overtakes another driver during the ‘S’ turn, officially positioning P5. Having just 5 laps left, it's basically his final position.

But the rain doesn't relent. If the hope was that the storm ended as a mere drizzle, everyone was wrong. The circuit and paddock were nearly invisible, cast aside by the blurring rain.

It happens before you even register what’s barely visible behind the rain.

Tyres squeak against the pavement, harsh and loud. No one knows what happened. The sports narrators describe the accident you can’t see, wondering which driver almost managed to finish the race.

The broken car’s color is barely recognizable. You listen attentively to each driver that stops racing, name after name hoping to hear Seokmin saying he’s at the pit stop.

“The back right tyre’s done for,” his voice gets picked up by the radio with a chuckle, followed by a choir of questions from his team.

You exhale for the first time in minutes. If he’s talking he must be okay. But you don't get to relax. No one knows what happened, or how badly the car or Seokmin were hurt.

The storm calms down just barely, but enough to see both the medical car and the safety car doing their respective jobs.

Seokmin is extracted from the car and instantly laid down on a gurney. The narrators explain the way his degraded tyres slipped on the wet asphalt and caused the car to run into the wall.

You analyze the repetition, now clearer thanks to the many angles the races are filmed in. Somehow, as the experts are explaining, Seokmin managed to turn the car in a way it wouldn't badly hurt him before it crashed. It could’ve been much worse.

But, even with every maneuver in the world, he still got carried to the hospital, and you have no way of knowing how he was. You couldn't ask him. You couldn't ask anyone.

Your TV is off the second the narrators change topics and the race resumes to the last laps. As the afternoon goes on after the race finishes without him, you stop caring about everything else. Anything that isn't news about Seokmin goes in through one ear and out the other.

Hours and hours pass with you debilitating your sense of sight by looking at your phone, searching news articles and social media for any kind of information. You get nothing, only people discussing the ending positions. How can no one worry about a driver getting injured?

You're about to give up when your ringtone catches your attention. You pick up instantly. “How is he?”

“He's at the hospital,” Seungkwan sighs. “They're just now allowing visitors.”

Okay. If they’re allowing people to see him, it probably means he’s not in need of intensive therapy. He’s okay.

You might be more relaxed, but there are still tons of questions to ask. “Are they making him stay the night? Is he hurt?”

“I don't know the extent of his injuries yet, I'm sorry.” Seungkwan sounds out of breath, like he’s pacing back and forth in the hallway.

“What happened?” You insist. “I couldn't see anything with the rain.”

“The team didn't manage the pit stops correctly and the car slipped with the wet floor.”

“So, his team and whoever decided that the race could continue with the storm are idiots.”

“Hey! I told them it wasn't safe?”

After watching so many races over the years, it became clear that when anything that could endanger the drivers came into play, the race would stop until it was safe. The weather in that region of Brazil might be unpredictable, but a storm is still a storm, and just thinking about Seokmin being as blind to the circuit as you were from the cameras puts a lump in your throat.

“I don’t understand how they allowed that.”

“Me neither, I swear.” Seungkwan sounds defeated.

Deep down you know he was probably fighting everyone on the paddock before the accident happened. He isn’t making jokes and teasing you like he usually would. You don’t want to fight.

“Can you just—let me know if he's okay?” You whisper, fearing that saying it out loud would trigger some response from the universe.

“Why don't you ask him yourself?”

“You know I can't do that,” you protest. “He hates me.”

He sighs and continues with a babying voice, “He doesn't hate you.”

“He does. Don't lie to me.”

Seungkwan is aware that you and Seokmin talked and essentially ended your friendship, but he doesn’t have a clue what you said to him, the way he pleaded for you to listen and how you refused. It hasn’t been long enough for him to even consider beginning to forgive you. And it’s okay. You did it knowing the consequences.

“You're so fucking stubborn,” Seungkwan mutters. “I can't believe I have to do something for you two to grow some balls.”

“Huh? What are you talking about?” You must look crazy, pacing around your apartment screaming at the phone.

“You're coming here.”

“Here? To fucking Brazil?” He just hums as a reply. “Yeah, right.”

“You are. I'm booking you a plane ticket right now.”

He must be joking. “You're not.”

“Hell yeah I am! And I'm using his card, too.”

“That's called stealing. You know that, right.”

“Not if it's what Seokminnie really wants.”

His nickname being uttered pinches your heart. You want nothing more than to see him, to hug him and breathe him in. If these past two hours proved anything, it’s that being away from him and left out of what happens to him is hell on earth.

“I can't go there,” you repeat quietly. “He won't want to see me.”

“He will.” You sigh with hesitation, but Seungkwan interrupts you before you can object. “I won't tell you how he is if you don't come. And I'll pay the guys to not talk to you, too. Simple as that.”

“You can't be serious.”

The free trip offer starts sounding not too bad. You fear if he pushes you a bit further, you’ll accept. You’re weak when it comes to Seokmin and he knows that.

“I have never been more serious about something in my life.”

You sigh again, knowing you’re going to accept. It’s as simple as that, and you hate yourself for it. How are you going to get ready for the inevitable heartbreak that’ll come with seeing Seokmin face to face again?

“I'm going to punch you in the face when I see you.”

“And I'll gladly take it. After you talk to him.”

The doorknob is within reach from your hand, cold, taunting, and the thing that separates you from the one person you want to see the most.

For once, you forgot about your other responsibilities. You threw everything away and jumped on a plane on a Sunday afternoon to travel to the other side of the world. Currently, Seokmin's well-being is your top concern, above going to beginner college classes.

On the plane you could only think of that to say to him. Seeing him again was such a wild and foreign idea that, even standing with only a wall between him and you, it still doesn't seem real.

Hours in the sky didn't prepare you for shit, and the emptiness of the hallway gives you chills.

Your heart's pounding like you're being chased, with your hands sweaty and brain reeling. You're in no state to face the most important person in your life. You need to get it together.

Trying to accustom your brain to the high possibility of receiving a string of curses and screams, to be asked to get out and never return, is not hard. Hearing his voice will be enough. Knowing he's okay, at least physically.

After taking a deep breath, but not yet revealing yourself, you knock on the door as you open it slightly.

You hear Seokmin sigh before he says, “Soonyoung, I already told you I don't want—”

Whatever he was about to say gets cut off when you peek your head through the opening.

Seokmin's sitting with his back against the lifted bed, already dressed in his clothes and with no visible bruises or stitches. He's as shocked as you that you're entering his room, blinking rapidly trying to check if he's seeing correctly.

“Can I come in?” You ask, knowing there's a high possibility of being denied.

There's a beat of silence before he asks, “Why are you here?”

You take a step into the room, and when he doesn't tell you to get lost, you take it as a yes.

“I saw what happened.” You stand awkwardly away from his bed, searching for injuries on him and feeling his eyes going over you. “I was worried.”

“So you flew all the way here?” Of course, he's not convinced, especially after your last conversation.

“I wanted to see if you were okay,” you reply, but it's not the whole truth. “I wanted to see you.”

“There was no need for you to—”

“Well, I came.”

You stare at each other, trying to figure out what's going through the other's mind.

Now that he's in front of you, waiting for you to say something, words don’t want to form sentences in your mind. Whatever you planned to say disappeared the second his eyes laid on yours.

His silence is unnerving. Maybe you made a mistake. You'd rather him scream and tell you how much he hates you than being subjected to the icy quiet for any longer. What else were you expecting?

“I'm sorry—maybe I shouldn't have. I'll leave.”

You motion to turn around and leave. Seungkwan got you a back ticket for the next day. You can wait at a hotel until then.

Tears pool on your eyes as you begin to face the door. Everything moves at a slow pace. You saw him after months being away, and you're ending it once again.

“Wait! Wait a minute.” His voice freezes you in place. “Don't leave.”

“I should let you rest.” You turn halfway, still not facing him again. “You probably don't want to see me.”

“I'm glad you're here.”

For the first time in weeks, you feel like you can breathe. As you dare to look his way again, your lungs fill with air and a weight lifts off your shoulders.

“You scared the shit out of me,” you chuckle to hide your nervousness. “Are you hurt?”

“No, no. Just a few bruises on my left side. The circuit had nothing on me.”

You laugh with him, unsure of what's appropriate to say. Yes, he's an amazing driver, but you were still worried, and now you know he's okay. There isn't really anything else to do.

“It's okay if you hate me,” you blurt out.

Because it is. You can't expect him to be forgiving just ‘cause you showed up at the hospital. It's not fair to him.

“You don't get it,” he sighs and pushes himself up the bed. “I don't.” 

“I was awful to you and now I have the nerve to show up! I wouldn't hold it against you if you did.”

Seokmin walks towards you, casting his shadow on the white cemented floor. You can't look down for long, because his form blocks any other view and his scent and warmth touches your skin, erupting goosebumps all across your body.

Your throat threatens to close. It's hard to swallow with the rush of emotions taking over you.

Before he can speak, the door behind you opens and reveals one of the nurses. For a second, you forgot you were in a public place in another country.

“You're officially discharged, Mr. Lee. Is this who'll be taking you home?” She points at you.

You look at him, perplexed. He doesn't even have to stay the night. Seungkwan played you. He made you worried sick, he flew you here in a rush, for the whole thing to be over after a few hours. He'll pay for this.

The nurse taps her foot against the floor, waiting for an answer. “I am. Yes.”

It's a quiet taxi ride to the hotel Seokmin's staying in. The unsaid words between you are for no one else to hear. Not the driver, not the hotel staff, not even the hot air engulfing the hallway.

When the door clicks closed behind you, you rush to place all his things on the couch –because of course he booked a room with a full living room.

“I could've got my stuff, you know. I didn't break both arms.”

“You should rest for a few days.”

Seokmin stands behind you, waiting for you to quit stalling and face him again. His presence is all too ominous, drawing heat up your body.

But you can't deal with the pressure. “I'll leave you to it.”

He grabs your hand, keeping you from running away. “Why did you come?” He asks, voice too close to you.

“I wanted to make sure you were okay,” you whisper back, turning around slowly.

“And hopping on a plane and coming to São Paulo was your first choice? You could've texted me.”

His eyes bore holes on the top of your head as you avoid his stare. Analyzing the room is much more important than catching his eyes and melting right into his hold.

“I wasn't sure if you'll reply.”

“Then, you could've texted anyone else.”

“It's not the same.”

Seokmin's hands creep up your arms, boiling your blood everywhere he touches. When he reaches your neck, his fingers tilt your jaw up to finally meet your eyes.

Everything you expected to see in his eyes, from disappointment to dislike, or even repulsion, it's not there. His expression is as soft as ever, except for the faintest smirk forming in one corner of his mouth. Not that you're looking.

“Why did you come?”

“You know why.”

Words were never your strong suit, especially not when the man you love is staring down at you like you hold the secrets of the universe. After all this time, how can he not know?

“I don't. That's why I'm asking.”

You roll your eyes playfully, falling into his trap too easily.

“I missed you. Is that what you want to hear?” He's smug as he nods and urges you to keep going. “I hate being away from you. Because, I am my own person, but I don’t know how to live if it's not with you and your stupid smile by my side.”

“I have a stupid smile?”

“Very stupid.”

You chuckle together, chests almost colliding from the closeness. He isn't stepping away. You don't want to either.

“I'm sorry—for the other day.” You see his expression fall into seriousness.

“You don't have to apologize.”

“No. I do.” Your hand in his chest stops him from contradicting you. “I shouldn’t have acted out like that. Not after we slept together, and especially not during that call. I got scared and I was selfish to think that it was the only way I could save myself from being hurt. And I know I keep fucking everything up, hurting you and then apologizing. I don't know how you have it in you to keep wanting to see me even when you hate me, but I'm also selfishly happy that you do.”

“That's where you keep getting it wrong.”

Standing in the middle of the empty room, you're trapped between his hands and the weight of his following words.

“You didn't let me finish what I wanted to say that day,” he continues. “I don't know why you're scared to hear me say it, but now that you're here, I think it's because you're ready to.”

Seokmin breathes in and out, giving you time to reject him. You want nothing more than to hear those few words.

“I love you. I've loved you for years and I have never stopped. I don't think I'm capable of feeling any other way about you.”

The four walls surrounding the both of you suffocate you. Breathing takes double the effort after hearing the words you've been chasing for years.

When his thumb caresses your cheek, you realize he's wiping off the tears running down your face.

“Don't leave. Stay with me tonight.”

Not trusting your ability to speak at the moment, you only nod and let him lead you to the bedroom, after ensuring you're leaving your bag with his stuff.

Getting into bed with him feels just as natural as it feels like the most anxiety inducing thing you did ever in life. While your pajamas consist of old stretched clothes that don't fit anymore, his is only a pair of shorts. Nothing else.

Inside the covers, your bodies are drawn together like magnets, and your head's suddenly laying on his bare chest. His steady breathing could soothe any worry. You'd drift to sleep if it wasn't for the little time you have together.

His hand searches for yours and interlocks your fingers right above his stomach. All so intimate, but for once, you don't want to run away.

“Are you missing class tomorrow?” He asks, breaking the comfortable silence of the night.

“Hmm, yeah, my flight back leaves at night.”

With your eyes closed, you feel his light chuckle against your cheek.

“Miss goody two shoes skipping an entire day of class? For me?”

“Oh, shut up!”

You aim to hide your face behind your hands, but he grabs your wrist before you even get the chance to. With his other hand, he lifts your chin up, once again connecting your eyes.

The yellowy lamp on the nightstand highlights the feature on his face. His high cheekbones take the cake, pinkish red due to the warm temperatures. You see his eyes going over your face too.

Your shy smile dies below his stare. A thousand thoughts run inside his mind, unsure of everything.

“Have I told you how happy I am that you're here?”

His voice, so soft and honest, melts you in place. You feel giddy all around, being with him so comfortably. Weeks ago you might’ve been panicking in the same scenario, but every minute it passes, your decision becomes clearer and clearer.

“Happy enough that you won't mind that Seungkwan used your card to pay for my plane tickets?”

“I knew I shouldn’t have given it to him for those discounts he wanted.”

You chuckle. “You're a good friend. To everyone and to me.”

“A good friend, huh?” Seokmin's hands drift down to your hips and lift you until you're on top of him. “I don't think you'd allow any friend to touch you like this.”

He traces your back, feeling your hot skin as his hands drift inside your t-shirt. Your eyes almost close with a sigh, but the sight of him under you is one you don't want to miss a second of.

His bare chest under your touch rises and falls as he thinks of a witty answer. Your fingers go over his skin, finding every mole on his torso and wishing you were the only to have seen them.

“What do you want to be, then? The ‘best friend’ title is already yours.”

“The one that starts with ‘boy’.”

“Boy best friend?”

It's fun to tease him, more so when you seem to be in charge of the situation. But, without changing his position or his tone of voice, he manages to flip that around.

With all this time away, you forgot Seokmin is not who he always seems. He's kind and infectiously happy, but he's also a man that frequents the gym and knows his effect on you.

When he pushes your hips down on his groin, your little shorts and his paper-thin sleeping shorts let you feel just how much he wants you.

“Fuck,” you mumble, and it's clear he got what he wanted.

One hand caresses the side of your face, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear before he says.

“You're really pretty.”

If he can't see the wave of warmness across your face, you're sure he can feel it.

“I didn't even put make-up on before coming ‘cause I was in such a rush.”

“You sooo care about me.”

Your jaw and your neck and your nape, all fall into the trap of his touch. His magnetism almost controls you, lowering your face slowly, entranced by the way his lips move.

You kiss the corner of his mouth. Then, you kiss up his jaw and both his cheeks. He chases your lips but you manage to avoid him, save for the faintest graze when you speak.

“And you sooo love me.”

Seokmin hums in response, letting you have your teasing moment back. He doesn't know that you're trembling inside, feeling his length twitching under you with just a few kisses.

“Ahre you going to let me kiss you or should I beg?” The breathless question almost leaves you speechless.

“Only if you promise to never stop.”

“You're gonna have to restrain me, then.”

“I bet you'd like that.” 

Seokmin breaks the tension, pushing your neck down and finally connecting your lips after so long.

Neither of you waste time, delving into the kiss like starved people. You don't know how you lived this long away from him after learning how he tasted.

Teeth clash as your limbs tangle together trying to feel every bit of skin you can. You grind against giddy bulge shamelessly, earning groan after groan into your mouth. He doesn't stop you.

The few layers between your cores allow you to feel everything. Your already damp panties stick to your folds with his shape dragging along.

You moan in each other’s mouths, desperately seeking to satisfy the fire growing inside you. His arms hold you impossibly closer, keeping you in place as his tip presses against your clit over the clothes.

“Seok—what the fuck.” You're breathless, with your body flushed with embarrassment at how quickly he's able to get you to the edge without even touching you properly.

You hide your face on the side of his neck as he keeps going. You let him get off against you, feeling his cock grow with every day of his hips and every moan you don't contain.

“Can you come like this?” The broken words struggle to leave him between the light grunts he lets out.

“I don't want—” His hand going under your shorts cut your words off.

In between your sweaty bodies, Seokmin found a way past your inner thighs and now plays with his fingers against your drenched panties. He sneaks past the last bit of fabric and coats his digits with your arousal.

“Fuck, baby, already?”

You can't find it in you to be embarrassed anymore. Not when you feel the rapid beating of Seokmin’s heart as he feels just how much you crave for his touch.

Your nails claw on his shoulders as he prods two digits on your entrance.

“I've thought about this every day for months,” he admits as your walls clamp around his fingers. “Having you like this.”

“Really?”

If he responds, it sounds like mumbling nonsense to you. You're barely registering his words, concentrating on his long fingers reaching places not even you could.

Your body doesn't give any of you a warning before you start trembling on top of Seokmin. He curls his digits to take you further into the moment and doesn't stop until you're coating his entire hand.

You ride the orgasm down as he kisses your shoulder, so sweetly one wouldn't think he still has two digits buried inside you, taunting your sensitive walls.

With all the strength you can gather, you get up from the bed, feeling empty at the loss of him. You take off your t-shirt and shorts in one go, leaving only the ruined panties on.

“Don't just stare at me,” you say with your most playful tone you can manage. “Get a condom or this isn't happening.”

Your voice draws him out of the trance he was in, looking at you.

“Right, yeah, right.” He scrambles to get up and find his discarded pants. “I think I had one here.”

Now back on the bed, you take his place as he breaks open the plastic packet he found in one of his pockets. You watch him pull his shorts down and puts the condom on like eye candy as your body prepares for him.

Seokmin crawls on the bed, kissing up your thigh and stomach until you're face to face.

“The doctor said you should rest,” you giggle as he pecks your lips and wraps your legs around his hips.

You clamp against nothing as Seokmin kisses you deeply once more. His hard glides along your sensitive core, but you want more.

“The doctor didn't know I'd have a pretty girl in my arms.”

He kisses down your neck as his protected length coats with your arousal, pressing your wet folds and swollen clit and making you moan into the air.

“Stop playing with me.”

Seokmin chuckles against your chest at your plea, his breath fanning over the damp spots he's leaving on your skin. Every fire he ignites sends waves of heat through your body down to where your cores meet.

“Look who's begging now.”

“I don't beg. I demand.”

You feel his tip just barely poking at your entrance, so close yet so far from what you need. He pins you down with his whole body, rendering you incapable of doing anything else than taking his teasing.

“Hmm,” he hums against your throat, liking up your jaw until his lips press against your earlobe.

Your warmness welcomes him as he stretches you open slowly. Seokmin's long fingers weren't enough to prepare you to be filled by his hardness again.

Every time your mind wandered to that first night, worried but needy at the same time, you spent longing to feel him against you. But you weren't ready for his cock to carve space for his shape to fit in.

“Shit,” he half moans in your ear.

But his noises just turn you on more. Your insides hug him tight in place, and you can feel his dick twitch every time he tries to move.

He snaps his hips back until he's almost all the way out of you. “Min–”

“I'm giving you what you wanted, baby.”

His hips pound against yours, hard, filling you up to the hilt again. The bed squeaks below you as he starts thrusting mercilessly.

A choir of grunts and moans echo around the walls, over and over as Seokmin reaches every spot to make you scream. and scream you do.

You scream his name like a mantra, no longer afraid of the meaning of what you're doing. You allow yourself to feel everything he gives you. Every thrust, every moan, every sweet word in your ear. You're ready for him. All of him and what it entails.

When you rake your nails down his back, he loses control of his thrusts. Your touch sends him to another plane, where he can't control the way he moves or thinks. “Oh my God!” You roll your eyes back at the new added pleasure.

Seokmin's thumb circles your clit slowly, contradicting the menacing pace of his hips. He pushes every button to make you squirm, to squeeze around him harder and harder until he has to push your walls open. It's too much. It's everywhere and nowhere. Your mind and body are focused on reaching the fireworks that Seokmin strokes and strokes to explode.

Everything combines in one deliberate stroke that has you seeing stars, trembling under Seokmin's body uncontrollably.

He whispers praise in your ear as he keeps thrusting in his search for his orgasm. Your gummy walls, sensitive and still wanting, quiver around him, making it hard for him to continue his pace. But it's not hard for him to cum into the condom after you egg him on.

This time, when he gets up to clean the both of you, there isn't a single drop of panic creeping up on you. And if there were, you wouldn't let it.

“I hope you're not getting any ideas,” Seokmin chuckles as he gets back under the covers with you. “I have one idea. But you're gonna like this one. I promise.”

He stretches his arm for you to lay your head on and you happily comply. You accept his every act of affection, his soft caresses on your sides, his kisses on the top of your head. You even proudly wear the big shirt he gave you.

“What's on your mind?” He asks, a bit scared. “There’s something I haven't told you.”

The truth at the tip of your tongue draws heat up your body. He just saw you naked and kissed every inch of your body, but this is another kind of bare.

He waits for you to continue, and you hide your face from his too kind eyes.

“As you know, I've been letting all the scary thoughts I had dictate my life decisions.” He hums, and you go on. “But, I've been so scared of losing you, that I thought I'd be easier if it was my fault. I couldn't stand the thought of drifting apart without reason, so I made one up.”

“We were never going to-”

“Shut up.” You shut his mouth with your hand. “I know that now. I'm getting there!”

“Anyway, you showed me that I had nothing to be afraid of. You kept giving me opportunities even when I didn't deserve them and I realized that my paranoia warped my image of you to someone you really weren't. And I can't believe that I believed that for so long.”

You chuckle with nervousness and finally look him in the eyes.

“I love you, too.” A tear runs down your cheek. Seokmin caresses the side of your face but doesn't interrupt you. “I don't know when it started, because it's so natural to me that I feel like I've always loved you. The truth is, I can't see myself with anyone else. It's always been you.”

There it is. You poured your whole heart out and the world as you know it it's still the same.

Seokmin closes the small distance between you, kissing your tears away. He wasn't spooked, he didn't run like you always imagined.

“I really needed to get that out before I fell asleep,” you find it in you to chuckle.

His two hands hold your face. You look straight at him, the first time you can't decipher what he's thinking. The wrinkles by his eyes make an appearance before he cracks into a smile. Your favorite smile of his.

“I'll tell you that I love you everyday if that's what you need. Every hour. Every minute, even.” He tucks your hair behind your ears, so there's nothing in the way between your eyes and his.

“I'd like that very much.”

A shower of pecks comes your way. “I love you.” One on your lips.  “I love you.” One on both your cheeks. “I love you.” And one on your nose. Just everywhere. You giggle and fight for a way away from his trap, but he's decided.

“Will you be my long term, long distance, low commitment, casual girlfriend?”

You were about to cry your eyes out again,  but instead you frown in confusion. “What the hell is that?”

“You don't know that line? It's from the Barbie movie!”

“When did you watch the Barbie movie?”

“My teammate’s daughter forced me once.” He joins you as you laugh hysterically. “But seriously, will you be my girlfriend?”

You think about it. For real this time. With no self-sabotage and the real Seokmin sitting in front of you.

You nod eagerly and kiss him again, knowing it's the first kiss of millions you'll share with him forever.

“I can't believe I'm officially a WAG!”

“Okay, now where did you learn that term?”

note: thank you so much for reading! this last scene wasn't proof read, so, i'm really sorry if it has any mistakes :(

i hope you enjoyed! please tell me your thoughts and don't forhet to check out the other fics in the collab!

[gaeulz]

[caratstick]

This is crazy

[siyalogue]

I HAVE A GIRLFRIEND?, PSH (PART 1)

• SYNOPSIS: Sunghoon thought nothing could make his life worse than the flood of anonymous love letters cramming his locker thanks to Jay and his girlfriend's legendary campus romance, until a rumor sparks that he's dating you, the campus's sharp-tongued, designer-draped cautionary tale he can't stand. The feelings? Entirely mutual. You're not sure why Park Sunghoon, the painfully breathtaking keyboardist of HYPHENIX, seems to have personal vendetta against you. Especially when you've never even had a proper conversation, you didn’t even know he had such an expressive talent for glaring. But if he wants to act cold, you aren't about to play nice either.

Now, in a twist neither of you saw coming, the rumor you were supposed to deny has turned into a full-blown fake relationship and it's spiraling way more than it should have.

• PAIRING: Park Sunghoon x afab!reader

• WORD COUNT: 21.3k

• CONTENT TAGS: Non idol au, university settings, fake dating, enemies to allies to ?, rich girl x popular boy, grumpy x grumpy lmao, not proofread, lmk if I missed something.

• Park Sunghoon's spin off from: I DON'T LIKE YOUR GIRLFRIEND

• AUTHOR'S NOTE: It's here!! This is Sunghoon's spin off from my most beloved fanfic "I don't like your girlfriend" and it is also split into 2 parts! Also, YN from IDLYG is named Mia here for better understanding, same universe, different love♡ I hope you'll enjoy reading this♡♡

The campus courtyard was filled with the usual dread Monday morning bought, the sun filtered through the tall, swaying trees lining the brick pathways. The campus was mostly empty aside from some students running to their class or yawning into their morning coffee, the rest already inside the main building. The fountain of the main courtyard murmured quietly as few students sat upon the stairs talking amongst themselves while some sat inside the parking lot. The air was calm before the usual frenzy of noon lectures and chattering hallways dominated the campus.

Beneath the oak tree on the sitting area, the four members of HYPHENIX had claimed their usual spot. Jay was tuning his guitar while a soft lo-fi playlist played from his phone's speaker, Jake was leaned back against the bench sipping his coffee, Heeseung was texting someone, and Sunghoon sat beside Jay, scrolling through his phone. None of them spoke anything, just enjoying a quiet morning together and Jake was the one to break the silence, as always.

“You know what's crazy?” Jake started after finishing up his coffee and tossing it in the dustbin nearby, “how we have become the next target of crazy confessions after Ava was exposed and we prevented her from going batshit crazy, it's been going on for what? 3 months? 4 months? I still get love letters in my locker after that.” Heeseung sighed, keeping the phone inside his pocket, “seriously man, it gets irritating at one point. It's cute when one person writes a few letters to you, not multiple people.”

Ever since Jay's girlfriend, Mia, sent those anonymous letters and somehow managed to get into a real relationship with him, the whole campus had collectively lost its mind. It was romantic, sure, almost like a fairytale where the popular boy fell in love with a shy nobody girl who sent him love letters but it also sadly triggered something else. Now every girl who fantasized about getting together with the band members started to feel they could be next. Since Jay was officially taken, the focus shifted on Jake, Heeseung and especially Sunghoon because tragically, all three of them were single.

The girls would rarely approach, but they hovered near them, all the time, they would brush past their music room like they just happened to be there, and would wait until later to have a talk with them. And for Sunghoon, it was irritating. Because he made it worse for himself, without even meaning to do so. At Ava's birthday party, where everything went down with her, Jay and Mia. It was Sunghoon who stepped in to protect his best friend, and also the one who pushed Jay to follow Mia out.

So when the real writer behind those anonymous letters was revealed to be Mia, Jay's and her love story became iconic, and Sunghoon somehow became the romantic, would-defend-his-girl type of man in everyone's eyes which made girls fall for him even more, for some time he couldn't even breathe without it being romanticized. Everyone whispered about his every move, analyzed his social media, and speculated everything about the girls he merely glanced at. He just wanted them off his back.

Jay groaned, dragging his hand down his face, “I'm happy they are off my back since I've got my girl, but I will never forget the dramatic turn my life did during that phase of my life.” Jake nodded in understanding, “yeah man good for you, it's crazy how a rumor can have the ability to alter one's life.” Jake then looked at Sunghoon and nudged him with his foot, “don't act all clueless, like you aren't going to follow Jay's legacy.” Sunghoon raised an eyebrow, “what are you talking about?” Jake opened his mouth to shift the topic towards Sunghoon, but before he could do so, a voice chimed in.

“Are the rumors true?” The four boys looked towards the voice in unison, a girl none of them recognized stood a few feet away, arms crossed as her eyes were locked on Sunghoon, she didn't wait for a response. “Everyone's been talking about it since the weekend, and you know what?” She flipped her ponytail, “I get it. The two of you just make sense together, like seriously. You, tall, cold, and rich, finally getting involved with someone equally terrifying? Power couple.”

Sunghoon blinked, confusion taking over his features, “wait- what?” She shook her head, chuckling but clearly disappointed at the news, “ugh, you could've at least told us about it, some of us were waiting for you to give us a chance you know? You really hid this well,” she pointed a finger at him playfully, “but I'm still mad, you got the most amount of love letters this semester and now I hear that you're dating someone already? I feel cheated.” And with that, she put on her headphones back and walked away from them.

Sunghoon sat frozen in his place, mouth slightly open, “what the hell just happened?” Jay just laughed as Jake clapped his hands. “You're dating someone?” Heeseung's eyes were wide with mock betrayal but the grin of his face gave it away, “without telling us?” Sunghoon frowned, “I'm not? I don't even- what rumor? Who- I have a girlfriend?” Jake laughed, “please, don't tell me you weren't aware of your own dating rumor.” Sunghoon rolled his eyes in annoyance, “I am not, sue me. And what did she mean by someone equally terrifying?”

Heeseung smirked, pointing towards the main gate, “by that equally terrifying someone she meant her.” Sunghoon's eyes followed the direction Heeseung was pointing at just to see your familiar car pulled past the main gate and into the parking lot, the kind that turned heads even when people pretended their best not to care, it wasn't hard to know who it belonged to. “Rumor or not, you're doomed Sunghoon,” Jake teased.

“I don't even talk to her,” Sunghoon muttered, but the way his eyes narrowed as he watched you park your car said otherwise. “That's funny,” Jay chuckled, stretching his arms, “because the way you can't stop looking at her tells a completely different story.” Sunghoon stood abruptly making others frown. “Where are you going?” Jake asked as Sunghoon slung his bag on his shoulder, “to stop this madness and get answers.” The other three just watched as Sunghoon walked away and Heeseung snorted, “stop the madness? More like fuel it.”

You pulled up to your university's parking lot in your car, a glossy, understated model which will make most people's insurance cry. You weren't flexing, it was just a mode of transportation which won't rattle when you hit the sixties. You parked it in your usual spot, which was technically up for everyone but mysteriously was always empty. No one had dared to park there yet, you liked to think that if they asked nicely, you'd park somewhere else. Maybe. But for that they'd first need to park in your unofficially official spot to have that conversation..

You stepped out of the car, the morning light hitting your face just right. You adjusted the bag on your shoulder as you made your way towards the class. Your hair was meticulously styled, and your clothes, ironed and well put together, hugged your figure like they were tailor made just for you, they were. You weren't trying to make an entrance, it was just another Monday for you, making an entrance would require effort.

Your high heels hit the pavement with a distinct click, every step echoing across the parking lot like a countdown of someone calling you ‘extra’ and thinking it's a dig. You adjusted the sunglasses on your face, not to block the sun, but to avoid the group of boys trying to nudge their friend in your direction. It was 09:00 AM, people should be worried about literally everything other than getting rejected first thing in the morning.

You passed the fountain, students who were pretending to study while all they were doing was eavesdropping were scattered across. You made your way up the stairs when you saw a girl pat her friend's hand and murmured something while looking in your direction. You gave them both a half smile as you passed them, not caring to ask what they were on about because honestly, it was nothing new.

You arrived inside the building like you always did, late enough to get noticed but early enough to pretend you weren't meaning to do so. You walked across the hallway, and people looked, like they always did. You had long accepted that being rich, well-dressed and unapologetic makes you the center of attention here, and it was not always good.

It wasn't until you turned around the corner and walked down the hallway where your class was, that you noticed today felt different. People were staring at you, but their stares were heavier, and everyone was whispering. At first you thought it was your outfit, you stopped in front of a window to check if everything was alright. It was. You sighed, making your way towards your class when a group of seniors stopped talking just to see you pass by them, you turned around only to find them talking within themselves in hushed voices.

Your phone buzzed with a text, you ignored it. You slid inside the lecture hall with practised ease, flipping your hair over your shoulder. You sat on your usual spot and took out your phone to check your reflection on the black screen to see if your mascara had smudged or if your lipstick was overlined, but everything was perfect. Obviously. But the air still felt thick around you, not to mention the weight of everyone's stare on your back was almost tipping you towards explosion. Still, you unlocked your phone and pretended to scroll through your Instagram, ignoring the other people.

You were halfway through pretending you weren't aware of their obvious attention when suddenly the room got quiet, like the temperature in the room had dropped a degree. You didn't look up right away, you didn't have to because you felt it. The room that fell into a quiet hush for a moment before it fell over into a chatter, and before you could hear someone say something stupid, you glanced up. And there he was. Park Sunghoon of HYPHENIX, in all his effortless, annoyingly handsome glory, standing at the door like he owned the place. Funny enough, his major was completely different from yours, but here he was, standing in the wrong classroom and still demanding attention left and right.

The sleeves of his back sweater were pushed up, enough to show the veins of his forearms. His bag lazily slung over his shoulders with effortless charm and his hair was disheveled in a way that told you it might have required him at least 20 minutes to achieve that careless look. His eyes scanned the room until they fell upon you and your stomach dropped, not because you craved his attention, God, no, you'd rather wear a Gucci knock off instead. But because as soon as your eyes met, he started making his way towards you with that emotionally constipated look on his face which he always seemed to wear around you.

The murmurs around you flared up, and you heard your name. You gulped, breaking eye contact to finally take a good look at the class. He walked past your classmates like they were invisible, there was no hesitation in his movements, he didn't even blink as he approached your desk. You sat up straight, tilting your head up, raising your eyebrows at him as he stopped right beside your desk. “Can I help you with anything?” You questioned, voice light but laced with venom, you were surprised by his presence but you weren't giving him a benefit of the doubt.

You didn’t know why he was here. You weren't sure what made him march up to you on a Monday morning, but you waited for him to say something. You half expected him to say something vague and cold like he was auditioning for the role of a cold hearted CEO who knew your flaws more than you did. And it made zero sense because he only acted that way with you, which left you confused because both of you weren't even on speaking terms a few months back. And now he was treating you like a walking cautionary tale.

He did something far worse though, he leaned down to hold your hand in his. Your hand. Right in front of everyone, like it's the most natural thing for him to do, like it was just the two of you in that room. Your eyes widened as you glared at him, trying to release your hand from his hold, but he just interlaced his fingers with yours with a calm you never saw in his eyes when you were near. You didn't even register the gasps clearly, eyes only focused on the man who had the audacity of intertwining his hands with yours.

“What the hell are you doing?” You hissed, quickly scanning the room to see everyone whispering amongst themselves as they looked at you. “Come with me,” he muttered, low enough that only you'd hear. You arched your eyebrows, not understanding the need to do so, “come with you?” You thought for a while before smirking, “What's the magic word?” He rolled his eyes, lips twitching at the corner as he gave you a look which would instantly freeze others on the spot, others, because you weren't afraid of him. He tugged at your hand, leaning down to mutter a quiet, “please.”

You suppressed the smile that was itching to form on your lips by biting it and he didn't spare a single second to drag you out of your classroom as soon as you got up from your seat and slung your bag on your shoulder. The class erupted into whistles and chatter behind you. “Slow down, where the hell are you taking me?” Students who were dispersed across the hallway looked at you with wide eyes, some even going as far as taking out their phones to click pictures or recording a video, you weren't sure.

You didn't know why you did what you did. Maybe it was because of the confidence that radiated off of him when he walked down the hallway or maybe it was because everyone was watching and you didn't want to look rattled in a video you were sure was going to make it to the university's social media page. But you straightened your posture, and increased your pace to match with his and held his hand back tighter, like that's exactly what you were supposed to do. He didn't even blink at your actions but he rounded the corner and pushed open the door to a classroom rarely used by anyone before closing it behind him.

He released your hand from his hold, running his fingers through his hair, he finally turned towards you, chest rising and falling and a flicker of uncertainty crossed his eyes. He stepped towards you, “why the hell is everyone asking me if I'm dating you?” Confusion washed over you as you tried to comprehend his words, “what?” He looked genuinely annoyed at your words, jaw tight as he crossed his arms across his chest, “I'm serious, people have been coming up to me, asking since when we started dating, are we official, how we met and all that things!” Then his eyes narrowed, “what did you do?”

You scoffed, crossing your arms as you held your head high, “oh, of course, it must be something I did because obviously, I'm dying to be linked with you.” He huffed, tilting his head, “so it wasn't you?” You rolled your eyes, “no, Mr. Park, it wasn't me, I don't spend my free time fantasizing about men who act like I cursed at their whole lineage whenever I'm near them.” He looked away, biting his lips, “you're not warm either.” You walked in front of him, disbelief written all over your face, “yeah, and it's because I don't understand why you hate me.” He looked at you, his brows furrowed a little, “I don't hate you.” He made his way towards the desk, leaning into it as you stood in front of him, “sure Park, if that's what you say.”

He looked at you for a while, his irritation slipping into frustration and confusion, “what triggered this mess? I can't remember anything, everything was fine until Friday." You exhaled, finally letting your hands fall to your sides, “well, I mean, rumors happen, you know it well, the whole campus went detective mode when Jay received love letters, remember?” He sighed, of course he remembers it, Jay was his best friend after all. “Yeah but this one feels louder than that one.” You opened your mouth to speak something when you hesitated, a flicker of memory crossing your mind briefly. “Wait!”

It was friday, and you were making your way out of the class, noticing you stayed way past than you were meant to and it was getting late. You were walking across the hallway when suddenly the door to the music room opened and your body collided, chest-first with none other than Park Sunghoon. You yelped as you felt a tug at the back of your neck and he held your arms so you won't fall over. “Watch it,” he immediately hissed as if your touch burned him. You frowned and were about to clap back at him when your eyes fell upon his shirt. Specifically, on your necklace which was hooked up on the top buttonhole of his shirt collar. You tugged it gently but it only yanked his shirt.

He followed your gaze, eyes narrowing, “you've got to be kidding me.” You looked at him, ears ringing with frustration, “you aren't the only one suffering.” The necklace was thin but your patience wasn't, so you stepped closer, maybe too close, as you tried to unhook it without damaging it. “You can breathe you know, don't be dramatic,” you muttered under your breath as you worked on untangling the mess. “I'm not being dramatic, you are the one who slammed into me with your jewellery weaponry.”

You glanced up to glare at him, but you stopped for half a second when he dropped his head low to look at you at the same time. Your faces were far too close, you could feel his breath fan against your cheeks, and the air suddenly felt warm and thick around you. And now you felt hyper aware of his presence, you could smell his scent, a mix of his detergent, sandalwood and leather with undertones of vanilla. You sucked in a breath, blinking out of whatever trance you were in when you felt a shadow move from your peripheral vision.

You looked towards the end of the hallway before shaking your head and finally freeing your necklace from his shirt. You stumbled back with a victorious grin, “you're welcome, Park.” You stepped aside, already walking towards where you were supposed to go. Sunghoon muttered something under his breath which you didn't bother to acknowledge and he watched you walk away without turning to look back.

“What?” Sunghoon's voice brought you back to the present and you sighed, chewing on the inside of your cheeks thinking if that's the reason the rumors started. “Last Friday," you murmured, thinking hard, “at the front of the music room.” You glanced at him and his face changed, “oh! Right, when you ran into me.” You scoffed, “bumped into you,” you corrected, “because you didn't look properly before marching out of the music room.” He just sat and shrugged, “well you were walking as if you owned the hallway.” You ignored that remark, “so basically, when the necklace incident happened, I think someone saw us.”

He nodded his head solemnly, “I heard footsteps, but I thought I imagined it.” Your heart sank at the insinuation, “and maybe they misinterpreted it.” He hummed, “yeah, of course they would, you were practically pressed against me.” You stepped closer, mouth falling open at his words, “you could've backed off then.” He looked at you, arching his eyebrows, “how would I? Your jewellery was stuck on my shirt.” You rolled your eyes, “and that's the exact reason why I was pressed against you, you're dramatic for no reason.” Silence fell between the two of you, like you were processing everything alongside your bubbling irritation for each other.

“Now the whole campus thinks we're dating, the rumor had the whole weekend to spread, no wonder everyone was acting weird.” You quietly nodded at his words, “yeah, thanks for feeding the fire with the hand holding by the way, very subtle of you.” He straightened his back, exhaling a deep breath, “I panicked okay?” You put your hands on your hips, ridiculed by his words, “panicked? You literally came up to me and held my hands then dragged me out into a secluded area.”

“I wanted answers from you okay? I didn't know what else to do,” he ran his hand through his hair again, muttering something under his breath. You sighed, “we need to deny the rumors.” He hummed in agreement, “the rumor had spread significantly, we need to think properly on how to deny it.” You nodded, “okay, so when can we do that?” He looked at you, trying to think about something, “not today, I'll be too busy today with a gig, let's talk about this at night maybe?” You didn’t argue with that.

“I think we are done here,” Sunghoon stated, standing up and getting out of the room. He made his way towards the music room, hand clasped around the straps of his bag as he tried to distract his thoughts. The campus needed to get a hobby, the rumours here spread more quickly than a wildfire. He could practically feel the stares and whispers trailing behind him. He was still trying to comprehend what he had done to deserve this, moreover of all the girls on the campus, you?

He scoffed under his breath, you were nothing but a spoiled princess with a bratty mouth and beautiful face. You were rude, always passing your passive-aggressive smiles at everyone, always walking around like people owed you something. And he had better things to do than entertaining a walking tantrum with designer clothes. He still remembered the time when he added you to his “people to avoid” list.

It was during the school's student-organized charity event, a few months ago. It was getting dark, all the volunteers were doing their best in organising for the event. Sunghoon walked inside the campus for his scheduled rehearsal when his eyes wandered to a small crowd formed near the mini stage. He walked over, pausing just enough to see you standing in front of a girl wearing a volunteer shirt. She was crying, eyes wide as she mumbled apologies while you looked impatient as the girl scanned the crowd, half humiliated, half scared. Your eyes were trained on the checklist in your hand like you didn't care about anyone's feelings.

That scene was enough for him to assume you were entitled, and all the rumors surrounding you were absolutely true, he shook his head when he saw you walk off and made his way towards the boys. He didn't see the way you dispersed the crowd gently after helping the girl up, didn't see the way other volunteers thanked you for standing up for them. He didn't see how the girl you scolded was making others run errands, stack chairs, and carry boxes as she sat in the corner scrolling through her phone. He just saw the expression on your face and decided that you were rude, entitled, and difficult. So yeah, to him, the rumor that you were his girlfriend was more triggering than laughable.

He hated it, he hated the way people were being so loud and obvious about it. He hated how Jake teased him while Jay just shook his head, not taking any of this seriously. How Heeseung just smirked at him like he was plotting something. How the girl told him both of you made sense together. Him and you? Does it make sense? When all both of you did was throw insults at each other whenever you were near each other.

And most of all, he hated how your voice kept ringing in his ears, not the sharp one, but the quiet one laced with disbelief when you asked him how you didn’t understand why he hated you so much. He didn't even have an exact answer to that question, and that annoyed him even more.

You hadn't planned on stopping by your parents house when you woke up in the morning. Actually, you hadn't planned anything that had happened to you today. But here you were, standing in front of your parents house after getting a text from your mom early in the morning, that she needed to see you today. You smiled at the staff that greeted you at the entrance, handing them your bag as you made your way straight into the secondary living area where your mom usually spent her time lounging about, surrounded by plush cushions, scented candles and obnoxiously extravagant chandeliers.

“What's with the scowl on your face?” Your mother asked as soon as you entered the room, she wasn't even looking at you. “I'm not scowling,” you mumbled, making your way towards her and leaning down to place a kiss on her cheek before sitting in front of her on another couch. “I know your moods better than you know yourself,” she gave you a tight smile, tilting her head as she sipped the tea from her cup. “Why am I here? Want me to go and meet yet another heir of some business partner I could care less about?”

“Relax,” she spoke, placing the tea cup on the table before finally paying you her full attention, “it's not about that.” Your eyes narrowed, “then what?” She gave you a smile, the kind of smile you've seen when things go exactly her way, “I heard you have a boyfriend now.” Your heart dropped at her words, she took out her phone showing you a video of you and Sunghoon crossing the hallway hand in hand, it wasn't showing your face but your mother would recognize you from miles away. “How did you even get this video?” You questioned, standing up to sit beside her as you rummage through her phone.

She leaned her chin on your shoulder, overlooking the phone, “Mrs. Kang told me about it yesterday when we went to attend their anniversary party, you remember her right? Her daughter goes to your university. Apparently everyone is talking about it.” You stared at the video for a second too long, of course everyone was talking about it, of course it reached your mother. “What about this video? This was clicked early in the morning today,” you turned to face her. She smiled, smoothing out your hair, “her daughter showed her this video and she sent me this.” Mrs. Kang and her daughter, you needed to do something about those runny mouths of the mother-daughter duo, but for now you had a bigger problem to solve.

“It's good that you found one for yourself you know?” She cupped your cheeks between her perfectly moisturized hands, smiling at you with genuine affection laced in her voice, “I was always worried about you finding it difficult to connect with people. You never really clicked with anyone, did you?” You blinked at her, “I have friends.” She sighed, gently patting your cheeks like you're a toddler, “yes honey, but you don't trust them. Every few months you're hanging out with a completely different set of people. It's either a dramatic falling out, or you ghosting them because they didn't ‘match your vibe’ what does that even mean?”

“It means I've standards,” you removed her hands from your face and held them on your lap. “It means you have commitment issues,” she corrected sweetly, still smiling at you as if she wasn't calling you out, “and that's completely okay, we can work on that, it's honestly not even your fault, you get that from your father's side.” You looked at her, mouth agape, to which she softly closed it for you, “wow, okay, I don't know what to say on that one.” Your mother ignored your words, arching her eyebrows at you, “and about your relationships, should I even get started on those? You don't even give those poor boys a chance.”

“Poor boys?” You scoffed, making a face, “more than half of them were red flags, some of them called opening the door as princess treatment, one of them kept calling himself an alpha male, another threw tantrums because I paid the whole bill when he asked me to split.” Your mother sighed, rubbing your arms to cool you down like you were some five year old child, “you can be quite intimidating honey.” You threw your head back, groaning in frustration, “am I intimidating or are they intimidated?”

She rolled her eyes at your question but continued, “you have this presence, so sharp, so confident, you walk like you're busy managing a Fortune 500 company and don't have time to waste on small talks.” You blinked, “that doesn't sound bad to me.” She sighed, holding your hands, “it isn't bad, but it isn't exactly warm either.” You exhaled through your nose, feeling your emotions somewhere between amused and horrified. “I used to wonder if you'd ever end up with a man,” she said with a dreamy sigh completely ignoring the look on your face, “at some point I thought you'd marry yourself.” You perked up at those words that left her mouth, “honestly, it isn't even a bad idea.”

“Come on, tell me who he is, and what's his family like?” You hesitated for half a second, contemplating on whether to tell her the truth and ultimately going on impromptu dates she set you up on or let the rumor work in your favor just this once. You could always tell her you two broke up and then buy some more time by saying you haven't moved on from him, that would get her off your back for a good amount of time. “What happened? Show me his picture or else tell me his name so I can search for it myself,” she warned, reaching for her phone like she was about to do what she said.

“No, wait.” You quickly unlocked your phone and opened your instagram, searched his name and tapped on it. There he was, Park Sunghoon. You scrolled through his feed, selecting a photo of him with his keyboard before an event. You turned the screen towards her with an unsure smile, “that's him.” Your mother's eyes narrowed, she took the phone from your hand and zoomed it to check the picture clearly. “Oh,” she blinked at you, “oh.” Your heart beat quickened, “what happened? Is he not good? Let me break up with him real quick.”

She looked at the picture once again, before looking back at you, eyes wide with something achingly close to glee and disbelief all at once, “Park Sunghoon? That's Minji's son.” You stared at her so she continued, “Minji, my friend from Han River Charity Committee, we play golf together twice a month! He has a younger sister too right? And he plays keyboard in the college band, I don't remember the name of the band though.” You stared at your phone, then back at her, then back at your phone. “He looks polite, and sweet,” you closed your eyes, you felt as though all the walls were caving in on you as you whispered to yourself, “oh my god.”

She laughed slightly, it sounded somewhere between relieved and thankful as she looked at you, “he must be very special if he managed to make his way inside through your walls. He looks so serious and gentle, and you? You can be a bit….” you gave her a look and waited for her to continue, “....commanding? Like a CEO giving ultimatums to his employees.” You gave her a tight smile, “yeah? And somehow I haven't fired you yet.” She mimicked your actions, “but you moved out though, and you haven't fired me because you love me.” That was something you'd agree with her, you loved her with all of your heart, even if she sometimes annoyed you with all those arranged dates.

You leaned back on the cushions with a sigh, “I can't believe this is happening.” She just smiled at you, smug and satisfied, “well he's Minji's son, that means good manners, good genes, and a family I don't have to investigate, this might be one of the best decisions you ever made for yourself.” You covered your face with a whine. “Now,” she started, reaching out for her phone, you peeked at her from between your hands, “do you want me to set up a casual dinner with Minji or is it too soon for young lovers?”

Your eyes widened and you snatched her phone from her hands, “Mom, no. Let me set the pace please, you can do that for me right?” She looked at you for a second, trying to see through you before sighing slowly. You smiled knowing well that she agreed with you, “okay! But I need to meet my daughter's boyfriend, I'm still your mom and I still need to make sure he's treating you well.”

Sunghoon sighed as he slumped against his chair in the music room. Jake and Heeseung were in a similar state and Jay just shook his head, playing with his guitar strings. “Jay may have started a life long trend for real,” Jake mumbled as he slumped against Sunghoon after their classes ended. “Yeah, I don't even use my locker for myself now, I find it filled with some or the other thing daily,” Heeseung chimed in, leaning his elbow on his knees. “I thought it would get easier with time but no,” Sunghoon muttered as he looked at Jay, who just smiled sheepishly, “I'm so sorry guys, but how'd I know this would happen?”

“Currently, it's worse for Sunghoon though,” Heeseung shrugged, leaning back on his chair. Sunghoon didn’t even flinch, already used to it, “don't remind me of it.” Jake patted his shoulders to console him, “he got two more letters today, one was something about being the key to his keyboard and other looked like an AI generated disaster.” Sunghoon sighed, running a hand through his hair, “I don't know what is wrong with people.” Heeseung nodded his head, closing his eyes. “I second that,” Jay spoke, feeling pity on his friends but internally happy since he wasn't being targeted, “but you aren't even doing anything about your rumor, and it's making them spiral more.”

Jake nodded at Jay's words, “exactly, you aren't even denying it.” Sunghoon let out a sharp sigh, leaning back on his chair, “I don't want to add more fuel to it, and I know ignoring it would make it worse, that's why I've thought of something.” Heeseung sat up straight, raising his eyebrows, “what's your plan? You could've denied it yesterday itself.” Sunghoon shook his head, “no, many people were already believing in it, so I was thinking I'd deny it in Heeseung's birthday party on Saturday, many people will be there, so the words would travel faster.”

“Sounds doable, that's actually better than repeating the same thing to every single person who'd approached you in the campus, and it will clear everything in one go,” Jay agreed but his eyes lingered longer on Sunghoon, “is she on board?” Sunghoon gave him a deadpanned look, "of course she wouldn't mind it, she was also annoyed with the rumour, we both want to end this rumor and move on.” Jake chuckled, nudging Sunghoon with his elbow, “it's the first time both of you had agreed on the same thing.” Sunghoon pushed him back, eyebrows creasing in annoyance, “don't get used to it.”

To say that you were losing an internal battle was an understatement. You didn't expect your mom to know Sunghoon, much less be friends with his mother. You really should've researched before lying, you weren't sure how you were going to go forward with this, especially if you denied it like you and Sunghoon initially planned, Mrs. Kang's daughter would surely go ahead and tell your mother. It didn't help your case that you didn't know who Mrs. Kang's daughter is. Now you were sitting on the campus courtyard, thinking of different ways you could get out of this situation.

You were tangled up in your thoughts when your eyes drifted towards Sunghoon, he raised his eyebrows at you before making his way towards where you were sitting. Few of the students stopped what they were doing to watch the scene, desperate to confirm if the rumors were true. “I need to talk to you,” he spoke, standing right in front of you, hands casually placed inside his pockets. “Go, head,” you encouraged, crossing your arms across your chest. “It's Heeseung's birthday this saturday, many people will be attending, it'd be a great time to deny the rumors,” you looked at him for a brief moment, it was still Tuesday, he wanted to let this rumor swirl around till that time?

“Are you planning to let people assume whatever they want till that time?” Sunghoon hummed, adjusting his bag on his shoulder, “well, let them think what they want to, lots of people would attend Heeseung's party so it would be cleared within less time.” You pondered over his suggestion, you could use the time to find out who Mrs. Kang's daughter is, and ask her to shut her mouth, then you'd without a hassle deny the rumors and live a happy life. Sounds legit. “Okay, I'm in,” Sunghoon sighed in relief, surprisingly cracking a smile before he masked it off by coughing, “sure, meet you at the party, till then let's try to avoid each other as much as we can.”

The next day, you were on a mission to find out about Mrs. Kang's daughter. You did your research and found out she was a freshman year student who recently joined the university to major in humanities. You weren't able to spot her the same day though, apparently she wasn't as punctual as you thought so you promised yourself to look for her the next day. And you couldn't find her the next day too, then thankfully you finally found her alone on Friday after days of getting disappointed back to back.

“Hello Jena,” you chirped, folding your arms across your chest as you finally cornered her in a quiet hallway. She flinched, already sensing the reason for your visit. It wasn't often you went ahead to chat with someone just because you could. “You need something?” She asked, looking anywhere but your eyes. “You surely have a very big mouth, don't you have anything better to do with your time?” She sighed, “I just told my mom, it isn't like I'm the only one who's talking about it, and I didn't think my mom would tell anything about it to your mom.”

“Too bad, she did.” You tilted your head, eyes narrowing at her, “whatever is going on in my life shouldn't be your concern, next time I hear my mom say anything to me about my campus life, and I came to know the source was you, I'll make your campus life a living hell.” She nodded reluctantly, gripping on her bag like her life depended on it. “Good, from now on, whatever rumor you hear about me, should stay within the university, make sure of that hmm?” She nodded again, “yes, I'll make sure it won't reach your mom.” You nodded, stepping away.

You were rummaging through your clothes, walking back and forth in your walk-in closet to curate an outfit for Heeseung's birthday party when your phone rang. Mom. You picked it up, taking out a short, spaghetti strap velvet dress and kept it on the loveseat. “Did you threaten Mrs. Kang's daughter?” Your heart dropped to your stomach as soon as those words left your mom's mouth. “Uh, no?” You heard her sigh from the other end, “I know how you are, don't lie. I understand you want things to go your way, so it's fine, bring Sunghoon home whenever you feel like.”

You banged your head lightly against the wall, “well, I wouldn't have done that if it was me who gave you my life updates, I don't want other people to meddle with my business.” Your mother exhaled a deep breath, “okay, I won't pressure you but don't go around scaring that poor child. You'll not go anywhere near her from now on and I won't pry in your personal matters. How does that sound to you?”

You looked at your reflection in the mirror and you silently cursed at yourself, “okay, sounds good.” You hung up the call, throwing a few curses at your destiny. You knew your mother would approach Sunghoon herself if you didn't arrange a meeting, but how were you supposed to deny the rumor about you and Sunghoon while still keeping your lie intact?

You parked your car in Heeseung's private parking lot, your black Jimmy Choo high heels clicking against the pavement as you made your way towards the elevator. “Hold still,” someone yelled as soon as the door was about to close when you pressed the open button. Sunghoon exhaled a little as he entered the elevator and your eyes scanned the way his shirt fit his body perfectly.

His eyes finally landed on you when the elevator started moving up towards the hall where Heeseung had organised the party. He gulped, before looking ahead. Looking at him only made your heart beat louder in your chest but you'd care about everything else later, now you just wanted to focus on denying the rumor and try your best to handle your mom after that.

The elevator door opened with a muted chime, and both you and Sunghoon stepped out at the same time. Neither of you spared each other a single glance as you made your way towards Heeseung who was standing near the bar but others did. The hall was dressed like it was trying to impress the stars, music blaring through the speakers and lights flickering all around the room. A hush passed, long enough for others to notice you and Sunghoon arriving at the party together. You hugged Heeseung, mumbling a cheerful happy birthday close to his ears and he entertained you for a while before excusing himself to drag Sunghoon with him towards the other corner where the rest of his friends were.

You sat in the corner, occasionally engaging in a conversation with people you talked to as you waited for Sunghoon to give you any kind of signal to start with denying the rumor. You could see girls taking a look at you before they slowly started wandering around where Sunghoon was, drink in hand, laughing with his friends, completely at ease. But you could see him occasionally scanning the area around him, trying his best to hold everything together and avoid interaction at all cost. And he was doing a good job at that, until he finished his drink and stepped away from his friends to grab a drink from the bar.

He ordered the drink, waiting generously on his seat when three girls intercepted him with smiles stretched a bit too wide as they gave him no space to sneak out from. “You're Sunghoon right?” One of them chimed in, her hair blonde, you could clearly hear their conversation from where you were sitting. He nodded, once, a little bit unsure, “yeah?” The girl smiled at the confirmation as if she didn't already know him.

“We have been watching you on the campus,” another short haired girl giggled, “since last week, not in a creepy way.” The third, the shortest amongst them, chimed in, “you didn't look like you were with anyone, especially her.” She hushed her voice at the end as if it would help her case, “but really, the two of you didn't even look at each other, that doesn't seem like a very couple thing to me.” Sunghoon stiffened as the blonde girl continued, “be honest,” she started, now boldly touching his sleeves, “you're not really dating, right?”

He removed her hand from his sleeve, stepping back a little, “it shouldn't be your concern.” The blonde opened her mouth again, cutting him off, “I know you're single, the party is great, let's make some good memories and have fun.” You abandoned your drink, making your way towards them, “wow, did you guys practice that in front of your mirror or delusions just come naturally to you?” All of them turned around as your voice sliced through them like salt on a paper cut.

You stepped forward, eyes trained on the three girls as you sighed mockingly, “this looks like a comedy skit more than a desperate attempt at you trying to quench your thirst.” Their eyes widened at your words. “Excuse me?” One of them scoffed, backing off immediately. “You're excused,” you waved them off, “you have apparently been stalking him from last week, you should've seen this coming, don't play with my man.” Then without breaking eye contact with them, you stepped forward, taking Sunghoon's hand in yours like you'd done it a thousand times before.

“And since you so intrusively asked, I'll answer it for you, we're dating. And I hope you all will stop being so repetitive and delusional. Leave him alone, you should learn how to take a hint while you're at it.” For a hot minute no one spoke, you could feel some of the people staring, they looked at Sunghoon to see his reaction but he just stood there, not denying anything even when you interlaced your fingers in his, even going as far as subtly tightening his grip on your hand unconsciously. It was enough of a hint for the girls, they shared some awkward laughs, muttering something about how they were just kidding and there wasn't any need to be rude as they stepped away towards the other end of the room.

You sighed, finally realizing the weight of your actions as people around you started talking again, and released his hands from your hold. You made your way towards a quieter area, bursting open a door which was left ajar. You scanned the room to see if it was occupied, when you confirmed you were alone, you stepped into the balcony, letting the cool air give you some solace. You weren't surprised to feel Sunghoon standing behind you, in fact you'd have been more surprised if he didn’t. “What the hell was that?” He questioned, his voice was low but loaded with tension. You didn’t flinch, “is this your way to thank me? Because it isn't working.”

He stood beside you, leaning against the railings, “you literally claim I am your boyfriend, in front of everyone, we were supposed to deny that rumor!” You sighed, running your fingers through your hair, “I saved you from practically being harassed and you're more stressed about that rumor?” His eyes widened for a bit, but then he narrowed his eyes at you, “don't even pretend you did that out of kindness, you don't even like me.” You tilted your head, crossing your arms across your chest, “exactly, you should give me extra credits for pretending otherwise.”

“Why did you do that really?” He let out a frustrated sigh, “there has to be a reason, you could have stepped in by saying anything else but you decided to confirm the rumor instead, so tell me.” You opened your mouth to say something but then hesitated, and the pause was long enough for him to narrow his eyes at you in suspicion. You arched your eyebrows at him, before sighing in defeat, “it's because of my mom,” you looked away, “she is dead set upon setting me up with guys she thinks would be good for me, I tried stopping her but she won't listen.” The words caught him off guard, “are you serious?”

You nodded, never imagining you'd be sharing this with him out of all people, “apparently she is doing that because I am cold, and intimidating and she's afraid I'm emotionally stunted, one of her friend's daughter who goes to our university told her mother about us and her mother told my mom, I didn't deny when she asked me because I knew she won't pester me about the arranged dates if I was already in a relationship, plus it made her happy, so yeah.” Sunghoon stared at you for a moment, then slowly nodded as if he understood where you were coming from, “that's…fair I guess.”

You leaned your back against the railings as you looked at him, “what about you?” You questioned, giving me a tight look, “you didn't exactly stop me when I said we were dating, you had plenty of reason to deny it and make me look like the crazy one, why didn't you say anything?” He looked annoyed again, but not with your words but he was more annoyed at the situation. “Because,” he started, “ever since that rumor started, I noticed things were actually quiet for a couple of days, especially after the hand holding incident.” You hummed in acknowledgement as he continued, “then after some days, when we stopped interacting, they started believing the rumor was fake so they came back, worse than before.”

“You are somehow popular but also very miserable,” you teased, biting back a smile. He glared at you, scoffing as he looked away to mutter a low, “shut up.” You laughed, throwing your head back when a thought suddenly crossed your mind. “So basically,” your voice made him look at you, “ the more real we look, the more both of us could benefit from this.” He gave you a confused look, not really understanding the meaning behind your words. “What I mean is,” you started, “if you think about it, if we continue to act like a couple, my mom would step back for a while and your fan girls will leave you alone.”

He stared at you like you grew two heads, “what you mean is we should start dating?” You waved him off, “no silly, we should fake date, it's mutually beneficial, a win-win situation, we are already in this mess, might as well make the most of it.” Sunghoon thought about it for a while then nodded his head reluctantly. “Are there any terms?” You thought about it but nothing really clicked in your mind, “I don't know anything other than the basic, no calls and texts unless it's about discussing what we need to do further to keep the act, behave like a couple in public, look like we're involved with each other lives and so on.”

He hummed in response, “also, there's no need to go all the way in, we just need to do enough to keep everyone hooked.” You agreed, “let's keep this thing a secret between us only, we will not discuss this in university or any public places where any known person could hear us, also the deal will be off immediately if any of us will feel uncomfortable.” You both stood there for a minute, staring at each other, then he held his hand out, “deal?” You glanced at his outstretched hand, then shook it once, “deal.”

You stepped aside and made your way out of the balcony when you heard Sunghoon mutter something just loud enough for your ears, “you're a menace.” You smiled over your shoulder, “hmm? But I'm your menace now Park.” With that you stepped out of the room, the sound of your heels clicking against the floor fading away into the night. Sunghoon stood at the balcony, overlooking the city as he thought about everything that had happened in his life in just under a week. He wasn't sure how this deal with you would turn out, but he hoped he wouldn't have to tolerate your behavior for longer than necessary.

You walked inside the campus with Sunghoon by your side like it's the most natural thing to do, like both of you didn't just shake the whole campus 48 hours ago at Heeseung's birthday party. You could feel the weight of the stares even before reaching the main building. People weren't whispering anymore, but their heads turned, sighing in envy when your hand brushed against Sunghoon's while you adjusted the strap of your bag. Both of you weren't awkward, you were calculating, convincing and it showed.

People noticed how you laughed at something Sunghoon said under his breath, hands casually gracing against his hands as you leaned in close. As both of you turned around the corner, his hand settled lightly at the small of your back, and you could feel the warmth radiating off his body. Your eyes fell upon the way few girls passed by you two but don't stop him like they usually did. Their eyes narrowed at both of you but they smiled politely before walking away. You smiled to yourself and Sunghoon noticed. “They aren't approaching me,” he leaned in to whisper so only you'd hear. You smirked, looking up at him, “you're welcome, Mr. Park.”

He didn't reply, but his shoulders relaxed. A small smile gracing upon his lips as you reached in front of your class. He reached up to gently fix your hair, and it felt too intimate at that moment. His actions were nothing but at the same time everything. Everything for your class to gush about as you both shared a moment. You turned towards him to bid him goodbye, and he stepped closer. “Text me,” he whispered, voice light for only you to hear, “when we need to meet your mother.” You nodded, adjusting your bag before you turned around to walk inside the class. You didn't look back but you could feel his eyes linger on you before he turned around to go back to his class.

Later, he is already waiting for you outside of your class, leaning against the pillar as he casually scrolled his phone. You tapped him on the shoulder and wordlessly walked out of the building. “You might have just saved my life,” he acknowledged as both of you reached your respective cars, “there were no confessions, no new letters dropped in my bag, no one stopped me to have a small talk.” You could feel the relief that washed over him, “you look happy.” He nodded, and it's the first time you ever saw him that relaxed in front of you, “I'm peaceful.” You wouldn't disagree, he indeed looked peaceful.

Sunghoon stood in the living room of your high rise apartment, eyes scanning the room like he was being held hostage. Your apartment was clean, and smelled like vanilla and strawberry. You stood before him in your shorts and oversized tee, looking way more comfortable than you should've with him in front of you. “You're unbelievable,” Sunghoon muttered as you handed him a cup of coffee while you sipped yours. “And yet here you are,” you smiled, sitting up on the kitchen counter as he made himself comfortable on the chair near you.

“We struck this deal not long ago, and you already want me to meet your mother for dinner and act like your doting boyfriend?” He exclaimed, taking a sip from his cup aggressively. You gave him a deadpan look, rolling your eyes, “dinner isn't until seven,” you looked at your phone screen for time, “you've got exactly 2 hours to learn how to tolerate me.” He rubbed his hand on his temple, “I don't know what you were thinking while setting up a meeting with your mom this early, I don't even know basic things about you to convince her.”

You shrugged as you placed both of your cups in the sink, “I just wanted to get done with it as quickly as possible, she had been pestering me about meeting you since last week.” You made your way back towards the kitchen counter remembering how excited your mother was after you informed her Sunghoon was ready to meet, “also, you just need to smile, look mildly affectionate, and say something about how I'm the pain but once you got to know me, I grew on you.” He blinked at you, giving you a long look, “this doesn't sound romantic at all.” You hummed, “I agree, but it's also accurate so she'll buy the act.”

He sighed, running a hand through his hair, “I don't understand the urgency though, I'm meeting one of your parents.” You looked at him briefly before scrolling through your phone, “she is already convinced, all you need to do is show up so she knows you're real, you'll do fine, I know you'll do fine.” He looked at you for a second, letting your words sink in him. He didn't know why you were so confident in him but it's your mom so you'd know better. You gave him a small smile before hopping off the counter, “also, it's not that formal, especially since my dad isn't with us, it will be more of a chill get together.”

As soon as you reached the address which your mom mentioned you knew she wouldn't go for anything subtle. Sunghoon opened the door for you, handing over his keys to the valet, he offered his arm for you to hold as both of you made your way inside. The hostess led you onto the rooftop where your mother made a reservation, and you immediately felt the shift of quiet luxury wrapped in warm amber lights. Sleek lounge sofas circled around a low wooden table, each one flickering with a single candle that made everything felt a little softer. Your hand slid down to intertwine your fingers with his as soon as you spotted your mother, her posture straight, eyes unreadable but soft as always.

Your eyes landed on Sunghoon briefly, he wore a black shirt with a dark blazer, his hair pushed back slightly like he actually made an effort. You gave his hand a gentle tug, “relax.” He sighed heavily before clasping his fingers against yours tightly. You gulped, heart pounding in your chest as you made your way towards your mom. “Honey,” she greeted, rising with a soft smile as both of you approached her. She pressed a small kiss on your cheeks and looked you over, “you look beautiful as always.” You beamed at her compliment and her eyes trailed over the boy who quietly waited behind you. “Good evening,” he greeted with a light bow, lips curling upward in a polite smile, “Park Sunghoon, it's a pleasure to meet you.”

“Likewise, Sunghoon.” Your mother extended her hand, gently patting his arms in encouragement as she urged you both to take a seat. The initial moments were awkward and formal where your mother asked him about how university life was treating him, what he planned after graduation, how his band was doing. Her questions were laced with polite curiosity, her smile gentle as he answered each question with quiet confidence. The waiter bought the food, and you fell into a quiet rhythm for a while when your mother sighed, folding the napkin on her lap.

“Sunghoon,” she called softly, “does your mother go by Minji?” Sunghoon blinked, and you kept your eyes on the plates, “um yes?” Your mother gave him a pleased smile, nodding, “your mother and I are quite close, we play golf sometimes, she has spoken about her eldest son to me often.” Sunghoon took a moment to take in the new information, “she did? I didn't know you and her were close.” Your mother leaned in slightly, her tone warm and direct, “the world is small, but I think it's lovely you know? Two families are already connected, and now the children too, things fall into places sometimes.” Sunghoon swallowed hard, offering a tight smile, “yeah, I guess it's nice.”

The valet handed Sunghoon his keys, and he removed his blazer before making his way towards you. He gently draped his blazer on your shoulders, guiding you inside the car. You sighed, noticing he hadn't really said a single word ever since the two of you walked your mother to her car and watched her drive away. He settled in the driver's seat, starting the car when he finally spoke, “so my mom and your mom are friends,” you looked at him, waiting for him to continue, “my mom will lose her mind.” You let the silence sit between you for a moment, his jaw was clenched but he looked more puzzled than angry.

“I shouldn't have dragged you in this,” you started, looking out of the window, “this is stupid, I should've told something else to my mom.” Sunghoon gave you a quick glance, biting his lips, “told what? Your fake boyfriend bailed on you last minute?” You chuckled softly, turning your head to look at him, “that would've been more believable,” he raised his eyebrows as you continued, “I don't exactly seem like a tolerable girlfriend.” You saw the ghost of a smile on his face, “I second that.”

You both fell silent again, but this time the air was less charged with tension and it felt lighter. You sighed when he pulled up inside your private parking lot, “really, we can stop this here if you are uncomfortable, I don't want your family to get dragged into this, especially when it wasn't what you signed up for.” Sunghoon looked at you as you waited for his answer, and he won't ever admit the way his chest tightened when he heard your thoughts.

He didn't expect you to be so thoughtful about his comfort, so he gulped, leaning back in his seat, “I'm glad you think that way, but you helped me get those girls off my back, I don't want your mom to bother you with those blind dates anymore.” You gave him a small smile before slipping out of his car and biding him good night.

“So you met her mother?” Jake exclaimed as Sunghoon nodded, “yeah, I did.” Heeseung just looked at him, unable to form any words. “And her mother is friends with you mother?” Sunghoon nodded again, burying his head in his hands. “What are you planning now then?” Heeseung asked, looking at Jake then at Sunghoon, who just sighed, “well she gave me a chance to back out, that dragging my family would make things complicated but I felt like I shouldn't back off.” Heeseung sighed heavily, laying back on his bed, “so it's inevitable that your family would ultimately get involved, it will be better if they hear about this from you before anyone else.”

Jake nodded, “yeah, if you were planning to let it drag on, it's better for you to tell your parents first.” Sunghoon closed his eyes, laying against Heeseung's legs. “Sunghoon, you remember we are supposed to go on a trip on Jay's family yacht?” Sunghoon's face was laced with confusion at the random question but he still nodded nonetheless. “Bring her there, we would love to meet your girlfriend officially, especially Mia since she's the only girl in our group,” Jake grinned, and Sunghoon rolled his eyes before throwing the pillow right on his face.

You stepped onto Jay's family yacht and it was everything you'd expect from him, pristine and probably more expensive than most apartments in the city. The yacht floated above the water like it was doing a favor on the ocean, a white deck, silver chrome railings, and sun warmed teak underneath. Soft music spilled from the hidden speakers, the bass thumping loud enough to make you forget about your worries for a while. Beyond the railings, the ocean stretched endlessly, glittering like flecks of gold. The breeze was soft enough to flirt with your hair without ruining it.

Your arrival wasn't subtle, your linen cover-up fluttered against your body, your sandals clicked the floor and brought everyone's attention to you. Jay paused mid-sip, Heeseung slowly blinked in your direction, Jake smirked like he had been waiting for you to arrive to cause a ripple. And Sunghoon was sprawled on a lounge bench with his shirt undone enough to show his collarbone, looked up, lazily checking you out before he turned away and took a sip of his champagne like he wasn't waiting for you to arrive.

“Finally,” Heeseung exclaimed and Jay nodded. Beside him was a girl around your age and with the way she was comfortably leaning against Jay you safely assumed she was his girlfriend, Mia. She looked soft and composed, more prettier than rumours suggested. Her sundress swayed against the breeze gently as she made her way towards you. “I'm so glad you came,” she grinned, not too eager, not too shy, “I already knew who you were, and I heard about the rumors too.” You smiled back at her, “yeah? You're not strangers to those yourself.” She blushed but didn't flinch and you took a moment to study her, and the way she smiled softly at you was enough to make you believe she was genuine.

You weren't involved in the drama that surrounded Jay, Mia and her best friend Ava. But you had watched it unfold from the beginning like any other smart person with decent taste. Sunghoon was already perched at the corner of the yacht like a bored prince. He looked at you before tapping on the seat beside him and you made yourself comfortable. “We were going to leave without you,” Heeseung teased but you smirked, arching your eyebrows, “no you wouldn't.”

Your knees brushed against his as you finally settled on your seat. “Try not to hog the bench,” Sunghoon muttered as he shifted in his seat, his hands brushing yours. “Try not to exist,” you whispered back, smiling sweetly at him while others watched the scene unfold in front of them with an amused grin. Heeseung leaned in, eyes full of mischief as he looked at you, “so, is this real now?” Before you could answer, Sunghoon shrugged slowly, “well what can we do, we are already in too deep.” The rest of them nodded, then Sunghoon continued, “it works for both of us.” His eyes then landed on you, “that's what really matters, right?” You gulped at the sudden attention, but nodded in agreement.

The deck grew quieter as the golden hour settled in, the warm glow of the sunset bathing you in as you settled against the bench to enjoy the view leisurely. Everyone had dispersed far from each other, drinks in hand, sharing laughter and clicking pictures, you could see everyone from where you were sitting. Your eyes instinctively landed on Sunghoon who was sitting near the edge of the deck, leaned against the lounge chair, nursing a half empty champagne glass in his hand. His sunglasses were long abandoned, revealing his gaze fixed somewhere far ahead.

Out of pure curiosity your eyes landed on Mia and Jay. They stood near the makeshift bar, Jay's hand lazily slung over her waist as they talked with each other, their smiles soft and eyes full of love. Jay reached forward to refill his drink and right then, the yacht shifted slightly beneath everyone's feet. It wasn't dramatic, but it was enough to make Mia stumble a little. Jay caught her easily, hand tightening around her waist as he murmured something in her ears.

Your eyes fell upon Sunghoon when you noticed him move from your peripheral vision. He was now sitting straight, hands gripping on the chair tightly like he was about to jolt into a motion before his brain could register. His gaze was still trained on the couple in front of him, eyebrows furrowed for less than a second before his face shifted into his usual blank expression. He didn’t move from his chair, he didn't need to but that split second of reflex, the worry, didn't go unnoticed by you.

You turned your gaze away before he could catch you looking at him, then you felt something shift beside you when you were busy trying to refuse to let a thought finish inside your head. You didn't turn your head right away, but you didn't need to. Sunghoon leaned back beside you, and you shifted in your seat, your movements subtle but deliberate.

“You act like a completely different person with your friends,” you looked at him, you weren't taunting him, just simply stating what you observed. He looked back at you, tilting his head, “what's that supposed to mean?” You leaned back, eyes trained on the ocean ahead, as you smiled, “it was interesting to see human emotions in your otherwise robotic face for a longer period of time. I was starting to believe eye rolls and grimaced faces were your only forms of communication.”

He didn't respond right away, just looked at your face for a while before he shrugged, “they are easier to be around.” You weren't sure if it was the tone of his voice, so casual and simple or if it was because you had never experienced such things but his words struck. You didn't let it show, of course, instead you leaned your head against your palm as you looked at him, “how sad that you're just tragically struck with me for public performance.” He gave you a sharp look, eyebrows raising in amusement, “tragic doesn't even begin to cover it.” You smiled, straightening yourself, “don't worry, you only have to pretend to tolerate me in public.” You turned your face towards the breeze, ending the conversation effectively.

You were walking down the university's hallway, headphones in your ears as you made your way out of the main building to get your lunch at the cafe nearby. Your tailored dark blazer swayed casually behind you, giving others a peek of your miniskirt you wore underneath. You were about to descend the stairs when a hand grabbed your wrist, effortlessly stopping your movements. You turned around to find Sunghoon breathing heavily as he spoke something. You removed your headphones, placing them in their case as you waited for him to calm down.

“Why do you look like you're seconds away from dying?” You questioned as he straightened up, and he gave you a tight smile, shifting his hand to hold yours, you raised an eyebrow, “I've been calling out your name for the past 2 minutes, how do you manage to walk that fast in these six-inched aesthetic sacrifices?” You looked down at your feet then back up with a smile sharp enough to match your heels, “I wasn't built for comfort, I was built for spectacle.” Sunghoon huffed, but both of you started walking down the stairs.

“I wanted to talk to you about something,” you hummed, urging him to continue, “you remember how your mom said she's close with my mom?” Your eyebrows creased and your steps slowed down, “yeah, what about that?” Sunghoon sighed, dragging you towards the main gate, “let’s talk while you eat, you don't have much free time in your schedule today.” Your steps halted for a second, feeling a weird knot in your chest after he said those words, it was just your schedule but it was the fact that he remembered that made your heart race. You reached the cafe, making yourself comfortable on your seats after ordering the food. “Will you tell me what you wanted to talk about?” You questioned as you ate your lunch.

Sunghoon ran his hand through his hair, “yeah so, as I was saying, our mothers are close, and if my mom got to know about my dating life through someone else it'd sting. I know her well,” he paused, glancing down the floor before looking out of the window, avoiding your gaze deliberately, “so I told her myself that I'm dating someone.” Your eyes widened at his statement as you choked on your food. Sunghoon passed you the glass of water, mouth parting in worry. “You told your mom about us?” You exclaimed after you composed yourself. He leaned back against the chair, “well not exactly, I didn’t tell her who I am dating.”

You squinted your eyes, feeling he was hiding something, “and? She didn't ask who you are dating?” He smiled, the kind you give someone when you're about to drop a bomb at them, “I was going to tell her your name,” he rubbed the back of his neck, “but before I could, she cut me off and said I should just directly bring my girlfriend home for dinner to meet them officially.” You blinked once, then twice, “you want me to have dinner with your parents?” He nodded reluctantly, “see, I know this isn't any of us signed for, but your mom would've gone ahead and talked with my mom about it, I felt this was better than that.” You sighed but there wasn't anything else you could do.

You slipped into your sleek black dress, its silhouette hugging your frame in all the right places. Its short sleeves with a structured collar gave it a polished look. The skirt of the dress flared out subtly, brushing your mid thigh, offering movement without losing its shape. You wore your Louboutins, accessorizing appropriately before you look at your reflection in the mirror. You sighed, “this should be appropriate for dinner.” You posed in front of the mirror, smiling at your reflection and nodding in acknowledgement.

You grabbed the bag containing a gift box and your phone before making your way out of your apartment. You looked at the time as you waited for Sunghoon to arrive in front of your apartment complex, and expectantly he arrived on the time he informed you he would. He made his way out of the driver's seat as you stepped ahead, and he took in a moment to look at you. His eyes locked with yours at last and you subconsciously tucked your hair behind your ear. He gulped as he offered you his hand and you hesitantly held it. He led you towards the passenger's seat, taking the bag from your hand. He opened the car's door and you slipped inside waiting for him to shut the door.

“Are you not going to close the door?” You questioned softly, eyes looking up at him as he stared at you. He cleared his throat, closing the door and getting inside the car. You watched him fasten his seatbelt and start the car with a slight tremble. You leaned against the seat, “you didn’t have to pick me up but thanks regardless.” His hand tightened on the wheel, “it would be weird if I didn't, plus my parents taught me to never let a girl travel alone at night.” You frowned at the visible tension that radiated off him, “are you sure you want to do this? You seem tense.” He glanced at you briefly before sighing and his hold on the wheel relaxed, “yeah I'm sure, don't worry.”

As you neared Sunghoon's house the shift in the surroundings was unmistakable, greener lanes, lesser cars, bigger gates. The tall, sleek black gates of his house began to open as his car neared the entrance. Golden lights wash over the cobblestone creating a warm hue. As the car moved forward, Sunghoon's house, or mansion, came into view. It was minimalist, all black with glass-fronted brilliance. Everything gleamed, from the sharp angular structure of the mansion to the various luxury cars parked in the corner.

The car rolled to a smooth stop, the engine hummed for the last time before silence settled. You removed your seatbelt, hands already clutching the handle. “Wait,” you turned to look at Sunghoon who just got out of the car to walk towards your side. He opened the door, offering his hand to help you step out. Sunghoon led you towards the door, walking a step ahead, still holding your hand. You clutched the gift bag in your hand as the door quietly opened revealing a cool, sleek interior that mirrored the quiet luxury of the exterior. You looked at him briefly before he slowly guided you towards the sofa, your heels muffled by the rug.

Soft clicks against the polished marble floors made you glance up, and there she was, Sunghoon's mom, Minji. She stood above the staircase, one hand resting on the railing. Her gaze swept over the two of you, resting a fraction of second longer on you before a quiet smile tugged at her lips. “You're finally here,” she said, her voice refined and calm as she descended down the stairs. You stood up instinctively, bowing politely as she approached, “thank you for having me.”

You offered her the gift bag with both hands, and she accepted it with a nod. “This is a little something to thank you for inviting me for dinner. It's an italian red, aged 24 years, it's one of my favorites, I hope you'll like it.” She looked at Sunghoon for a brief second before smiling at you, “I know I will like it, you've made quite an impression already.” Before you could reply to her, a cheerful voice rang from the deeper corner of the house. “Is she here?” You turned towards the voice, a younger girl, maybe in her late teens, made her way towards you. “You're so pretty,” she beamed at you, and with the way her smile tugged at her lips it was no brainer that she was his younger sister.

“You're prettier,” you complimented, and she lit up. She glanced at her brother for a quick second, “I am so shocked you're real, I thought he was joking when he said he had a girlfriend.” You laughed lightly, surprised by how genuine she was, “your brother is doing his best.” As his sister engaged with you in conversation his mom interrupted you, motioning towards the hall, “shall we head to the dinner? My husband is already waiting.” You smiled as she led you towards the dining hall. His sister walked beside her mom and Sunghoon stepped beside you as both of you stepped inside the hall.

You greeted his dad as you made your way inside the dining hall, the dining table was long, pristine, and glowing under the soft ambient lightening. You sat between Sunghoon and his sister across from his mom and his dad, who hadn't said much after his courteous greeting and a nod of approval when Sunghoon pulled out the chair for you. The conversation drifted from various small talk, about university, weather, food. Yeji, you learned was her name, filled all the gaps in between with her enthusiastic chatter. You noticed that he barely spoke the whole time, but you were glad that he answered when he was questioned.

You were taking a sip of your drink when his mother put her utensils down with a soft clinking. She smiled when you caught her eyes. "Forgive me if I'm wrong,” she began, her voice soft, “but I feel like I've seen you before, or not? I'm not sure.” You lowered your glass gently, a knowing smile etching upon your face, “you aren't entirely wrong, my mother is very social.” After a short pause, your mother's name escaped your lips, and his mom's eyes widened in surprise and recognition, even his dad looked up from his plate at the mention of the name.

“You're her daughter? Oh my! That's the reason you felt so familiar! It all makes sense now.” She sat up straight, leaning towards the table. You nodded your head, smiling at the mention of your mother, while she looked at her husband, clapping her hand in delight, “you know her husband right?” While his dad nodded, a small smile adorned his lips for the first time that evening. His mom turned towards you, “your mom and I go way back, we still play golf together. We also have been to many charity events together, your mom has impeccable taste.”

“Thank you,” you nodded, tone soft but composed, “she speaks very highly of you as well.” She looked visibly delighted, “we have good relations with your parents, I didn't realize our children also shared the same sentiments.” Sunghoon shifted slightly beside you, filling up your drink as well as serving you more food. You thanked him quietly, as you took another bite of your food.

“Well,” his mom started as she walked you out of the house after spending hours talking with you about everything, “I didn't say this earlier but it isn't everyday Sunghoon brings someone home, I'm glad it is you. I appreciate the way you carry yourself.” Her words caught you off guard, but you smiled, “that's very kind of you, thank you again for having me for dinner, everything was perfect.” She reached out to gently touch your forearm, light and polite but full of warmth, “you're welcome here anytime,” she leaned in, “and not just because of Sunghoon.”

You nodded, noticing that Sunghoon was approaching towards you. His expressions were unreadable but his posture was visibly relaxed now as he draped his blazer over your shoulder wordlessly. His mom didn't say anything, just gave you a last knowing smile before she turned around to retreat inside the house. Sunghoon led you inside his car and drove off to drop you off at your apartment. “I hope your parents liked me,” you whispered just to fill the silence that had started to suffocate you. “They did,” he said after a slow exhale as if he didn’t mean to say that out loud. Then he glanced at you briefly, “trust me, I think they liked you a little too much.”

“Too much?” You questioned, leaning your head on the windows and watching the traffic. “Hmm, they don't make it obvious, but I know you ticked all of their expectations boxes.” You hummed, glancing in his direction, “I'm glad.” None of you spoke after that, the drive to your apartment was rather quiet but this time it felt lighter than before. Your mind was relaxed now, especially since everything went well with Sunghoon's parents and you liked how cheerful his sister was, which was surprising because you never understood the concept of being cheerful. You bid goodbye, handing him his blazer back as you watched his car drive off after you reached the elevators.

You were sitting on your usual spot on the campus, the bench beneath the ivory archway that gave just enough shade to feel exclusive. Your tablet was resting on your lap, screen glowing with neatly organised documents your mother had emailed you in the morning. Something about floral arrangements and guest lists for upcoming events your mother was asked to carry out on behalf of one of the city's elite circles. She wanted you to start easing into it, the endless events, the careful plannings, the diplomacy wrapped in diamonds. You were going to take over eventually so this was her way of preparing you for it.

You were completely immersed in your tab to notice a figure sitting beside you. “Hey,” you looked to your side when you heard a soft voice, Mia. “Hi,” you greeted back with a smile. “What are you doing?” She asked as she noticed you working on your tab. You followed her gaze, “oh this? Just some emails my mom asked me to check.” You and Mia had been on good terms and occasionally hung out in the campus whenever any of you saw the other free, this was just another one of those days.

Both of you fell into a quiet rhythm as Mia took out her notes to work alongside you, but usually she would mumble about her day or ask you questions about yours occasionally but today she was unusually quiet. “What's on your mind?” You questioned, nudging her with your shoulder, she hummed, still in thought before she sighed and turned towards you fully. You closed your tab, giving her your full attention.

“Ever since Jay and I got together, he has been nothing but a blessing in my life, and he has helped me in so many ways, introduced me to Sunghoon, Jake and Heeseung,” she started, fidgeting were her hands, “but I still haven't done anything for him you know?” You nodded your head as she continued, “like this has been in my head for quite a while, I want to surprise him but I don't know how, he has everything he needs, and I don't want to just hand him love letters, I want to do something different for him this time, but I have no idea on what I should do.”

You hummed, thinking about her dilemma, “umm you must have thought of something right? Maybe a little hunch on what you feel like doing?” You weren't really experienced in relationships to give her solid advice, but you encouraged her nonetheless. She nodded, “I was thinking of doing something meaningful, like arranging a private date at the restaurant both of us went to after we became official.” Your eyes lit up, the idea wasn't bad, and it also had a memory attached to it. “You should do it,” you smiled at her but she just pouted, slouching in discouragement. “It was my initial plan, to book the restaurant and everything, but they are always booked. I even saved up for it.”

Your eyebrows creased, “what's the name of that restaurant?” She closed her notebooks, pout still adorning her face, “Kuro Hana.” You tilted your head, “the Japanese one? The one on the hill side with the mountain view?” She solemnly nodded, packing up her things, “I tried reaching out but they said I'd need to have a membership or permission from the members in order to book it since it's their rule.” You hummed, you remember visiting that restaurant a couple of times and it was really a sight to behold. But you weren't sure about the membership.

You took out your phone, “let me see if I can help.” Mia held your hand, worried expressions etching his face, “no, no, it's okay.” You smiled, squeezing her hand in reassurance. “Don't worry, let me help.” You dialed your mom's number as Mia spoke again, “are you sure? I don't want to burden you with this.” You smiled at her in assurance as your mom picked up the call. “Mom, do you know anyone who has a membership at Kuro Hana restaurant?” Your mom hummed, “let me check, I'll call you back, I think one of my friends has it.” You hung up the phone, “she'll tell me about it in some time.”

Your phone rang almost immediately, you picked up to hear your mother's cheerful voice, “I remembered your aunt had the membership, I asked her to give permission for the booking.” You thanked your mom as you hung up the call, beaming at Mia, “she'll forward the permission letter to me, then I'll send it to you.” She held both of your hands in hers as she looked at you gratefully, “oh my, I don't know how I will ever repay you.” You could see tears of happiness in her eyes as she hugged you tightly, you stiffened for a second before you hugged her back.

She pulled back, still holding your hands tightly as she grinned at you, “if you ever need my help, tell me, I'll leave everything to help you. I need you to promise me.” You chuckled, nodding, “well, okay, I know you won't take no for an answer so I promise you if I'll need help, I'll call you.” She held out her pinky finger and you looked at her hand, then laughed before interlocking your pinky finger with hers. “In our friend group, we take pinky promises seriously,” she stated with a serious face and you mimicked her expression, showing her your serious expression, “I'll take pinky promises seriously from now on.”

You were sitting inside HYPHENIX's music room as they rehearsed for their upcoming gig, scrolling through your phone as you sat on the chair. Heeseung was sitting on the other end of the room, silently going over the lyrics and occasionally trying it out. His voice was very captivating, you had always known that but to hear it without any music, the rawness of his voice was more beautiful, Mia sat beside him, music sheet in her hand as she corrected him occasionally. Jake played with his drums, as Jay tuned his guitar.

Your eyes then fell over Sunghoon, who was sitting a little distance away from you. His eyes were furrowed in concentration as he adjusted a few settings on his keyboard. Fingers of one hand moving swiftly on the keys as the other fiddled with the volume knob. His hair fell slightly on his eyes and he ran his hand through his hair, messing them up in the process. He looked at ease, entirely focused on his keyboard, quiet and focused. He looked up in your direction after a while, as if he sensed your eyes on him, you turned away, pretending to be busy looking out the window.

“Well, how did your little date go?” Jake teased as Mia sat beside Jay after helping out Heeseung. “Little date? Mia booked the whole restaurant! It was anything but little,” Heeseung chimed in. Jay grinned, squeezing Mia's hand as he looked at her lovingly. “It was best, although I kept telling her she didn't have to do it,” Jay smiled as he kissed her hand. “Yeah, who knew she was capable of doing that?” Sunghoon smiled, “I heard they have very specific rules for booking.” Mia nodded, eyes locking with yours, “actually-” Jake cut her off, “yeah I heard about it, but it's Mia, she will do anything to keep her words.”

The rest of the boys nodded along, shifting their conversation on a different topic, but Jay's eyes found yours across the room. He held your gaze for a moment before his head dipped ever so slightly, a silent thank you. You returned his smile, acknowledging his gratitude with a quiet nod as you figured Mia must have told him that you helped, like she always shared everything with him. You could imagine her gushing about how the plan went and what all obstacles she faced while coming up with the plan. And with the way a permanent smile was etched upon Jay's face as he watched Mia talk, you knew she chose the right man for her.

“What are you looking at?” You flinched as you looked to your side to see Sunghoon looking at you as he pulled out a chair to sit beside you. “Nothing,” you mumbled, fiddling with the rings on your fingers. “If you say so,” he smirked slightly, leaning his elbow on the desk. You gave him a sharp look, “what do you want?” He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I need you to put your girlfriend pants on for me this weekend,” he said with a completely serious face. You frowned, “for the weekend?” He nodded, “it's my cousin's wedding, I need to bring you as my plus one.”

“Oh? A wedding!” A high-pitched laugh escaped your mouth, “you mean like, the one with flowers, open bars, photographers and your entire family tree gathered in a single location?” He blinked, nodding, “yeah, that one.” You scoffed, tucking your hair behind your ear, still laughing slightly, “right, sure, no big deal. I'll just walk with you into a wedding full of your relatives, then your parents will tell them I'm your girlfriend, and I'll pretend I'm completely fine when your grandma starts planning our engagement.” Sunghoon raised an eyebrow but didn't say anything.

So you continued spiraling, “it's really not a big of a deal. Just me, you and the entire Park family bloodline where I'll pretend to know everything about you when I don't even know what you look like when you genuinely smile.” He sighed heavily, “so….” he said slowly, “is that a yes?” You stared at him for a long time, before exhaling in defeat, “of course, it's a yes.” He smirked, just slightly but you noticed so you glared at him, “don't laugh at my misery, if I'll fall I'll take you down with me.”

You frowned as you entered Sunghoon's room, “why is your room so bland?” He froze in his spot, still clutching on your belongings as he slowly turned around to find you looking around his room. “It's not bland,” he muttered, keeping your things on the chair. You turned to face him, giving him a tight smile, “your walls look boring, don't deny.” He scoffed, stepping towards you, “it's minimalistic.” You raised your eyebrows, “really? It's less than minimalistic.” He opened his mouth to say something when his mom knocked on the open door.

You turned around, making your way towards her, “Hi darling, I see you reached safely.” You smiled, giving her a brief hug, “I did,” you glanced back at Sunghoon, “especially since your son was with me.” She beamed at your words, placing a kiss on your cheek before she went back to check on her husband. Sunghoon cleared his throat, handing you the dress his mom brought for you as he closed the door behind you. “For me?” You questioned as you checked the box. “Yeah, mom insisted she wanted to give you one, I hope you don't mind it.” You checked the dress, smiling as you looked at him, “oh I love it.”

You walked inside his bathroom with your belongings as Sunghoon entered his walk-in closet to get ready for the wedding. You placed your products on the counter, doing the initial steps of your routine. The wedding's theme was black and the bride and grom were wearing white. You took out the black dress from the box and slipped into it. The black fabric draped elegantly on your shoulder, the neckline folding gently around your collarbone. It hugged your frame perfectly before flowing into a long skirt. You took out your favorite pair of heels, smiling at your reflection as you opened the bathroom door.

You went towards the counter, applying your mascara as Sunghoon entered the bathroom, wearing an all black, three piece suit and stopped for a second. The matte-black fabric clung perfectly on his frame, he held a sleek black tie in his hand. He didn't say anything at first, just leaned against the doorframe, eyes dragging over you. He stepped closer, standing behind you as he looked at himself in the mirror. “The dress is very beautiful,” he spoke as he placed the tie on the counter. “Yeah, it is.” You gave him a tight smile as you applied your lipstick. His eyes followed your movements, the way you swiped your bottom lip with the crimson shade.

He cleared his throat when he noticed that you caught him, “that's a good choice of color.” You arched your eyebrows as you finished applying your lipstick, “my lipstick?” He nodded, eyes focused on your lips, “it suits your-” he gulped, “your whole face situation going on.” You tried your best to not laugh at his face, “my face situation?” You turned slightly, just enough to look over your shoulder as you glanced at him, “that was the best you could come up with?” He stepped towards you, grabbing his tie, “what I meant to say was ... .that…the whole thing works well together, I mean it always works well together but especially today, yeah, you look fine.”

You put the lipstick on the counter as you stepped closer to him, glancing up at him as your voice dropped lower, “why are you glitching like a broken machine, are you getting shy Mr. Park?” He scoffed under his breath but his ears betrayed him as they turned pink, “I'm not shy.” You smiled, loving this new side of him, you opened your mouth to say something when he handed you his tie with a trembling hand as he looked at the mirror, avoiding your eyes. “What's this?” You asked as you waited for him. “Help me with it, I don't know how to wear the tie,” your eyes widened slightly but you nodded.

Your movements were slow as you looped the tie around his collar. Your fingers worked with practiced ease, folding, tucking and pulling as the fabric slid through your grip. He stood still, one hand resting on the counter as the other was inside his pocket. His gaze was fixed somewhere over your shoulder as he tried his best to avoid your eyes. The two of you were close, closer than tying a tie needed to, but neither of you moved away. You glanced up, and he dropped his head low, his gaze falling back on your lips. Just then, your fingers slide the knot in place, tugging gently at the base. That action brought him even closer, and you heard his breath hitch.

“Why me?” He asked after you pulled away, turning towards the counter to choose your jewellery. You looked at him through the mirror, head tilting in confusion, he continued, “I know you're very picky with people, so why did you choose me when we both clearly couldn't stand each other?” He looked away for a moment before looking back at you, “I mean you could've just denied the rumor in front of your mom and chose someone you didn't hate and introduced them as your boyfriend.”

Your lips curled up into a subtle, unreadable expression, “because out of all the guys I know you look the best standing next to me.” He blinked, caught between confusion and something unspoken. You opened three velvet jewellery boxes in front of you, contemplating which would look better as Sunghoon stared at you, “also you're quite tolerable when you're quiet, so why would I walk extra miles by denying the rumor but then involving yet another person in the mess, you were already in it with me, so I went along.”

He thoughtlessly reached forward and grabbed one box, taking out the delicate necklace, “this would go well with your outfit.” You took it from his hand, lifting your hair to one side as you tried clasping it behind your neck. With him standing close to you and the delicacy of the chain, your fingers kept slipping on the clasp. “Here,” his hands gently brushed yours aside, his knuckles grazing against your skin as he closed the clasped shut. “All done,” he mumbled as he fixed your loose hair. Wordlessly, he reached forward to take the earrings and turned you around to face him.

You sucked in a breath but tilted your chin slightly so he could reach for your ear. His fingers were steady as he fixed the first earring in place, then the second. He pulled away before fixing your necklace one last time, his gaze lingering on you, “you clean up well.” You tilted your head, narrowing your eyes slightly, “is that your way of saying I look good?” He cleared his throat, tearing his eyes off you, “maybe.” You didn't smile, but you could still feel your heart thumping in your chest which hasn't calmed down ever since you caught him staring at your lips.

You stepped out of Sunghoon's sleek black car, your heels hitting the cobbled path as you stared at the stunning wedding venue in front of you. Beside you, Sunghoon straightened the lapel of his jacket, exhaling once before offering you his arm. You looked at him for a second before you took his hand without hesitation. You gulped, straightening your posture as both of you made your way inside the venue. Some of the heads turned, some with amusement, some with curiosity as both of you were guided to your seats. The wedding was already in motion, your breath hitched as you noticed your name beside Sunghoon's but you smiled, making yourself comfortable on your seat.

The bride's entrance stole the show, and your eyes travelled towards the groom who teared up at the sight of his bride. Though you weren't a big fan of weddings, you found yourself smiling without realizing. The vows were exchanged, sealed with a kiss and you clapped in joy even as you felt Sunghoon's gaze linger on you occasionally. The ceremony was completed with a blur of motions, champagne trays floated by, laughter echoed throughout the venue. You and Sunghoon congratulated the bride and groom, and they made you promise to meet them before leaving as they got swarmed by other guests.

Sunghoon was about to lead you towards his parents when several of his relatives circled around you. “So you are the girlfriend, Minji was beaming with happiness when she talked about you, guess she was right about everything,” one of the women around his mom's age said with twinkling eyes. You smiled, bowing politely at her words as Sunghoon leaned in to whisper that she's his aunt. “He never brought anyone around, not even in high school,” Sunghoon introduced her as his cousin. “You must be really special,” his other cousin nudged him with his elbow.

Both of you offered them a polite, tight-lipped smile as you answered each of their questions. Sunghoon stood beside you, his gaze focused on you, on how you were handling all the attention, how you looked like you were always a part of his family. You excused yourself from his relatives and turned around to face him, “want something to drink?” He questioned as he offered you his hand, you looped your hand around his, stepping ahead when you felt a light tug on your dress. Frowning, you turned around to find a little girl in her poofy, shiny black dress with a tiara looking up at you expectantly.

“Are you really my oppa's girlfriend?” She blinked, you crouched down a little, she was not more than five years old, “depends, do you think I'm cool enough to be?” She looked at you for a while, her smaller hands reaching to skim over your bracelet, “well you wear shiny things, that means yes.” You lifted her up in your arms, smiling as she draped her little hands on your shoulders, “are you going to marry him?” You smiled as Sunghoon fixed her tiara, “that's a big question, Jieun.” She huffed, playing with your necklace, “can I be your flower girl when you get married?” Sunghoon laughed, “looks like you've already decided we are gonna get married.”

Jieun smiled, nodding her head, “you two look good beside each other.” Your breath hitched as you remembered saying the same thing to him earlier and your eyes found his, and the way he gulped was enough for you to know he remembered it too. “You think so?” You questioned and she grinned, “you two are going to be prettiest bride and groom ever.” You felt your heart skip a beat and Jieun snuggled closer to you, putting her head on your shoulder. Her mother approached the two of you, “oh my, Jieun.” She gently took her daughter in her arms as she looked at you, “she rarely likes someone, let alone be comfortable around them, guess she liked you.” Sunghoon ruffled Jieun's hair as her mother walked away from the two of you.

You felt Sunghoon's arm slide across your waist when he spoke, “come on, there's one person you need to meet before the dinner.” He guided you towards the chairs located near the stage, at the corner. An older woman sat in the chair, grey hair, posture poised, face serene with a gentle smile. “Your grandmother?” You whispered quietly and he hummed. She lifted her head as you two approached her, you bowed lightly, offering her a respectful greeting, she patted on the chair next to her for you to sit. “So this is the girl,” she looked at Sunghoon who nodded. She turned, caressing your hand, “I hope you're not overwhelmed, weddings can be a bit noisy.” You smiled, “I guess, but I'm managing well.”

“You're really beautiful,” she spoke, “and clearly smart enough to know that's not the most important thing in the room.” You couldn't help but let out a small laugh, “this is the nicest way someone has told me I look difficult.” She chuckled along with you, “not difficult, just aware. Of yourself, of your surroundings, it's a good quality to have.” She then glanced at him, “he never brought anyone around, I was getting worried.” Sunghoon frowned, “is that so?” She held up her hand to stop him from speaking, “I'm just saying the things I've observed, I'm allowed to do that at my age.”

You looked between them with a fond smile, “and what else have you observed?” She turned back towards you, “that both of you behave like you haven't decided if you like each other yet, but you don't act like strangers either.” Your breath hitched, not at all expecting her to say anything about your relationship with Sunghoon. She continued, her voice even, “I've seen enough couples over the years. People who loved each other, people who couldn't stand each other,” she then looked at Sunghoon, “and quite a time I've seen both at the same time, it's not always neat but I know when something is real, or on its way to become something real.”

Your throat tightened, heart racing as you looked at Sunghoon who was already shifting in his place. Her gaze then flicked at you one last time as she stood up, “you carry yourself well, you're sharp but not cold, that's a balance not many figured it out this early. You don't need my approval to date my grandson, but you have it anyway.” She caressed your face, then gave Sunghoon a kiss on his cheek, “I'll see you both around.” Your eyes followed her as she walked off and Sunghoon sat beside you, throwing his head back. “You alright?” Sunghoon asked after sometime since you didn't utter a single word. You turned towards him, tilting your head, “I wasn't expecting her to say those things, but yeah, I'm alright.” He looked at you as he sighed, “she likes you.” You nodded, “I like her too.”

The sky darkened as the reception shifted to dance and dinner. Fairy lights twinkled across the venue, the music slowed as all of the guests gathered around the dance floor to watch the first dance. You stood beside Sunghoon, watching the way the bride's eyes glowed as the groom twirled her around. The bride's father entered the floor and the groom seamlessly twirled the bride into her father's arms. You could see the mother wiping her tears as she watched the father-daughter dance. Few of the couples joined the stage as the bride and groom stood at the corner, watching their families have fun while being wrapped around in each other's arms.

Sunghoon offered his hand, you looked at it for a moment before you took it, he guided you towards the dance floor and you let him take the lead. One of his hands slid on your waist while the other held yours with a gentle grip, your other hand was placed on his shoulder as both of you moved in rhythm. His touch was firm and grounding, the space between you was just shy away from being intimate.

He guided the hand he was holding on his shoulder, then slid his own across your waist to pull you closer. Your breath hitched as you looked up to see him already looking at you. Heat rose up on your face at the proximity, and you wondered how you never noticed all the moles that were scattered all over his face, or how his lashes were curled just right, or how perfect his nose was or how inviting his lips look up this close.

Or maybe you would have noticed how breathtaking he was if only you took off the tinted glasses of hate you insisted on wearing around him. You watched as his gaze fell upon your lips and lingered there for a while, this was the fourth time you've caught him staring at your lips today. One of his hands lifted up to tuck your hair behind your ear, fingers lingering on your ear for a second too long. You closed your eyes, heart racing erratically in your chest. You put your head on his shoulder, the scent of his cologne was enough to ground you. His hands tightened slightly around you as you both swayed slowly with the rhythm of the music.

“There you are,” a cheerful voice broke you out of the moment. You pulled away slightly but one of Sunghoon's hands rested on your waist as the bride and groom approached the two of you. “Finally we got some time to properly meet the person everyone was dying to meet,” the bride said as she gave you a brief hug. “Congratulations again,” you offered her a smile, “the ceremony was very beautiful.” The bride thanked you, “you're even prettier than the pictures made you seem.” You raised an eyebrow looking at Sunghoon, “there were pictures?”

He scratched the back of his head, “mom shared.” The groom laughed, “yes, ever since aunt Minji informed us about Sunghoon's girlfriend we couldn't contain our excitement so she was forced to share them.” Sunghoon and the groom started talking about their family group chat and the bride leaned towards you, her voice dropping low like she was sharing a secret, “Sunghoon has always been very hard to read, but tonight I saw a different side of him because of you.” That didn't help with the flutter in your stomach, “maybe it's because he met all of you after such a long time.”

The bright grinned before pulling you into another hug, “whatever it is, I like this version of Sunghoon better.” She then turned towards Sunghoon, “you chose well.” Sunghoon just nodded, reaching for your hand to pull you closer. The bride leaned against the groom, sharing a knowing glance at him. “You two, because of you I forgot why I actually came here,” you both turned towards the couple, “let's head inside for family dinner.” The couple bid you goodbye, making their way towards other guests. You looked up at him but he was already looking at you, and you didn't fail to notice the subtle tightening of his fingers around yours.

Sunghoon was busy talking with his dad and uncles while you were sitting beside his sister Yeji, “I'm nervous since it's going to be my first time performing on stage.” You gently squeezed Yeji's shoulder as she rambled in front of you about her dance performance in her school's annual fest. Although it was a group performance, she was playing a vital role and she was worried. “Don't worry, with the way you're telling me about it, I know how serious you are taking your role, you'll do great!” She leaned her head on your shoulder, looping her arms around yours, “Sunghoon oppa, mom and dad all are busy on the day, so mom said they will celebrate it at dinner.”

You caressed her hands, your parents had been quite busy when you were in school so you knew how lonely it could get when your family couldn't attend your achievements like other families would. But you had made peace with it over the time, you needed to lose something to gain another thing, that's the life you were born into. The two of you chatted for a while when Sunghoon's aunt called you two to join the table. Yeji gave you a nod as she made her way beside her mother and sat. You contemplated for a while and sat beside Yeji when Sunghoon's mom called your name.

“Darling, why don't you take a seat beside Sunghoon? He saved it for you,” your eyes trailed towards Sunghoon who sat in the front, you smiled, getting up to sit beside him. His mother smiled as you sat, “he might pretend he doesn't care, but we all know he wants you to sit beside him.” Sunghoon coughed and you reached for your glass of water as others laughed teasingly at you both. The rest of the dinner went by in a haze, you clutched onto Sunghoon's blazer in your hands as he drove you off to your apartment. You stepped into your apartment and Sunghoon placed your things on the couch. “Here,” you handed him your blazer as he stepped out of the apartment, he looked at it briefly before he reached out to take it from your hand.

You noticed he had gone abnormally silent after the dinner, especially when the two of you were left alone and you wanted to ask him, if anything is wrong, if he's stressed about something but you couldn't bring yourself to do so. “Thanks for coming, my family really liked you,” he said. “I really enjoyed it, no need to thank, this is what we agreed to right?” His eyes snapped towards you, then he nodded. Stepping closer he adjusted your necklace, just to feel your skin underneath it, his fingers barely brushed against your skin but you felt your breath hitch at the contact. “Goodnight,” he whispered as he stepped away. You sighed, hand clutching on the door, “Goodnight.”

“Why are you here again?” You questioned Sunghoon who was standing behind you, nursing a drink in his hand, still untouched as he stared ahead. “Your mom asked me to look over you while you handle the event,” you glanced at him before your eyes landed back on your tablet, “so she wants you to babysit me.” He straightened up, “not babysit but support.” You arched your brows at him, “support how? By helping me spell things?” He shrugged as both of you moved towards the other corner, “honestly, I think she just wanted to make sure you don't get bored out of your mind.” You chuckled, “maybe.”

You adjusted the tablet in your hand, scrolling through the updated donation figures with a well hidden sigh. The charity event was running smoothly, and you made sure of that down to the placements of centerpieces and which CEO sat next to which politician. Your mother may have been the face behind this event but she gave you the responsibility of keeping it from falling apart. You observed how the servers glided through the room in silent rhythm, how the guests circled around auctioned items, if the lights were working fine.

You haven't sat down once. Sunghoon watched you supervise the charity gala, and he was shocked at how well you were handling everything. He leaned towards you, arms brushing against yours, “you know, I've never seen you in your element,” You looked at him with a raised eyebrow, “element?” He gestured towards the gala, “yeah, you look like you belong here.” You let his compliment hang in the air, then you turned towards him, “well, someone has to make sure the elites don't forget why they are here.” He smiled, “they won't, not with you running it.”

“Um, hey!” You turned towards the new voice, immediately recognizing him from your guest lists. “Hello,” you bowed politely and he mirrored you. “I learned that you are managing this event on behalf of your mother, and with the way this event is flowing so flawlessly, I just had to congratulate you for doing a great job,” he offered his hand and placed a kiss when you took it. You gave me a small smile before retreating your hand back, “thank you so much, Mr. Jung. It means a lot.” He smiled then gestured towards the crowd, “you deserved it since you managed to herd billionaires into behaving.”

You chuckled lightly, “you're talking as if they are wild.” He leaned in close, “aren't they?” You arched an eyebrow but nodded, “well then, as the future of Jung Enterprises, are you the tame one or unruly type?” He pretended to think for a while before a mischievous smile graced his face, “definitely unruly, but well-dressed enough to get away with it.” You laughed as both of you conversed for a while, he didn't come closer to you, nor was he flirting, not blatantly at least. He just conversed with you with the air of polite mischief. The kind of guy who knew how to maintain his image while blending in.

His eyes then fell upon Sunghoon who was standing beside you, “Park Sunghoon right?” Sunghoon stepped closer to you while shaking his hand, “Jung Wooyoung.” The latter gave a nod of acknowledgment, “I don't usually see you in such events, what brought you here?” Sunghoon retreated his hand, then slid his arm across your waist, “she did.” Wooyoung's eyes travelled from his face to yours before they landed on Sunghoon's hand and then he smiled lightly, “lucky guy.” You blinked as he stepped back, “congrats again, hope you both enjoy your evening too.”

He walked away into the crowd and you looked at Sunghoon to find him still looking in the direction Wooyoung went, “you okay there boyfriend?” You questioned, an amused smile plastered on your face. His eyes then met yours, his expressions unreadable as he stepped away, “didn't say I wasn't.” You bite back a grin, “relax, he was barely at level three of flirting.” He exhaled, avoiding your eyes, “that's still two levels too much.” You shook your head, and the rest of the event went by as smoothly as it started. “I need to come back here tomorrow to help with the post-event pack up,” you said as Sunghoon drove you off to your apartment. He hummed, “want me to accompany you?” You shook your head, “no, I got it.” He didn't push you further.

“Thank you so much for your work,” you politely smiled at the workers who bid you goodbye after helping you pack things up after the charity gala event. Now only a few medium sized boxes were left to load in a truck, the final one for the day, then you were done with the event. You wiped the sweat off your head, hands trembling slightly. You were feeling lightheaded since morning but you were glad you pushed through it. You heaved a sigh of relief as soon as you spotted the truck.

The driver gave you a nod as you showed him the boxes to load when you noticed his injured hand, “your hand is injured, are you sure you'll be able to do this?” You questioned, he smiled as he crouched down to pick up the boxes, “yes, it's not a big deal, injuries like these are common when you work in this profession.” He picked up one box only to wince as his hand couldn't bear the pain. He walked towards the truck when you noticed the box stumble in his hand and you made your way towards him to stabilized it before it could hit the ground. “Are you okay?” You asked as you kept the box on the truck. “Yes, I'm fine, just lost balance,” he assured but you stopped him.

He sighed as he apologetically tried to reason with you, “these aren't even heavy, most of the material is lightweight.” You waved him off, “that's the exact reason why I didn't stop you completely, but you clearly can't handle much, please rest, I'll finish it up. It's just a few boxes anyway.” You wiped your sweat again. The worker internally panicked as he watched you make your way towards the boxes in your designer trousers, silk blouse tucked perfectly inside and heels that made him gulp. Not to mention your acrylics, the flawless design which clearly wasn't meant for warehouse-level labour. You wouldn't blame him for it though, if someone saw you near the truck looking like that, they would assume you're there for modelling instead of landing the event supplies.

“I'll take care of the delivery receipts with the manager till that time,” you heard him whisper as he made his way inside the Manager's office after watching you manage to lift and load most of the boxes. You crouched down to pick up another box, two more boxes left to load but your arms trembled this time. The kind of tremble that came from more than exhaustion, it hummed beneath your skin, warm like a warning. Your heartbeat quickened significantly as you walked towards the truck. You loaded the box but leaned your head against it as you felt more lightheaded.

You heard a light voice call your name, followed by a soft, “are you okay?” You lifted your head to find Mia jogging towards you with a worried look. You blinked twice just to make sure you were seeing right, “oh Mia? Yeah I'm okay.” You stood straight, wiping your sweat off your forehead when she gave you a deadpan look, “you're clearly not okay.” She stepped closer to examine your temperature with her hands and gasped, “you are burning.” You dismissed her words, “it's because I've been in the sun for long.”

“Why are you loading the boxes?” She questioned, ignoring your attempts at dodging her help. “Oh his hand is injured, so I offered to help,” she smiled softly at you as she fixed your hair which had stuck up on your forehead. “I can't believe the rumors around you were always along the lines of you being selfish and entitled and here you are, loading the truck in your designer clothes.” You chuckled at her words, “well I don't care what people say about me, I care when it's said by someone I hold dear to me, and whoever knows me won't believe in those rumors.” She nodded her head in understanding, “you're right, you shouldn't judge people just by what you hear about them.”

You hummed but then you frowned, “what are you doing here though? At an event hall?” She pulled her hair in a makeshift bun, “I live close by, I was out to grab some snacks when I saw you lift boxes, for some time I thought I was hallucinating but then I walked closer just to find you almost collapsing against the boxes.” You groaned as she pulled her sleeves up, “you rest for some time, only two boxes are left to load any way, if you can do this in heels, at least I'm wearing my flats, I'll be fine.” You held her hand as she started making her way towards the boxes, “Mia, really-” She held up her hand, “you helped me once, let me repay you, it's barely anything. Plus, helping someone who is so adamant about not needing any help will be good for my ego.”

You shook her head, chuckling. “I'll go inside and grab some water for us,” you informed as you made your way inside the hall. You made your way towards the vending machine, sighing in relief as the cool air hit your body. You grabbed two bottles of water and turned around to go back when your body started giving out. A wave of dizziness hit over you like a slow crash, your steps flattered, your vision blurred around the edges and your chest tightened. Your heels scraped against the floor as you dragged your body towards the nearest chair and sat down.

You closed your eyes as you kept the bottles on the floor and threw your head back. Your body trembled, head humming with dull ache. You breathed deeply to calm your heart as you tried to ground yourself. Sighing, you wiped your sweat ready to head out towards Mia when you heard the footsteps, fast and sharp as they approached your figure, followed by a very familiar voice, “there you are.” You looked up to find Sunghoon's eyes burning into yours, lips tight as his hands were curled into fists at his sides. You straightened up, glad that he came even though you asked him not to, ready to tell him you are seconds away from collapsing when he spoke.

“I thought you were handling things all by yourself, that maybe you were out here working, sweating, doing something that didn't benefit you directly. But of course…of course I arrived at the hall to see Mia lifting those damn boxes in this heat while you're sitting in the AC waiting for her to finish up like some spoiled brat waiting for her applause after doing bare minimum.” You flinched, trying to reason out but he cut you off, “I actually came all the way here thinking maybe I was wrong about you,” he said as he stood in front of you, “I finally started to think that you are more than just the girl who hides behind designer sunglasses and expensive perfumes, that maybe those rumours about you are not true, but no.”

You blinked, unable to form words as he continued to snap at you, “she was out there doing all the labour, you should've at least stood near her pretending to care, but no, you're out here, sitting leisurely in the shade like manual labour is beneath you.” Each of his words stung sharper than the last, but your body was too weak to even lift you up to meet his anger. You felt too stunned to hear those words from him, feeling hurt that he didn't even give you a chance to speak. And your pride, usually so loud, was curled up in the corner, too bruised to speak.

“You may have the world beneath your heels, but I don't play when it comes to my people. Just because she never says no doesn't mean you'll exploit her kindness like that. If you want her to do all the work, you should at least have guts to admit it, don't pretend you care about others when in reality all you care about is you and only you.” The hold of your hand on the chair's handle tightened, knuckles turning white. You wanted to explain, that Mia insisted, that you did most of the work before your body gave out, that you just stepped inside to bring water for her, that you haven't eaten anything all day, that you were dizzy and tired out of your mind.

But you couldn't, your throat burned, and your ears rang. And Sunghoon just turned and walked off. He didn't look back once, and maybe that was the part that hurt the most. You just sat there, anchored to the ache in your chest, and watched the way he left carrying a version of you that didn't even exist, one shaped by exhaustion and misunderstanding. And as the sound of his footsteps faded away, you wondered if this is what heartbreak felt like. Like a story he stopped reading halfway through, convinced he knew the ending while you were still trying to write.

[caratstick]

I’m spoiled because I was immediately able to read pt 2 of IDLYG after that cliff hanger BUT NOT THIS ONE!

*tears hair out*

[enjakey-deactivated20260307]

The University and the Dorms We Hate

Pairing: [Jake x Fem!Reader]!University!Found-family au

I LOVED WRITING THIS FIC (14K) like it's so funny and loving and sweet and cute- yeah just read it guys. Can you tell I incorporated Loose? Try and find it, lol. I love writing 02z, they're so adorable.

So, I don't want to call this fic dark because it deals with some heavy things like depression, bullying and suicide (in context of sunghoon) and death in general. Mentions of ghosts, if you're scared of that. Lots of crack tho, It's all very funny. And soft. And found-family esque with Jake, Jay, Sunghoon and Y/N.

Please enjoy reading guys. I always appreciate feedback! Can't wait to talk and meet some of y'all. Would love making friends on this app. I can't think of anymore warnings to give so- enjoy! Also does anyone hate the whole tags thing? I swear it takes so long.

Summary: in which everyone that went to your university hated it- it was low budgeted and whoever ended up there made the worse decision of their lives. They were so out of funds that the boys dorm building collapsed, leading them to move into the girls’ dorm. Jake and Y/N hover in each other's lives before finally crashing into each other- protecting each other and their friends, Jay and Sunghoon.

Everyone hated Remnant University- the students, the faculty, the janitors, the registrar, even the pigeons that occasionally dropped dead on the quad. It was a cursed place, built not from vision but vanity- the brainchild of a man with too much money and far too much cocaine. He’d once called it his ‘gift to the people.’ The people, in return, had cursed his name into oblivion.

After his death- a coke-fueled heart attack in the university sauna, if the legends were true- the institution limped on. Tuition was cheap, admissions were easy, and something about the place drew in a strange crowd: brilliant minds with nowhere else to go, the kind of people the world chewed up and spat out.

As years passed, graduates clawed their way out through fake recommendation letters, falsified research papers, and internships that didn’t exist. Meanwhile, the next batch of the naive and desperate arrived- wide-eyed, hopeful, and doomed.

‘To all the students of Remnant University — welcome home.’

Y/N remembered staring at the banner during her orientation, its letters in gaudy bubble font, fluttering above the cracked main gate. She'd felt a flicker of awe then. Two years later, she couldn’t look at it without imagining setting it on fire. Home, my ass, she thought almost daily. She hated her classes. She hated the professors. She hated the eternal mildew stench that clung to the dorm walls and the way the lights flickered like a horror movie just before someone dies.

The campus itself was a patchwork nightmare- brutalist buildings long past their expiration date, lecture halls with ceilings that leaked when it didn’t rain, and an willow tree near the western edge that, according to campus lore, was cursed: a student had hung themselves from it every decade like clockwork. The library was missing half its books, the science lab still ran Windows 95, the food in the mess hall tasted like regret, and the only working coffee machine was in the faculty lounge, guarded like a sacred artifact.

Still, somehow, the place endured. Professors- the decent ones, anyway- stayed not out of loyalty, but out of pity. They knew Remnant had no soul, only suffering, and tried to ease the burden where they could.

And so, another semester dragged on, the sun too harsh, the wind too bitter, the future too far. And Remnant University, like a dying star, continued to pull in the lost and the brilliant, one pitiful student at a time.

That year, the boys dorm had given up, its foundation perishing.

It started with the water- or rather, the lack of it. Then came the black mold that bloomed across the ceilings like ink stains in a Rorschach test. The final straw was the collapse of the third-floor corridor during midterms, taking down three bathrooms, two residents, and the only functioning Wi-Fi router in the building.

Facilities blamed the students for “reckless behavior,” the students blamed the university for “being held together by asbestos and prayer,” and the administration issued a memo with bold Comic Sans that read: “This is an opportunity for community building!”

And so, with nowhere else to go, the boys were moved- en masse- into the already half-empty girls’ dorm.

It was chaos. Instant ramen wrappers multiplied like cockroaches, and hallways began to reek of Lynx body spray and unwashed laundry. Someone brought a pet iguana named Carl that no one could prove they owned- he just roamed freely, occasionally found sunbathing under the corridor light fixtures like he paid rent. Room assignments were haphazard; some girls returned from class to find unfamiliar boys lounging on their beanbags, raiding their snacks, or claiming, “oh, I thought this was 3B.”

The fact that each room had its own bathroom did little to soften the blow. Instead of fighting over communal showers, the wars shifted to noise complaints, door-slamming at odd hours, and passive-aggressive sticky notes about ‘the walls are thin- I can hear everything.’

One girl woke up to find her mirror fogged with the message “YOU’RE NEXT :)”- it turned out it was just her neighbor playing a prank with a Sharpie and a blow dryer, but the girl moved out the next morning anyway.

Y/N had to share her hallway with a group of engineering boys who mistook deodorant for optional and thought whispering at 2 a.m. counted as being quiet. One of them set off the fire alarm trying to microwave a boiled egg. Another kept trying to convince everyone he was the reincarnation of Tesla. The hallway now smelled like socks, rejection, and desperation.

“Community building,” Y/N muttered as they stepped over a broken chair in the common room. “They should rename this place Lord of the Flies: Campus Edition.”

Still, no one left. No one ever really left.

The university had a grip on people- not because it was good, but because once you were here, it was like the outside world forgot you existed. Transfer applications got “lost.” Emails to other universities were mysteriously flagged as spam. Even the local newspapers referred to it as “that place near the quarry” like it didn’t deserve a real name.

And perhaps it didn’t.

Remnant wasn’t just a university. It was purgatory with a vending machine and barely functioning plumbing.

Y/N just didn’t realise this shift was some sort of ironic blessing in disguise.

A few months later, the chaos mellowed out.

The loudest, messiest ones either dropped out, transferred, or mysteriously stopped showing up- whether from burnout, academic probation, or just giving up and going home was anyone’s guess. The dorm slowly emptied again, and for the first time in a while, Y/N could hear her own thoughts past 10 pm.

The air felt different- less like a frat party gone wrong and more like a hospital wing during visiting hours. Quiet, but laced with an odd sense of shared survival. The broken furniture in the hallway had been cleared. Carl the iguana had found a permanent home in someone's terrarium (rumor had it, he'd been registered as an emotional support animal). The scent of chaos was replaced by something eerily neutral detergent, maybe. Or resignation.

Just a few rooms down from hers lived Jake, Jay, and Sunghoon- three boys who, unlike most, had managed to settle in without turning the place into a war zone. They were quiet, mostly. Not the awkward kind of quiet, but the observant kind. The kind that made Y/N wonder if they were secretly plotting to escape this university and hadn’t yet told her how.

She didn’t know much about them then- just glimpses. Jake had the habit of doing late-night runs down the corridor with music blasting in his headphones. Jay always walked like he had somewhere important to be, even if he was just carrying laundry. And Sunghoon, well… Sunghoon gave off the unnerving energy of someone who was either extremely kind or extremely dangerous, and no one had quite figured out which.

Y/N and Jake didn’t really meet at first. Not properly. They just… existed in each other’s periphery.

It started with ramen. Y/N had a ritual- 11:30 pm, kettle boiled, seasoning packets dumped in without reading, and a long sigh echoing in the kitchen like a ghost with finals. The dorm’s shared kitchenette was useless, claustrophobic, and smelt vaguely like burnt cheese, but it was all she had.

That was where she first saw him.

Jake didn’t say anything. Just stood by the fridge, half-asleep and barefoot, pouring chocolate milk into a chipped mug like it was whiskey. She glanced up from her noodles; he met her eyes for a second, then looked away.

No nod. No smile. Just shared exhaustion, briefly acknowledged.

After that, it happened more often. Hallway crossings, leaving the dorm at the same time- same shoes, different direction. One would always pretend to check their phone. The other would act like the floor had suddenly gotten really interesting. But neither of them turned back.

Once, she was walking down the corridor holding a stack of textbooks too tall for her arms. He was coming from the opposite side with a wet towel over his shoulder. Their eyes locked. For a second, Jake looked like he might say something. But then he didn’t. He just shifted to the side, brushing past her like she was smoke.

Y/N told herself it was nothing. Just dorm life. Just bad timing.

But still, whatever corner she turned, he was there- leaning against a wall, tying his shoelaces in the lobby, digging through the vending machine like it owed him money.

Then, the air-conditioning in the dorms stopped working. It was bound to happen eventually- the units had been blubbering like dying whales for weeks, dripping puddles of water and emitting an odd smell that lingered like guilt after a bad decision. But for them to break down exactly when the weather decided to become an inferno? That wasn’t just bad luck. That was spiritual punishment.

The dorm quickly descended into a version of hell Dante probably left out for being too pathetic.

People started dragging their mattresses into the hallway where it was marginally cooler. Fans were hoarded like black-market gold. The guy in 207 tried to build a swamp cooler out of a mop and an old table fan. It worked. Briefly. Until it didn’t. And then the smell got worse.

The warden and management were flooded with complaints, threats, and one very poetic hate email that ended with, “This is not an institution of learning. It is a slow death simulation.”

Y/N tried ice packs. They melted. She tried sleeping on the floor. It gave her a backache and a sudden understanding of her mother’s sciatica. And of course, that was when she started running into Jake more- always shirtless, always looking unbothered by the heat, as if his body had negotiated a secret deal with the sun. And she knew he noticed her too- always in her training bra, always in her shorts, always with her hair up and neck sweating, mouth apart from panting.

It was probably the sixth day of the heat-wave. Y/N felt like she was boiling alive inside her own skin. Her shirt clung to her back, her legs stuck to the sheets, and the tiny desk fan in the corner had just given up with a sad, final wheeze. The water bottle she’d frozen earlier had melted into a lukewarm puddle beside her pillow. She had tried everything- a cold shower, lying on the floor, holding ice cubes to her neck- and still, the heat sat on her chest like a curse.

It was 02:57 am when she finally gave up.

She pulled on the first shirt she could find- which might’ve been slightly damp from sweat, but everything was- and slipped into the hallway, craving movement, breeze, anything other than her room’s still, suffocating air.

The hallway light flickered.

As soon as she stepped out, she heard a soft click- another door opening just down the corridor.

Jake- shirtless, barefoot, hair a mess of curls sticking to his forehead. He held a can of something cold- maybe soda, maybe hope in liquid form- and looked just as defeated as she felt.

For a moment, they just stood there, both caught in the dumb surprise of seeing each other again like this- past midnight, wilted by heat, lit by that awful yellow dorm light. Their eyes met. And unlike the usual glances they shared- quick, embarrassed, almost performative- this one held.

Jake lifted his chin slightly. “You heading somewhere?”

Y/N didn’t trust her voice, so she just jerked her head vaguely toward the stairwell. “Roof,” she said. “Maybe it’s less hell up there.”

He gave a tired, crooked smile. “Mind if I tag along?”

She shrugged. “Sure”

They walked in silence. The stairwell was even warmer, but there was something about the quiet- the hum of bugs outside, the faint creak of the building- that made it bearable. When they finally pushed open the roof door, a wave of hot-but-moving air greeted them.

It wasn’t cool. But it wasn’t still. And that felt like enough.

They sat on opposite ends of the low concrete ledge, legs dangling, watching the silhouettes of nearby buildings flicker in and out of the haze. The city lights blurred at the edges, like everything was melting.

Jake reached into the pocket of his shorts and pulled out a popsicle- already halfway melted, the wrapper sticky and threatening to fall apart.

“Mango,” he said. “Don’t ask where I got it.”

He held it out halfway to her.

Y/N stared at it for a second, then leaned over, broke it in half with her fingers, and took her piece.

“Thanks.”

They sat in silence, eating sticky, sun-soft popsicle halves at 3 a.m. on the roof of a university that everyone hated.

After a long pause, Y/N said, “This place is a dumpster fire.”

Jake exhaled a laugh through his nose. “Yeah. But sometimes the fire’s kind of pretty.”

She looked at him sideways. He wasn’t smiling, not really, but his eyes had softened.

Y/N didn’t respond. She didn’t need to. The night felt suspended- like even the heat had paused, waiting for something to happen. They sat there until their popsicles were gone, until their sweat cooled into goosebumps, until the roof didn’t feel quite so unbearable. And when they finally stood up, heading back down the stairs without a word, something had shifted. They weren’t the awkward kids that bumped into each other in hallways anymore; they weren’t strangers who shared glances near the kitchen anymore.

“I need your help with this essay.”

Over the last month, as the heatwave dragged on like some biblical sentencing, Y/N and Jake had made a habit of barging into each other's rooms with whatever excuse they could make up. Sometimes it was batteries, or help with the half-dead Wi-Fi router. Other times, it was Jake showing up at her door with that half-grin, asking her to suffer through a regrettable movie because Jay and Sunghoon wouldn’t.

It had become an unspoken routine- something neither of them remembered initiating. It just… happened. Like the way dust collects on the windowsill, or how sweat clings to your back before noon. Natural. Unavoidable. Comfortable.

Now, standing at the doorway of Jake’s room was Y/N, clad in shorts and her usual training bra, waving her laptop like it was proof of a dying emergency. Jay and Sunghoon, shirtless, slouched on the floor with their phones and half a pack of chips between them, looked up with matching expressions of surprise. Not the “what are you doing here?” kind- more like the “we’ve seen this before but we’re still not used to it” kind.

Jake, catching their gazes and the sudden silence, didn’t even hesitate. He grabbed the first shirt in arm’s reach- one that had been lying crumpled on his bed for at least three days- and launched it at her face.

“Put on a shirt,” he grumbled, not meeting her eyes.

Y/N peeled the shirt off her face slowly, one eyebrow raised, and then looked down at herself like she was only now registering what she was wearing. “You’re the one with no AC. If I die from heatstroke, I’m haunting this room specifically.”

“You already live here anyway,” Jake muttered, trying and failing to suppress the smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. He put on the shirt that she had discarded and stood up from the floor.

“Essay, please! It’s urgent.”

Jake rolled his eyes but followed. No socks, no phone, no hesitation. Just him, trailing behind her like it was a habit carved into muscle memory.

Y/N’s room was already open when they got there. She didn’t wait. She just dropped onto the bed, cross-legged, her laptop opened before the fan like it might keep the overheating processor from catching fire.

Jake didn’t ask what the essay was about. He just sat beside her, back against the wall, shoulders barely touching, both pairs of eyes fixed on the open Word document on her laptop. She handed him the laptop, letting him take a few moments to scan the contents of her half-written, unplanned essay.

“This looks fine,” Jake raised a brow in confusion, handing her the laptop back. “What’s your doubt?”

She paused, hesitant. Then she glanced over her shoulder, hair falling in front of her face, hiding the sheepish curve of her smile. “I don’t know how to finish it,” she admitted, voice low, almost guilty.

Jake leaned his head back against the wall, closing his eyes with a sigh- the kind of dramatic groan he saved just for her. It was half-annoyance, half-performance, and all affection. “You, a literature major,” he said slowly, turning to face her with mocked disappointment, “are asking me, an engineering student, how to end a paper on Jane Eyre?”

“You know the best AI tools,” she shot back, defensive but grinning. “I just need help with how to use them.”

Jake gave her a look- that look- the signature one, all teasing arrogance with a hint of theatrical suffering, like helping her was both the bane and joy of his existence.

“And what do I get in return?” he asked, head tilted slightly, eyes glinting.

“Nothing,” she replied, without missing a beat, eyes not leaving his gaze, offering just as teasing a smile.

The first time Jake had said that line- what do I get in return?- she’d just asked him to grab her an egg from the communal fridge. He had said it with that same boyish grin and mock-serious tone, and Y/N, completely unprepared, had felt butterflies scramble in her stomach. She’d stammered, completely thrown off, her tongue fumbling against her words.

Jake had caught on instantly, and with wide eyes and flustered hands, rushed to explain that he hadn’t meant anything weird by it- that it was just a joke- harmless, playful. Ever since, whenever he threw that line at her, she’d shoot back with a dry “Nothing,” and he would always chuckle, always let it slide, like it was their little inside joke sealed in silence.

This time was no different. He just shook his head, a smile curling at the edges of his lips, and pulled the laptop onto his lap to open a fresh browser.

That night, during dinner, Y/N sat in Jake’s room, Sunghoon and Jay accompanying them like they do most nights. Jay cooked ramen for everyone to share, some protein and vegetables to bring out flavour. Silence, but the slurp of their ramen buzzed out the space of their room. A movie played on Jake’s laptop, some contemporary drama Jay had been dying to watch so they barged into his screening.

“Did y'all realize it’s the fourth decade,” Y/N said, mid-slurping her noodles, eyes fanning across the faces of the three boys that turned to look at her with bewilderment. “Who do you think the next victim will be?”

Jake and Jay passed each other a glance- a glance only the pair could decipher- and then looked at Sunghoon who was staring at Y/N. Sunghoon only gave her a shrug and finished the last of his ramen. “What, that willow tree-suicide thing?”

Y/N nodded.

Jake would never admit it, but he feared that the next victim of the university’s willow tree curse would be Sunghoon. He and Jay only followed Sunghoon to this godforsaken university for the safety of their friend- their friend who had been struggling with depression and suicidal tendencies since they were in middle school.

The three grew up together- the same neighbourhood, same school since kindergarten, same course interests and same love for each other as they grew up. But, in middle school, the dynamic between them shifted when Sunghoon was diagnosed with Major Depressive Disorder after a suicide attempt and suddenly, Jake and Jay were constantly in touch with Sunghoon’s parents to make sure he was safe and not a danger to himself.

When high school began, the two made sure, with all the power that they had, that Sunghoon wouldn’t succumb as a victim to their school’s increasing bullying issue. They were often put in positions where they had to trade their lunch to some of the bullies for Sunghoon’s safety or sleep with girls they didn’t want to, just to keep peace.

Then, it was time to apply for universities and Jake and Jay applied to every university Sunghoon had applied to, even if their ambitions were different. When Sunghoon first said he wanted to go to Remnant University, Jake and Jay shouted “same!”- like it was muscle memory, like they had been practising, rehearsing. But they didn’t really know much about the university.

Its website looked decent, offering all the courses they wanted and saying all the right things with words like world-renowned, engaging, innovative, expansive. The pictures that appeared with a quick Google search were hypnotising- a sprawling campus with expensive architecture students studying on patches of grass and canteens. It wasn’t until the day they had to move into campus that they realised they’d been baited.

As their time in the shitty university went on, the amount of rumours and legends they heard never stopped. There were rumours about the founder of the university and how he died a coke-addict and a student rapist. Then, there were the legends about the haunted computer lab and how the second computer to the left of the third row had never been used for two decades because the last time someone used it, they got hit by a bus and died in a tragedy. There was also a rumour about how the library was haunted and no one dared to stay in it past 2 am. Then, there was the legend they dreaded hearing about the most- the willow tree suicides and its ten year clock.

This was a conversation Jake and Jay had an ample amount of times after they heard the rumours. Words of concern and fright spilling out in hushed tones when Sunghoon wasn’t around to hear them- either sleeping or doing laundry. They hated thinking about it, to even visualise a world without their best friend- but their thoughts were often uninvited, like a nightmare they couldn’t sleep out of.

But was it truly a curse? Was it really something worth worrying about? It felt ridiculous, honestly- to lose sleep over an urban legend tied to a run-down university. The last so-called victim, according to the story, had died a decade ago. That meant ten batches had graduated since, and a hundred more rumors had spun into existence. No one even remembered the names of the last three. They were just stories, passed around during late-night conversations when there was nothing better to talk about- like ghost tales shared over a dying campfire.

The first victim, according to their university’s confessions account, was a girl whose name was marred with rumours and scandals of slutty behaviour and leaked sex-tapes. She had hung herself on the willow tree, her neck snapped in half with no note, no warning- just hanging there like an abrupt full-stop to a sentence. The media- or the newspaper articles, said that it was due to sexual exploitation and no one believing her. Others said that the story was bigger than that- bigger than them.

The second victim was an engineering student- much like Jake, Jay and Sunghoon themselves- who had failed his courses and had no money to pay for tuition. His scholarship was taken away from him, so he took his own life. He, too, left no note or no warning which left the public and his family in a spiral of bewilderment and confusion- no one really knew what the real story behind his death was.

The third victim was a boy in his final year of interior design. Unlike the others, there was no clear tragedy leading up to his death- no grades slipping through the cracks, no scandals or whispers of wrongdoing. In fact, most said he was the perfect student: brilliant, well-liked, always the first to show up and the last to leave. One morning, his body was found hanging beneath the willow tree, his shoes neatly placed beside him, as if he didn’t want to dirty the branches with a mess. No suicide note, no indication of struggle- just silence. Some said he was cursed with guilt, others said he saw something- something he couldn’t unsee.

In fact, they found him with his eyes open- dead and empty, horrifyingly still, like the life had been drained out from him mid-thought.

Three deaths. Three decades. Three stories, told and retold in hushed voices, embellished by fear and the passage of time. Would there even be a fourth death to add to the list of stories?

“That’s just a stupid rumour,” Jay dismissed Y/N quickly, cutting in before Jake could say anything- his loose tongue and panicked expression already halfway to betraying him. Stress had never been Jake’s strong suit, and Jay knew that better than anyone. Once, back in high school, Jake had tried talking Sunghoon down from a wave of sadness but fumbled his words so badly, it only confused Sunghoon more and triggered a full spiral. Jay had to step in, damage control already a familiar role by then.

“You don’t think it’s true?” Y/N asked, surprised.

“Nope,” confidently, Jay nodded, maintaining eye-contact like his life depended on it- like Sunghoon’s life depended on it.

Perhaps Sunghoon was too distracted, but Y/N felt the atmosphere shift around her. Her eyes darted between Jake and Jay, a question forming on the tip of her tongue, cautious and apprehensive yet curious and personal at the same time.

Jake, sensing her peaked senses, dragged her away with the empty pot of ramen and bowls in one hand and her forearm in his other. He led her into the kitchenette, two floors below their room, in the name of dish-washing duty while she struggled against his impossible grip.

“What was that?” When Jake finally let go of her and moved to wash the dishes, pretending like nothing out of the ordinary had happened, Y/N leaned against the counter with her arms crossed, staring at him like he owed her an explanation.

Jake tutted, tilting his head and staring at the remnants of ramen in the dirtied dishes, soapy water filling the basin. With his sleeves rolled up, he submerged his hands into the sink to start cleaning. “It’s just… it’s a sensitive topic for us.”

Jake refused to look at her, as though looking at her would make the conversation real, serious, heavy. He could still feel her gaze on him, now softened and apprehensive.

“Oh,” she sighed, letting her arms dangle to her sides. “Am I allowed to ask questions or do we move on?”

“It’s just,” Jake wasn’t sure what he could say- he wasn’t sure if he was even allowed to talk about it. This worry and fear for his friend was something he lived with for over seven years now, buried between blankets of secrecy between him and Jay. And now, for him to say the words out loud to Y/N almost felt wrong, illegal- like openly telling people who he voted for in presidential elections. “Sunghoon…”

“Oh,” Y/N nodded, chewing on her lips as the pieces clicked into place. It didn’t take a genius to understand why the topic was sensitive… she just kind of understood.

Sunghoon. Of course. The quiet, aloof, lost kid who looked like he carried the burden of the world most of the time- alright.

There was a moment of silence between them- just the hum of the old fridge, the soft slosh of water against porcelain, and the faint creaking of pipes somewhere in the walls. It wasn’t awkward, not quite. Just delicate.

Y/N straightened up, nudging his elbow gently with hers, her voice lighter this time. “You missed a spot,” she said, pointing at a stubborn noodle stuck to the bowl he was scrubbing.

Jake huffed out a breath, almost a laugh. “You’re annoying.”

“And you’re a terrible dishwasher,” she grabbed a sponge and joined him at the sink, her presence a quiet reassurance that she wouldn’t press further.

For a moment, they just stood there, shoulder to shoulder, warm water pooling over their hands and silence settling like a truce. Their hands sloshed against each other, consciously pinching and swatting, a grin cracking against both of their lips.

Y/N had a stash of mango flavoured candy that Jake had become addicted to when she first shared some with him. She didn’t know if it was a brand or if it had a name- she told him that she’s simply grown up eating it and her parents would buy it in bulk everytime it ran out. It was sweet and sour, a mix of tangy spice settling in as the aftertaste and Jake was absolutely smitten by its flavour. Seeing how obsessive he had gotten over them, she told him that she’d ask her parents to buy extra for him but for now, he had to suffice with the single piece she’d give him everyday.

However, it meant waiting for Y/N to come back to the dorm, which she usually did really late after standing around the college canteen with her friends, gossiping or complaining about their university. By the time she’d come back, he’d get impatient and complain. There were times he even wandered back into campus in search of her and her room key and her friends would find that weird about him.

“How are you that obsessed with this candy? We’ve all had it. It’s not that great.”

“You’ve got no taste.”

So, annoyed, Y/N gave him her spare key, along with her trust in him that he wouldn’t use it for anything other than taking her mango candy. No snooping through her things, no stealing her expensive packets of ramen and no playing pranks. Jake agreed, comically desperate.

His classes had ended early and he returned to the dorm, an overheated oven as the heatwave refused to subside even after two months. They were in a dry spell- it hadn’t rained since their airconditioners had broken down and the whole town was in a water crisis. This meant that the dorm only got a limited supply of water. If someone woke up too late, all the water would be used up and they’d have to suffice with walking around sweaty and sticky, wafting with the scent of heat.

Absentmindedly, like it was in his second nature, Jake walked towards Y/N’s room instead of his own, his bag slung over his shoulder and her key already ready in his hand. When he unlocked her door, however, he wasn’t expecting to find her still in her room, sitting on her floor still in her underwear. Her back rested against her bed, hair strewn across the mattress and clinging to her neck. When she saw him, she didn’t panic in her half-naked state. She had a pillow on her lap, hiding the parts of her she was most embarrassed of, scanning her laptop screen perched on the pillow.

“Didn’t you have class?” He asked.

Jake blinked, his brain buffering, but he didn’t say anything about her state. He didn’t need to. That was the unspoken rule now: you don’t acknowledge it. Not when everyone in the dorm had seen each other wilt under the summer heat like dying houseplants. Modesty had long surrendered to survival. Shirts were optional. Doors were left ajar for cross-breezes. Even the warden had started walking around shirtless, like he'd finally accepted the heat as god.

“Class got cancelled,” she said, leaning her head against her mattress like she was fighting for her life. The evenings were the worst when it came to the heat. She squinted her eyes close, feeling sweat dribble down her already wet neck and she reached to adjust her tangled hair on the mattress.

Chewing on the candy, Jake sauntered to sit on her bed, right behind her. “Let me,” he said, crossing his legs and gathering her hair in his fist. She leaned forward to give him more space, allowing him a brief glance at her glistening back. Silently, he started raking through the strands of her hair with his fingers, eyes slyly glancing at the Reddit tab open on her laptop.

“Why are you reading that?” He asked, referring to the r/remnantuniversity tab she had open. It was about the willow tree suicides, a whole discussion on theories and rumours and urban legends that surrounded it. He wondered if those contributing to these online forums belonged to his class- it could be the quiet kid that sat in the back like he was harbouring a familial secret or the overly enthusiastic girl who acted like she knew everything.

“It’s for an essay,” she said. “For my literature and sociology class- something about Verstehen.”

“And that’s the topic you chose,” his voice was calm, unwavering. He wasn’t bothered or angry, only a little scared and wary, like she was trending unexplored and dangerous waters. His hands moved to section her hair into three, attempting to braid it.

“Yeah, I just- I couldn’t stop thinking about it. It’s kind of perfect for our topic,” she sighed. “There’s an entire subreddit, everyone’s shit scared about it- look!” She pointed at her screen and Jake squinted, leaning forward to read what she was referring to.

Then she scrolled through the subreddit and there were huge paragraphs of what he assumed were explanations or speculations, newspaper clippings of what seemed to be reports of the suicides which he couldn’t decide if they were real or AI, and a video of a new channel reporting on an unexplained suicide by hanging in an unnamed university.

While Jake looked through everything she was showing him, his hands slowly braiding her hair, she chewed her lip in caution. “They’re saying all the suicides took place on April twentieth.”

“That’s barely a month away,” Jake said.

“Yeah.”

“Y/N, there’s really no way any of this is real,” Jake sounded like he was convincing himself more than her. “You know the internet, it’ll go lengths to make their lives interesting. All those creepypastas that were debunked- I’m sure this is one of those.”

“That’s exactly what many people are saying,” she nodded. “The sane ones, at least.” Y/N reached behind her to feel her hair that he had partly braided. He wasn’t struggling, just taking his time, working with care and warmth. “Hey, you didn’t mess it up,” she pointed out, teasing him.

“You’re annoying,” he rolled his eyes, continuing to braid her hair.

“Where’d you learn to braid hair?”

“My mom, I think,” Jake hummed. “My brother and I used to love braiding her hair.”

“You have a brother?”

“Yeah, he’s in Australia now,” Jake’s eyes sparkled at the thought of his family, his smile mirrored on the glassy screen of her laptop. She watched him through the reflection, arms crossed on her chest, lips spreading a smile herself. “He’s married with kids and everything.”

Y/N, turned around to pass him the rubberband on her wrist, expression of awe. “You’re an uncle? That’s adorable.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he rolled his eyes, shuffling to lay down on her bed, his arms crossed under his head. He turned to look at her, watching her as she went back to her research.

Almost unapologetically, his eyes trailed down her exposed neck, admiring the braid he did for her, before locking onto her arms and her chest. This wasn’t the first time Jake looked at her like this, confused whether it was lust or just the fact that he was a boy staring at a half-naked girl in front of him- if it was passion or second-nature to him as a man. When he thought about it, he’d almost feel disgusted, to ever wonder what was under that pillow on her lap, what more could be discovered under those black panties she thought she successfully covered. Then there were her legs and her hands, slender and welcoming, like they were waiting for him to slide into.

Jake cleared his throat and pulled out his phone, attempting to distract himself. The heat didn’t help him and he knew if he took his shirt off now, his brain would run into overdrive.

“Jay and Sunghoon want to go bowling,” he said upon reading his missed messages. “Do you want to go?”

She didn’t say anything- just hummed like she was considering it, but was already reaching for a shirt. He knew that hum. It meant yes.

And a few hours later, they were standing under flickering neon lights in a bowling alley that smelled like bad nachos and better memories. Jay and Jake ended up destroying them- like, embarrassingly. Jake wasn’t even trying that hard. He bowled like it was something his ancestors trained him for. Sunghoon was busy trash-talking instead of actually aiming, and Y/N kept getting distracted by her opponents’ coordination- and the way Jake’s muscles flexed, the way his smile overpowered the room and the way his hair matted to his sweaty forehead made him look like something out of a magazine. But Y/N wouldn’t admit this, not to anyone, not to herself.

“Don’t laugh,” she said when the ball slid into the gutter with a tragic thud. “It curved. I saw a curve.”

“Yeah, it curved straight into failure,” Jay said, bumping Jake’s shoulder like they were on the same team in a war. They high-fived like idiots.

Later, they went out to eat at this cramped little diner Jay liked, the one with flickering menus and sticky tabletops that smelled like ketchup and some kind of old, overused oil. It was half nostalgia, half heartburn. Thank god both the bowling alley and this diner had air conditioning, because they swore they would’ve melted if they had to sit through one more minute of sticky air and heavy clothes clinging to their backs. Jake kept dramatically fanning himself with the laminated menu, Jay had unbuttoned his shirt two notches down, and Sunghoon was debating sticking his head in the freezer behind the counter.

Y/N, like clockwork, ordered ice cream mochi- the same kind she always got when they went out. It didn’t matter what mood she was in or what place they were at. If mochi was on the menu, she was getting it. She pulled apart the sticky rice covering with her fingers like it was a ritual, the cold mist clinging to her fingertips. She popped one half into her mouth and let out a small hum, eyes fluttering shut for a second.

Jake watched her without meaning to, elbow propped on the table, chin in hand.

“You’re really acting like this is gourmet cuisine,” Sunghoon said, deadpan, as he unwrapped a sad-looking cheeseburger.

“It is,” Y/N replied, all wide eyes and pure belief. “This is the good kind. The outside’s chewy and the ice cream doesn’t taste fake. Jay, taste this.”

Jay held up both hands in refusal. “I’m not about to get emotionally attached to frozen rice balls, thanks.”

Jake didn’t say anything, but when she wasn’t looking, he stole the other half from her plate and popped it into his mouth. Cold exploded on his tongue, sweet vanilla cream wrapped in the soft, elastic chew of mochi.

She caught him mid-chew. “You’re so mean,” she said, flicking a wet napkin at him.

He just grinned, cheeks full. “You’ll live.”

Then the conversation drifted, as it always did, to the three boys groaning about their engineering classes- Jay going off about a professor who mumbled formulas like they were lullabies, Sunghoon lamenting the four-hour lab that ruined his Thursdays, and Jake trying to convince them all that thermodynamics was a scam invented to humble mankind. Y/N didn’t say much, just listened, her eyes darting between each of them as they spoke, like she was watching some low-budget sitcom unfold right in front of her. She forked through her pasta lazily, twirling it around her utensil with quiet interest, smiling to herself at the way they all spoke over each other- complaining, defending, occasionally throwing fries across the table like punctuation.

Jake had a habit of overpowering his thoughts with his loud voice, like volume could somehow make his point more valid. There was always a grin on his face, dimples peeking through as he defended his case with the same stubborn energy he applied to everything else. He’d shake his head when he got frustrated, flinging his hair out of his eyes in that dramatic, boyish way that made him look like he belonged in some coming-of-age film. Jay, naturally, would shout back- voice rising almost on instinct- calling Jake delusional or dumb or both, words laced with exasperation and fondness. Their arguments were always the same mix of chaos and choreography, like they’d done this a hundred times and had the rhythm memorised.

Sunghoon would just sit back with his drink in hand, lips curled into a crooked smile, chuckling as he watched them bicker like an old married couple. He’d throw in dry commentary about how they could channel all this passion into actually studying, but that only made him a target. The teasing would shift seamlessly to Sunghoon, Jake and Jay now joining forces to poke fun at his notes or his caffeine addiction or the way he took forever to reply to messages. Sunghoon would roll his eyes, flipping them off, but his voice would get just as loud, defending himself with the same fire he mocked them for. And through it all, Y/N just watched, resting her chin in her palm, half-amused and half-softened by the sheer comfort of it all- how familiar and stupid and warm it was.

Then, like clockwork, their voices would taper off- first Jay slumping back in his seat with a huff, then Jake sighing dramatically like he’d just won a war, and Sunghoon smirking into his drink as if he’d been above it all from the start. They always found their way back to quiet eventually, their chaos softening into something slower and easier. One of them- usually Jake- would nudge Y/N with an elbow or flick a piece of napkin her way, and ask, “What about you, nerd? How’s your academic crisis going?”

Y/N perked up slightly, spearing a piece of her pasta and chewing it slowly, as if deciding where to start. “I have to write a new essay for my literature and sociology class,” she said between bites, shrugging. “I thought I’d write about our university and all those legends and rumours. There’s a lot on Reddit.”

Jay blinked. “Why?” he asked, already picturing the tab on her browser- r/remnantuniversity, a whole rabbit hole of conspiracies and dark theories, deep dives into campus lore. The willow tree suicides being one of the most talked-about topics on there, wrapped in layers of myth and fear. Jay remembered seeing the posts himself once- some of the comments read like ghost stories, others like diary entries from students who claimed to have seen strange things, heard whispers, felt watched. He found it oddly fascinating in the way only things that unsettled you at 3 am could be.

Y/N nodded, holding up her phone to show them a post she’d saved. “It’s perfect for what we’re studying. There’s so much there- collective fear, urban myth, ritualised grief. And people are still so scared of that place. Look at this: Reddit says the library isn’t actually haunted, it’s just psychosomatic, like mass suggestion. One of the seniors said they slept there overnight and nothing happened. But then someone else said their roommate went missing for four hours and turned up outside the willow tree. Like, how does that even happen?”

Sunghoon’s fork froze halfway to his mouth. “Why would you want to write about something like that? Aren’t y’alls essays meant to be filled with research paper citations and shit? You can’t cite Reddit.”

“I have my ways,” she rolled her eyes. “Besides, it’s interesting. I’ve always found conspiracies fascinating- that’s all I watch on Youtube.”

“You’re one of those girls,” Jay commented, letting a chuckle past his lips as he brought more food to his mouth.

“Screw you.”

Jake shook his head slowly, voice low and steady. “Now you want to test it out?”

Y/N didn’t say anything at first, only reached for another mochi, her fingers brushing against the cold plastic. “Just for a bit. Past 2 am, that’s when the weird stuff is supposed to happen. But I won’t go alone,” she added quickly. “I mean, unless none of you want to come.”

“You’re actually dumb,” Jay muttered, leaning in. “Like, stupid in the head.”

“She’s possessed,” Sunghoon mumbled, rubbing his temple. “This is how horror movies start. Girl writes a paper, disappears in the library, we all get haunted. No thank you.”

But Jake didn’t say anything right away. He just stared at her across the table, lips pressed together, something flickering in his gaze that wasn’t quite fear, but wasn’t exactly comfort either. Because even if he thought she was being reckless or ridiculous or completely out of her mind, he already knew it in his gut- he was going to follow her anyway.

“If I die in that library, I’m haunting you first.”

Y/N and Jake arrived at the doors of their university library at midnight, a bag of snacks and their study materials tucked under their arms, gripped not just with fear, but with the strange thrill of doing something they weren’t supposed to. The campus was quiet in the kind of eerie way that made your ears ring from the silence- no motorbikes revving in the parking lot, no late-night couples giggling behind the hostel blocks, not even the occasional scream of someone who'd just finished an assignment. The whole place felt still, like it was holding its breath just for them.

It had taken Y/N two whole days to fully convince him- two full days of persistent poking, half-hearted bribery, the promise of free candy, and a dramatic monologue about academic integrity and sociological curiosity that made Jake pretend to gag. Still, he showed up.

She had texted him “you don’t have to come, it’s okay” more than once, but he always replied with some version of “shut up, I’m already on my way.”

The library loomed ahead, grand and cold under the fluorescent lamps. The old sandstone walls cast long shadows, and the columns looked more imposing at night, like they belonged to something older than the university itself. Jake glanced sideways at Y/N as they stepped closer, her face lit by her phone screen as she reread one of the Reddit threads, eyes wide, smile crooked.

“You’re still reading those?” he asked, amused but tired.

“Just refreshing my memory,” she whispered. “Someone said if you walk in after midnight and ask the librarian’s ghost to help you find a book, you’ll see a girl in a red scarf standing in the philosophy section. But if you follow her, you disappear.”

Jake rolled his eyes, trying to hide his growing fear. “And you still chose this over writing a boring essay about Durkheim.”

“It is about Durkheim,” she grinned, holding the door open for him. “Just the cursed, Reddit version.”

They entered with hesitant steps, the automatic doors hissing behind them. The air inside was cold and clinical, the fluorescent lights buzzing faintly overhead. The security guard was either asleep or didn’t care- they had a green light to wander. The library looked the same as it did during the day: rows and rows of tall shelves, the study desks with their tiny lamps, the far-off corners cast in deeper shadows. It wasn’t as hot inside, enveloped by cool wiring of a half-broken cooler.

Jake exhaled slowly and reached for a Kit-Kat from their snack bag, unwrapping it as loudly as possible just to break the silence. “You know,” he said, “if a ghost shows up and asks me about APA or MLA, I’m out,” he joked, trying to lighten his nerves.

Y/N snorted, nudging his arm as she pulled out her notebook. “Shut up and help me figure out if I’m insane or if sociology is.”

“Both,” Jake said, mouth full of chocolate. “Definitely both.”

They picked a long wooden table near the back, one with uneven legs and names scratched into its surface- past students immortalised in ballpoint pen and frustration. It was the kind of spot no one really liked during the day, too far from the outlets and close enough to the vent that it got way too cold, but tonight it felt perfect. Quiet. Tucked away.

Y/N opened her laptop and got to work, fingers tapping against the keys with the rhythm of focus, eyes scanning Reddit threads, cross-referencing journal articles, her screen glowing dim blue in the otherwise sterile yellow light of the library. Jake pulled out his textbook with the face of a man who had already accepted his own fate and flipped it open to the chapter on thermal systems. He highlighted in pink and underlined in green, switching colours like it meant something, mumbling equations under his breath that didn’t make sense to either of them.

Every ten minutes or so, Jake would glance at his phone and say something like “One hour and ten minutes till we die,” in a mock-dramatic tone that made Y/N flick a pencil at him. Sometimes, he’d whisper the most absurd lines from his textbook like it was poetry- “Entropy is a measure of disorder,” he whispered once, “just like your essay outline.” When she didn’t react, he’d nudge her ankle with his. “Laugh,” he’d whisper, “or I’ll actually start crying.” She snorted and kept typing.

Every ten minutes, they’d count down the time. Jake would glance at his phone, tap the screen, and announce the minute like they were waiting for New Year’s. “1:20,” he’d say. Then, “1:30.” Then, “1:40,” a little more hesitant each time.

By 1:50, the jokes slowed down. The air felt… weird. Not cold, exactly, but too still. Like the quiet had layered itself on their shoulders. Jake was no longer reading- he just stared at the same page, eyes unfocused. Y/N’s fingers hovered above her keyboard. The laptop’s fan hummed a little louder.

At 1:59, they looked at each other. Nothing dramatic. Just a glance.

And then, 2:00 a.m.

The moment it hit, the lights didn’t flicker. The shelves didn’t creak. No whispers crawled through the air. Nothing dramatic happened- not even a gust of wind from a cracked window or the soft echo of footsteps from an unseen hallway.

The library remained stubbornly ordinary. Books stayed tucked in their places, monitors blinked patiently, and the only sound was the quiet hum of the air conditioning and their ragged breathing. Y/N stared at the time on her laptop- 2:00 am sharp- and then looked up, almost disappointed.

Jake leaned back in his chair, stretching with a yawn. “I was kind of hoping a book would go flying off a shelf,” he muttered. “Or like… the ghost of some stressed-out PhD student would show up and slap me for not citing properly.”

Y/N snorted, pressing her fingers to her temples like she was trying to read the silence. “I’m so disappointed,” Y/N murmured, smiling a little. “Should we stay longer?”

He groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “God, no. I came for the haunting, not an all-nighter.”

Still, neither of them packed up. Not yet.

They waited until 3 am, just to be sure. Just to say they’d really done it. That they’d stayed past the hour of whispers and shadows and all those ridiculous Reddit warnings. They didn’t speak much, just packed up their things in a hurry- it felt like they were kids again, afraid of the dark and needing to run to the kitchen for water in the middle of the night to escape whatever monsters were under the bed. The air still held that heavy stillness, like the library didn’t want them to go. But they left anyway, pushing the tall doors open with a little too much caution, stepping into the cooler, quieter night like survivors of something no one else had witnessed.

Their walk back to the dorms was quieter, too. Not tense. Just… quieter. Their hands brushed more than once, knuckles bumping awkwardly in the half-lit path, and for a while, neither of them moved away. Eventually, Jake gave in. His arm came up slowly and draped around her shoulders like it was something he’d been meaning to do all night. She didn’t say anything, almost relieved- just leaned a little into him, like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“You know there’s gonna be a shooting star tomorrow?” He said, voice low, almost sleepy. “Well, a meteor shower. Something like that.”

She hummed, looking up at the hazy sky.

“Everyone’s gonna be up on the dorm roof to watch it,” he added. “Jay and Hoon are bringing snacks and everything. You should come.”

She smiled without looking at him. “Are you inviting me, or telling me?”

Jake grinned, tightening his arm around her shoulders just slightly. “Both.”

The next night, Y/N climbed the rusting fire stairs to the dorm’s roof, drawn by the distant hum of music and the smell of sweet soda gone sharp with alcohol. The entire rooftop was full- blankets sprawled across the concrete, bodies tangled into lazy heaps, everyone dressed in their pyjamas like it was some kind of unspoken theme. Their university might’ve been falling apart at the edges, but somehow, they always knew how to make the best of it. Laughter echoed into the night, soft and unbothered, like the rooftop was a world of its own. People were singing, laughing, hugging and swaying with the music, glasses of alcohol lifted into the air. Somewhere, she saw the domestic Carl the Iguana perched politely on someone's shoulder.

She didn’t know who handed her the cup of spiked fruit punch- one moment her hands were empty, the next, something cold and red was slipping into her fingers. It tasted too sweet, a little too strong, and sticky like childhood. She moved through the crowd, eyes scanning for anyone familiar.

That’s when she saw them- Jake, Jay, and Sunghoon, walking over with the same crooked grins and half-lidded eyes. The night had painted everyone softer.

Jay raised his drink in greeting. “Congrats on surviving the haunted library,” he said, bowing slightly. “A scholar and a ghostbuster.”

Sunghoon snorted into his cup. “So… can we conclude all the legends are untrue?”

Y/N shrugged, the corners of her lips tugging up. “Probably,” she said, but she didn’t sound entirely convinced.

“Told you so,” Jake grinned and nudged her shoulder with his.

The heatwave had finally started to let up. The air was breathable again, and the rooftop was cool in that perfect way that made them forget how miserable the days had been. The sky above stretched wide and navy, dotted with slow-moving clouds and the faintest glow of city light bleeding into the edges. The first streak of silver split across the sky like a knife, sharp and sudden and dazzling. A soft gasp rolled through the rooftop, voices falling quiet as everyone tilted their heads upward, caught in the spell of it. More followed- long, brilliant trails of light cutting across the darkness, each one different. Some quick and flickering, others steady, glowing like they were made to be seen. The stars looked close enough to reach, like if you stood on your toes, they’d fall into your palms like warm coins. It was the kind of sky that made you feel small in the right way, like you were part of something old and beautiful.

Jake stood behind her, arms curled easily around her waist, the curve of his body slotting into hers like they were puzzle pieces. His breath was slow, brushing against her temple in warm waves, and when he rested his chin lightly on the top of her head, it was without hesitation. His glasses had slid halfway down his nose but he didn’t care- he was smiling too wide to notice, one of those real smiles that crinkled his eyes and pushed his cheeks up high. There was something boyish in the way he watched the sky, like all of this reminded him of something he’d once dreamed about.

Y/N leaned back into him, soft and quiet, her body folding easily into his. Her pulse, which always seemed to buzz around him, slowed into something steadier. Their hands weren’t even touching, but the closeness was warm and whole. She could feel the steady thump of his heart through his chest, the rise and fall of his breathing against her spine. It wasn’t new, the comfort, but it felt like something had settled.

Eventually, the sky quieted again, and the spell broke- softly, like waking from a dream you weren’t ready to let go of. The crowd shifted, people stretching their arms above their heads or collapsing into conversations, their voices warming back into the air. Someone from her literature class- Priya, maybe?- tugged Y/N into a half-circle of people sitting cross-legged on the rooftop floor, laughing over something mildly stupid. She smiled, nodded, and added a comment when she needed to. Her fingers were still a little sticky from the punch, and her cheeks felt flushed, but not from the drink.

Still, every few seconds, her eyes would stray- like clockwork, like gravity. Across the rooftop, past the swaying silhouettes of friends in old pajamas, through the mess of curls and blankets and blinking fairy lights tangled along the railing- until they found him.

Jake.

Leaning back against the concrete wall, hair a little messy, arms crossed. His glasses were back in place now, pushed up lazily with the back of his hand. He wasn’t smiling this time- not in that big, goofy way- but there was something soft in his face, his gaze heavy and quiet and locked onto her.

He didn’t look away. And neither did she.

It wasn’t dramatic or loud, no fireworks, no slow motion movie moment. Just a series of glances. The kind that made your stomach curl. The kind that felt like your whole chest had been pulled a little tighter. The kind that made you feel seen.

Her heart fluttered against her ribs like wings, like something light and dangerous had taken flight. And when he tilted his head at her, just slightly- like he was asking, “you good?”- she smiled. Not a big one. Not one meant for the crowd. Just a small, secret thing. And he smiled back.

The night came to a gentle, sleepy end. Laughter started thinning out as people yawned and stretched, peeling away in twos and threes, voices fading down stairwells. The rooftop cleared like a tide going out, and soon only the distant sound of someone’s playlist humming from a dorm window remained.

Y/N padded back to her room, still barefoot from the rooftop, pulse soft from the stars. Her door creaked open and the quiet inside was immediate, a contrast to the noise they’d just left. Behind her, Jake followed- not invited, not uninvited either. He leaned against the frame of her doorway, arms crossed over his chest, one shoulder raised slightly like he wasn’t sure if he was staying or just passing through. But he didn’t move.

He watched her tie her hair into a bun, the movement familiar and unbothered, like he wasn’t even there. She pulled her shirt over her head with a lazy yawn, tossing it to the chair by her desk, and moved to sit cross-legged on her bed. The room was dim, a pool of moonlight stretched across the floor, and she looked up at him like he’d been standing there forever.

She grinned. “Candy?”

Jake huffed a soft laugh, shaking his head as he stepped further in, finally letting the door close behind him with a soft click. He crossed the room, slow and deliberate, and stopped in front of her.

“Why do you seem so tense?” he asked, voice low, like a secret passed through a crack in the wall. His fingers twitched like they wanted to reach for her but didn’t.

Y/N tilted her head. “I’m not.”

“You are.”

She shrugged but didn’t argue. There was something in the way she looked at him then- barefaced and tired and warm- that made his chest pull in strange, careful ways. Like he wasn’t sure what line they were walking, only that he didn’t want to step off it.

She shifted, patting the space beside her. “Then sit. Maybe I’ll feel better.”

He sat down, his hands brushing her shoulders before he started to knead the knots there- careful, light, like he was asking permission. “You gotta let loose a little,” he breathed, eyes lingering on her exposed skin, words hanging between the space between his lips and her ear.

Y/N knew where this was headed- she wasn’t stupid. It was all the eye-contact in the hallways, the brushing on their hands, the way he hugged her, the way he looked at her, the way he spoke to her like she was the most important thing in the world. And somewhere along the way, she fell into the little game he started, grinning back with tease, letting her hand snake around his arm when sitting together and watching movies, leaning into his touches.

Softly, she tilted her head towards him, eyes lowered and focused on her navy bed sheets. “You know, you don’t need to use cheesy lines, right?” She murmured, still not meeting his lines.

Jake’s hands stilled for a second on her shoulders, thumbs pressing gently into the dip of her back before sliding down, slow and tentative, like he was testing gravity. His voice followed after a pause, low and uneven. “Oh, yeah?”

That made her look at him.

And he was already staring- like he always was. Like he couldn’t help it. His gaze swept over her face, soft and deliberate, until it landed on her lips and stayed there just a little too long. He’d been patient, perhaps too patient, all this while, waiting to touch her the way he was now, fingers ghosting against the clasp of her bra, lips just about to touch the curve of her neck.

There was a flicker in her chest- sharp and golden, like something about to ignite. She bit her lip, pulse stammering, and Jake exhaled like he felt it too.

“You’re not gonna kiss me, are you?” she whispered, teasing.

He leaned in, the tiniest bit, until their foreheads almost touched. His breath was warm, sweet from the leftover punch. His hands were still on her waist now, grounding them both. “Not unless you want me to.”

The silence between them was louder than music, thicker than the night. She could feel his heart pounding through the space between them, or maybe it was hers. They were close enough now to share breath, to blur edges.

“I can tell how bad you want it too,” he said, and it wasn’t cocky- just honest. The way she pressed her thighs together, fisted the bedsheet, chest heaving silently at the thought of whatever he was about to do next.

And at that moment, she wanted to close the distance. Wanted to crash into him with all the force of those stolen glances, those unfinished sentences, that first night in the library when his hand brushed hers and neither of them moved away.

But instead, she smiled- slow and lazy, like the heat of the night had melted her bones. “Then, what are you waiting for?”

And that was it. That was all the sign he needed.

Jake moved without hesitation, like he'd been holding his breath for weeks and finally got the chance to exhale. His lips crashed into hers, not rough, but urgent- hungry in the way someone is when they’ve wanted something for too long. One of his hands slipped into her hair, the other stayed anchored at her waist, pulling her in like she was gravity and he was done fighting it.

Y/N responded just as fiercely, threading her fingers through his hair and tugging him closer, chasing the warmth of his mouth, his neck, every inch of him that had lived in the corners of her thoughts. She barely remembered shifting onto his lap- just the way his hands found her hips like they’d been there before in some dream, the way he murmured her name against her skin like it was something sacred.

It wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t messy. It was everything that had built up between them- every brush of a hand, every late-night stare, every almost-kiss, every heartbeat that stuttered when they were alone. He touched her like he was memorizing, like he was afraid she’d disappear. She kissed him like she’d been waiting for the world to stop just long enough to feel this.

They kept their voices low, stifling laughs and gasps against each other’s skin, the thin dorm walls reminding them that the world was still asleep just beyond the door. The sheets twisted under them, breaths hot and tangled, every touch deliberate- like they had all the time in the world but couldn’t bear to waste a second. It wasn’t rushed or clumsy, it was careful and full of heat, the kind of night that felt inevitable. Like the universe had been pushing them toward this moment all along, and they had finally stopped resisting. And when it was over, when their skin was slick with warmth and the room was quiet again, it didn’t feel strange or wrong. It felt like destiny.

Jake and Y/N fell into dating the way you fall asleep on a train ride home- slowly at first, then all at once, like it was the most natural thing in the world. They weren’t flashy. They didn’t need grand declarations or picture-perfect Instagram posts. What they had was quieter, deeper, built out of real things: shared glances, inside jokes, sleepy conversations at midnight when the rest of the world was still.

Most of their dates were just the two of them- Jake was big on “quality time,” as he liked to say. He’d take her to cozy little restaurants tucked away in corners of the city, the kind with dim lights and too-good desserts. They’d sit in booths for hours, sometimes just talking, sometimes just existing in the same space- knee brushing knee, his thumb tracing patterns into her palm beneath the table.

Bookstores became a frequent spot, too. Jake had a soft spot for poetry (though he’d never admit it to Jay or Sunghoon), and Y/N loved the feel of worn-out covers and marginalia. They’d walk through the aisles shoulder to shoulder, flipping pages and pointing out titles to each other. She’d lean into him as they read the backs of paperbacks, his hand resting on the small of her back like it belonged there.

Arcades were chaotic in comparison. Jake was competitive and loud, and Y/N loved the way his eyes lit up when he won. She’d laugh so hard when he lost at air hockey that she’d nearly fall over, and he’d spend far too many tokens trying to win her that one lopsided bunny plushie she swore was “ugly cute.” She still kept it on her bed.

And then there were the days they weren’t alone.

Jay and Sunghoon had a sixth sense for crashing dates. They’d text “wyd” ten minutes after Jake and Y/N sat down somewhere, and somehow always appear wherever they were, drinks in hand, ready to clown.

One night, they all ended up at a rooftop café with fairy lights strung across the beams. Jake had his hand on Y/N’s thigh, their legs tangled under the table, and Jay groaned so loud the waiter turned to look.

“Do you two have to be so disgustingly in love all the time?” he asked, sipping his drink with way too much judgment. “I came here to eat, not to watch The Notebook: Live Edition.”

Y/N just grinned and stole a fry from his plate. “You’re just jealous.”

Sunghoon leaned back, arms crossed. “Y’all make me wanna throw myself off the side of this building.”

“You love it,” Jake shot back, completely unfazed.

“Unfortunately,” Sunghoon muttered, but they all laughed.

Still, despite the teasing, the group hung out constantly. Movie nights on the common room floor, late-night walks to the convenience store in pajamas, sharing playlists and trading clothes and collapsing into each other like family.

Jake never stopped being soft around Y/N. Whether they were alone or not, he always found her hand, always kissed the top of her head, always listened like she was the only voice in a crowded room.

One night, as they sat on a park bench eating ice cream- because Y/N insisted night walks deserved dessert- Jake turned to her with a look of adoration. He had a lot he wanted to say, all sappy words of love and affection and things she loved calling “cheesy filmy lines.” But he couldn’t bring himself to say it.

“What is it?” Y/N coaxed, eyes wide with curiosity, tongue poking out to lick her popsicle. A chilly breeze went past them and they welcomed it, pushing out the heat wave successfully.

“It’s the twentieth in a few days,” Jake reminded her.

“Oh, yeah,” she nodded. “Don’t wanna risk not believing it?”

“Yeah,” Jake admitted. “It all feels so stupid.”

“I know, I’m sorry,” she looped her arm with his, moving closer to lean her head on his shoulder. They sat that way in silence, eating ice cream and watching the leaves of trees rustle with the wind. Cicadas grew louder and their chests rose and fell in the sync. “I’m sure it’ll be fine. Just a few more weeks ‘till summer break.”

April 20th fell on a Saturday.

Jake didn’t say anything when he saw the date on his phone that morning- just stared at it for a beat longer than usual. The sun was already warming the floorboards under his desk, and somewhere in the building, someone was blasting a bad remix of a pop song that had been stuck in his head for three days. But even with the normalcy, the date sat heavy in his chest. He knew Jay slept in Sunghoon’s room that night, just in case, just to protect him or make sure he didn’t go off wandering into the campus.

But the rest of the day was still left.

He sent one message to the group chat- movie night in my room. 7pm. mandatory. no excuses.

Jay replied in all caps complaining about how he had plans (he didn’t), and Y/N sent back a heart. Sunghoon left it on read, as usual.

By 7:03, they were all squished into Jake’s too-small dorm room, the air already thick with the smell of popcorn and the low hum of some indie movie playing in the background. The lights were low, a throw blanket covered every surface that could physically hold a human, and the window was cracked open just enough to let the cool evening air slip in. A quiet playlist hummed beneath the noise of Y/N complaining that Jake had no good snacks (he did, she just liked to say that) and Jay dramatically tried to balance six cans of soda in his hoodie pocket.

Y/N had kicked her shoes off the second she walked in and claimed Jake’s bed like it belonged to her. She was now half-buried under one of his sweatshirts, legs tucked underneath her, hair messy and smiling softly as she scrolled through his playlist. Jake was on the floor by her feet, back against the bed frame, watching her like she was the only thing worth looking at.

Sunghoon, oblivious as ever, plopped beside her with a bag of chips and a hoodie that clearly wasn’t his (Jake’s, of course), already halfway through the first movie of the night. Jay sprawled across the carpet like a Victorian fainting woman, holding a worn-out deck of cards in the air.

“Okay, I’m gonna need full participation,” Jay announced dramatically, flicking cards across the floor like a magician. “If I’m giving up my imaginary date night, we are playing.”

“We never said we wanted to,” Y/N grinned, but reached down to grab her hand of cards anyway.

“You never want to,” Jay deadpanned. “And yet, I’m here. Suffering. With all of you.”

Jake snorted, leaning back against the wall beside the bed, one foot propped on the edge of his desk chair. “You’re so dramatic. You love us.”

“No,” Jay said flatly. “I love cards. You’re all collateral.”

The night went on like that- easy and dumb and warm. They played two rounds of Uno before Sunghoon started cheating just to piss off Jay. Y/N made Jake pause the movie at least three times to change the playlist. Someone spilled soda on the rug. No one got up to clean it.

Then they played Speed, then Jay’s own twisted version of Poker that had way too many rules and made Sunghoon suspiciously good at bluffing. At some point, they forgot the movie was even playing in the background. Laughter bubbled out of the room like it was overflowing. And it was enough. Not a grand gesture, not a revelation. Just the four of them, tangled up in a night full of stupid games and old music, and the simple magic of still being here. Y/N fell sideways against Jake, clutching her stomach at something stupid Jay said. Jake leaned into her without thinking, resting his chin lightly against her arm, grounding himself in the closeness.

But beneath the noise, beneath the ridiculous banter and snorting laughter and snacks spilled on the rug, there was a quiet kind of watching. Jake’s eyes flickered to Sunghoon every so often- not too much, not enough to notice, but enough to make sure he was still here. Still with them. Still laughing. The way his head tilted back when Jay said something dumb. The way he wiped chip crumbs on Jake’s hoodie sleeve like it was his birthright. The way he didn’t seem to know that today mattered at all.

They didn’t talk about it. Didn’t even hint at it. There was no heavy moment, no obvious pause in the night. Just warmth. Just presence. Just staying.

As the night dragged on, Jay announced he was going to physically die if he didn’t get water, and Jake followed him out to the vending machine. When he came back, he had two bottles, one he handed to Y/N wordlessly.

She blinked, reaching out and taking it. Her fingers brushed his. “You okay?”

Jake sat beside her again, this time close enough for his thigh to press against hers. “It’s past midnight.”

Y/N looked at the clock on his desk. 12:17.

Behind them, Jay was yelling about reverse carding his own reverse card, and Sunghoon was fake-snoring on the bed.

That night, out of pure fear and dissatisfaction, Jake had pretended to fall asleep hugging Sunghoon, forcing him to fall asleep too. Jake hugged onto him so tight, he was sure he wouldn't be able to breath for the rest of the night. Y/N covered the pair in a blanket before leaving the room with Jay. They shared a glance, a small understanding and gratitude before parting ways to go to their respective rooms.

The airport buzzed with that familiar kind of chaos- luggage wheels scraping the floor, boarding announcements echoing overhead, and the constant shuffle of people going places. But in the middle of all that noise stood the four of them, frozen in their own little bubble of time.

Finals had wrecked them. Jake looked like he hadn’t slept in three days before this morning. Jay had nearly cried over his last theory paper. Sunghoon dramatically claimed he forgot how to read halfway through exam week. Y/N's fingers were sore from typing essays and projects until 3 a.m. every night, fueled by vending machine coffee and bad lo-fi playlists. But they made it.

Somehow, they made it.

Now they stood in front of the departure gate, suitcases stacked on trolleys, backpacks slung over tired shoulders, the weight of an entire semester pressing softly on their backs.

“Well,” Jay said, clearing his throat like he didn’t want to admit he was getting emotional. “Don’t die.”

“Wow. Inspirational,” Y/N snorted.

Jake laughed, slinging an arm around her and pressing a kiss to her temple like it was the most natural thing in the world. “He means: we’ll miss you. Come back in one piece.”

Sunghoon was leaning dramatically against his suitcase. “Same floor, same rooms next semester, right? I can’t have anyone else stealing my shampoo. It’s personal at this point.”

Y/N reached over to smack his arm. “I only borrowed it twice.”

“Twice a week,” he muttered, but his smile was soft.

“I’ll bring my mom’s kimchi when I come back,” Jake announced, remembering an old bet between Sunghoon and him. “You know, to prove that it’s better than the dorm’s kimchi.”

“That’s a low bar, Jake,” Jay deadpanned. “A literal shoelace would taste better than dorm food.”

There was hugging after that- tight ones, lingering a little too long. Someone may or may not have cried a little (Jay denied it firmly), and for a second it felt like a weird coming-of-age movie ending, the kind that faded out into a bittersweet pop song.

Jay and Sunghoon wandered off after that, joking about who’d forget the group chat first (Sunghoon swore it would be him, and no one argued). Jake pulled Y/N aside for one last moment before their flights were called.

Y/N looked up at him, taking in the soft mess of his hair, the crinkle at the corner of his eyes from too many sleepless nights, and the way his lips parted like he was trying to say something but couldn’t quite find the words. Her throat burned, feeling her eyes water.

“Hey,” Jake, noticing her lips quivering downwards, stepped closer to her, a hand on her shoulder and head leaning closer to her face. “It’s just the summer,” he tried.

“But I won’t see you every day. Or at breakfast. Or brushing your teeth with your eyes half open.”

Jake laughed, that small, breathy kind. “You’ll miss me brushing my teeth?”

“I’ll miss all of you,” she whispered.

Jake reached out, gently tucking a piece of hair behind her ear. His touch was warm, grounding. “Y/N,” he murmured, like her name was something sacred. “I know I joke a lot, but I really mean it. I’ll come visit. I want to see your town, meet your friends, and walk the streets you grew up on. And I need that goddamn mango candy.”

Laughing, Y/N but back a sniffle. “You’re not just saying that?”

“I don’t lie about such things.”

She smiled, watery and small. “Then I’ll visit yours too. I want to see where you had your first kiss.”

“That was awful,” he laughed. “But sure, I’ll take you to that playground.”

And then he leaned in.

Not rushed, not like he was trying to prove anything. It was soft, slow, and sure- the kind of kiss that tasted like every unsaid word, like laughter under moonlight and movies shared at 1 am, like late-night card games and secret glances across the room. It was the kind of kiss that said I’ll miss you and I’ll wait for you and I’m so damn glad I met you.

Around them, the airport moved on. People passed, announcements echoed, planes took off. But for a second, they didn’t move. The world didn’t exist. There was only the warmth of his hand and the feel of her lips and the way their hearts beat just a little too loud.

When they pulled apart, her forehead rested against his.

“Go before I cry,” she whispered.

“You cry, I cry,” he muttered, trying to smile, but his voice cracked just a little. “Group breakdown in the airport.”

She laughed, even as she blinked hard. “I’ll text you when I land.”

“You better.”

And then, she turned and walked toward the gate. He stood there until she disappeared past the security check. Only then did he finally exhale, breathing words of love she couldn’t hear. Behind, Jay and Sunghoon were hollering for him to their gate, paying they needed to board “before the plane fucking leaves.”

And then there were final waves from Y/N, airport glass doors sliding shut, security checks and goodbyes swallowed by distance. But something about it didn’t feel sad.

Because they knew they’d be back.

Same floor. Same rooms. Same people. Just a little more grown.

[caratstick]

This was so sweet and cute I loved it. I almost teared up at the part when Jake snuggled Sunghoon to sleep 🥹

[hoonstrology]

♯┆ERROR 404: word limit reached. ✩ PSH.

"i promise myself, while drinking a glass of water in the morning, to tell you. i'll confess what has been on the tip of my tongue tomorrow. you are pretty." — pretty u by seventeen.

PAIRING ➤ park sunghoon x fem!reader.

SYNOPSIS ➤ he wouldn't necessarily call himself talkative. sunghoon is just a normal college boy with normal hobbies and interests, so of course he likes talking about those, and he especially likes talking about you— but talking to you? it's an entirely different challenge. and he knows he has to man up and speak up before you get sick of his silence.

CONTAINS ➤ 18.3k words.⠀⠀college!au, classmates!au, slow burn-ish, strangers to lovers, lowkey loser!sunghoon, romance, very fluffy, light angst, but a whole lot more comfort, a bit of jealousy, sunghoon is a stupid dumb idiot lover boy. ✮ featuring: enhypen's 02z + heeseung, ive's gaeul and liz, and seventeen's jeonghan. WARNINGS ➤ suggestive content, making out, swearing, pet names, alcohol consumption, parties, brief mentions of blood, unintentional self injury, poor attempts at humor, sunghoon is kind of emotionally constipated but in a good way. sunghoon's taller than reader. lmk if i missed anything!

  masterlist.   ┆  epilogue series.

꒰ from ! 🐰 yan ꒱⠀⠀my first written work !! i normally write smaus so writing a full oneshot has been daunting. this is my literal brain child so i hope you guys love it as much as i do. send feedback via asks/replies !! (pls be nice) ૮꒰ ˶• ༝ •˶꒱ა ♡

  𝘳𝘦𝘣𝘭𝘰𝘨.ᐟ  ⊹ ࣪ ˖ 𝘧𝘦𝘦𝘥𝘣𝘢𝘤𝘬 𝘪𝘴 𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘤𝘪𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘥♡

TODAY MARKED THE FIRST DAY OF YOUR FOUR YEARS IN COLLEGE. you walked past your university’s gates, chin tipped up and proud with a book held close to your chest, thin silver glasses framing your face, and a smile that you spent an entire hour practicing in the mirror yesterday. 

you wore the best outfit you could, but not in a trying-hard overdressed kind of way, just enough effort to make you memorable. you wanted to make a good impression, after all. 

if you could look lost enough, maybe a senior would notice you. maybe he’d ask for your schedule, walk you to class, make light gossip about the professors you have and in a few years, he’d propose to you in the same spot by the gates, and you’d say i do, and live a happy married lif—

clank!

you get snapped out of your sweet little daydream as pain shoots through your shoulder, down your left arm. “fuck.” you whisper, head snapping up to shoot a frustrated glare at the thick pole in front as if it’s the one who bumped into you.

the impact was hard enough to have your book and glasses falling to the floor with a thud, and definitely hard enough to leave a bruise tomorrow because even merely moving your arm makes you wince. 

thankfully, the area was mostly empty— which meant your dream of being a college cool girl was still in play —save for a tall guy just a foot beside you. 

shit. 

he’s already kneeling down to pick your things up and before you could even bend over to help, he just looks up and gestures to you to stay still by pointing to your outfit. “skirt.” is all he says, his voice deep and quiet.

you’d normally blush at the gentlemanly gesture but instead, you do it out of pure embarrassment. 

god, this wasn’t the meet-cute you imagined. 

he hands you back your book and your glasses, freshly wiped of dirt from the hem of his faded black hoodie. you slip it on your face again and bow your head out of shame, stepping aside to escape this nightmare of an embarrassment, but before you could even attempt to, he tugs on the sleeve of your cardigan, showing you his open palm like he's telling you to stop.

and against your better judgement, you do. 

the stranger slips one of his backpack’s straps off his shoulder, fishing a box out of it and begins scribbling away with a pen cap trapped between his teeth.

you took this time to look at him— really look at him. tall, lean physique, sharp features, fair skin. he wore a pair of black thick-rimmed glasses that framed his kind-looking eyes really well. he’s stylish, no question about that.

and painfully handsome, too.

the pen is closed with a faint click and he slips it back into his hoodie’s pocket and you take that as a sign to stop checking him out lest you embarrass yourself further.

his lips purse into a straight line and his thick eyebrows furrow closer as he gives the box an intense stare, the soft eyes from a while ago turning more serious and stressed as it turns to you, back to the box, and back to you again.

the suffocating silence is shattered by two men shouting from a distance, the shorter one of them comically jumping and waving his hands in the air.

he turns to look at the source of the noise and lets out a small grunt, handing you the box and before jogging away without another word.

you stand there dumbstruck, watching the three boys interact for a while before turning on your heels, slipping the box between your chest and the book. that was odd. 

you walk to class with a sore shoulder and cheeks that still feel warm from the whole ordeal. upon finding your room, new faces give you polite smiles or nods of acknowledgement and you do the same. once you're seated and settled, you put the book down on top of your desk.

the forgotten box falls on your lap, urging you to take a closer look at it. 

menthol pain relief patches. 

you flip the box around and you're greeted by a pastel yellow post-it note stuck on the back.

“for your shoulder. please be careful next time.” 

he probably thinks you're a loser with no depth perception. and he wouldn't be wrong for thinking that, but it doesn't stop your cheeks from heating up for the nth time this morning.

you convince yourself it's okay. that your university is big, and you surely you won't meet him again. the fact disappoints you a little bit, but at least you're saved from having to face him after what happened.

you press your fingers against your forehead in stress.

first day in and you’ve already made a fool of yourself in front of a man. not just any man but a handsome one. a very important distinction. 

developing a crush feels on him feels pathetic. he just gave you muscle relief patches, an act of kindness that was just a little bit above the bare minimum. and he only said one word to you, for gods’ sake. but you’ve never been one to think logically, so while your lecture starts, your head starts drifting off and it’s already incorporating the good-looking, tall stranger in your romantic fantasies.

turns out, the man in your dreams wouldn’t be a senior, nor would he be gossiping with you about your professors.

instead, you’d be sharing them. 

during your third class of the day, the handsome stranger walks in the lecture hall with his two friends in tow and you immediately recognize him because of the glasses. his hands are stuffed into his hoodie as he settles on a seat a couple of rows in front of you, still as intimidating as he looked like when he gave you the box.

you learned of his name when the professor called him to read a passage in the book. 

park sunghoon. 

you think it’s a pretty name— fitting for a pretty boy like him.

sunghoon’s voice was steady while he read, smoothly pronouncing every word, clearing his throat after a mistake and resuming with the same composure. the speed at which he spoke was just right, slow enough to enunciate every syllable but not too much to bore whoever chose to listen.

"mr. park, care to share your thoughts on what you just read?"

sunghoon only stood straighter, his natural confidence in his voice making you swoon in your seat.

“i don't believe the fable's moral lesson to necessarily be applicable in real life where businesses and industries have become fast-paced. should the readers need to have a takeaway, they should focus on what the hare lacked— humility. his over-confidence is the ultimate reason for his downfall, being a creature that has already been given natural talent and an advantage on the terrain—” 

just like that, your small happy crush turned into full-blown attraction. his voice? his eloquence? damn. it’s like he’s trying (and succeeding) to make you want him.

you wish you had sat in front so you could look at him more. you could only imagine how stern he’d look, how his thick brows would meet together making him look even more gorgeous when he’s focused. but for now, you could settle for the view of his back while trying your best to listen to your professor, and not to the voice that suspiciously resembles sunghoon's playing in a constant loop inside your head. 

he’s in the rest of your classes today too, which makes the task of focusing twice as hard. you feel like a creep with the way your eyes naturally gravitate to him every time you hear his voice, or when you see a tiny bit of movement from the corner of your eye. 

so when it’s almost time to go home, you do the most un-creepy thing you can think of: wait outside the door. 

a student, and another, they all step out one by one. then he finally walks out, laughing at something his friend said before freezing mid-sentence as he catches sight of you standing with a familiar box laid out on your palm.

he looked surprised for a moment, before gripping on the single strap hanging on his shoulder, shifting uncomfortably before raising a brow like he was waiting for you to speak. 

“oh! i, uh.. i already put some on my shoulder and on my arm a while ago. there’s too much in the pack and i figured i could give it back to you since i don’t really have any use for it.” you explain, pushing it towards him. 

one of his friends gasps at the sight, quickly throwing a punch to sunghoon’s shoulder which he receives with a quiet hiss.

“what the fuck, hoon? i was looking for that! you know i have try-outs later!” the boy shouts, his australian accent thick and evident as he snatches the pack from your palm. “tch, can’t believe you lied to me.”

sunghoon gives him a cold stare, taking the patches away again before whispering something to the other boy which resulted in the rowdy blonde getting dragged away by his collar. he flipped the box over once, twice, and raised an eyebrow, seeming to notice that the post-it note was not there anymore. 

“is this what you’re looking for?” taking the neatly folded paper from your pocket, you place it on top of the box. “i’m sorry for taking it. i thought it was for me. unless you also have other friends who regularly bump into poles while actively daydreaming and you actually meant to give that to someone els—” 

sunghoon cuts you off with his index finger pressed on his own lips. he gives both back to you before flashing you a small smile, one that causes your poor little heart to thump faster.

“for you. keep it.” his words are clipped but you can feel the kindness behind them. 

say something, anything, to keep the conversation going. 

“i’m y/n, by the way.” you hold your hand out.

“i know. i’m sunghoon.” he murmurs, looking at the hand extended towards him before shaking it.

you sense the slight hesitation but the contact makes you giddy nonetheless. it’s as sweet as it is short lived because sunghoon quickly lets go, hands returning to the safety of his hoodie’s pocket. 

“huh? how’d you know? i don’t remember the professor calling me. wait- did he take attendance? shit, i forgot to say present—” 

the chuckle he lets out is low and breathy, making the words halt in your mouth. sunghoon shakes his head and his eyes do a quick scan of you before pointing to the small sticker that reads 'yoon y/n's!' on the book you've been holding.

"oh."

another beat of awkward silence.

“uh.. what’s your schedule?” you ask with a kind smile, following sunghoon as he starts walking towards your building's exit, trying not to dwell on how he started walking slower, at the perfect pace for you to keep up with his long strides. 

he fishes for his phone to show you the picture and you do the same, eyes looking at your screen then his. “we share most classes! all the ones in the afternoon.” you smile victoriously, and sunghoon releases another quiet chuckle, nodding along.

before you know it, you’ve reached the gate where his friends are waiting. he pauses, squinting his eyes at the duo who suddenly stopped talking to look between you and him, teasing grins plastered on their faces which just made sunghoon rub his temple.

“oh? who is this? a new friend?” the black-haired friend asks, a smirk on his lips while raising an eyebrow at sunghoon. 

“y/n.” sunghoon says, pointing to you. “jake.” he points to the blonde boy with an aussie accent, before turning to the tanner friend with a jawline so sharp you’re convinced you’d need more than menthol patches if you touched it. “jay.” 

sunghoon must have told them about what happened this morning because they looked at you, eyes scanning you up and down with anflash of amusement showing in their eyes. 

“hi.” you give them a shy wave and they return it with a welcoming smile, their hands gently shaking yours.

jake pulls sunghoon away, huddling on one side while whispering, their heads occasionally turning to you every now and then with synchronicity.

“what do you mean that’s her?”

“jake, pipe the fuck down!”

“are they… talking about me?” you turn to jay with raised eyebrows and he sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose like he's grown familiar to this scenario. “looks like it. please forgive jake. he’s normally more… discreet when he’s curious about someone.” 

yeah, there’s nothing discreet about jake pointing his finger at you with a wide smile. sunghoon, on the other hand, is insistent on pushing jake's hand down with a pretty pink flush on his cheeks, looking like he wanted the ground to swallow him whole. very cute.

“do you guys share all your classes?” 

“yeah, we share an apartment so we were together when we chose our classes.”

“so i’d take it that you guys are close?” 

jay gives you a nod, eyes fond while he looks at his best friends. “met in middle school— and we’ve unfortunately been inseparable since then.”

“that's cute. must be nice to have people you can rely on already. college is kinda scary.” 

“you have us!” jake whispers from beside you, making you scream in surprise at his sudden presence. sunghoon shoots him a sharp glare, tugging on your cardigan for the second time today to pull you by his side.

the golden retriever looking boy presses his palms together, whispering a small apology before handing you his phone.

“sunghoon told me you have afternoon classes with us! so you can give me your number and just reach us whenever. not to brag but i’m the most popular in this trio. i'll text you whenever there’s a party. i'll getcha connected to people in no time.” he adds with a wink, pulling a laugh out of you.

“i think i’ll stick to texting you for home work.” you reply with a roll of your eyes, punching your number in jake’s phone nonetheless. 

a few more friendly words are exchanged before they wave you goodbye because jay and jake are going to your college’s basketball try-outs. sunghoon isn’t interested but is supposedly "required by law" to go because he’s their moral support.

you laugh and give both of them a fist bump for good luck before walking away, failing to catch sunghoon’s lingering stare as he watches your figure disappear.

that night, you buried yourself under your duvet, congratulating yourself for surviving your first day of freshman year and making three new friends on top of that.

just then, your phone vibrated.

💬 from: unknown number — this is sunghoon. :)

your friendship with park sunghoon slowly blossomed from that day onward. though your first meeting was full of chaos, the following months were anything but.

much like him, it was calm. respectful, even.

you would give each other a smile when you passed by one another in the mornings, he’d shoot you a text to let you know he reserved the seat next to him when you were running ten minutes late in the afternoon, or you'd remind him of tasks due the next day.

he even offer to accompany you to the university’s library when your friends weren't available, headphones on and only taking it off to tap on your shoulder when he notices you dozing off. 

one day, you asked him to grab lunch with you under the pretense of not having anyone to eat with, and then it became routine.

usually it would be just you and sunghoon but the boys would tag along every now and then. he would be noisier during those lunches, and you relished it because that’s the only time you get to see him be so comfortable and rowdy. 

you pondered what the cause could be, and eventually landed on a theory during one of your sociology classes. 

deindividuation, as your professor called it.

she said being part of a larger group can lead to a sense of reduced personal responsibility and accountability which then causes individuals to feel less inhibited and more likely to engage in behaviors they might not otherwise, including speaking loudly or interrupting.

she basically described sunghoon to a perfect t. 

because your friendship with him is quiet. his half of the friendship, to be specific.

you mostly got to know him through mere observation– his habits, things he enjoyed and things he disliked. if you didn’t discover things yourself, his friends would be the one offering sunghoon's information to you like when jay told you he has a younger sister he adored, or when jake told you that he once wanted to go to antarctica, a dream that he left behind after he took an interest in photography. 

if you were to type out every word he's said to you for the entirety of your friendship in a continuous line, you’d probably be able to fill four pages of a document in arial 11. maybe five.

if you remember correctly, his longest running sentence is “please walk on the inside part of the sidewalk next time, angel— it’s dangerous.” a yet-to-be defeated record of fourteen words. it was also the first time he called you by a pet name and it had you screaming into your pillow as soon as you got home. 

initially, you thought it’d be better to converse with him through text. and it was an improvement, yes– but only by a few notches. you’d be able to make twenty pages with the words he said through the phone, but there were still days where he’d just reply with one word.

or a single emoji. 

but sunghoon isn’t nonchalant. far from it, actually.

he laughs at your jokes— he even giggles when it's done to his type of humor. if he sees you stressing out during a pop quiz, he’d slyly push his paper towards you to let you copy his answers. and he already knows to take his sweater off and hand it to you before history class because the heater doesn’t work well in that classroom. 

almost always, he’d walk out of the classroom with his bag slung on one of his shoulders and yours on the other with the finesse of someone who's used to being reliable. you’ve never had to open your own water bottles or push through doors either because sunghoon would be the one doing it for you. all of that while wearing a proud smile.

and barely any noise.

when you ask him questions, he’d either hum to affirm, shake his head no, or shrug if he didn’t know the answer. if he’s the one asking you questions, he just gestures with his hands or fingers to get his message across.

one morning when you went to class in a new hairstyle, he pointed to it with raised brows. “ah, just wanted to try something new.” you explained. his reply was a smile and a measly thumbs up.

all that to say, he's an acts-of-service rather than a words-of-affirmation type of guy.

you always try to fill that awful silence between the both of you with endless rambles, and like the reliable person he is, he always listens with a hum here and there to let you know that he was still following your story about how your neighbor scared you shitless by trying to open your door in the middle of the night.

"—he shook the knob so hard i had to call an emergency locksmith. it’s literally the second time he did that this week! and he doesn’t even have the decency to pay me back for the fee!”

by the time you end your tirade, you’re slumped over the café’s table, cheeks squished flat on the smooth surface. he just chuckles and taps on your head with a finger and you raise it slightly. sunghoon places a sheet of tissue down and leans back, allowing you to press your face against the table again, but hygienically this time around.

“you care for my skin more than i do.” you grumble, blowing the stray hairs away from your face. 

he does it like it’s routine— because it is. 

the first time you did it, he shook his head in slight disappointment. “you’ll get acne.” he said, voice flat while pointing to his cheeks. so after months of it happening, he learned to always have tissues in his bag just in case you decided you wanted to have another ranting session.

a few minutes pass and you hear him groan before reaching over to show you his watch. two thirty-seven pm. “man. fuck history class.” you sigh, starting to pack up your things while sunghoon's already a few steps past the cafe door.

“hoonie, wait for me!” you whine, running to catch up and he pauses, looking at you over his shoulder.

he only resumes his strides when he hears the familiar taps of your footstep beside him, making him smile to himself as he shoves his hands in his pocket, walking back to class with the cold autumn wind that pushes leaves of gold and orange past his feet. 

this is what he does. if he wanted to go somewhere, he’d guide you to the destination by walking instead of telling. sometimes, because you moved at the pace of a snail, he would need to tug on your shirt or on the end of your jacket to help you keep up.

he never actually touches you. not intentionally. the usual skinship he’d initiate is a tap on your shoulder, or on the back of your hand. if he was feeling extra touchy, the most he’d give is an affectionate pat to your head. 

if you remember correctly, that has only happened seven times so far.

there was also that one time he touched your cheeks for a brief moment, but you don’t think that counts because he only did it to push your head away when jake jokingly leaned towards you with a kissy face. 

“sunghoon!” 

two heads turn around to see heeseung, a sophomore, approaching with a basketball pinned between his hand and hip. he’s a good friend of jake and jay, and by association, sunghoon’s.

“mind if i take him away for a bit?” heeseung asks you, the usual charming smile on his face as he taps on sunghoon’s shoulder. you nod and shoo them away, but not without sunghoon pointing to an empty bench first.

you head over there, one leg crossed over the other as you observe the bright smile on sunghoon’s face. words like “girls” and “after party” are thrown, and you already know it has something to do with the boys’ basketball match this weekend. 

but their words translate more like faint buzzing because you’re too busy dwelling on the way sunghoon interacts with heeseung. it’s something that has been bothering you for a good while— the way he becomes much more animated when he talks to someone. the way sentences don’t sound strained leaving his mouth.

it’s like everyone has access to a button that activates talkative sunghoon. 

everyone else but you. 

the theory of deindividuation didn’t apply to him anymore. maybe it never did.

he wasn’t technically popular, no. he was still an introvert who preferred staying on the sidelines but from what you’ve seen, anyone who was brave enough to go up to him and make friends, he accepted without protest.

weren’t you already friends with him? so why can’t he be like that with you?

your mind reels back to the time you caught him talking to a senior on the way to your next class. they were having a conversation about the cameras he liked and his history with photography, and it made you wonder for a second whether he had an identical twin his friends forgot to tell you about. you could hear the childlike fascination as he talked, voice practically dripping with enthusiasm.  

so when you asked him about cameras later that same day and all you got was a simple 'i like them', it simply broke your heart.

you've spent days thinking about why he couldn’t open up to you the same way he did with others. you’d scroll through your texts with sunghoon and it's always polite. always curt. always “how’s your weekend?” but when you ask him the same question, he’d reply with “just okay.” before turning the conversation to something about you again.

maybe he wasn’t interested in you. not in that way, at least. because why would he? he, who would make people stare whenever you walked the hallways together. he, who made every student in class stop whatever they were doing just to listen to him whenever he recited.

he, who hugged acquaintances yet can’t seem to stand the thought of his hand grazing you, his friend.

it made you overthink whether you truly were a friend to him or just another overzealous classmate forcing your unwanted presence.

you don’t even realize you’ve started tearing up until you see sunghoon kneeling in front of you, eyes full of worry as he looks into your glassy ones.

“angel? w-what’s wrong?” he asks, a hand reaching up but he bites his lips and brings it back down to his side. 

you turn your head to the side and force out a laugh. “where’s heeseung?”

“he left. tell me what’s wrong.” he says, placing a hand on your knee. he doesn’t need to tell you, because you could tell how uncomfortable he was from initiating that simple touch.

“it’s nothing. just… i think some dust got into my eyes.” you rub your eyes with your curled fist, exaggerating a few blinks before you gently push his hand off your knee. not even a second passes and you already miss the warmth of his touch. it's pathetic.

“there. it’s gone now.” you hum, pulling him up by his bag’s strap. “let’s go? mr. shin will kill us if we’re late.”

he looks like he wants to say something. but he doesn’t.

he never does.

instead, he strips off his white hoodie and hands it to you, looking at you with expectant eyes. he just stands there, your bag in his hand with the same expression until you relent and throw his hoodie over your head while rolling your eyes. 

you walk to your history class warm and smelling like a pleasant mix of sunghoon’s cologne and laundry detergent.

your exit plan hasn’t even started yet and you’re already failing. 

three weeks. 

three cruel and agonizing weeks of sunghoon missing your presence. 

he thinks it started that weekend. like heeseung suggested, he texted you an invite to the frat party to celebrate the boys’ win. he never really got a reply but he did see you arrive safely which put him a little more at ease. 

you greeted him with a breathtaking smile and the same little wave he started looking forward to receiving everyday— his biggest motivator to attend and do well in class despite the hell that it is.

you wore a short ivory white dress, blessing him with far more skin than he usually saw within the confines of yours classrooms, your hair done up to show the smooth curves of your neck and the sharp angle of your shoulders.

all he could think about is dirtying your exposed skin with marks so the annoying boys in your class would get the hint to stay away from what's his, and he hated it. you don't even know it but you make something deeply covetous stir inside him.

you’re already beautiful in his eyes, but that night you truly looked like an angel, and he wanted nothing more than to kneel and follow you towards the light. 

jiwon and gaeul snapped him out of his trance by dragging you away to the other side of the house before he can even get a word in, and all sunghoon could do is pray that you don't leave with someone else.

the after party went on. drunk people leaning against the kitchen counter, a random couple sucking each others’ faces off on the recliner by the entrance, and jay crying “foul” when he lost another round of beer pong. for the sixth time. 

sunghoon looked at his phone, brows almost meeting together as he stared at your conversation. still left on read, still no reply, but he decided to send you another one anyway. 

💬 to: angel y/n. — your dress looks nice. :)

“why’s my y/n-ie not here?” jake approached him, red solo cup in hand. 

“first of all: she’s not yours. second: you’re already slurring your words, jaeyun. sober up before we get to the car, i beg. i don’t want my car to smell like vomit again.” sunghoon grunted, trying to push the boy off as jake leaned against him for support, face pressed on his shoulder while whining about how much he wanted to see you. 

“why? you gonna try to kiss her again?”

“if it’ll annoy you. like it always does.” jake snaps back, a drunken smirk on his face. 

sunghoon rolled his eyes, taking jake’s cup and pushing him with enough force to make him land on the couch.

“you didn’t even get to kiss her sober. what makes you think your wasted ass can do it this time?” the laugh he let out is light, yet traced with a bit of venom. 

looking at jake all sprawled out on the couch and giggling like a man without a care in the world made sunghoon sneer. even thinking about that memory makes him want to knock jake out. but he knows his best friend’s teasing is only done to get a reaction out of him, to press on a particularly sensitive bruise— the bruise being his feelings for you. 

“hoon!” he turned, seeing jay from the kitchen pointing to a girl. he approached them with ease, flashing the stranger a smile. “he’s my friend who wanted to get something done.” jay said, charming as ever, palm pointed to sunghoon. 

“this is the minha, the artist i told you about. let me know when you guys agree on something, yeah?” he pat both their backs and made his exit, probably to tend to jake who was wasted and still trying to dance.

the girl turned to him with a gasp, excitedly showing the jewelry on her hand and fingers. they talked about the bracelet he wanted to be made, noting colors he did and didn’t want to include, even passionately showing her reference pictures.

in the middle of his conversation, he raised his head to look for jay but caught you instead, unreadable eyes moving from him to his new-found friend. he took a step back from her and one towards you but you vehemently shook your head, raising a hand to make him stay in place.

you gave him a smile, one that looked a little forced, a little too disingenuous and foreign in a kind face like yours. 

you mouthed ‘i’m heading home', thumb pointing to the door before waving goodbye. “wait. i— i’ll be back.” he says to minha, running and pushing his way through the crowd of bodies. when he stepped out of the front door, gaeul's car had already sped off, leaving nothing behind but a cloud of dust.

💬 to: angel y/n. — i didn’t get to say goodbye. :(

the three bubbles popped up on his screen. after a few minutes of watching it appear and disappear, you replied.

💬 from: angel y/n. — it’s okay, sunghoon. enjoy the party! 👍

and so ensued the twenty one days of sunghoon’s torture. 

the absence wasn’t loud. it wasn’t immediate. it was a gradual pull, like flowers in a vase slowly losing their petals and vibrant color to their unnatural environment.

you were gone, but not entirely.

though a part of him thinks it would have been more merciful if you just left outright, because the moment he starts noticing things, it’s like he can’t stop. it's the type of cruelty only you could do to him.

you didn’t sit beside him anymore, opting to return to your previous spot behind him during classes. no more loud cheering by his side when he attended the boys’ basketball practices after class. and just to rub salt to his open wound, you made gaeul and jiwon replace him in your usual lunch spot.

that was the final straw— the thing that let him knew he somehow, some way, truly fucked up.

now he can’t even use classes as an excuse to see you because of course, of course, it had to happen right before the holiday break. not only was there an emotional distance, but a physical one, too. he can’t text you either— not without looking stupid or desperate. the last message he sent read “okay. good night, y/n.” which was a reply to your dry “i think i'll sleep, sunghoon. night! :)” 

no more lunches, no more affectionate reminders of homework deadlines, and no more nicknames. things changed. and the shift, though unnoticeable to others, was strong enough for his best friends to speak up. 

“i swear to god if you sigh one more time, i’ll actually mix bleach in your coffee to put you out of whatever misery you’re in.” jay grunts, throwing the couch pillow to sunghoon, unfazed and still busy fiddling with his phone despite getting hit square on his arm.

jake takes a peek from behind the couch, a plate of their shared dinner in hand, laughing as he sees sunghoon pathetically typing and deleting different variations of 'how was your day?' into his phone without actually sending anything.

“is our y/n-ie still not talking to you?” he teases, moving to the sit on the floor, right between his best friend’s legs. the nickname rolling off jake's tongue makes sunghoon's brow twitch in irritation.

“still? i thought they were okay? didn’t she visit us during a game?”

sunghoon’s head snaps up to look at jay. “she did?” 

they nod. “the one we did before break.” 

“without me?” he says this time, voice pitched up in disbelief. 

they give him another nod.

“said she just wanted to drop by and watch us. sat with a long-haired blonde guy.” jay mumbles, giving him a shrug. 

“yeah. he seemed awfully close to her if you ask me. arm around her everything. i’m surprised they weren’t making out.” jake adds, making the other laugh as he creates horrible slurping sounds with arms wrapped around himself.

sunghoon takes the pillow from earlier and smashes it across the side of jake’s head. “you’re disgusting.” he huffs, storming to his room, feeling his heart drop lower and lower with each stomp of his feet.

he hears nothing but static, clouded eyes burning holes on the framed photo atop his bedside table: a candid shot he took using his favorite film camera of you laughing so brightly that your eyes turned into crescents.

the mere thought of someone else seeing you in that light has dinner rushing back out his mouth.

you’ve made peace with your friendship with sunghoon.

you've long accepted that it won’t turn into anything more. at some point, you were able to tune out the girls that hang around him, not caring whether they'd confess. he rejected every single one of them anyway, and you know you wouldn't be any different than those pretty crying faces if you tried.

you only cared when people approached him to have a friendly conversation because sunghoon would happily give them a memorable one. that's what made you jealous.

hell, he even got your friends. gaeul mentioned natto once and sunghoon yapped about the delicacy like a day-one fan. he shared his favorite fashion brands with jiwon too– complete with a detailed explanation on his preferences and favorite collections. 

granted, he wasn’t on the best terms with them right now because they were the ones who had to pick up the pieces of your heart when you started crying halfway through the drive back to your apartment after that cursed party.

you stood there long enough to see him laugh and giggle in amazement at whatever amazing thing the amazing girl was showing him on her phone, stood long enough to see how casually he held her hand and raised it to his face to look at her accessories. your eyes read his lips, 'you’re so cool', right before he saw you.

gaeul held you in her arms as soon as you curled up in your bed, jiwon on the other side shushing you while stroking your head. “i just— i don’t get it.” you grunted, brashly wiping your wet cheeks with the back of your hand, the mascara-stained tears staining your bedsheets as they dropped freely.

“why he’s– why doesn't he doesn’t talk to me like that? but.. he looks at me like he likes me and— and he does things for me he doesn’t do with other people!”  

you were inconsolable, hiccuping in between sobs and screaming more words that your friends don’t understand anymore because you’re crying too much. they just exchanged tired looks while rubbing on your arm until you were exhausted enough to sleep. 

the morning after, while pressing frozen spoons on your swollen eyelids, you were determined to treat him as he did you— sweet and kind, but from a safe distance. close enough to keep your friendship with him together, but far enough so you wouldn’t have to feel your heart get stomped on when you hear him ramble about his passions to someone else. 

he still attempted to ask about you through texts, tried to talk about the weather, or your progress on a project. he never brought up the topic of this weird drift in your relationship and neither did you.

at first, you replied within the same hour, then the same day, then after three days and so on. 

ignoring him became easier when you went back home because you couldn’t see him, couldn't feel the hairs on your nape stand straight whenever his inspecting gaze was stuck on you. you could put your notifications on mute and pretend you fell asleep when he shoots you another text to ask what's keeping you so busy.

half-way through the holiday, the ringtone you set specifically for sunghoon stopped ringing and you knew he stopped trying to reach you.

were you sad? were you relieved? you didn't know.

but what you do know is that you have to keep up this act. so even after the second semester started, you diligently stuck to your new routine. nods in the hallway, civil hi’s and ‘hello’s in the classroom, hoping and praying that your feelings would slip away the same way you were slipping from him.

you marked today’s date with another x — thirty six days since the rift, twenty nine days since the texts stopped.

ten days since random letters started appearing.

you didn’t think he was trying to hide it. and if he did, he was doing a shit job because you were able to recognize his penmanship with just a glance— sunghoon had an odd way of writing the letter y, after all. a different kind of neat with a little flick at the end. 

some days, the letters would be slipped in through your locker, and on busier days, it would be on your desk accompanied with food. the drinks varied, but the pastry stayed the same. an almond croissant from your favorite café— the one you used to hangout with him. 

“i don’t know what i did, but i hope you know i’m sorry.” 

that’s the first letter he wrote. written in a plain piece of yellow pad, contrasting the way it’s elegantly wrapped — in an ivory envelope with a small heart sticker sealing it. you made your friends read it, too. and gaeul cackled loudly, teasing you for immediately turning soft and wanting to run back into sunghoon's arms.

“you’re seriously folding as quick as he folded that half-assed letter.” she said in amusement, chopsticks roughly poking through the seaweed roll on jiwon’s lunch box. the blonde just rubbed your shoulder in understanding, shooting the older girl a glare. “don’t blame our y/n! she’s just a girl in love.”

"hopeless romantics, the two of you." the other girl replied with a shake of her head.

since that day, the letters have improved. still in the same off-white envelope, the same red heart-shaped sticker. the content was different each time, but they made your heart race all the same.

“your hoodie today looks comfortable. i hope you’re staying warm.” “i’ve been thinking about how you're the only one that who understands me even when i don’t say a lot. i'm grateful for that.” “i saw you crying today behind the bleachers. you said it was just from a yawn. it must have hurt a lot if you couldn’t tell anyone. next time you want to yawn again, just call for me, okay?” “i look at you a lot, but i think of you even more. what do i do with you?”

you push the small calendar inside your locker and sigh softly as you peel the heart sticker off, eyes reading through today’s letter. 

“it was drizzling today and i felt so much more sullen. it made me realize how much i keep searching for the voice, the presence that made everyday brighter. i miss you, y/n.”

you hate how your first instinct is to look around. to check if you’ll see the same annoyingly handsome, glasses-wearing face that’s been haunting you for the past month. but of course, he isn’t there. so you fold the letter again.

another one added to the collection of the letters that you keep safely in your room so you can read it again later tonight.

away from the crowd of students flocking to their lockers, sunghoon stands with a soft smile on his face as he watches you slip the envelope in your bag. when you close the metal door shut, he takes it as a sign to walk back to jay and jake, hands in his pocket, grinning in victory. 

“she didn’t throw your corny letter away this time?” jake howls and sunghoon’s smug expression falls into one of panic, making him smack the boy in the back of his head.

“she never did, idiot. and keep your voice down.” 

jay raises his eyebrow. “i don’t understand why you don’t just talk to her. surely it’s easier to just do that rather than… writing all this extra shit every night. who are you? shakespeare?”

sunghoon just sighs and shakes his head, his thumb reaching up to scratch his adam’s apple. “you don’t understand, and pray that you never do. because this shit? it ain’t easy.” 

too much projects still left in your to-do list, too many passive-aggressive comments from useless group mates that you chose to ignore for the sake of keeping the peace, and one-too-many snide remark from a stranger in the women’s bathroom about how ‘interesting’ your shoes are.

needless to say, it's been a rough week.

most of the students have gone home by now. your girlfriends bid you goodbye an hour ago and you stayed behind, opting to work on your essay in an empty classroom because your head wouldn't work if tried to finish it at home. the fact that you'd have a meaningful rest tomorrow gave you the last push you needed to press submit.

tired footsteps echo down the empty hallway as you use your remaining energy to trudge towards your locker. it opens with a bleary rattle and you find a square box laid atop an envelope. 

it’s been a while since sunghoon left you one.

you push the heavy books inside before reaching for the black suede box, the fuzzy material tickling your fingertip as you push the top open.

inside, a bracelet. fine silver chains alternating with four round glass beads– pink and green blooming from the center like ink dropped in still water. a flat silver rectangle hangs in the center with the corners of it smoothly rounded out, and embellished with detailed carvings of flowers around the edges. on the back, an engraving of your name.

why would he do this? 

you carefully return the bracelet inside its case and reach for the envelope with pursed lips. you close your eyes and let out a shaky exhale.

you need to prepare yourself for what you're about to read. if this one's as sweet as his past letters, your resolve— the tiny amount left of it —wouldn't be able to hold you back, especially considering how worn out you are.

"you must have been having a hard time lately— the y/n who’s precious to sunghoon. i hope we can talk again because i want you to tell me that today was tough. i want to be the one you lean on— and the one who tells you that you’re doing a good job regardless. i know you’ve been suffering through a lot, and i want you to know that i’m here.”

the corner of the paper crumples in your tightening fist as you tilt your head up to keep your tears from smudging more of the black ink. you stand in place, trying your best to control your breathing, teeth biting down on your chapped lips as your eyes run over the last words.

“you’ve worked hard, angel. i'm proud of you.”

your shaky hands close the locker door, forehead leaning against it as you hold the letter close to your chest, quietly sniffling with your head hung low, hot tears falling directly on the dirty tiles. “he saw me. he always sees me.” you whisper to yourself, shoulders shaking as your pained cries begin to overtake your body.

there's a faint warmth radiating on your back and your nose picks up notes of sandalwood and leather cutting through the sterile scent of alcohol mixed with floor cleaners.

sunghoon.

he towers over you, body trapped in between his and the cool metal of the lockers as if to hide you from invisible prying eyes. his sturdy arms flip you around, one hand moving to your head to carefully guide it towards his chest, and the other wrapping around you to give your back gentle soothing pats. 

as always, he doesn’t say anything. just wraps you in his arms while his fingers comb through the ends of your hair. 

the two of you stand there until your loud cries are replaced with small hiccups. 

there's a small, shameful whine that leaves your lips when sunghoon pulls away from the hug, but he leans in again, long legs slightly folding to match your height until his face is just a couple of inches away from yours. behind the thick black glasses, his dark orbs gaze into you with worry written all over his face.

you can’t help but feel irritated at how good he looks despite the cheap fluorescent lights hanging overhead.

still as handsome as the first day you saw him— just a little rugged this time around. he looks tired. frazzled. perhaps just as exhausted as you. the dilated vessels turned the whites of his eyes pink, and there’s a faint blue tint on his under eyes that make him look like he’s been losing sleep. 

a selfish part of you hopes you’re the reason for it. 

“i wanted to comfort you, and yet i still managed to make you cry.” he says with a sad smile, both hands cupping your cheek while his thumb brushed away the tears clinging to your lashes. “i’m sorry, angel.” he whispers before hugging you again, making you sigh in comfort. 

you missed hearing that nickname. you missed his voice, his face, his scent, even his stupid glasses.

you just missed sunghoon in general. 

the days you stayed apart drove him crazy too. it gave him the courage to hug you tighter, foregoing his fears and anxieties as he squeezes you in his arms. “i missed you. i think i still do, even now.” he whispers, lips brushing on the crown of your head.

sunghoon held your wrist as he walked outside your department's building to an empty bench.

the pink and peach tones in the sky have disappeared, replaced by the artificial neon orange from the street lamps. the trees are starting to grow their leaves back too, but the cool breeze still nipped at your skin like leftover air from winter trying to leave.

it was cold, but not painful nor unbearable. just enough to keep you alert, aware of how warm your side is from how close sunghoon is sitting beside you. aware of how he made more room by throwing an arm behind and casually resting it on the bench’s backrest so he could cuddle closer.

it feels like whiplash, the way he can’t keep himself from playing with your fingers when a month and a half ago, his obvious choice would be to hold the ends of your shirt like touching your skin would burn him. 

and it does. it still does. 

but who could blame sunghoon? he was an addicted man who got a taste of your touch and firmly decided he’d rather get simultaneously run over, stabbed multiple times, and be set on fire than spend another moment without him holding you or vice versa. kick him too while you’re at it. 

he doesn’t care as long as he can feel you.

“i’m sorry.” he says again, voice as gentle as the way he’s squeezing your index fingers’ knuckles, both pairs of eyes looking at everything else but each other.

you let out a bemused laugh. “do you even know what you’re apologizing for?”

he's stays mum, tongue running across his lower lip and you catch the faint pink color tinting the shell of his ears.

“i don’t. b-but… i do know that whatever i did was enough to push you away from me." he says eventually. "i hope you know it was never intentional. i— i wouldn’t ever ever do anything to hurt you. i understand if you don’t want to tell me what... wrong i did, but i can promise that if you do, i’ll do my best not to do it again.”

his shy mumbles contrast the way he bravely pushes his fingers between yours, the now-interlocked hands resting on his thigh moving up and down as he anxiously bounces his leg.

laughter shatters the solemn atmosphere, causing his head to snap to its source, the evident frown on his face growing deeper. “are you— did you just laugh at my apology?” sunghoon asks with an incredulous expression, making you laugh even harder. still, he can’t help his lips from quirking up at the sight. 

he likes this. he likes holding your hand and hearing you laugh. 

“it’s just— 'm sorry.” you pause, trying to swallow down another fit of giggles trying to burst out. “i just think it’s funny. that’s a new record.”

“what record?”

“the record of most words you’ve said to me at once. the previous one’s fourteen words, i think.”

sunghoon stares, head tilted to one side in confusion. 

“think about it, sunghoon. classes and group lunches aside, you’ve never actually spoken to me properly. it’s never a conversation, it’s almost always just single words.” you let go of his hand only to lay yours on top of his and giving it a couple taps. “or stuff like this.” 

“—it’s like... like you have a word limit. but only when it comes to me.” 

the muscle on his jaw twitches as he sees the little smile on your visage falter, the slight crack in your voice mirroring the one growing in his heart. he wants to object, to defend himself but he knows he wouldn’t have anything proper to say.

“at first i thought it was just because you were shy— but i’ve seen the way you talk to your friends, to my friends.. everyone. everyone loved talking to you, and you seemed to have fun talking with them too. i just don't get why you treat me so different."

sunghoon's hand grips on his own thigh to execute a punishment upon himself. until it hurts, until it stings. but he bears it because he knows it's too light compared to the hurt you've had to silently carry throughout your time with him.

"it sucks that you don’t like me enough to share your hobbies with me, sunghoon. that i have to know you through our mutual friends rather than getting to know you from what you say to me. i—” a pause. “i just gave up because i knew i’m not worth your time, or your effort to speak. that's why i stayed away.”

“y/n… angel, it’s— it’s not like that. i swear.” he cups your cheek to make you look at him. you were still smiling, and yet he saw the sadness in your eyes. the uncertainty.

he hates himself for being the cause of it. 

“then what is it, sunghoon? why don’t you talk to me?” 

“because—” sunghoon takes a deep inhale and purses his lips before finally confessing. “because i don’t know how to.” 

just as the weight is lifted from his shoulders, he feels an even heavier one get dropped back down. he knows there’s no going back. not when you’re looking at him with dissatisfaction in your eyes.

“there’s a reason why i resorted to writing letters instead, y/n. it’s just that…  just— y-you— i’m— fuck!” exasperated, he pulls his hand away from you, using it to rub on his temples instead.

then one travels down and you see as his fingers starts to scratch the base of his neck, nails digging deep into his skin. 

it's one of sunghoon’s habits you’ve noted— an ugly one. the first few times it happened, you tried to talk him out of it, told him how scared you were that he’d hurt himself, but he told you it was to help ground him when he feels frustrated.

like the stubborn man that he is, sunghoon continues to scratch harder and harder, half of his face scrunched up irritation. and true to your fear, he lets out a wince when a thin red gash on the space between his collarbones started to bleed red.

“sunghoon, stop.” you sigh, his wrists tightly trapped in your hold. 

when he turns his head to look at you, he looks like his world has collapsed in itself. he's devastated. broken. 

“i.. i want to explain. i swear, i just—” he closes his eyes tight, hands curling into tight fists under your hold as his chest puffs from how heavy he's breathing. you gently pry each finger open to see deep crescents on his palms. a frown is etched on your lips at the sight, and you know sunghoon’s not faring any better with the way he slumps against you, head rested on your shoulder. 

“they won’t come out..” he finally says after prolonged silence, his voice thin and raspy.

“what won’t, hoon?” 

“... nothing. please let me—” his breaths are trembling, and though you don’t see it, you could feel him holding back from scratching at his neck again.

“whatever it is can wait. just.. don’t. don't do that again.” you mumble, letting go of one of his hands so you could wrap your arms around his shoulder, your palm running up and down his tensed arm while he messily wipes the bleeding scar with his sleeve.

he waits until his breathing turns even before he speaks again.

“are you.. doing anything tomorrow, angel?” 

“hm. no. why?” 

“i… missed you. it’s been so long since i last talked to you.”

“that’s weird. i clearly remember that i was the only one doing all the talking.” you reply with a nudge to his shoulder, hoping your teasing voice is enough to lighten the atmosphere.

“hey! don’t be a smart-ass. you know what i mean. it’s been.. what? like, forty one? maybe forty two days since we hung out properly.”

you lean away from his side.

“you’ve been counting too?” 

“too? so you also did it?” he raises his brow, the previous frown growing into a teasing smile as soon as he sees your expression, like you're glitching between the choice of fight or flight.

“would you look at that. seems like the misery over winter break was mutual.” he says, tone a little too proud for your liking, so you choose fight. you take the soft skin of his cheeks in between your fingers, pinching and stretching it with a whiny sunghoon trying to push your hand away. 

you succumb to his pained pleads to stop.

you lean in closer to soothe the skin with your thumb while laughing under your breath and sunghoon’s eyes slowly flutter close at the touch, head tilting closer to your hand as if to encourage you to continue.

“this is nice.” he whispers, raising his hand and laying it on top of yours to keep it there. 

you want to ask him what stopped him from asking for your touch because it wouldn't even take a heartbeat for you to say yes. you wanted to know why you weren’t given the privilege of seeing him this needy, this vulnerable and bare. yet you kept your mouth shut.

“the university is a place for learning, kids. not dating.”

the sweet little moment is interrupted by an older man, a security guard, pointing his plastic baton at the two of you. “and it doesn’t look like you’re in grad school either, which means you’re not allowed to loiter in university grounds.” he adds, making sunghoon stand straight, head tilted forward to give him an apologetic bow.

“we’re sorry, sir! w-we didn’t notice the time. we’ll be heading home. i promise.” his taller body instinctively steps once to the side, covering you like shield.

the guard tilts his head, brows raised at the odd couple in front of him but his eyes soften as soon he sees the dopey smile on sunghoon’s face when his hands blindly reach out behind him in search of yours. “i better not catch you staying here after-hours again, alright? now go. scram!” 

sunghoon turns around and smoothly slings your bag over his other shoulder like he always used to, your hand held firmly in his as the both of you run to the exit gates giggling like children.

“girls. he just texted me. said he’ll pick me up in an hour.”

you set your phone screen-down on your vanity. jiwon’s behind you, scrolling through pinterest in search for a proper hairstyle inspo and gaeul’s lying on her stomach on top of your bed, busily typing away as she tries to cram her essay. 

thank god you had the foresight to finish it yesterday because one, that meant you got to reunite with sunghoon— who apparently waited for you by the lockers that day —and two, because he was serious about hanging out today.

he double, no, triple checked that you actually wanted to go with him while he walked you to the bus stop, refusing to let go of your hand until you safely got in. 

“i can’t believe that doofus finally got the courage to ask you out. we were wondering how long he’d take.” gaeul chirps up, fingers still busy tapping on her keyboard. 

“finally? what do you mean finally? and what you do mean we?” your hands pause from applying your blush, head craning towards your bed to stare at your dear friend who just stares back with a straight face.

“oh, y/n. don’t be dumb."

"i'm serious!"

"jake and jay? us? we’ve all seen it since we started hanging out. you’re the only one who gets mister congeniality all nervous and speechless. now look in the mirror before i accidentally burn your cheek.” jiwon says, carefully taking your curling wand and a section of your hair. 

“it’s so cute, it’s almost pathetic. but i’m still mad at him for making you cry like that, you know. he better make it up to you today, or else i’m gonna drag his stupid ass through the school field. by his ears.” gaeul says with a face that let you know she intends to follow up on her words.

jiwon continues to hum whilst curling your hair and you try your best to keep your hands from shaking as you apply your gloss.

when you look in the mirror, you can't help but ponder how much your body knew you needed sunghoon because you’re glowing. you look well-rested despite only catching three hours of sleep because of how badly you anticipated this date.

meanwhile sunghoon, alone in his car, is practically vibrating in excitement. or nervousness. he doesn’t know, really. he thinks he stopped being able to differentiate which feeling is which since he saw you that day.

he spent those thirty minutes routinely checking his rearview mirror: is something stuck between the gaps of his teeth? he flossed again just in case. is his hair styled correctly? didn't prevent him from running his fingers through it a few more times. should he put on his coat or would that look too much? fuck, what if he over dressed and you think he’s cringe? 

god, he wasn't even this jittery with his exes.

it's different because he's never actually hung out with you without the excuse of classes or other university-related events. it's different because he's never actually seen you outside the usual café you spend free periods in or under the flashing strobes of the college frat house.

it's different because it's his first date with you, and he's adamant not to make this the last.

ding.

💬 from: my angel. — hoonieeeeee ! i’m almost done. :D 

he glanced at his watch. fifteen minutes left.

enough time for him to drive once around your block, get out of the car, walk to the passenger’s side and coolly lean against it while pretending he wasn’t an inch away from having a mental breakdown a few moments earlier. 

and when sunghoon finally sees you walk out in a satin dress, he’s convinced he might actually have one. 

“hey there, big guy. you look handsome today. well.. you always do. but today especially! i really like your fit!” you say, adorning that bright smile that sunghoon found so captivating.

the plan to look cool immediately got crushed.

he tried to stand up straight, he did. but he ended up leaning again on his car— not to look charismatic. rather, he needed to, because he was barely feeling his knees. his heart was racing, his breathing turned short, and he began feeling the all-too-familiar prickling sensation in his throat. 

“don’t go quiet on me again, or i’ll ignore you. forever this time.”

he looks more made-up, different from the usual hoodie and jeans combo you always saw. still knee-buckling attractive, but clean. khaki trousers adorning his long legs, thin black belt around his hips and a loose blue-colored polo with thin stripes, the sleeves folded to accentuate his forearms. 

there’s a small sense of satisfaction that comes to you when you realize your outfits make you look like a couple. it seems gaeul made the lucky choice of getting you to wear a baby blue today, but you’ll just thank her for that later. 

“your hair’s.. n-nice.” sunghoon says, a bashful smile growing on his face. “o-oh! and– and i have this!” he opens the rear door of his car, and you hear it slam again before he turns around to present you with a bouquet of flowers.

white petals with vivid yellow blooming from the center, wrapped in crumpled iridescent foil and pastel blue paper.

“daffodils. the lady at the flower shop said it symbolizes new beginnings. and— a-and i want that. a new beginning. with you.” he stammers awkwardly, nibbling on his lower lip as his hands push the bouquet towards you. 

you can only coo at his words, fawning over how cute and small he looked right now despite his height. so fucking adorable, this one.

pushing past the bouquet, your arms find purchase around his torso and you squeeze him in your arms. it takes him a second to return it and you feel him release a sigh, one done out of relief and longing, before leaving a gentle kiss on your hair as he lets you go. 

sunghoon opens the passenger seat of his car for you with his signature shy smile, tipping his head to the side.

“get in, angel. i have a lot of making up to do.” 

he takes you driving around first, wanting to spend a little more time together with you in the privacy of his car before he shares you with other people. one hand on the wheel and the other keeping yours warm, he aimlessly drove around while narrating how he spent his winter break with his family.

his dad took him and his two honorary siblings, jay and jake, to a skiing resort. his mom bought him a new camera as his holiday present, and he casually slipped in wanting to test it out next time with you.

in between those stories, sunghoon admitted that his younger sister was the one to suggest the idea of leaving you letters. the confession leaves his lips in between sheepish laughter, resulting in both your cheeks turning pink. 

your heart felt full listening him be so engrossed in his stories, at one point even letting go of the steering wheel to imitate how jake wobbled in his snowboard. sure he still stuttered every now and then, still held himself back from cussing too much on the off chance you’d get turned off, but those are tiny details you’re determined to work through with him. 

he asked about you too, and you talked about the boring train ride back to your old little town, how the place looked like it was frozen in time with the same faces, same remarks about how you look like a carbon copy of your mom. sunghoon just listens intently, a smile on his face as he steals glances of your face from time to time.

you also talked about how you spent a week trying to get dye stains off your hands when your older brother painstakingly made you dye his blonde hair to black in preparation for the new season.

sunghoon’s hand tighten around yours. blonde. 

“what about.. uh.. dates? did you go out with anyone while we weren’t in contact with each other?” 

“hm. not that i recall? there were a few boys in my town, but i know they’re just messing with me.”

sunghoon’s right hand leaves yours to grip on the steering wheel, knuckles turning white and lips turning into a straight line as he stares at the road ahead.

perhaps he’d been mistaken. maybe this is just how you get when you’ve grown closer to someone. maybe the hand holding or the comforting touches you gave him were ones you also gave to other people. maybe you had taken his invitation as a hang out rather than a date and that’s why you agreed despite having someone else waiting on you.

“the boys saw him, you know. if— if you’re still talking to him then… t-then what are we doing right now?”

the change in his tone isn’t lost on you, nor the hardened expression he wears. from the side of his eye, he catches the befuddled look on your face like you genuinely cannot remember the accusation being true. 

“him? who? i— hoon, what are you talking about?”

the mere memory of his friends’ words, of that man, urges sunghoon to pull over to the side of the road so he can face you because when call him an presumptuous loser and friend-zone him, he at least wants to see your pretty face do it.

“jay said he saw you come to their game with a guy. long hair. blonde. said he was clinging on you like a damn shirt.” 

when you laughed at his confession yesterday, he’ll admit he found it cute. but when you do it today, it does nothing else but make his scowl look more sour.

“is this little laughing-at-sunghoon thing a habit you’ve developed over winter break? because this isn’t funny to me.” he glowers, brows furrowing as your laughter increases in pitch, palms repeatedly slapping against your knee. 

“you—” your fingers point to him with a snicker, face looking pained as you try your darndest to hold back a laugh but it comes out anyway.

sunghoon crosses his arms over his chest, thick eyebrow cocked up while gazing at you with an unamused expression. “y/n. i’m serious. if you have a guy back home, you can tell me. it’ll break my heart, yes, but i don’t want to take part in whatever open relationship you guys hav—” 

“sunghoon, that was my brother.” 

“what?”

“tall guy. long hair. blonde. my brother.”

“that was... jeonghan hyung?”

“yes, dummy. jeonghan just wanted to take see at how the basketball team was keeping up now after he graduated. he’s an alumni, remember? you know he had blonde hair. you even hogged my phone all to yourself when he facetimed me that one time.”

it’s your turn to have your arms folded on your chest, tilting your head with a little sass, lips curled in a smirk. wordlessly, his body snaps to the front and he attempts to start the engine again, but you clutch his wrist just in time.

“no— you can’t just say that and ditch the conversation. you’re gonna explain yourself right now, park sunghoon.” 

the sound of his full name said in such a stern voice makes him squirm in his seat.

“i– i was jealous, okay? what more do you want me to say?” he grumbles, looking out the window while weakly attempting to shake your hold off of him, letting out a grunt that barely sounds like your name as you refuse to back down. 

he sighs in defeat, and you can see the sharp tic of his jaw tensing up.

“you weren’t talking to me. barely even looked my way. of course i was worried when my friends started talking about how you went to their practice without me. with a new guy, at that. it just.. the thought didn’t make me feel good. c-can we leave it now? this is embarrassing.”

a satisfied smile pushes your cheekbones up as you turn the keys, giving his shoulder a pat. 

“drive, big guy.” 

sunghoon made a reservation for the restaurant you mentioned months ago in passing. it’s nothing upscale or expensive. no wines or steaks. just the regular korean food you’re used to, but elevated just a little bit to make it taste more contemporary rather than home-made.

but you didn’t really care for that. the sole reason you wanted to go was their aesthetic: the dining area looked like the inside of a greenhouse with its sunroof ceiling, leaves and flowers hanging from wooden beams, and the lighting was just warm enough to set the ambience. 

a hand on the small of your back courteously guided you towards your seat, and you’re too enamored by the interior to notice sunghoon staring at you with eyes full of admiration, his elbow resting on the table so he could comfortably continue to look at you in silence while you take in every detail of your surroundings. 

true to his words, sunghoon makes up for his shortcomings.

he refills your drinks, debones the meat for you, constantly fills your plate before your food even runs out, and he apparently even paid for the meal in advance.

throughout the meal, sunghoon indulges you in short stories, letting you take on the role of the listener rather than the yapper this time around. he's telling you about penguins in antarctica and you hum, taking a sip of your drink when you notice one tiny, yet very clear difference in him today. 

he wasn’t wearing his glasses. 

you know he has a collection of them, and he switches things up every now and then. from thick boxy clear glasses, to the trendy ones you’ve seen models rock on social media.

your favorite pair would have to be the rimless silver ones he wore during your department’s post-exam party because they make him look unreal— like a real-life manhwa character. but he usually wore the good ol’ reliable thick black ones to lectures. 

the glasses had their charm but without them, he’s a different kind of handsome. his features look sharper, especially with the warm lighting casting shadows from his tall, unobstructed nose bridge. his eyes look clearer and more expressive too.

on the side of his chin, a tiny mole. and then another one. black dots mapped out across his fair skin, all varying in size and but your eyes lock on the distinct one under his eye, and one on the side of his nose, right below where his glasses’ nose pad would sit.

no wonder you didn’t see it.

“you’re checking me out? so blatantly?” sunghoon pipes up, and you notice how the mole under his eye moves when he raises an eyebrow at you. it makes you giggle, reaching forward to poking the round dot under his eye.

“i didn’t know you had moles.” you mumble, rubbing on the skin with extra gentleness before leaning back. “kind of reminds me of someone i met when i was a kid.”

“hm? do tell.” 

“ah, it’s nothing. there used to be this kid in my hometown who had moles like yours. god, that was years ago. i was really young— around eight or nine years old, i think. i met him at a playground where older boys were making fun of him for it.” 

“let me guess. you defended him from the big bad bullies and he fell in love with you?” 

“defended him, yeah. jesus, they were assholes. the memory is hazy, but i tried to comfort him by chasing him around and stuff. i tried to go back to the playground again the next day after my classes, but he never came back.” you poke at your left overs with your fork, the distant memory making a grin dance on your lips.

“but falling in love? highly doubt it. told him my name but i never got his back. all i remember's his cute moles. he might as well have been an imaginary friend.” 

“i say defending a kid like that can definitely make them fall for you.”

“are you speaking from experience, mister?”

"partly."

you smile, cupping your hands behind your ear, making sunghoon chuckle as he wipes the corner of his mouth with a napkin.

“when i was a kid, i used to be so timid— waaaaay way worse than i was with you.” he says, and the way his eyes widen when he extends his words make you giggle.

“never talked to my classmates, always stayed at home. even my cousins who visited can’t get a word out of me. my parents tried making me do hobbies to get me out of my shell. you name it, i did it. and it helped, but only by a little. then they thought maybe going to the city might help my introversion. my little sister was growing up, too, so they started looking for a place here in seoul.” 

your elbows perch on the table, chin resting above your interlocked fingers as you give him a dreamy nod. “mhm. and then?” 

“and then the day before we moved, i decided i’m gonna try playing with the kids from my town. just to give it a last shot. except they teased me a lot because i wasn’t talking. they made fun of my moles, too. but then—” sunghoon pauses.

“this strange girl came shouting. i’ve never seen her before. think she went to a different elementary school, but she fought the boys off even though they were taller than her. she threatened to throw rocks at their heads and pull their hair out. and you know what? they looked scared. i think that was the first time i saw genuine fear.” he says, breaking out in a fit of giggles.

“picture this: i was half a foot taller than her but she was reprimanding me and pushing me to stand up straighter, saying i should learn how to speak up and fight back. that no one would fight my battles for me but me. since then, i started doing it— practicing my speech skills and self confidence. eventually, i stopped cowering whenever strangers approached me and i learned how to speak without my voice shaking. it's all thanks to her.” 

when his monologue is over, sunghoon just grins at you like reminiscing alone was enough to comfort him. you feel a little irritated, jealous of the way he speaks so affectionately of her memory.

but at the same time, you can’t help but smile back. that's how you feel about your own little friend after all.

“so you fell in love?"

"i wouldn't be so hasty to call it love. perhaps admiration. deep admiration."

"don’t tell me you never told her your name like my old friend?”

his chuckle is mirthful as he shakes his head. “oh believe me, i did. swear on it. either she didn’t hear me, or she’s deaf because she just started calling me ‘pengoo’ instead of my name.”

pengoo. 

it’s familiar. 

you squint your eyes once more as you see the dimple on his cheek appear, the indentation becoming deeper as he flashes you a knowing smile.

pengoo, pengoo, pengoo. 

wait.

“his shirt. that was the shirt he was wearing...” you trail off in a whisper, the words barely audible as you point your hands at sunghoon, and he just smiles even wider, nodding his head slowly. 

you sit there in stunned silence, hands crossed over your mouth as you stare at the sunghoon whose look of pride turned into concern, nervous of the crystal clear shock on your face. he's cautious as he offers his open palm on the table, skittish and biting his lip when you still refuse to hold his hand.

he calls out your name with such gentleness that you’re transported back to that day— to the little, but still taller boy who had tears in his eyes, looking ridiculous and snotty while sporting a white shirt with a penguin patch.

the one who you affectionately called 'cookies and cream' for the specks of black splattered across his face, whose tears you wiped using your special barbie handkerchief, whose arm you scribbled your name on with your glittery purple pen that he wanted to taste because it smelled like grape juice.

though the memory isn’t as clear as it was to you years ago, he was a constant in your life. whenever you encountered people who leaned more towards timidity, it's him who appeared in the back of your mind. the nameless friend who you never saw again after his worried mom fetched him from the playground.

except he's not nameless anymore, and he's sitting right in front of you.

the salty tears burn when you try to hold them back, but they're insistent on coming out so you hang your head low and attempt to contain your sniffles. panicked, sunghoon gently holds on your arm and guides you outside of the restaurant to a more secluded spot in the front lawn. 

“y/n.” he calls out again, pale hands gently squeezing on your hips as he bends down, trying to take a peek of your face that you insist to cover. “angel… did i make you cry again?” he sighs and you shake your head, quickly taking him in your arms, hugging him like how a mother would her child who’s come back from war. 

“my pengoo.. my pengoo.” you choke out in between stifled sobs, stroking his head. his arms wrap around your waist, lifting you off of the ground for a moment as his face settles on the crook of your neck, nose brushing against the skin as he whispers back.

“it’s me. pengoo’s here. you're okay. i'm not leaving.” his words do nothing but make you cry harder, tears staining his shirt and fists crumpling the fabric on his back. 

“i can’t believe it’s you. i–”

"do you want to talk about this somewhere else, angel?” sunghoon asks in a soft voice, a tone he reserved only for you, carefully wiping your damp under eyes.

a nod is all he needs.

the travel is silent aside from the small little sniffles you do and the faint melody from the car’s speaker. your eyes blankly stare outside, the view of the buildings just as blurry as the thoughts and memories running in your head. meanwhile sunghoon’s trying his best to console you, his thumb lazily rubbing the skin on the back of your hand while stealing glances every now and then.

“where are we?” you croak out when the car comes to a halt. sunghoon opens the car door, his fingers nimble as they take your seatbelt off for you. “a park near my neighborhood. in one of my favorite spots to rest my head which you need to do.”

his hand return to yours so he can pull you towards the picnic area.

sits down on a bench and you elect to sit on the wooden table itself, head craning as you take in the new environment. the place is beautiful. quiet, serene and full of trees that it looks like a modern glitch in the middle of a forest.

“you’re not gonna kill me for knowing your secret, are you?” you sniffle, feet gently nudging the side of his thigh with a soft chuckle.

“no people, no witness. i’m sorry, y/n. can’t have people knowing i was a loser back in the day.” he says in a gurgled voice after looking around, playfully pinching your arm which makes you squeal and swat his hands away. 

in the middle of play fighting, your eyes catch the swing set nearby and you remember him again. pengoo.

the flashback is so clear you could almost see a younger version of yourselves: you, pushing him on the swing, and him using his voice properly for the first time to scream ‘stop!’ when his seated body lifts too high off the ground.

you turn to sunghoon, the real, grown sunghoon, and he’s already looking up at you with one hand resting on your covered knee, giving it languid strokes with his thumb. 

"penny for your thoughts?"

“why, hoon? i mean.. if you knew all along, why didn’t you tell me?” you reach for his cheek and his eyes close at the contact, letting out a soft sigh of comfort. he holds it in place, tilting his head to leave a light kiss on your palm.

“i’m sorry. if you want me to be honest, i had no plans to let you know. i wasn’t even aware you remembered that day. for all i knew, i was just one of the strangers who got bright little y/n’s help.”

“you… you grew up so well.” salty tears blur your vision again as you lean down to press your lips against his forehead.

“i couldn’t have done it without you. that was a significant event in my formative years— i seriously can’t imagine what kind of life i’d live if i hadn’t met you that day.” he stands up so he can tower over you, looking down to wipe the wetness from your eyes. 

“you're my savior. my angel in every sense of the word.” 

you walk around the area holding each other’s hand, going over your first meeting— the actual one — the one you had before you met again as grown ups.

he tried talking his parents out of moving, and though they were surprised at his sudden enthusiasm, they ultimately refused because the new house in seoul was already paid for. he waited for you that morning, until the last second— until his parents were yelling at him from the car. 'i think i left a piece of my heart in that playground.' are his exact words.

his search didn't stop there. night and day he bothered his parents to contact anyone they could from their previous town, to ask if anyone had a child with your name. but because his parents were like him— aloof and private, nothing really turned up.

but he was a kid determined to keep you alive and present in his mind so when he met you again that fortunate morning in university, he immediately knew it was you without even hearing your voice.

every day he stayed by your side was spent in awe, marveling at the woman you’ve become. 

there wasn’t much difference, physically nor emotionally. obviously you’ve matured and grown into your features— but you still talked in the same cadence, spoke your mind with just as much enthusiasm, and still cared for people the same way you did to the young boy in the playground.

still the same girl who’d get him too flustered to talk properly.

“so jay and jake knew about me the whole time too?” you ask after arriving at the parking area and sunghoon lifts you up to sit on the hood of his car. he nods, comfortably settling between your parted legs as his hands rest on your thighs. 

“of course. they were the first to know about my childhood crush after all.” 

“childhood crush, huh. what about now? am i still a crush?” you wiggle your eyebrows at him and he rolls his eyes, the cute little dip on his cheek becoming more evident.

“you know the answer to that already, angel.” he replies, pulling you closer to him by your hips and your arms naturally loop around his neck like they were always meant to be there.

you don’t know whether it’s the long day you’ve had, or the insane revelation of who sunghoon has been this whole time, but your head’s starting to spin.

perhaps it’s his cologne, how it’s starting to smell is stronger and stronger as his body leans closer to yours. or maybe it’s the way you feel too warm in your own skin whenever his eyes drop to your lips, and how he his sharp fangs poke out when he bites his in return.

it’s like the air turned heavy in a matter of a few seconds and the cool breeze is doing nothing to thin out the tension in the wide empty space.

from this close, you could hear his breath get slower, thicker, eyes never leaving your mouth. he brings a hand up to cup your cheek and your breath hitches when his thumb brushes over your lower lip.

sunghoon closes the distance first. 

the kiss is sweet and gentle but filled with yearning and just a little bit of hesitation. your lips are the softest too, practically erasing any memory left over from the other irrelevant girls he’s kissed before. and you’re so damn sweet.

despite every inch of his body wanting to have more, he does the gentlemanly thing to do and breaks the kiss but not without biting on your plump lower lip first. when his eyes finally focus, your cheeks are flushed, tinted a rosey color like your slightly swollen lips that reflect the distant street lights.

sunghoon's grip on you is as tight— just a hair above bruising. it’s taking everything to hold on his self-control, to not take you for himself right then and there.

he just had you back. he doesn’t want to scare you away by being so forward with his need and indecency. 

but it’s so, so hard to behave when you’re like this, so small and flustered, looking up at him with half lidded eyes and your lower lip trapped between your teeth.

so when he feels you attempt to press your thighs close, his instinct tells him to pull you even closer to keep them open, the movement making your dress ride up, the slit on its side exposing more of your skin. 

and you whine—either from his touch or from the cold air— but sunghoon doesn’t care. not anymore.

the noise you make is more than enough to snap whatever’s left of his restraint and he leans down to capture your lips again. but it isn't soft this time.

it's sure.

it's hungry and handsy.

still full of yearning, but mixed with the raw, physical need to be closer to one another.

your heads tilt to opposite sides, lips weaved together while letting out small whispers of sweet nothings in between.

sunghoon takes your lower lip in between his again, sucking on the flesh while his hand slip underneath the slit of your dress, palm rubbing up and down the skin of your upper thigh, leaving goosebumps in its wake. 

while his lips keep your mind fuzzy, he busies his hand by trailing it higher and higher beneath the loose fabric of your dress until you feel his thumb graze your bare hips, just a fraction of an inch below where your panties are resting, making you gasp against his mouth. 

a chance opens up for sunghoon to snake his tongue past your lips, and he greedily takes it, determined to explore every possible inch. you taste like decadence. like the coffee ice cream you had for dessert combined with something celestial.

it's fucking heavenly. 

you try to fight him back with your tongue, and for a while, he lets you. convinces you that you’re winning when you try to push your tongue against his, pink muscles twirling together in a dance full of lust and wanting, but sunghoon eventually grows tired of it and he gives your thigh a reprimanding squeeze, making you moan again, providing him the perfect opportunity to take over the messy liplock. 

you take the small bit of revenge you can by threading your fingers through the jet black locks on the back of his head, tugging on it once, twice, until he’s growling your name against your open mouth.

his lips wrap around yours, your tongue graze on the sharp end of his canines, his fingers wander near the plump of your ass, and you kiss until both of you are literally seeing stars.

you part, heaving oxygen back in your deprived lungs and your foreheads meet with eyes still in steady contact as your heavy breathing mingles.

sunghoon’s hands never leave your thigh or your cheek. rather, he gives them a final brush with his thumb before stealing a quick peck, damp lips brushing against your skin until it reaches your jaw, giving the spot a kiss as well.

“perv.” you say, raising your thigh a little just so you could push sunghoon’s hand away. “first kiss and you’re already feeling me up?” 

“okay, y/n. let’s pretend your eyes weren’t my arms the entire time i was driving. i know you like how veiny they look.” he replies after leaning back, the same canines that were grazing on your tongue a while ago now in full display as he flashes you a cocky grin.

“i.. you noticed that?” 

“i did. i notice a lot of things about you.” 

“like what?” 

he's quiet for a moment.

“like how you’re starting to shiver.” his muscular arms lift you up and safely bring you back down to the ground.

“i think it’s time to get you home, angel.” 

a cacophony of cheers erupt in your classroom as the announcement blares from the speaker. an early dismissal due to seniors needing several classrooms to prepare for something you didn’t care enough to pay attention to. 

all you knew was you needed to get out as soon as possible so you can see sunghoon again. 

from: pengoo. 🐧— heard the announcement yet? :)  to: pengoo. 🐧 — yep!! i'll just grab a few things from my locker and head there. see u! ♡ from: pengoo. 🐧 — see you, angel. :) 

the two of you made the university garden your official hang-out spot. specifically the one near the big ginkgo tree where the both of you have spent hours under either people-watching, eating or reviewing.

and stealing kisses from each other, of course.

so when sunghoon asked to meet you there this morning, the answer was an automatic yes.

just as you sit down on the picnic mat, you see him appear from behind a tall shrub, bag slung over his shoulder and a big plastic bag hanging from his hand.

“did i take too long? i'm sorry, angel. it was lunch rush and there was a line in the restaurant and jake was arguing with a girl and—” 

“hoon. i just got here. it’s okay.” you say, chuckling at his never-changing nervous demeanor.

he leans forward to give your lips a chaste peck, an apology leaving his lips again before he busies himself by taking your lunch out of the plastic and making sure your bottle is uncapped and your utensils are cleaned before tending to his own food. 

a fond smile creeps on your lips as watch him try to talk about his morning in between bites. he really has improved since that date. gone is the boy who shied away from your touches, and replaced by one who openly asks for a hug and whines when he doesn’t feel your hands on his whenever you walk together. 

his hand is always in yours when he drives both of you to school (despite the fact that he has to drive 20 minutes earlier to do so.) his arm consistently curled around your shoulder or your waist when you walk to class together. you always tease him for it too, but he just takes it with a smile because he knows it’s true.

he’s whipped for you. 

after you eat and clean up, you offer to keep the picnic mat in your locker but sunghoon mentions he wants to stay for a bit more, and you appease him, letting him lie down with his head comfortably laying on your plush thighs while you lean back, palms pressed on the mat to support yourself.

silence envelops the both of you, but it doesn’t make your head run through a million thoughts anymore. it isn’t tense this time. 

your eyes wander to him again— your not-quite-boyfriend boyfriend.

your finger pokes at the mole at the side of his nose out of habit, the glass beads in your bracelet reflecting bright spots on his smooth skin. you go from one mole to the next, moving it down the sharp bridge of his nose, then to his jaw, and you giggle upon feeling sunghoon shiver under your featherlight touch. 

you move your middle finger down his neck, choosing to poke at the peak of his adam’s apple before noticing the pink lines on his neck.

again?

before you can even point it out, sunghoon’s voice cuts through the silence. 

“i feel like pengoo whenever i’m with you.”

you sit up properly. “pengoo?” 

he gives you a nod and you stare, giving him a look that spells ‘i don’t know what you mean’, making him smile. 

“whenever you’re around… it’s like i become that kid again. the one that can’t speak or think properly. i don’t know, it’s weird. the same girl that gave me the confidence to talk being the same one i can’t be around without making a fool of myself? i can’t even give you a proper compliment for god’s sake.” 

that’s true. he always compliments your outfits, or your accessories, or compliments you through implications. things like “you’re making everyone stare.” or “that cute puppy looks just like you.” but nothing that’s actually a straight forward compliment. 

you never had the courage to bring it up to him, partly because you’re afraid he might find you too needy, but also because deep down, you know the words he did say already took a lot of courage from him.

“i don’t.. really mind. not that much.” 

“don’t lie to me, angel.” 

“i’m serious!” you laugh, fingers forcibly pushing the edges of his frowned lips upward. “i do have a question though.”

“what is it?” 

your fingers ghost over the exposed skin on the base of his neck, fingers gently pressing on the spot between his clavicles, tracing over the faint red scratches over it.

“have you been scratching your neck again? why do you do it when you know i don’t like it?” 

“angel… i just—” he sighs softly, reaching for your hand. “i get frustrated.” 

“you always say that. but there has to be a way for you to release your frustrations without scratching? the scar from last time isn’t even healed yet.” 

below you, sunghoon releases a soft sigh and raises a hand to poke at the same spot on your neck. “what is this?” he asks.

“my neck…?” you reply cluelessly, to which he just shakes his head, poking at the skin again flinch from the ticklishness of his touch. "what's inside here?"

“my throat?” 

he finally nods, pointing to his own. “they get stuck here.” he opens his mouth, tongue sticking out and points to it as well. “and here.” 

“they? hoon, you have to stop talking in riddles. you know i’m stupid.”

sunghoon runs a hand over his face and sits up, moving behind you until you're settled between his legs, back comfortably leaned against his firm chest.

“okay. i’m doing this.” he whispers mostly to himself before squeezing you in his arms as if to reassure himself. “don’t interrupt me, okay? because if i don’t get this out completely, i might not be able to say it at all.”

you press your palms on the arms wrapped around your waist and nod.

“you see those those?” sunghoon asks, and your eyes follow the direction of his finger pointing at the different florae.

the green leaves of the bushes look even brighter next to different bundles of spring-born tulips— colors of white, red and vibrant yellow scattered throughout the garden. 

you're unsure of where this conversation is headed, but nod anyway.

“it’s like i have that inside me. a garden— of words.” he says slowly, taking pauses between every words.

“at least that’s what i started telling myself after i left years ago to aid me in my quietness and it helped. a lot. i realized that i don’t really have to give people anything of value, and it made talking easier. if i don’t like someone, i can give them dead leaves or even weeds. but if i do, i can give them grass or the most common roses and it’ll do. maybe even an arrangement of better flowers for the people i want to keep in my life.” 

he stays quiet for a beat, and you can feel his nose poke on your skin as his lips press on the exposed skin of your shoulder. “but you… you know you mean a lot to me, right?”

you reply with a hum, eyes glued to the leaves and petals swaying in the wind.

“i'm slow to speak because i take so long walking through the garden. because it's so difficult to choose what to give to you. because i want to pick and gather only the prettiest flowers— the prettiest, kindest words —for you. i want them to be neatly arranged and looking just as beautiful as the way you appear to me. because you’re precious to me... and you deserve nothing less.”

the words tug on your heartstrings in a way you’ve never felt before. to be adored and admired so much to the point of speechlessness wasn’t something you’ve ever experienced, or frankly, ever expected.

so when he speaks of you in such a way, it overwhelms your chest with a sense of safety— of knowing your heart is safe with him. 

and the way he says it too: voice low, shaky, and starkly different from the composed sunghoon you usually hear in classes.

it's then that you realize the apprehension you saw you wasn't done out of malice.

sunghoon only did it because he wanted to protect something dear to him.

he shifts and pulls his hands away from your waist only to sit cross legged in front of you. it seems like you aren’t the only one feeling vulnerable because when you see him, he looks just as flustered.

his cheeks are rosy and his ears are in an even deeper shade, almost matching the petals floating above the grass.

“don’t laugh at me for this, okay?” a defeated chuckle leaves his lips and he reaches for your hand, threading his fingers through yours before looking you in the eye. "jake and jay know about how much i've been rehearsing."

"hm?"

“i’ve dreamt of meeting you again, you know? so when i saw you on our first day, i told myself that i’ll do it. i’ll show you my gratitude. i’ll show you i’ve changed. that i’ve grown. that i’m not the sickly and shy kid in the park anymore.” sunghoon pauses. “so every night in front of my mirror, i rehearse the different ways i could talk to you— and it worked. it always goes smoothly.”

“but i’ll see you again in the morning and it’s like the hours i spent practicing rush out the window— because.. b-because i’ll hear your voice, and you’ll laugh, and you'll smile. and you’ll look at me the way you are right now… and it’s like all the bouquet of flowers get stuck here.” sunghoon explains, finger accusatorily pointing to the still-healing scar on the skin above his throat.

“it feels like their thorns are piercing me from the inside, angel. it sucks and it’s frustrating. and the only way to relieve it is to scratch, but they won’t come out even if i do. and then i’ll beat myself up over it, go home, and the cycle will repeat itself. and— you’re doing that smile again. s-stop it!” he stammers, finger now angrily pointed to you. 

you chuckle because you don’t even know what kind of smile he means and sunghoon just sighs, reaching for his neck again, palm over his throat like he’s trying to relieve the itch without scratching.

he looks annoyed and irritated, nose scrunched up as he clears his throat one, two times.

“i— i love you, y/n.”

the three words he’s been itching to confess for months, now breaking free from the tip of his tongue.

both of you freeze in your spots.

you can’t believe the words he just said, and he looks like can’t believe it either. 

“i love you.” sunghoon repeats, gnawing on the flesh on the inside of his lip while his hands squeeze on the base of his neck as if physically forcing the words out. “i think you’re so cool. and you’re pretty. but even that isn’t enough. beautiful is the closest i can get, but i hope you get what i mean a-and… fuck, i should’ve just written a letter.”

an intense battle of eye contact ensues, his free hand curled tightly atop his lap as he takes a deep breath in.

“i— i’ve admired you since i was a clueless kid in the playground. liked you s-since you talked to me on our first day. and i’ve loved you since our first kiss, but i was too much of a pussy to say it then because i didn’t want you to think i only loved you because of it.” he grunts, knuckles pressing on his temple. “and i’m sorry that i don’t talk much because every time i do, it just makes you cry and i don’t want to see you crying because it breaks my heart too—”

the speed at which his words come out begins to pick up, making it barely understandable so you call out his name in an attempt to slow him down but he just looks at you with determination in his eyes.

“no! listen to me. i know i’ve had my moments, and i’ll probably keep having them, but i want you to know that i love you. sincerely. you’re precious to me, y/n. and i don’t want you to doubt what i feel any longer so believe me when i say i’m trying my best right now, even though i’m babbling.”

he pauses just to take another inhale, and when he finally speaks again, both his voice and his eyes turn softer. so soft you can't hear his words.

"i'm sorry, hoon. i didn't quite catch that."

"y/n. will you please be my girlfriend? you can say no, o-of course. i'm just throwing the idea out there but if you think i haven't proved myself yet then i'll be fine just waiting, i swear i c—” 

you swallow the rest of his words in your mouth as you press your lips against his, eyes closed while you grab sunghoon’s hand by his wrist and guide it to your nape.

he lets out a meek sound of surprise but you can immediately feel him melt into you, fingers tightly holding on the neckline of your shirt as his soft, pillow-soft lips locked against yours in a slow but passionate kiss. 

when you pull away, sunghoon’s eyes are glassy and you can see love pouring out from the way the beautiful chocolate brown orbs gaze into yours.

you leave a gentle peck on the mole under his eye— a thing you’ve picked up after multiple make out sessions —and lean back to appreciate the full view of a flustered sunghoon. 

“i love you too.” you finally reply with an elated smile. “and i’d love to be your girlfriend.”

if humans had the chance to have heart-shaped eyes, you’re convinced sunghoon would have it at this moment.

his cheekbones are pushed all the way up, pearly whites flashed at you before he tackles you down into the picnic mat with a tight bear hug making you giggle loudly as he rolls the both of you from side to side while pressing kisses all over your face. 

“hoon!” you squeal while wriggling in his hold and he relents, standing up to run in a wide circle around the garden, arms spread out wide while yelling.

“she said yes! y/n’s mine! my girlfriend!”

thankfully, the few people meters away only flash the two of you confused looks before going about their business.

"can't believe you're my girlfriend now." he giggles breathlessly as he ends his run in front of you, only to wrap his arms around your figure once more, lifting you off the ground and spinning in place while professing his love at the top of his lungs.

it’s dizzying to be his, literally and figuratively. but you wouldn’t have it any other way. you're his, and he's yours.

you love park sunghoon.

from the thorns, to the long stems and rough leaves, up until the prettiest petals that are finally able to leave his soft lips.

but sunghoon is determined to spend the rest of life growing his garden until he can find the words that'll convince you that he loves you more. 

BONUS SCENE:

"let me get this straight. you're telling me that you got jealous of me.. so you made my little y/n cry three times?" jeonghan's voice is low, face void of any emotion as his arms cross over his chest across the both of you.

"technically it's seven, if we count the times i cried over winter break too." you mumble, meekly raising seven fingers.

sunghoon turn to you with wide eyes in disbelief. why would you throw your boyfriend under the bus? during his first time personally meeting your brother, no less.

"y/n, what the hell?"

jeonghan's hand slammed on the table, making the both of you flinch. "don't look at her. look at me. i was asking you a question, and now you're going to explain."

he thought jeonghan was cool— and he still does— but he reminded sunghoon so much of you whenever you get stern, and it's like deja vu of the time you got serious with him during your first date.

"no, i— it wasn't necessarily because of that, hyung. i just so happen to have made her cry after i got jealous so it isn't really a cause-and-effect scenario—"

"love, you're getting a little off track..."

"he said he wanted me to explain—"

your brother's giggles echo throughout your family home's dining area and he shakes his head, leaning over to tap on sunghoon's shoulder. "nah, man. i'm just fucking with you. but you knew i had blonde hair so you really should've known better."

"i.. y-yes, sir! i mean hyung! sir— i.. i mean... yeah." he sighs in defeat, head hanging low in an apologetic bow while jeonghan just nodded in acknowledgement.

"but if you make my little y/n cry again, i'll make sure you really won't be able to use that throat of your ever again, got it?" the way your brother's able to make those words sound sweet make even your heart race, your hand finding sunghoon's underneath the table to give it comforting pats.

"and you're sleeping in my room. no nicknames or pda as long as you're under the yoon household."

your boyfriend's eyes travel between you and your brother and he only grips your hand, nodding.

he can't wait to go back to seoul.

꒰ from ! 🐰 yan ꒱⠀⠀aaaaaaaaaaa!! it's finally done. i'm gonna cry. ૮₍˶ ╥ ‸ ╥ ⑅₎ა i saw the video of i-lander sunghoon dancing to pretty u again and i just had to. if you can't already tell, this is heavily inspired by the song, especially the confession part! i'm thinking of writing shorter drabbles of other members so just shoot me an ask if you have an idea. < 3

⌗ taglist — @neozon3nha @zerocoded @firstclassjaylee @yuyita-rosier @chiiyuuvv

© hoonstrology 2025. please don't translate, plagiarize, steal, or repost any of my works.

[caratstick]

This was so good. I loved the kdrama style twist at the end. Also, this version of Sunghoon is a precious angel and let’s just agree is canon 🥹

[izzyy-stuff]

𝐒𝐄𝐑𝐄𝐍𝐀𝐃𝐄 - 𝐂𝐇𝐎𝐈 𝐁𝐄𝐎𝐌𝐆𝐘𝐔

IN WHICH after waking up to a song playing outside of your window as if you were in a corny romance movie, you get to meet Choi Beomgyu, a boy so desperately in love that he drove across town to confess his love, just to find out he did so outside of the wrong house.

pairing– Choi Beomgyu x fem!reader

featuring– txt members, original characters, Heeseung and Jake of enhypen

genre– fluff, angst, suggestive — mature talks, topics, but no explicit smut

contains– band member!Beomgyu, nerd!Beomgyu, nerd!reader, school setting BUT EVERYONE IS OF AGE, reader works at a convenience store, Beomgyu has a crush on someone else at first, party + drinking on said party, reader lives with her parents, both parents mentioned, reader is mentioned to be a virgin, reader is able to play basketball, reader wearing a skirt, 10 things I hate about you mentions

word count– 18.2k

↪ izzy speaks... ahh my baby is finally here! I love writing fluff, it's how I was made to be—a girl that writes happy stories. I really think serenade is a cute one, and I'm so glad I decided to do it with Beomgyu, my love <3 I want to say thank you to Mae again for helping me with editing this, you saved my life <3 I also want to thank Adel—for always listening to my yaps about my stories and helping me sort out my thoughts. And everyone reading this. My stories happen because of y'all. :3

playlist | masterlist

It’s been a while since you’ve had a good night’s sleep. However, you knew that the moment your face hit the pillow and the exhaustion from the long week settled in, tonight was going to be the day. There was no need for you to wake up early tomorrow, and you were going to take advantage of that, ready to sleep throughout the entire morning. 

But your plans on catching up onto your messed up sleep schedule fail once again when the guitar reaches your ears, stirring you awake. Then, the soft voice follows right after, making you rub your eyes with the back of your hand, glancing at the time on your phone. 8:12. There goes your dream of sleeping in. 

You make it out of the bed, searching for where the sound is coming from. It couldn’t be your house, you’d have to own a guitar for that first. Once you reach your window and look outside to see a boy with a guitar, it all starts making sense. 

Well actually, it makes even less sense. 

You scan his figure, watching his brown hair fall in front of his eyes as he plays the instrument, a bike lying right beside his feet. You blink confusedly, listening to the soft melody you don’t recognize. And even though you can’t seem to wrap your head around why he is standing outside your house and singing a love song, it does sound amazing. His voice combined with the soft chords of the guitar warm your heart, causing you to open the window fully to see and hear better. 

As soon as you do, his eyes lock with yours and he freezes. The song stops, his fingers stilled on the guitar strings as he scans your face, quickly looking around as if he was searching for someone. You both blink confusedly when your eyes meet again, trying to see what the hell is happening. He clears his throat first, awkwardly running his hand through his hair. “Is– Uhm, is Yuna here?” You frown, narrowing your eyes at him. “Who?” You question, watching his cheeks turn red, probably from embarrassment. “Kim Yuna? I uhm, isn’t this her house?” 

Suddenly, it all makes sense. Of course this poor boy is confessing his love under your window for a different girl. You don’t know him, obviously, but it still manages to hit. “Are you from Haneul Academy?” You scan him all over again, getting your answer in the form of a slight nod. You nod as well, everything falling in pieces together. Kim Yuna, the one person you despise. Yeah, she definitely doesn’t live in your house. 

“I’m sorry to disappoint you, but no. She doesn’t even live on this street.” If his cheeks were red before, he doesn’t want to know what his face looks like now. It’s so utterly embarrassing. What was he even thinking about? Riding the bike with a guitar on his back on a Saturday morning to sing a love song for someone he wasn’t dating was already stupid enough, but this? This was terrible. 

He moves around busily, grabbing his bike so quickly that his guitar almost breaks as it bumps into it. You open your mouth to say something, anything really, but you can’t find the right words. What are you supposed to say? Hey, it’s all good, at least you didn’t embarrass yourself in front of anyone else? You sigh, watching him get on his bike while mumbling soft, messy apologies without looking you in the eyes. He almost manages to fall off it when he fixes his guitar, but quickly gets himself back together, running away as if he’s just robbed a bank. 

You watch him go from your bedroom window, your eyes softening just slightly. You feel bad for him, honestly. You’re sure he feels embarrassed, you would too, but a part of you thinks this might actually be better for him. 

You know Yuna briefly. You’ve never talked to her outside of school, and even then, it was just when she wanted to borrow your notes before a test, but you still knew enough. A social butterfly with friends everywhere she looks, always around someone, no matter who it is. Her grades aren’t anything impressive, just average, and still, people seem to love her for a reason unknown to you. She’s pretty, you have to give her that, but you always believed in looking for more in a person, which leaves you confused on how it’s possible she is always dating someone. 

Maybe she isn’t a bad person, you can’t know that, but you know she cheats her way through exams every semester, that she’s got a few upper classmates wrapped around her finger enough for them to always get her into the front of the line at the cafeteria, that she has started the ‘pretty contest’ in her first year just so the guys could rate girls at school for their own pleasure, and that much was definitely enough for you to dislike her. 

You step away from the window, lingering for just a second before jumping into your bed again, your hands resting on your stomach as you stare at the ceiling, replaying the song in your head with a soft hum of the melody. You close your eyes shortly after, falling back into the dream realm, where you see the unknown boy again, singing a song only you could hear. 

You regret signing up for an afternoon shift as soon as you step inside the store, your manager barely greeting you before running off, mumbling something about not being able to wait to get home and watch the football game. You settle behind the cash register, stretching your arms above your head. 

It’s shortly after that the real work starts and you see customers walking in. It feels okay until people start asking you for help while you have a line at the cash register, trying your best to explain to them where they can find the product while scanning items of the person in front of you. They’re usually understanding, letting you do what you need and willing to wait a while, but there are also occasions where you get yelled at for being too slow or being a mess, making you clench your jaw. It’s not a hard job and it pays you good money, that’s why you like it so much, but people like that always make you want to quit. 

Thankfully, it slows down before you can lose your mind and never come back. You breathe out in relief, sitting down in your chair and unlocking your phone. There’s ten minutes left before you can leave and you just pray no one else comes in. If you’re lucky, the manager gets here earlier and lets you leave even before your shift fully ends. 

But of course, it’s not the manager that walks in. You raise your head and place your phone aside, your eyes widening when you see the same black zip up hoodie you did this morning. His hands are in his pockets, his feet leading him to a ramen alley before he can even notice you. 

You watch him from your place, debating if it’s better to leave him alone and hope he doesn’t recognize you or approach him. Eventually, when he walks to the cash register to pay, you settle for the latter. “Hi,” you greet him awkwardly, scanning his cup of ramen. His eyes meet yours and his cheeks immediately turn pink, making him avert his eyes again as he greets you back. You smile, hoping to make it somehow less awkward while telling him his total. He places the exact amount in front of you and grabs his food, hesitating for a second. “I’m sorry, again,” he mumbles, raising his head again. 

Your eyes soften a bit when you catch the blush hiding behind his glasses and messy hair, obviously still flustered. “I didn’t…did I wake you up?” He wonders when he remembers you standing in the window in your pajamas with your hair slightly ruffled from sleep. You shrug, putting the money away into the register before turning your head back to him. “Yeah but it’s fine, I wanted to wake up early anyway,” you lie so he doesn’t feel even worse, watching him hum in response. 

“Can I, uhm, do you want anything from the store? Like coffee or ice cream? I…feel bad,” he admits, his eyes more sincere than you thought possible. You think about it, trying to see what the correct answer is, but when you figure there isn’t one, you just nod. “Coffee would be nice,” you agree, and before he can walk away to find a cup, you extend your hand towards him, your name slipping past your lips. He smiles, still awkward, as he shakes your hand, repeating your name inside his head to memorize it. “Choi Beomgyu.” 

Your manager steps inside the store just as you collect the money for your coffee from Beomgyu. You smile at him, stepping out and making space for him at the register so he can lock it. It’s been around a year since you started working here and for some reason, he still doesn’t want you closing. At first, you found it weird, worried about what you did wrong, but then you learnt he is like that with every one of his part timers, no matter how long he’s known them for. His trust issues are bad, but honestly you can’t blame him. He’s just being careful. 

Beomgyu stands on the side awkwardly, debating if this was his cue to leave. Your manager seems to catch onto that because his eyes flicker from him to you before sighing. “Yeah, you’re all good for today. Feel free to leave with your little boyfriend.” There were so many things wrong with the sentence, but you didn’t have a chance to correct him before Beomgyu hands you your drink, offering to walk you home since it’s dark outside. 

You walk side by side, sipping on your coffee without a single word. You’re not sure if he minds or not. With his hands in his pockets again and his eyes glued to the ground beneath his feet, it’s hard to tell. “You don’t have to walk me home,” you mumble, making him look up. “It’s okay. I know where you live now anyway,” he jokes, but his laugh doesn’t sound entirely convincing, more like regretting. 

“How did you end up there?” You wonder, watching the corner of his mouth twitch slightly. You narrow your eyes, trying your best to read him. “I’ve got the address from one of Yuna’s friends—Jia. I asked her for it last week, I doubt she moved out in the last few days and you started living there instead, though.” He kicks a few rocks on the ground and you nod. “Lived there my whole life,” you let him know and he hums. “I was stupid,” he shrugs like it’s no big deal, like it’s something he expected deep down. 

You’re not sure what to say or do. People never have a right or wrong answer, but most of the time, you can still tell what they expect from you or what they want to hear by the tone of their voice, by the way they stand, or any other body language. Beomgyu doesn’t give you any clues, though. 

“Do you…like her a lot?” You ask instead, the words feeling sour on your lips. He seems to think for a second, weighing his pros and cons. “We’ve spoken twice,” he mumbles, blowing some air on his forehead to get his hair out of his eyes. “I don’t exactly know her, to be honest, but yeah, I do like her.” 

“Why?” The question comes out more judging than you’d want it to but either he doesn’t notice, or simply doesn’t care. “I don’t know,” he shrugs. “She was nice when we spoke. It surprised me. I never expected a girl like her to look my way, let alone ask me about music and when our performances are.” 

“A girl like what?” You frown, quickly masking it by taking another sip. “A pretty girl,” he says casually, and when he senses you quiet down, his eyes widen, quickly shaking his hands in the air to correct himself. “Which isn’t supposed to mean that the girls that do talk to me normally are ugly. Not that many girls talk to me. I– uhm– I think everyone is pretty, in their own way. She just is kind of out of my league, you know? And that makes me even stupider for thinking there would be a chance but–” 

“Calm down,” you interrupt his panicking, a snicker escaping your lips. He’s blushing again and it’s honestly kind of cute. “If you think you’re stupid, then you probably have a chance with her, she likes that kind.” He rolls his eyes at your comment, shaking his head with a soft chuckle, making your lips curl up into a smile. You’re glad he understands a joke and doesn’t attack you immediately—which is something you’re sure all of the boys she keeps around herself would do. 

“Sorry for the rambling. I don’t exactly know how you’re supposed to talk to girls,” he admits, making you chuckle. You let the conversation settle into a comfortable silence again, thinking about everything he’s said until now. The longer you spend with him, the less he makes sense to you. He’s nice, calm, quiet, innocent and pure, so why does he look at someone like Yuna? You can’t wrap your head around it. There’s a specific type of guys she’s dated, from what you observed, always the exact opposite of what Beomgyu is. 

“The song is really nice by the way,” you proclaim, finishing your drink. “What song?” He asks confusedly, processing your sentence for a second before he connects the dots, his eyes widening. “It’s cringe,” he corrects you, averting his eyes again in embarrassment. “Do you really think that?” — “Yeah,” he nods, but you don’t believe him. To you, it seems more like he’s building up a wall in case you were going to agree, change your mind and say it’s the worst song you’ve ever heard. 

“Well, I think it’s really good,” you assure him. “It’s been playing on repeat in my head.” 

“Really?” He blinks hopefully, your smile widening as you nod. “Yeah. You wrote it, right?” 

“I did,” he agrees, biting back his smile. “It’s stupid, though, isn’t it? Writing a song for a girl that I know will reject me.” 

“You keep saying that you’re stupid and that what you do is stupid,” you mumble, shaking your head slightly. “But I don’t think that’s right.” He seems caught off guard by your words, struggling to find the right answer. 

“I’m not stupid,” he says finally, tilting his head slightly with a sigh. “But I make decisions like that, sometimes.” 

“You think liking her is one of them?” He doesn’t even rethink his answer before nodding, mumbling something about a hierarchy in popularity and the slim chances of her liking him back. When you ask why he decided to confess then, if he’s so sure he doesn’t have any chances with her, he tells you about how his friends boosted his ego the night before and he ended up believing in himself more. You listen closely, thinking about how it’d feel to be in his position. 

After learning about Beomgyu’s crush and the way he sees Yuna, you naturally shift the conversation to something lighter, something that you’ve been wondering about and you know he won’t mind talking about—music. 

He tells you about his band, the process behind his song writing and how he got into music at first, making you smile as you listen to his story on your way home. Honestly, you could have been home at least ten minutes ago, but for some reason, you didn’t want to leave. You enjoy talking to him, seeing his viewpoint on certain stuff and listening to his soft voice, making you take a longer route just to be with him longer. 

You don’t think he minds, his laugh and stories making you think he likes being around you just as much as you do. 

Once you do finally reach your house, Beomgyu stops mid step, smiling awkwardly again as he stands in the exact same place he did this morning. You smile back at him, glancing at the house, the soft light in the living room window letting you know your parents are there. “Thank you for the coffee.” He shakes his head slightly, brushing it off like it’s nothing. “Thank you for liking my song. Possibly more than the person it was meant for.” Somehow, he doesn’t sound sad. In fact, it’s almost like he’s making fun of the situation now. 

“Good night, Beomgyu,” you smile gently, his lips forming the same grin. “Good night.” 

You feel exhausted by the time lunch comes around on monday, the lack of sleep from the previous night finally getting to you. Still, it feels worth it when you know it helped you do well on today’s tests. Sometimes, you question if it’s really necessary to do all this for some grades, but after another success, your worries wash off and everything makes sense again. 

You walk through the full cafeteria, looking for a table to sit at, when your eyes fall to a familiar face, his lips turning into a soft smile when he notices you. You smile back at him but don’t move, still trying to find a table—preferably one that is empty. You’re not sure what Beomgyu’s smile means, if it’s an invitation to sit with him and his friend, but you don’t want to risk the embarrassment if it’s not. 

But no matter how closely you look, you find nothing, your feet slowly bringing you to his table anyway. “Mind if I sit here?” You ask carefully and Beomgyu doesn’t hesitate moving to create space for you. You slide beside him, smiling awkwardly as a form of gratitude. “Sorry for interrupting– Taehyun?” You blink when your eyes land on the boy opposite you, recognizing him from one of the math competitions the school held just a few weeks ago. He greets you warmly, even though the confusion in his voice is obvious. 

“Oh, wait,” his eyes widen in realization, flickering between you and Beomgyu. “Are you the girl he ambushed?” — “I didn’t ambush anyone!” Beomgyu argues immediately, his cheeks turning red after realizing how loud he must have been just now. “Of course not,” Taehyun scoffs. “You just sang a love song–” 

“Alright, shut up,” Beomgyu interrupts him, glancing at you apologetically. You shake your head with a light chuckle, brushing it off. “I’ve already told you it’s fine.” 

“He’s lucky it was you, honestly,” Taehyun comments between bites. You raise an eyebrow, blinking confusedly. He simply shrugs, “There are hundreds of students here, if Jia gave him the address of, like Minseo, a video of him would be trending all over the internet by now, and he’ll never have a chance again.” Beomgyu buries his head in the table, practically hiding under it with a groan as his friend continues embarrassing him. You do think he has a point, though. Meeting you was definitely on the lower side of all the embarrassing scenarios that could have happened. 

“You both seriously need to shut up before the whole school finds out,” Beomgyu grumbles, looking around as if to check if anyone was spying on you. You shake your head, opening your mouth to tease him further, but before you can, he kicks you under the table. You hiss, but instead of yelling at him, you confusedly watch his face turn redder and his eyes follow someone behind you. You carefully turn around, watching Yuna walk past to her usual table. You look at Beomgyu again, your eyes softening when you manage to read his eyes—broken, desperate, lost. 

A heavy sigh leaves his lips when she disappears from his sight, his eyes focusing on you and Taehyun again. You both give him a knowing look that he doesn’t seem to understand. “What? I’m just… I was looking for Soobin!” He comes up with an excuse quickly, making Taehyun scoff. “I completely forgot he doesn’t have lunch for another hour.” 

“Right, as if.” Beomgyu closes his mouth again, knowing arguing with him is pointless. Beomgyu knew he was smart, always on top of the class, but Taehyun was on a different level. It was no use trying to outsmart him. 

You hesitate, rethinking the situation again before finally placing down your utensils, turning to face Beomgyu. “I’ll help you,” you state, his eyes scanning your face confusedly. “With?” — “With your crush.” 

He doesn’t have time to ask you what you mean before you continue, the confidence in your voice scaring him slightly. “I think there is a chance for you. We just have to work on some things.” 

“Like?” Taehyun urges, the tone of his voice giving away that he doesn’t believe in what you’ve planned. “Getting him into things she likes,” you say confidently. “If they have more things in common, it’ll be easier for them to talk, ergo he needs to find out what she likes and then apply it to himself. Think of it like a test. If you prepare well enough, you won’t need to worry about failing.” 

When you put it that way, Beomgyu doesn’t think it’s completely impossible. And even though you can see Taehyun doesn’t agree, as long as Beomgyu does, you can be useful. “I have a group project with Minseo,” you inform them, frowning slightly at the thought. Group projects were never something you loved, especially if you were paired with people who didn’t care about their grades. On the very first day it was assigned, you asked Minseo when she was free to research information and she straight up asked you to do it on your own, mumbling something about her head hurting every time she thinks for too long. 

You hated being paired up with her, but it could be useful now at least. “I can figure out what Yuna likes through her. It won’t be too hard.” The hard part will be convincing her to meet with you. But once you do, you’re certain to get the information out of her. After all, she’s always been known to be an open book. 

“Good luck with that,” Taehyun shakes his head, getting up. “Don’t turn him into a completely different person in the process, I’d hate to be his friend if he turns into one of the football jocks she seems to be dating all the time.” Beomgyu doesn’t seem to be paying him any attention, barely mumbling a bye back as his eyes find Yuna again, watching her laugh with her group of friends a few tables away. 

“Let’s do it,” he agrees, turning his head to you again. “Let’s try what we can.” 

Getting Minseo to meet up with you was actually easier than you expected. She did have a bunch of excuses at first, but after you told her you would buy her ice coffee and take care of the presentation fully on your own, she agreed. 

So now, you were sitting in a campus café, waiting for her arrival with Beomgyu a few tables away. You told him you would handle it alone, but he insisted, saying that he needed to know immediately. You didn’t see a point in arguing with him, letting him tag along if that was what he wanted to do. You could see that he was nervous, fidgeting with his fingers on top of the table. Seeing him like this was what made you want to help. Because even though you couldn’t say you would wish Beomgyu someone like Yuna, you do think he deserves to be loved just like everyone else. Who he chooses to be loved by is not for you to decide. 

It is Friday now, almost two weeks since you’ve met him for the first time. You’ve learnt that he isn’t as shy as you thought he was at first when he started greeting you in the hallways as if you were friends for years, inviting you to sit with him, Taehyun, and occasionally Soobin every day for lunch. He was nice, and whenever he talked about his music like it was the love of his life, you found yourself smiling, listening to every word. 

You sip on your coffee, eyes locked onto the iced latte opposite you. She was five minutes late already. Taking out your phone to text her and ask her if she is on her way, you notice a different message, from no one else but Beomgyu. You look his way, telling him to shut up with your eyes. He’s telling you to sit still and hold on for a while longer, reminding you that girls like Minseo don’t care about other people enough to be on time but will always show up eventually. You can see that he’s worried you might just get up and leave and this whole plan would go to vain, and you hate that he can read you so well because that’s exactly what you wanted to do. 

You sigh, putting your phone face down on the table and staring a hole into the café door, waiting for your project partner to show up. 

When she finally turns up, your coffee cup is almost empty. You watch her walk in with a smile on her face, one so fake you want to pretend it’s not directed at you. But she sits down on the chair opposite you and you can’t pretend she’s not there with you anymore. “Hey,” you offer a soft greeting that she brushes off, taking a sip of her latte. “This is good, is that vanilla?” She wonders, watching the glass with amusement. “I– yeah,” you blink. “You asked for vanilla when we talked yesterday.” 

“Right,” she nods, narrowing her eyes at you as if she was trying to remember who you were. It was annoying. “Why am I here actually?” Minseo tilts her head slightly, a small gesture that sends a shiver down your spine. It’s weird talking to her like this, even more so knowing that the first real interaction you have with her is being watched by someone who believes in you more than he probably should. 

“I wrote the paper and I know your head hurts when you study for too long, but I just need you to read it to have a general idea of what it’s about and sign yourself under it so we can say you contributed to the work,” you explain just like you prepared earlier with the guys at lunch. She hums, not saying anything in protest as you hand her the two pieces of paper. You can see the disgust in her face but as long as she doesn’t say anything, you won’t either. That’s not really why you’re there anyway. 

You start the conversation slowly, asking her about a boy from the basketball team you heard she’s been seeing. At first, you were worried it wouldn’t work, that she would think you were weird for asking her about things like this as that’s what you would do if a stranger asked you about your personal life, but she casually starts answering your questions, the excitement in her voice when she has an excuse to stop reading the paper obvious. 

You don’t have to do much as she naturally shifts the conversation from herself to the other girls, gossip falling off her lips like it’s her second nature. You must say, you never heard so many disturbing things about people you didn’t know before. 

As soon as she mentions Yuna and her obsession with athletes, your ears perk up. “Oh really? I didn’t know her type was that simple,” you comment casually and Minseo takes a sip of her coffee, the paper long out of her hands, laying untouched right beside her cup. “Oh no, athletes aren’t the only thing she is into. You know Jinho from the swimming team? He definitely wouldn’t make the cut,” she shakes her head like it’s the most obvious fact. You frown slightly, trying to remember him. When you realize you can’t put a face to the name, you figure that’s why he doesn’t fall under her type. She doesn’t like people whose names others don’t know. 

“It’s someone like Yeonjun that she’d kill for. She’s been trying to get him ever since our first year. Weirdly enough, he isn’t interested.” Yeonjun is a name you do recognize. A star of every party that mattered, someone who was always surrounded by other people, just like Yuna. If it was by choice or not wasn’t your business. He was handsome, you could see why girls would like him, but he wasn’t your type. You’d much rather have someone who could solve a math problem than a guy who could drink a bottle of beer upside down. 

“I see,” you hum. “So what would you say her type is?” It’s a simple question, that’s what it’s meant to be, but to your surprise, it’s also a question Minseo could talk about for hours. Hadn’t you known better, you would think she was still talking about herself. “She loves fashion, you know? Like there’s something so hot about a guy that can dress,” she says, looking around the café quickly. “See? That guy right there. It’s so hot,” she points at a guy in his twenties ordering a drink, waving with an innocent smile when he notices her. He looks flustered. 

Even though you don’t want to admit it, you must say she is right. The rolled up sleeves of his button up that reveal his forearms are hot. You shake your head to snap out of your thoughts quickly and take a proper look at what he’s wearing. It’s the opposite of what Beomgyu has on himself right now. Yet, it’s not something you think he wouldn’t be able to pull. 

“Oh! And him!” She whisper-yells, pointing at another guy who just walked in. When you see the black shirt and gray sweatpants he has on, you roll your eyes slightly. In his case, it’s definitely not the clothes she is attracted to but the muscles beneath them. “What else is there?” 

Minseo thinks for a second, finally averting her eyes from the unknown boy and looking back at you. “Someone popular,” she states the obvious. “Who has connections, and like a bunch of followers.” You fight the urge to scoff at the simplicity of the girl. You weren’t exactly expecting her to say someone nice and kind, but a part of you still had hope until now. “He also needs to go to parties with her, you know her,” she laughs. It’s the same laugh she always gives her friends at lunch and it makes you think if she’s always this fast at befriending people. If that’s what you can call whatever this is. 

“I was so surprised when she told me this, but apparently she also likes when guys get soft or whatever. She talked about emotions so much it made my head spin. She said a soft but popular guy like in the movies would be the best combination. I don’t necessarily agree though, I like them without all the emotions and shit.” — “What about you?” She tilts her head and you quickly blink in shock to make sure you’ve heard her right. “Is there anyone I could help you with?” Her smile widens at the idea, leaning closer to you. “If you want my recommendation, Minho from the football team might have been the best sex I’ve ever had.” 

Your cheeks flush and you quickly shake your head to stop her. “I think– I think I’m good. I don’t really, uhm,” you avert your eyes, glancing over to Beomgyu for a brief second to see if he was still watching. Thankfully, your eyes don’t meet as he is busy texting someone on his phone. “Oh my, are you a virgin?” That question caught you off guard even more, your eyes widening. When your eyes shoot back to hers, it's enough of an answer for her. “Don’t worry, we’ve all been there,” she laughs, but to your surprise it doesn’t sound like she’s laughing at you. “Maybe you should try your luck with Yeonjun then, I’ve heard he likes virgins.” 

“I see,” you nod, your voice shaking slightly. It’s embarrassing. This whole conversation, sitting there in front of her and talking about things like these. “But what did you say your type was again? Maybe I know someone better.” 

You open your mouth to answer and then close it again. You’re not sure what she wants you to say, if she expects an honest answer, if she wants you to say athletes just so you could fit into her group, or if she simply wants to make fun of you and there’s no right or wrong answer. 

After giving it a second thought, you open your mouth again. “I like kind people. Ones you don’t have to worry will judge you or make fun of you. I like when they are able to hold a meaningful conversation and have their own opinions on stuff,” you says, searching her face for any sign of not liking where you were going with this. When you don’t find anything, certain that she’s still listening, you continue. “I also like when guys aren’t scared to show their girl off, I think that’s very cute—when a guy proudly talks about his girlfriend.” 

“I see, you’re one of those,” she giggles, leaning back in her chair. “How about looks?” You think about it for a second but then just shake your head. “Someone taller than me, I guess? I don’t know.” She shakes her head as well, but her smile never falls off. “I like you,” she proclaims, your surprise turning into a soft giggle when she messes up your name. Still, it’s something. “It’s bad you never attend any parties, you’re not only smart but also nice to talk to. Do you drink?” 

“Sometimes, I guess,” you nod and her smile widens. “You should come to my party then. I haven’t told anyone about it yet but I want to do one next month, make sure you’re free. The girls and I can help you find someone, I’m sure you’ll be able to pick one of the guys there.” You don’t refuse her, you don’t say anything really. You’re not sure what you should say. So you just nod slightly, figuring that she’ll probably forget about this in a few days anyway. 

She stretches her arms above her head, her yawn informing you that this was the end of her attention span. “This was really great,” your name is still a mess, but it’s closer this time, making you think that the next time you see her she might actually get it right. “But I should go now. The paper, uh, looks awesome.” You smile, nodding even though you know she hasn’t read a single word of it. It’s fine, you didn’t expect her to in the first place. 

Minseo get’s up from her chair, giving you one last smile—one way less fake than the one you received when she came in—before walking off. You sigh, leaning back in your chair and closing your eyes. When you open them again, the chair opposite you is occupied again. “God, since when do you walk like a ghost?” You ask, exhaling sharply. Beomgyu chuckled, running a hand through his hair. “Looks like you’ve made a new friend. I didn’t know you were into gossip and all,” he teases you, making you roll your eyes. It’s crazy how quickly he got comfortable around you, turning from a mumbling and blushing mess to an annoying smartass. 

“Don’t laugh too much, the work starts now. We need to buy you new clothes.” 

Your eyes scan the rack of clothing in front of you, searching for what might suit Yuna’s style. If it was up to you, what Beomgyu was wearing now would be ideal. You shake your head at yourself, picking up a dark blue jacket you’re sure you’ve seen Yeonjun wear in a different color. 

You turn around to show the piece to Beomgyu, seeing him holding up a pair of jeans himself. You narrow your eyes. “It’s the same one you’re wearing right now,” you point out and he awkwardly rubs the back of his neck, shrugging. “I like my jeans, why not buy another pair if I’m comfortable in them?” He’s right, you can’t argue with that. You sigh, brushing it off and handing him the jacket for him to try on. He takes it without another word, looking around and browsing for more. You do the same, leaving him to do his thing while you go look through the other side of the store. 

You walk around, trying to figure out what could look good. You’re not sure honestly, and the more time you spend at the store, the more you question if you’re fit to be the person helping him. You had your own style that you liked and didn’t care if others found it stylish or not, barely keeping up with the latest trends unlike Yuna. At the end of the day, you and her were the complete opposites, so how were you supposed to get him to fit her style? 

When you meet Beomgyu again near the changing rooms, his hands are full. You smile, glad that he found it so easy picking out something that would fit both his and Yuna’s preferences. It’s only when you sit down and watch him come out in the first outfit that you realize he didn’t even try picking up clothes that weren’t in his usual style. 

“This is nice, right?” He asks, doing a small spin so you can see. Baggy, ripped jeans and a comfortable hoodie. You scan his outfit, raising your eyebrow. It did look nice. It was similar to what he wore normally — except for the backwards cap on his head — so you couldn’t say you wouldn’t like it, the opposite actually. 

For some reason, he looked different standing in front of you now. It wasn’t the same boy you’ve met outside of your house, it wasn’t the boy that walked you home from work the same night and talked about a girl he likes, it wasn’t even the same boy that you got comfortable around so quickly. The Beomgyu standing in front of you now felt like a boy just for you. 

With his soft smile and glasses framing his face, he was just a boy you wanted to get serenaded by. 

“It’s totally a boyfriend vibe, you know?” He fixes his hat, looking into the mirror to check himself. “What do you think?” You blink quickly, nodding. “Yeah, it looks great,” you agree, swallowing a lump in your throat as the memory of Beomgyu singing outside of your window comes back to you. 

“Right? Taehyun and Soobin need to stop arguing with me about having a better style. I’m the best,” he laughs, disappearing into the changing room before you can say anything else. When he comes out again, he has a new pair of jeans on—black ones this time—a simple white shirt and the jacket you picked up before. 

Your eyes widen just slightly, biting the inside of your cheek as he steps closer to you, watching himself in the mirror beside you. “I didn’t think this would suit me too well,” he mumbles, hiding his hands in the jacket pockets, smiling. “But it actually looks amazing. I think I’ll get this.” 

“Yeah, you should,” you nod, mentally slapping yourself to snap out of it. You need to focus, not think about how well he looks. “I’m sure Yuna will like it,” the words come out broken but you’re not sure why. You do think she will like it. It’d be stupid of her not to. He looks amazing. 

“Okay, I have one more outfit there,” he says, fixing his hair quickly. “Come on.” 

“Where?” You blink confusedly, slowly standing up. “I chose an outfit for you as well.” Your eyes widen as you follow him inside one of the cabins and he hands you the clothes. You don’t get the chance to say anything before he closes the door behind you, sliding back into his cabin. 

You stand there for a second, not moving an inch while listening to his soft hums of the song playing on the store speakers. As soon as your mind processes what has happened, you take a look at the clothes you’re holding, making a mental note that he likes the color pink. 

You step out while fixing your hair, Beomgyu already waiting for you with his back turned to you. You clear your throat and he immediately turns to face you, his eyes widening for a brief second. You feel a bit awkward as he watches you, his eyes scanning your whole body as if he saw you for the first time. 

He has a neat, light blue button-up, half of the buttons undone, revealing a white tank top beneath it. His pants are black, formal, something you didn’t think you’d see on him. The more you watch him, the more you question if there’s something he doesn’t look good in. 

“I… you look amazing,” he compliments you, finally averting his eyes. His head falls low as he buttons his shirt, focusing on anything but how you look right now. He closes his eyes, trying to snap out of his thoughts, but the only thing he sees when he does is you again, standing right there with your innocent eyes and the clothes he picked up. 

While looking for his clothes, he stumbled into the women section, his eyes immediately landing on a pink sweater. He isn’t sure why, but the first thought that popped up in his mind was about how nice it would look on you. He knew he was shopping for his clothes but he couldn’t help it, ending up browsing the women’s section for something to go with the sweater. And he did find something—a white skirt. He thought it would look cute on you, what he didn’t know was that it would look this cute. 

The skirt was shorter than he expected, revealing more skin than he was ready for. Just seconds ago, he was thinking about how good he looked in his clothes and now, he was a mess. He shakes his head, avoiding looking at you again as he swallows a lump in his throat, asking you what you think of his outfit. 

“You look handsome.” 

The words come out before you can stop it, making you avert your eyes as well, your cheeks lightly flushed. 

You both stand there, avoiding meeting each other’s eyes from embarrassment as if you’ve just walked in on him naked. It’s irrational if you think about it from a different perspective, but you can’t look him in the eyes, no matter how much you try to. 

You’d rather not look at him again if it’d mean getting your heart to calm down and not making you feel like you’re going to get a heart attack any second. 

You’d rather not meet his eyes again than admit a part of you wishes he was dressing up like this for you instead of Yuna. 

Beomgyu walks out of the store with two plastic bags—one for himself and the other for you. You did like what he picked out, and as soon as you said it out loud, his eyes met yours instantly, putting his embarrassment aside and saying he’ll buy it for you. You tried arguing at first but gave up halfway, letting him do whatever he wanted. 

“Is there another thing we could check off the list today?” He wonders, walking through the mall with you by his side. 

“Aren’t you tired?” 

He hesitates for a second, shrugging. “No, not really,” he mumbles. “I don’t have anything else to do tonight.” It’s a small lie if he’s honest. He could find what to do. He has his guitar, his band that is waiting for him to compose another song they could play at the spring festival the school holds, and there’s the game he’s been promising Soobin to play for the past few weeks. Still, he doesn’t want to go home just yet, doesn’t want to close himself in his room for hours with music when he could hang out with you. It’s the first for him. 

Beomgyu was always someone who loved music. No matter what it was—the sound of a guitar, his old music teacher teaching him her favorite songs, the sound of his pencil drumming against the desk when he was bored in class, or even the birds singing in the morning when he woke up. 

He wasn’t sure why spending time with you suddenly sounded better than music but he didn’t want to question it. 

All he wants to do is enjoy the rest of his day, preferably by your side. 

“Sure,” you nod, looking at your phone to see the time. “We can watch a movie together,” you offer, already sending a quick text to your mom to let her know you wouldn’t come home alone. “Yuna likes romance movies.” 

He hums, listening to your every word as you talk about all the possible movies that come to mind at the moment, giving a quick commentary to each of them so he could picture them. 

“Do you have a favorite?” You think it through, remembering exactly how you felt watching each movie you’ve just mentioned. “10 things I hate about you,” you answer finally, confident in your response. There were so many good ones you could watch, but this one holds a special place in your heart. “Let’s watch that one then.” 

The light is on in the living room when you reach your house, Beomgyu awkwardly hanging behind you as you walk inside, a loud “I’m home,” leaving your lips. You peek into the living room, waving at Beomgyu to come closer when you see both of your parents cuddled up on the couch, watching your mom’s favorite reality show. 

“Good afternoon,” Beomgyu greets them nervously, pushing his glasses up when they slide down his nose. “I’m Choi Beomgyu, I go to Haneul Academy with your daughter.” Your parents glance up upon hearing the unfamiliar voice, your mom’s smile widening immediately. “Oh my,” she quickly stands up, motioning for your dad to follow as she makes her way over to you. 

You shake your head slightly as you watch your mom extend her hand towards him, introducing herself with a smile, your dad mirroring her actions. “You’re handsome,” she comments, nodding as if she was approving. You shoot her a look but she ignores it, offering Beomgyu something to eat. 

“I, uhm, thank you,” he smiles, chuckling nervously. “It’s nice to meet you.” 

“We’re going to watch a movie,” you inform them, getting their attention back to yourself. You’d rather not scare him away immediately. “Have fun,” your mom beams, glancing at your dad briefly. “I’ll get you something to eat as soon as our show ends.” 

“Thank you.” 

Beomgyu follows you into your room while you mumble apologies but he just shakes his head, brushing it off over and over again. “Your parents seem really nice.” You nod, closing the door behind you. “They are, but I get it if my mom seems like a lot right now.” 

“She’s nice,” he repeats, assuring you it’s okay as he carefully sits on your bed. “Besides, even if she was an evil witch, it wouldn’t be your responsibility to apologize for her behaviour.” You bite back your smile, averting your eyes from him again and grabbing your laptop from the table. 

“You’re really nice as well, you know,” you mumble, sitting down and placing the laptop on top of your thighs. 

You’re really nice. The words echo in his head, a soft smile tugging at his lips. He opens his mouth to say something but closes it again as the movie starts playing, the sentence stuck in his throat. The intro music plays and he has to force himself to take his eyes off you and focus on the movie instead. 

You soon learn Beomgyu can’t shut his mouth for longer than a few minutes, not even while watching a movie. 

“This makes no sense. He can’t actually be that stupid, can he?” — “As you can see, some guys don’t have more than one brain cell,” you laugh, watching Joey pay Patrick as if it was his idea all along. 

“Your eyes have a little green in them.” You smile, a soft giggle leaving your lips when she throws up right after that. Beomgyu beside you chuckles as well, glancing at you. “I’m starting to get it,” he says and your eyes meet. “Oh?” 

“Yeah, I mean,” he clears his throat as if he was embarrassed. “They are cute together. It’s nice seeing them,” he mumbles, averting his eyes. “And it’s easy to imagine myself in there.” 

“Yeah? Who would you be if you were there?” You question, your eyes flickering between the screen and the boy beside you. “Cameron,” he answers without hesitation and your smile falters for just a second. “I assume I know who Bianca would be.” He shrugs, not meeting your eyes again. 

It doesn’t surprise you. You can see him in the position, pining over a girl while she flirts with the popular guy, playing around with him until she realizes what she’s missing out on. It’s funny, how just the thought of Beomgyu and Yuna makes you feel sick in the stomach even though you were the one offering your help with his crush. 

The movie playing on your laptop along with a few soft laughs at times is the only thing that fills the room after that. You stay quiet, ignoring the way your shoulder brushes against his, watching in silence as Patrick and Kat get together, as Cameron and Bianca start seeing each other, even as Kat finds out she’s been played and Beomgyu starts asking questions, wondering if they are going to be okay. 

“Is it that bad?”

“You mean being lied to and finding out he wasn’t interested from the start?” You raise your eyebrow and he closes his mouth again. “I get that just…you can see it in him that he loves her, right?” 

“That’s true,” you nod slightly. “And that’s why they’re not going to stay apart forever.” That seems to quiet him down, eyes focused on the movie again. 

As soon as the movie finishes, you shift in your place, Beomgyu’s eyes falling to your figure. “So? What do you think?” You ask to break the awkward silence. At least that’s what it seems like to you. “It’s really good,” he nods, his voice quiet. You want to ask if he’s okay, what is he thinking about and if he wants a glass or water or anything, but before you can do so, he is already on his feet, fixing his pants. “I should go now,” he says and you notice he doesn’t look you in the eyes. “It’s late and my mom is probably waiting for me.” 

You nod, unsure of what to do. A part of you wants to stop him, ask him to stay longer and talk with you—about school, your part-time job, anything he wants—but you know you can’t. So instead, you stand up as well, leaving the laptop on your bed as you walk him out, watching him say his goodbye to your parents and them returning it with such a bright smile you’d think they’re talking to your best friend. 

You linger at the door as Beomgyu walks out of your house, a plastic bag with his new clothes swinging in one of his hands. He looks back just once, your eyes meeting for a brief second, a spark flickering in them before he gives you one of his soft smiles, waving at you before disappearing into the dark. 

You’re not sure what it is that had him running out of your room so quickly, but you know one thing—spending the day with him changed something. 

Something you couldn’t quite name yet. 

There has to be a logical explanation for the sudden change, and you doubt it’s the different clothes. 

Taehyun seems to think the same, his eyes narrowing as he glances between you, Beomgyu, and the girl standing near the table, a smile on her face. Your eyes lock with his and he immediately wonders what’s happening. You shrug, as confused as he is. Soobin besides you doesn’t look as fazed, his eyes focused on his food, completely ignoring the situation happening around. 

He wasn’t always eating lunch with the three of you but he knew about the situation. Beomgyu’s crush wasn’t a secret, and because they were best friends, there was no need to hide his plan from him either. 

“Thanks for the help with the english homework,” Yuna smiles, making you roll your eyes. When you see Taehyun scoffing opposite you, you smile as well. You’re glad you’re not the only one feeling this way—like her whole presence near you is an irony. 

“No problem,” Beomgyu answers with a shy smile. “Anytime.” 

“This soup is really good,” Soobin interrupts and you’re not sure if he can’t read the room or just doesn’t care. Either way, Beomgyu glares at him, ignoring his comment completely. 

“Okay,” she giggles gently, a sound so perfect you can see why Beomgyu would fall for her. Despite your differences and your disagreement with her actions, you get it. Deep down, you understand. She’s pretty, with long shiny hair and glossy lips. Her skin looks as soft as she sounds when she speaks, and her laugh sounds more beautiful than you expected. 

“I’ll see you around then,” Beomgyu smiles at her awkwardly as she walks off to her table of friends, humming instead of answering. You wouldn’t consider this a real conversation or progress but when you see his eyes, you can’t say it out loud. He looks too proud of himself for that. “Did you guys see that?”

“No, not really,” Soobin says, not bothered at all. Beomgyu rolls his eyes at him but his smile doesn’t fall off his lips. “I’ve seen it. It’s weird,” Taehyun frowns. 

“It’s not weird.” 

“It is.” 

“You don’t think it’s weird, do you?” Beomgyu looks at you, making you blink quickly. Your eyes flicker from him to his two friends, searching for help. Because honestly, you’re not sure. 

“You like her,” you shrug, brushing the question off. Beomgyu raises an eyebrow but doesn’t say anything else, the topic slowly drifting to something no one minds talking about—their band practice. 

Taehyun tells you about a new song they’re working on, complimenting Beomgyu’s work on the music—which makes his neck turn red—and laughing as he remembers how Kai’s legs got tangled with the cables and he knocked down a bunch of instruments. You gasp when you hear the story, worried about him and all the instruments that must have been damaged. Thankfully, Taehyun assures you no one got hurt, not a single guitar or band member. 

“Have you prepared for the spring festival yet?” Soobin wonders, munching on his food. “There’s a month left and you’re performing, right?” 

“Forty days,” Beomgyu corrects. “And…not really. I’m working on it, I promise. I told the manager we’d be performing three new songs so I need to make that happen,” he sighs, running a hand through his hair. “Inspiration has been avoiding me lately.” 

“What normally works for you?” You ask, watching his eyes widen slightly. He thinks about it, his mouth falling open and then closing again multiple times. “I’m not… I’m not sure actually. It usually just appears out of nowhere, I don’t think there’s a pattern or something that would make me write good music.” 

“Relaxed mind,” Taehyun speaks up. “And memories. That usually works for me.” 

You nod, glancing between the three boys. It’s true that ever since you went shopping with him, he’s been out of it. Sure, he still talks like he is on crack a lot of the time, his brain working faster than yours ever could, but every time you mention his music, his smile seems to falter for a second. And now that you know he hasn’t been able to write anything lately, it starts to make sense. 

“Alright. We should do something then. Relaxed mind and memories? I think I know of a way to connect that with our little mission,” you smile gently, ignoring Taehyun narrowing his eyes at you, studying you, and only focusing on Beomgyu, his lips turning into a soft smile you’ve grown to love over the past few days. “Have you ever played basketball?” 

Athletes were one of the most obvious things on Yuna’s like-list. Her dating history said enough. It was only natural for the next step of your plan to be something to do with sports—but Beomgyu certainly didn’t expect to be playing on the school court with the captain of the basketball team. 

“You’re late,” he comments, looking at a non-existential watch on his hand. “Wasn’t Jake supposed to be here?” You ask instead of answering, walking closer to Heeseung, one of your old friends from middle school, Beomgyu following right after you. “Change of plans,” he shrugs innocently. “He had a chore to run to and I wanted to check out who you were so eager to teach basketball to.” There’s a hint of amusement in his voice that makes you roll your eyes because you know exactly what he’s referring to. The last time you asked him and Jake to play basketball with you was when you wanted to introduce your boyfriend to them, but this was a different situation. 

A completely different one. 

“Heeseung, meet Beomgyu. Beomgyu, Heeseung,” you introduce them briefly. “He wants to impress a girl and needs to be good at sports for that.” Beomgyu shoots you a look immediately, a silent plea not to tell on him completely. It’s enough that he has to listen to Taehyun’s constant ranting about how stupid it is and Kai’s teasing, he doesn’t need it from a stranger as well. 

“Nice to meet you,” Beomgyu extends his arm awkwardly, a brief smile on his lips. Heeseung shakes his hand without a second of hesitation, his smile much wider. “Who’s the lucky girl?” He wonders and before Beomgyu can answer, you turn to him. “He always wants to know all the gossip to have a clear picture of others in his head but he doesn’t tell others. You don’t have to worry about anyone finding out.” 

Beomgyu nods. “Yuna,” he admits, quickly looking around to check no one else was in. It’s kind of cute. It would be if he wasn’t talking about the one girl you don’t want him to talk about. You think it might feel a lot better if it wasn’t someone so different from you—if it was someone you didn’t compare yourself to so often. 

Heeseung whistles, laughing softly. “That’s a tough one.” — “Do you think it’s not worth it?” Heeseung tilts his head slightly, taking a proper look at the boy in front of him. “That’s something you have to decide on your own. I don’t think you’re a bad guy, otherwise she wouldn’t be talking to you,” his eyes fall to you quickly before he looks back at Beomgyu. “And that alone gives you a chance with anyone.” 

Beomgyu narrows his eyes at him, glancing at you. “I don’t think that was an encouragement.” Heeseung laughs at him, shaking his head. “If you want my insight, Yuna is not someone everyone can deal with. And I’m not one to tell you if she’s good for you or the other way around.” 

You shake your head. “Just tell him it’s all worth it. It better be when we are putting so much effort in for her,” you laugh, the sound bitter. Heeseung raises an eyebrow at you, eyeing you up and down but before he can ask anything, you tell them to start playing already because you don’t have the whole day for them. It’s a lie. Once you knew you’d be spending the afternoon with Beomgyu again, you cancelled your shift and free-upped the rest of your day. 

You don’t want to be time limited. Not when you’re with him. 

 Heeseung throws the ball to Beomgyu, daring him to show off what he is capable of. He hesitates, eyes flickering between you and Heeseung before he starts dribbling, trying to get around the captain. But this is Heeseung’s arena and he doesn’t let him win easily, stealing the ball the first chance he gets and running to the other side of the court, scoring perfectly. 

It goes like that for a while, Beomgyu slowly getting used to the pace and learning when to try going through Heeseung and when not. It’s not easy at all but that’s something he expected. Playing with the captain couldn’t be easy. 

“You’re good,” Heeseung praises, scoring another point. Beomgyu scoffs, pushing his sweaty hair back. “You learn fast and are confident.” 

“I haven’t scored even half as many times as you did.” 

“Yeah but I’ve been training my whole life,” he says, running around Beomgyu again before calling out to you. You raise your eyebrows confusedly, your eyes widening when the ball comes to you. You catch it, questioning what that was for. “Let’s play,” he explains simply, wrapping his arm around Beomgyu’s shoulder. “You haven’t gotten out of your form, have you?” 

“You play?” Beomgyu asks confusedly, his eyes wide. You smile, dribbling slowly as you walk closer. “It’s impossible not to when you’re surrounded with people that do,” you shrug as if it’s the most obvious thing ever. “But I’m not any good, don’t worry.” 

“That’s a lie,” Heeseung leans closer to Beomgyu, chuckling. “I always ask her to play against our newbies to see how good they are. She never loses,” the praises leave his lips as if it’s his second nature, making you roll your eyes. However, when Beomgyu smiles at you, saying he wants to play with you, a smile tugs at the corner of your mouth as well. “Let me take my glasses off first, they’re pissing me off.” 

You watch him take them off and hide them inside his bag, your eyes never leaving him. It’s the first time you’ve seen him without them and a part of you is grateful for that. It’s really hard to focus on anything when he looks like that—absolutely gorgeous with his big brown eyes sparkling with excitement. Yeah, this wasn’t good for you at all. 

Running around the court, sweating your ass off, was never something you enjoyed a lot. It was the main reason why you never wanted to play basketball for a club. But running around with Heeseung and Beomgyu by your side was something completely different. You were laughing, your stomach hurting from how much. Your hair was sticking to your forehead and you were sure it wasn’t a pleasing sight, but you couldn’t care less at the moment. Not when your eyes were focused on the sweat on Beomgyu’s forehead, his laugh addicting. 

If it was with him, you could run forever on this court. 

“Timeout, timeout,” Beomgyu repeats over and over again, his breathing heavy as he leans forward, his hands resting on his knees. Despite the exhaustion, he is still laughing softly, trying to collect himself again. His whole body feels too heavy all of a sudden. He falls to the floor, laying on his back and closing his eyes. Heeseung beside you laughs while you slowly walk over to him, sitting down beside him. 

Your own breathing is unsteady but you’re still doing better than him, resting your hands on the ground beside you and blowing air up to your forehead in a lame attempt to get your hair out of your face. 

“I’m not turning into an athlete,” he states, visibly exhausted. You chuckle. “You’d be good at it.” He shakes his head, still not opening his eyes. “Absolutely not. I think I have asthma.” 

“Well then, it’s good you’re so smart,” you mumble and he prompts himself up on his eyebrows, watching you curiously. “What’s that supposed to mean?” You panic slightly, shaking your hands in front of your face. “I mean, you don’t have to be sporty! You are, obviously, uhm, I–” 

His soft laugh interrupts you, a sigh full of relief escaping your lips. “I’m just teasing you. I’m glad I’m smart as well,” he assures you, glancing at Heeseung who is still standing up, a bottle of water in his hands now. You’re not sure where he got it but you need one as well, extending your arm towards him and asking him to pass it over. “Not that anything would be wrong with being an athlete, obviously.” 

“Obviously,” Heeseung laughs, handing you the water. “You’re good,” he shakes his head, joining you on the ground. “That was fun, though. You do have a talent,” he assures him and you smile again, agreeing. Beomgyu grins proudly, mumbling something about always knowing he’d be good. It makes you laugh again. It’s amazing how easy it is for him to make you laugh but you definitely don’t complain. 

As you’re collecting your things from the ground and saying your goodbyes to Heeseung, he pulls out his phone, telling you to wait. Both you and Beomgyu look over, questioning what he needs. “Let’s exchange numbers.” 

Beomgyu smiles, quickly pulling out his phone and handing it to Heeseung for him to put his number in. “I’ve got a few pictures when you two were playing, let me send it to you.” You frown confusedly but Heeseung only smirks at you, Beomgyu’s phone lighting up with a new message instantly. “I think they are good, you should post them.” 

There’s a bunch of photos of the two of you playing and laughing, some solo shots of Beomgyu, and even a picture of him laying on the ground just a few minutes ago. His smile widens, an idea sparkling in his head. Beomgyu quickly turns towards you, showing you a picture of him with the ball, his forehead sweaty, hair falling into his eyes. “Yuna said she likes big followings, right? I should start posting anyway, and this one is good, right?” 

You freeze for a second, nodding slightly. “Yeah,” you mumble, biting your bottom lip to make sure you don’t say anything else. The words, “Can’t you do something just for yourself and not her?” hanging dangerously on the tip of your tongue. 

“Alright, I see you around,” Heeseung says, sensing the sudden shift in your energy. “Call me later, yeah?” You nod, smiling awkwardly, holding tightly onto your bag. “I will,” you agree, meeting Beomgyu’s eyes again, hoping he can’t see how broken you feel over something so stupid. “Let’s go?” 

When you get home you notice Beomgyu’s new post. The same picture he showed you earlier. When you scroll to another picture, he’s laughing with you and it makes you smile. The last picture he posted is of him laying on the ground, exhaustion visible. You think back to the moment and even though it’s only been minutes since you last saw him, you find yourself missing him already. 

You want to spend more time with him, create more memories and laugh with him. But as soon as your eyes fall to the like button under his post, the silly wish disappears because you know you can’t ask for that. Not when his eyes are already on someone else. 

Liked by yunaluxe and others. 

You turn your phone off, throwing it beside you on the bed and burying your face in your pillow, a loud, regretting groan leaving your mouth. 

The club room is loud, the electric guitar shaking the walls when Beomgyu walks in. Taehyun doesn’t notice him at first, his eyes closed as he plays, his grimace making Beomgyu wonder what he’s thinking about. It’s been long since he heard him play like that. Taehyun was usually calm, keeping his troubles to himself in order not to bother others. 

“Hey,” Beomgyu greets him, Taehyun’s fingers stopping mid move as his eyes flutter open. “Hey. Sorry that was,” he tilts his head and swallows a lump in his throat, his brows furrowed as he thinks about how to explain himself. “I needed to cool off for a second.” 

“Everything good?” 

“Yeah, don’t worry,” he shakes his head. “Just a rough day. Math and all,” he brushes it off and even though Beomgyu feels a bit uneasy, he nods, getting his guitar out of the case. “Yeah, math sucks,” he plays into it, smiling as he joins his side. “It completely tired me today as well. Should we play it off together?” 

Taehyun’s lips turn into a smile, “Sure.” 

Kai laughs awkwardly as he walks into the club room, making both Taehyun and Beomgyu turn his way. The two of them are sitting at a table in the corner of the room now, chatting about nothing in particular while waiting for their third member. He’s late, which isn’t usual for him. 

“You got lost or what?” Beomgyu asks with a light laugh, his smile falling off when he notices another figure behind Kai. “Kind of,” he chuckles, a teasing smirk on his face as he steps aside for the two boys to see. “Oh.” 

“Hi,” Yuna smiles warmly, fixing her skirt in a way that has Beomgyu thinking she wants him to look. He clears his throat, glancing at Taehyun instead. “I’m going to absolutely embarrass myself,” he whispers, his eyes screaming for any sort of help. Taehyun just rolls his eyes at him, jumping down from the table. “What brings you here?” 

“I saw Huening in the hallway and asked him about you,” her eyes briefly flicker to Beomgyu, his neck turning red under her gaze. “And when he said you’ve got practice right now, I asked if it would be possible to join you.” 

Beomgyu pulls a chair for her, unsure if he should yell at Kai or be thankful. He feels like a mess, with no idea what to do. There has to be a right and wrong answer but he can’t find them for some reason. So he simply grabs his guitar, squeezing it tightly as he waits for his band mates to prepare as well. 

It’s awkward. He avoids meeting her eyes as much as possible while her gaze lingers on his figure in a way he didn’t think was possible. A part of him feels excited, but the other is just tensed, insecure, and intimidated. Sure, they’ve played for others before. The three of them stood together on a podium in front of a bunch of people since middle school, but this was different—intimate. 

“Okay, uhm, let’s start with spring,” Beomgyu looks over his shoulder at Kai behind the drums and then back at Yuna, sharing an awkward smile with her before his fingers gently move over the strings, one hand holding the pick and determining the rhythm while the other switches between different chords. 

As the soft melody echoes through the room, his eyes close, focusing on his voice as he starts with the first verse. Spring is an old song from four years ago they play to this date to warm up. It was also one of the first songs Beomgyu has written, and even though he knows he has improved a lot since then, he still feels proud. 

“Should we do Wake up next?” Kai suggests as soon as the song comes to an end. Beomgyu’s eyes widen, anxiety running through his whole body. “Yeah, let’s do that,” Taehyun agrees without hesitation, ignoring Beomgyu’s panicked look. Wake up is a recent song, one he wrote with Yuna in mind. It’s embarrassing on its own, even more so when he’s supposed to play it in front of her. 

“Oh, is that a new song? I haven’t heard of that one,” Yuna asks excitedly, her bright eyes catching him off guard. It feels like he is talking to a completely different person. Just a few weeks ago, he was convinced there wasn’t an universe where she would like him back and now, he felt like he was in a dream. Beomgyu from a month ago would be jealous of him now, absolutely excited to play a song for her. 

But now, he doesn’t feel that. He feels lost and confused as his voice fills the room because it’s not Yuna or her pretty smile that his mind drifts to. 

It’s you, the girl he’s spent so much of his time with lately he can’t see a reality in which he doesn’t talk to you. 

His fingers slip. The chord misses. His heart stutters, faster than the tempo, his head clouded with memories of everything you did together. It’s weird, wrong. He’s supposed to be thrilled, jumping from excitement that he gets to show off his music in front of Yuna and possibly get closer to her, so why is it only you he can think of while playing a love song he wrote? 

“Shit, I’m sorry,” Beomgyu shakes his head, stopping before the song ends. Taehyun and Kai stop their movements as well, watching him confusedly. “My head is elsewhere,” he admits, mentally slapping himself to snap out of it. “It’s okay,” Taehyun assures him, his voice giving away that he is confused. This hasn’t happened before. If anyone was out of it during practice, it was Kai. Beomgyu was always focused, relaxing with the music and getting his mind off any unnecessary thoughts. It was weird. 

“We can take a break,” Kai suggests, anxious when he looks at Yuna. He brought her in because he wanted to help Beomgyu and make them closer, he’d hate for this little mistake to cause the opposite. Thankfully, she doesn’t look disgusted like he expects her to, the same warm smile on her lips that calms him down a bit. “Sorry,” Beomgyu mumbles again, placing his guitar on the stand. 

“It was really great,” Yuna says softly and Beomgyu’s eyes finally meet hers. “Don’t worry about it, the song sounds amazing.” — “Right,” he nods slightly, jumping up on the same table as before, his feet swinging in the air. “It’ll be better at the spring festival.” It’s a light promise that causes Yuna’s smile to widen, nodding happily. “I can’t wait to listen to it. I should go now, Minseo needs my help with getting alcohol for her party,” she giggles, the sound sending a shiver down Beomgyu’s spine. “You’re all coming, right?” 

The guys exchange a look, unsure of what to say. Beomgyu only heard of the party when Minseo was talking to you about it in the café and honestly, he completely forgot about it. He didn’t think he was invited anyway, he never was. “You have to, it’ll be fun,” she encourages them, grabbing her hand back from the floor and standing up. “I’ll see you there,” she grins before any of them even answer her, not giving them a choice. And just like that, she walks away, leaving the three boys alone in the room. 

Kai blinks confusedly, trying to figure out what just happened. He thought something was up right when Yuna approached him and asked him about their practice, but this was on a completely new level of insane. He turns his head towards Beomgyu who is as lost as he is, his gaze lingering at the door. 

But for some reason, he doesn’t miss Yuna, doesn’t look there and imagine her figure. No, all he can think about is how wrong it felt playing the song for her, and how much he wishes it was you sitting on the chair in front of him, laughing with them at the stupid jokes Kai made or the way he messed up the chords. 

Because with you he doesn’t feel the same pressure as with Yuna. 

With you, it just feels easy. 

“You haven’t forgotten, right?” You blink confusedly, looking up to see who’s talking to you. Your confusion only grows when your eyes meet Minseo who you haven’t talked to since the day in the café. “About…?” She gasps, shaking her head in disappointment. “The party, obviously! You have to come.” The fact she’s talking to you doesn’t surprise you as much as the way she finally says your name correctly does. 

“I…when is it?” You ask carefully, hoping she doesn’t yell at you. She simply sighs, opening her phone to show you something. “Have you lived under a rock until now? It’s bold on here,” she turns her screen towards you, your eyes quickly scanning her story with the time and address. It is clear and you’re sure everyone knows about it already. It’s your fault for not following her. 

“Tell me you don’t have anything today. We talked about this a month ago already.” 

“I, no, I’m free,” you nod, a little uncertain. Parties weren’t exactly your thing, but you didn’t know how to tell her no. It was the first time someone out of her circle talked to you about anything other than homework they needed help with, and even though you knew it was pathetic holding onto it so much when you complained about their lack of intellect a lot before, you didn’t want to miss out on your chance to prove to them you weren’t just a nerd who didn’t have any hobbies outside of studying. 

“Then it’s settled,” she claps her hands happily. “Bring whoever you want with yourself as long as they’re fun, I don’t care.” You nod, someone popping into your head immediately. She grins, waving at you slightly before walking out of the class, already chatting with someone else. 

You brush your hands on your skirt awkwardly, trying to get them to stop sweating as you step out of the car, Beomgyu and his two friends right behind you. Kai’s older sister quickly wishes you to have fun, telling Kai to call her once he needs a ride back before driving off, leaving the four of you at the sidewalk. 

“This is so weird,” Taehyun comments, looking at the already full house. Some people are in the garden, laughing around the pool while one of Minseo’s friends stands behind the DJ pult, mixing songs in a way that gives away that she is definitely not supposed to touch the device. 

“Tell me about it,” Beomgyu mumbles while Kai just grins, way more excited than the three of you. “Oh, come on. It’s going to be fun!” 

“Or extremely embarrassing.” Kai rolls his eyes, wrapping his arm around Taehyun’s shoulder and walking towards the house, yelling how lame you and Beomgyu are. You watch their back in disbelief, glancing at Gyu beside you. He’s wearing one of his ripped jeans with an oversized band shirt, looking as handsome as ever. He also isn’t wearing his glasses, and so when he turns his head towards you, his eyes meeting yours, you feel weak in the knees. 

“Let’s go,” he smiles and you avert your eyes, squeezing the bottom of your skirt as you gaze into the ground beneath your feet. He seems to notice your uneasiness, wrapping his hand around your shoulder and pulling you closer into a brief side hug. You raise your head again, surprise written all over your face as you watch him, eyes wide. “You look amazing,” he assures you, thinking that’s what’s bothering you. “I told you when we were buying the clothes and I’ll tell you all over again until you believe it.” 

It’s incredible how easy it is for Beomgyu to have your heart racing. His words echo in your head, his cologne reaching your nose as he slowly walks with you towards the house as well, keeping you close. You look down on your clothes again, a small smile tugging at the corner of your lips as you stare at the white skirt and pink sweater—the same clothes he bought for you a few weeks back. 

Beomgyu grabs a drink for you and him as soon as you get inside, finding a space in the corner of the room. He tells you about a new show he’s been watching, how his new song has been going, and even about his failure at cooking dinner last night. You laugh, slowly getting comfortable again and forgetting about everyone else, your world only having two people in it—you and him. 

You’re not sure where Kai and Taehyun disappeared or if they were having fun but it’s what bothers you the least at the moment, unable to focus on anything that wasn’t Choi Beomgyu and his soft voice. 

But your little bubble is interrupted when your eyes meet Yuna’s behind Beomgyu and she walks over, greeting you with the same annoyingly beautiful smile. You take a sip of your drink and a small step back to make space for her, Beomgyu mimicking your movements. “Hey,” he greets her back, introducing you to her as if you didn’t already know who she was. “Oh, yeah, my bio girl, right?” She asks and you grit your teeth, nodding. 

It’s ridiculous. You’ve been in her bio class for two years and she always came to you asking for help or homework answers, often cheating off your tests as well, so how were you still only labeled as her bio girl? It made you feel like a joke. 

“I didn’t know you two knew each other,” she mumbles. You bite back the insult you want to say and simply smile, letting Beomgyu answer. “Yeah, we’ve been friends for a while,” he nods, glancing at you. There’s a flicker of something you can’t name in his eyes, making you blink confusedly. Haven’t you known better, you think it’s pain, regretted behind those words. Does he not see you as his friend? 

“Oh, right, I saw you on Beomgyu’s post when he was playing basketball, right?” You nod again, shaking it off and focusing your attention at Yuna again. “Well, it was nice meeting you,” she says, shutting you out of the conversation before you can say anything else. “I don’t have anything to drink, mind grabbing something with me?” Beomgyu opens his mouth and closes it again, his eyes flickering between the two of you before he nods hesitantly, letting her wrap her arm around his and pull him away, leaving you standing there alone with just a cup of vodka in your hands. 

You’d be lying if you said you don’t feel like shit but there’s nothing you can do, watching them from your corner while sipping on your drink, looking like someone drained life out of you. Minseo seems to notice when she walks over to you to greet you, her smile turning into a frown as she asks what’s going on. You don’t answer. Can’t. But she figures it out on her own, her eyes following yours and finding Beomgyu and Yuna chatting near the drinks, both laughing over something he said. 

“Oh,” she breathes out, standing in front of you to cover the sight. She raises her cup, unsure of what to say to make you feel better. “Yuna is… I didn’t know… I mean,” she clears her throat, feeling the pain in her gaze. You shake your head, raising your cup as well and forcing a smile, drinking with her. Your eyebrows furrow when the bitter taste fully settles in, the grimace you make making Minseo laugh. You’re glad at least one of you is able to laugh at the moment. 

“You know, I’m not as stupid as everyone thinks,” she says suddenly, glancing back at them again. “So I really enjoy talking to you because I know you’re not stupid either.” — “Thanks?” You interrupt confusedly and she sighs. “My point is, I wanted to have a friend who was smart and also could talk about stupid boys with me so I wanted to help you get a boy, I told you that, right?” You nod, trying to see where her monologue is going. “But he’s…I can’t really help you when Yuna wants him as well. You understand, right?” 

Your eyes widen, your lips shaking a bit as you try to answer her. But what is it that you’re supposed to say? Yeah, no worries, I get that she wins every time? Oh thank you for being such a great friend, Minseo? 

Instead, you brush it off, changing the conversation before she can say anything else and make you feel even worse. She seems to prefer it that way as well. Her smile returns and she tells you about the boy she is seeing at the moment, complaining about him not showing up today before she drags you with herself towards the center of the room, introducing you to a few people as if you were really her friend. 

You sit down on the couch right beside her, fixing your skirt when it rolls up higher than you’d want. One of the guys offers you his drink but you refuse, saying you’re good. It’s only when you see Yuna holding Beomgyu’s hand and pulling him with herself for a dance that you grab the drink from him, gulping it down in one go. There’s a few whistles around you and cheers but they don’t reach your ears. The only thing you can hear is Minseo telling you to be careful before you receive another cup with who knows what. 

You’re not sure how long you’re sitting there, drinking and chatting with Minseo’s friends but it does help make you feel better. You push Beomgyu out of your head for a while, thinking about getting home and watching a movie with your mom instead of the boy that keeps breaking your heart over and over again without knowing about it. It feels nice to be able to focus on something else for once, but with your luck, it doesn’t last long. 

“Here you are,” Beomgyu’s voice is a little panicked when he finds you, sounding as if he was looking for you all over the house. His breathing is unsteady as he looks around the group of people surrounding you, frowning. It’s an unusual crowd to say the least, especially when it’s Minseo of all people telling you to stop drinking because you’ve had enough. Your eyes flicker to him, your smile falling off. “Oh, hey.” 

“Hi,” he greets you back even though he doesn’t understand, your name gentle on his lips. “Are you okay?” He asks, worried as he comes to stand beside you. You nod, smiling again. “Peachy.” 

“She drank quite a lot,” Minseo tells him, making you roll your eyes. They’re acting as if you were wasted, unable to hear them. But you’re sitting right between them, annoyed with both of them. “The last time I checked I was able to drink however much I want,” you mumble, asking for another drink. Yeonjun who’s sitting opposite you reaches over and offers you his cup. You grab it without hesitation. 

Beomgyu says your name again in a poor attempt to stop you but it only makes you want it more. You need to drown the pain he causes you. Need to shut his voice out before you start crying in front of everyone without even knowing why. 

“Come on, we should go. Your mom will be worried,” he tries again and you shake your head. “I think she’s perfectly fine here,” Yeonjun interrupts him with a teasing smirk, leaning back in his seat. “Right, princess?” You nod, ignoring the nickname. “I’m sure her pretty little head can think for herself. And either way, there’s nothing to be worried about when she’s with us.” 

His words make Beomgyu even more uncertain, his blood boiling when he watches Yeonjun’s eyes trail down your body. It’s disgusting, really. He stands between you without hesitation. “Let’s go,” he tries again, watching your cheeks turn red as you look up at him, hoping for the couch to swallow your whole so you could disappear. 

His eyes are pleasing and part of you wants nothing more than to leave with him right now, but it hurts. It hurts so fucking bad. 

Beomgyu grabs your hand before you can speak, pulling you up so you’re standing in front of him. You watch him confusedly, opening your mouth to argue with him and tell him you want to stay. However, he interrupts you before you can even do so, his empty hand cupping your cheek as he leans closer, pressing his lips against yours. 

Your eyes widen, feeling your heart is about to jump out of your chest when he tilts his head slightly, his eyes closed as he tastes your lips, his other hand moving from your to your waist, keeping you flush against him. 

You’re out of breath when he pulls away, the loud cheers around making you snap out of your thoughts and realize what’s going on. Beomgyu holds your hand again, his eyes soft as he looks at you. “Can we go now?” You nod this time, squeezing his hand tightly as he pulls you away from the crowd, getting out of the house without looking back once. 

You don’t look back either, your eyes fixed on your intertwined hands, unable to think straight as he pulls you towards Lae’s car, Taehyun and Kai already waiting inside. 

He holds your hand throughout the whole ride without a single word, only letting you go when the car stops in front of your house and you step outside, your gaze lingering on him until Lea drives off and you’re finally able to break down, tears slowly rolling down your cheeks. 

You don’t want to get out of your bed the next morning, frowning when the light from outside reaches your face. You hide your head under your blanket, groaning. You reach your hand out, trying to find your phone somewhere on the bed. Once you do, you’re left disappointed when you see it’s dead, slowly rolling out of the bed to charge it. 

It feels like someone beat your head the whole night but you force yourself to get out of your room and find something to eat, trying your hardest to ignore the sickening feeling in your stomach that reminds you just how poor your decisions were last night. 

“You’re awake,” your mom smiles from the kitchen counter, already handing you a glass of water and some scrambled eggs. You smile as you grab them from her, sitting down at the table where your dad is drinking his morning coffee. “Did you throw up last night?” He asks and you shake your head immediately, assuring him it wasn’t that bad. 

“Beomgyu came by earlier,” your mom says as she settles into a chair beside you. Your eyes widen. “Asked if he could talk to you but you were asleep so I sent him back home. Did something happen?” You hesitate as you take a bite of your breakfast, remembering the way his lips felt against your last night. There’s a few things from last night that are blurry. You don’t remember how much you drank or what it was, but you remember this clearly. 

“No, nothing happened,” you shake your head in the end. “It probably wasn’t that important, don’t worry about it.” 

Nothing important. You try to convince yourself of that as well but as soon as you’re done eating, you rush back to your room, grabbing your phone immediately. Your lips curve into a smile when you see new messages from Beomgyu, feeling like for once, maybe life is going your way. 

Beomgyu: Are you awake yet?  Beomgyu: Can we talk?  Beomgyu: I’m on my way to your house Beomgyu: Your mom said you’re still sleeping, just call me when you wake up?  Beomgyu: I need to talk to you Beomgyu: And preferably see you as well Beomgyu: I miss you

He’s adorable. You rush to press the call button but freeze when you get a new notification. Yunaluxe shared a new story. 

You click on the notification even though a part of you knows you shouldn’t. Your stomach immediately drops when you see a picture of her and Beomgyu from last night, her arm wrapped around his waist while the other holds up a drink. He is smiling, his arm around her waist as well. You feel sick as you read the caption. Love finding future celebrities before they’re famous. 

You turn your phone off again and let it charge, jumping back into bed and closing your eyes, Beomgyu’s messages staying there unanswered. You can’t talk to him. Not when you know he thinks last night was a mistake. He likes Yuna, right? There’s no reason for him to talk to you. 

Life never goes your way. 

It hurts avoiding him, but it hurts even more seeing him. You turn away every time you catch just a glimpse of Beomgyu in the hallways, avoiding all his messages and calls. It’s been four days since you properly looked at your phone, not wanting to see what he texted you. You can’t. You’re sure that if you read his messages you’d cry again, and you’ve had enough of that. 

So instead, you buried yourself in work. You took a shift every day of this week and once your classes ended, you ran to the basketball court immediately to be with Heeseung and Jake, making sure there wasn’t a minute you could meet or think about Beomgyu. 

It worked. 

At least until it didn’t. 

You hear your name from behind, squeezing your eyes shut at the familiarity of it. You want to run away and pretend you didn’t hear him but before you can do so, he grabs your hand and your eyes widen. You slowly turn around, pulling your hand away from him. “Hey,” you greet him awkwardly. 

He sighs. You expect him to accuse you of avoiding him, be mad, or even yell at you. Instead, he does the complete opposite. “Hi,” he says simply, his voice as soft as you remember it. You meet his eyes hesitantly, your heart shattering into tiny pieces when he smiles at you. “Can we talk?” 

He doesn’t give you the chance to refuse, pulling you aside so you don’t stand in the way of other students. You’re both quiet for a while, unsure of what you’re supposed to say. An apology hangs at the tip of your tongue but the words never come out, the nervousness building up more and more the longer you stand there. 

Eventually, you break the awkward silence. “It looks like your wish became reality.” His eyes widen, looking at you confusedly. You clear your throat, looking away. “Yuna likes you, it’s super obvious. You’ve been talking to her, right? I’m sure it’s going well for the two of you.” 

“What? No– you– are you serious?” Now this is more in the tone of how you expected this conversation to go, the annoyance in his voice clear as day. “This has nothing to do with her. I wanted to talk to you. To you, about you.” 

“Did Taehyun get used to her yet? I’m sure she’s also eating lunch with you now, right? I hope he isn’t making it too hard for you,” you say as if you couldn’t hear anything he said. 

“Can’t you hear me?” He questions, taking a step forward. “This is not about Yuna or anyone else, I don’t care what Taehyun thinks of her. And no, she is not fucking eating lunch with us, which you would know if you weren’t running away from me. Seriously? Can’t you just talk to me, please.” 

His voice breaks at the end and you have to bite the inside of your cheek. No, you can’t talk to him. It’s too hard. Too painful. You need to run away from him, this conversation, everything he makes you feel. 

“I can’t,” you admit, focusing everything you have left on making sure your voice doesn’t break. If it did, you’re sure you’d cry. “I can’t, Beomgyu. Please, just go be happy with her and let me get over you in peace. I want to be your friend, I really do, but I need to be alone at first to be able to do that.” 

Beomgyu opens his mouth to argue, tell you how stupid it all is and that he doesn’t want you to do that, that he needs you closer than ever now. You walk away before he can do so, breathing heavily as you turn your back to him. It’s not fair. 

It’s the only thing both of you can think about. It’s not fair. 

It’s not fair he gets to walk around all happy with his dream girl liking him back while you have to watch, every word that comes out of his mouth breaking you in a different way. 

It’s not fair you get to walk away and look for closure while he is left standing there alone, unable to do anything but watch you as he regrets everything that happened in the past few weeks. As he regrets everything except for you. 

Beomgyu doesn’t need to speak for his friends to know something is wrong. As soon as he walks into the club room and sits down, it’s obvious he isn’t okay. Taehyun and Kai exchange a quick look before walking over to him, sitting beside him without a word. 

“Is everything…good?” Taehyun asks awkwardly, immediately shutting his eyes closed and regretting how off he sounds. “Perfect,” Beomgyu mumbles, only confirming their worries. “What happened?” 

Beomgyu hesitates, staying quiet for a while and repeating everything inside his head. Yeah, what did happened? When did everything go so fucking wrong? “We kissed,” he admits with a sigh. “Who?” Kai frowns and Taehyun immediately slaps his shoulder, shaking his head. Beomgyu rolls his eyes, your name leaving his lips before he can stop it. “On the party. And as you might have noticed, she’s been ignoring me since.” 

“Wait, slow down, you kissed her? I thought you wanted Yuna?” Kai asks confusedly, the surprise in his voice obvious. “Dude, it was so obvious they have feelings for each other,” Taehyun says and Beomgyu immediately turns his head towards him. “You think she has feelings for me?” He wonders, a little too excited. 

“I know she does. Have you seen the way she looks at you?” 

A smile forms on his lips, but it disappears as quickly as it appeared when he remembers you don’t want to see him right now, even if you do like him. “Whatever, it doesn’t matter now. Nothing matters now. She doesn’t want me around and says I should be with Yuna.” 

“Wasn’t that what you always wanted?” Beomgyu glares at Kai and the poor boy raises his hands in surrender. “I’m just saying, you can’t blame her when Yuna has been the only thing you’ve been able to talk about for weeks.” 

“That’s not true,” he argues even though he doesn’t believe it himself. 

“It’s slightly true,” Taehyun nods. “But it’s definitely not lost yet,” he assures him quickly when he sees the pain in his eyes. “I know you and I know her, you two are way too good friends to be able to stay apart for so long. I’ve known you for years, Beomgyu, and as long as I’ve known you, Soobin was always your best friend. But after meeting her? It was so painfully obvious you like her the most out of all of us. I wondered all the time if you only see her as a friend. And she looks at you the same. Like you’re the whole world.” 

Beomgyu doesn’t answer. He doesn’t know how. Silence takes over the room again and Taehyun wonders if he said something wrong, nervously glancing at Kai. 

“Do you want to cancel practice today? We don’t have to have one. We are basically perfect,” the youngest asks carefully but Beomgyu just shakes his head, standing up slowly. “No, we should practice. The spring festival is in a few days and we can’t mess up. I’ve heard some recording companies will be there.” 

They don’t argue with him, following him to their instruments without saying anything else. The silence is weird, uncomfortable, and it makes Taehyun and Kai uneasy. It’s the first time since they started playing together that their practice was this quiet. 

Beomgyu grumbles as he keeps messing up the chords, his head too loud compared to the silence in the room. It’s unbearable. But he pushes through anyway, not wanting to bother his friends with something so small as a failed crush he realized he had too late. 

It’s only when Taehyun suggests playing a different song that he finally manages to play somewhat stable. The right melody finally echoing through the club room. And as Taehyun starts singing and Beomgyu prepares for his verse, his mind drifts off again. He sees you, standing right in front of him and cheering him on with your big eyes, watching him like he is the star. 

And in that moment, it feels like all of his pain vanishes, only the happy memories he has with you remaining. 

“I need to go,” he blurts out all of a sudden, quickly packing his guitar. His friends watch him confusedly, blinking as he runs off without another word, unsure of what to do now. 

Beomgyu doesn’t care. Doesn’t care that it was he who insisted on having this practice or that he was a complete mess until now. There’s something more important to do at the moment than to drown himself in sadness. He has a song to write. 

You’re not sure about this. You stare down at your outfit, thinking if you should change again. You’re wearing a light blue dress that you’d normally love but for some reason can’t seem to feel good in right now. 

“You look gorgeous, I promise. Beomgyu is going to fall to his knees when he sees you,” Heeseung assures you, watching you from your bed. But it’s not about whether he’ll like it or not, you don’t even know if you want him to. Jake turns off his phone and looks at you as well, a soft smile playing on his lips as he shakes his head at you. “It’s beautiful. No need to stress it. We’re going there to have fun, not for some dumb dude. What was his name? Beomhuj? Or something like that.” You giggle as Jake playfully winks at you, making you feel better without having to try much. 

You’re glad they are going with you. You don’t think you’d be able to go alone. When you met Soobin in the hallway two days ago, he offered to go with you and you doubted he knew anything about what happened with you and Beomgyu so you simply rejected his offer softly. You weren’t going to go anyway. Just last night, you were set on staying home and laying in bed with your comfort movies, but then Heeseung and Jake came over, also set on something—making you go with them. 

You weren’t in the mood to argue with them and so you got dressed, letting them convince you. 

And now, you’re standing right behind the barricade with each boy on your side, awkwardly looking around the empty podium. You told yourself you weren’t excited, that you were there simply because your friends made you, so why were you searching for a certain boy with your eyes the whole time? 

Beomgyu, Taehyun and Kai walk on the podium shortly after, the cheers and whistles loud around you. Even though you’re supposed to feel sad, mad even, all you are at the moment is proud. They are incredible. You know how hard they worked up to this point and seeing the crowd cheering for them makes you giddy. They deserve this, no matter what anyone else says. 

You watch Beomgyu introduce their band, his eyes nervously scanning the whole crowd. It might be just your imagination but you swear you catch a glimpse of his smile when his eyes finally land on you, clearing his throat as Kai starts playing the drums and music takes over the place. 

You smile as you listen to their music, all the sadness and emptiness you felt before washing off. You can’t help it. Even though a part of you wants to run away and hide so you never have to see him again, your other half heals when you listen to him. It always had. 

The song comes to an end and Beomgyu glances at his bandmates quickly before wrapping his hand around the mic, smiling at the crowd. 

“This is the first time we’re playing this song and it’s quite fresh, so I’m sorry if we sound a bit off,” he laughs awkwardly. “I wrote it at my worst and best at the same time. This one is for, uhm, a special someone,” he proclaims, avoiding eye contact as he thinks over his words. “It’s for the girl who makes me feel so much at once I’m unable to think straight, someone who has been there with me even when I was so oblivious it hurt her,” you see him glance at you briefly, his eyes saying everything you wanted to hear after accepting the fact you like him. You swallow a lump in your throat, shifting nervously and glancing at the two boys beside you. 

“This one is called Because of you. I hope you like it.” 

You blink confusedly as the melody surrounds you, the excitement in your eyes obvious as you look at Heeseung to make sure you’re not dreaming. He has a playful smirk on his lips, nodding as if he could read your mind completely. 

“You laughed at things I couldn’t say, And made them rhyme inside my chest,  I thought I’d lost the words one day, But with you, I found the rest,” 

Beomgyu’s voice makes you melt in an instant, your eyes glued to his as he sings his song, a song just for the two of you. You get your serenade, you realize. A song he wrote for you and no one else. Your smile widens, cheering him on with the rest of the crowd, causing his grin to widen as well. 

“Because of you, I raise my voice, Not to impress, but to rejoice, You turned the noise into a song, And showed me where my words belong, I used to run, now I stand through, Because of you,” 

The words play in your head the same way the first song you’ve heard him play did, the melody already stuck in your head as you hum along, singing with him as if you’ve known the song for years. Maybe it’s because it’s him, maybe because it’s the two of you, but you don’t care. Not when he stares at you throughout the whole song, even though you know Yuna is somewhere in the crowd as well. 

As soon as the song ends, Beomgyu glances at Taehyun for reassurance, giggling when he sees the proud nod he gives him. He rolls his eyes playfully when he sees how excited Beomgyu is, shaking his head. “Do I need to tell you everything? Get down there,” he encourages. 

Beomgyu turns towards the crowd again, laughing awkwardly. “If you guys excuse me for a moment.” He doesn’t wait for their answer, doesn’t wait for anything really as he puts away his guitar and rushes down the podium to the barricade. You watch him with amusement, giggling softly as Jake claps beside you. 

“Hi,” he smiles as soon as he stands in front of you. You giggle again, hiding your face in your hands. “Hey.” Beomgyu holds your hands and brings them away so he can look at you, an annoyingly beautiful smile spread across his lips as he pulls you closer and connects your lips with his again. 

It’s the kind of kiss that leaves you wanting more, making you feel absolutely drunk on him. You kiss him back without hesitation, smiling. If every kiss with him feels like butterflies exist in your stomach—you want to kiss him forever. 

He pulls back a little breathless, resting his forehead against yours. 

“It’s you. Deep down, I knew it’s always been you.” 

⋆✶ izzy's tags @beomiracles @seoulzie @adel222 @inkigayocamman @flowzel @love-be0m @virgo-and-libra @hwanghyunjinismybae @liaatiny @minaateez @bamgeutsz @lovingbeomgyudayone @definitelynotherr @hyunj00 @dawngyu @xylatox @thetxtdevil @biteyoubiteme @t-102 @jellyyjn @1-800-jewon @barbielibra @konigyu @demidelulu @i-am-not-dal @vicurious28 @yeonjunnnielover @fancypeacepersona @soohashits @whoisgami @cloverwalker ✶⋆ Want to get notified? Join taglist here !

[caratstick]

This is so so cute 🥰

[candymay]

Confused jamie lee curtis holding a phone with confused lee seokmin holding a phone

[caratstick]

Replace JLC with my male coworker and this has literally happened to me

[cheers-to-you-th]

SVT in (Marching) Band

pairing: ot13 x reader

genre: bulleted list, self-indulgent

cw: none

other: purely my opinion based off of my own experiences, not meant to be insulting (unless you play trombone), happy marching season ^w^

M.list

Seungcheol – Trombone

Grounded, emotionally intuitive, and holds the section together (someone needs to with that section)

The only exception to my hatred of trombones

Doesn’t ask for power, but naturally becomes the anchor everyone relies on

Will say “It’s okay, we got this” and suddenly your dot is fixed

Brings snacks, stays late, low-key mentors half the band

Might pretend to forget the drill but actually knows everyone’s coordinates

Jeonghan – Alto Saxophone (Squad Leader)

Slips into rehearsal 5 minutes late with a smoothie and a lie

Never practices, always nails it—to everyone’s confusion and frustration

Has 5 different plumes but insists they’re “accidentally acquired”

Gets others to carry his stuff by saying “I have weak wrists”

Always brings snacks for his squad, claims they have special privilages

The staff still loves him. No one understands why.

Joshua – Flute (Section Leader)

Polite, precise, well-behaved… until you see him during section leader meetings

Plays anime openings and Studio Ghibli melodies for fun

Has perfect posture and perfect chaos behind the eyes

Bakes cookies for the section and gossips while passing them out

Jun – Mellophone

Weird and wonderful—plays middle voice like it’s a spiritual journey

Doesn't talk much, but throws out one-liners that haunt the band for days

Low brass says “we miss you,” high brass says “he scares us”

Once added an interpretive dance during a slow turn. No one questioned it

Can’t read drill without color-coding it into abstract shapes. Still nails it

Soonyoung – Snare Drum (Section Leader)

The reason the drumline has full choreo and it's not all over the place

Would volunteer to run warmups and accidentally make them a bootcamp

Screams “AGAIN!!” until everyone’s dead (RIP battery) and then makes it fun

Did 80 pushups during break “for mental toughness”

Treats band like an Olympic sport + Broadway revival + anime arc

Wonwoo – Bass Clarinet (RIP my school’s section, we miss you)

The rest of the band don’t really know what’s going on with him, but it works so they don’t question it

Carries the same reed all season and calls it a good luck charm. It works (almost) perfectly

Once rewrote his part to be spicier and no one noticed

Only really talks to his section during rehearsal, but in the stands is having the most fun (maybe even turns around and talks to the other section behind him)

Disappears during lunch and returns with his gallon jug full iced americano (passes some out to his section)

Jihoon – Clarinet (Section Leader)

Band nerd incarnate. Writes better warmups than the actual staff.

Perfectionist who accidentally becomes the backbone of the entire band

Brings multiple reeds and a critique of the harmonic structure

Genuinely enjoys dot books. Cries when things aren't in unison.

Once rewrote the show harmonies out of spite (they were better)

Entire section is terrified of him and consistently annoys him on purpose

Seokmin – Tenor Saxophone

Always too loud, never on-beat.

That one person that accidentally repeats “set” after the drum major

Laughs way too hard at his own jokes, but it makes everyone’s day

Tries to be cool and ends up getting a bug in his mouth mid-show

Gets emotional during the ballad solo and plays the rest of the show with teary eyes

Marches with too much bounce but too much love to fix it

Mingyu – TRUMPET

Golden retriever chaos—tall, clumsy, but dedicated

Trips over his own feet every five seconds

Tried to start a "band vlog" and only recorded himself

Brings snacks knowing damn well he can’t eat them (does anyways and shares with the section)

Messes up visuals but sells it with a smile and finger hearts

Drops his mouthpiece, makes it look like choreography

Forgets his dot and blames the wind

Leads the hype train and the accidental early entrances

Minghao – Front Ensemble (Marimba / Vibes)

Brings a minimalist energy but maximum precision

Dresses like a silent judge but plays like a poet

Meditates before rehearsal, but skip that and he turns into a side-eye factory silently judging your technique

Meticulously arranges mallets by tone and personal grudges

You know how there’s always that one front person that's into it with the swaying stuff they do (i’m not in front, don’t kill me)? That’s him. Teacher’s favorite 100%

Balances between chill mentor and ruthless vibe-checker, delivering critiques like “Your rhythm’s fine, but your energy’s dragging”

If anyone misses timing, prepare for the nasties side-eye you’ve ever seen

Seungkwan – Color Guard Captain / Spirit Coordinator™

Knows the choreography and everyone’s emotional breakdown schedule

Screams “WHAT’S THE POINT IF NO ONE FEELS IT” once a week

Drops the flag on his toes at least once per rehearsal

Yells at the band, then buys them lemon tea and hugs

Should’ve quit 12 times. Would die for this show instead

Vernon – Quads

Shows up in Crocs and headphones first practice, still hits every downbeat (but he got yelled at so he never did it again, will do it first rehearsal the next year again though)

Doesn’t look like he’s paying attention. Has absorbed the entire show

Played an entire cadence using chopsticks and called it "vibe testing"

The staff doesn’t know how to manage him. He’s also the staff’s favorite

Once whispered "existence is just tempo" and walked away

Chan – Baritone

Freshman energy, senior discipline. Will absolutely out-practice you

Obsessed with drill. Has notes on your dot

Shy in warm-up block, turns into a marching machine during run-throughs

Will cry after finals. So will you, because he gave everything

EXTRA: Drum Majors

Seungcheol (Head Drum Major)

The calm, steady heartbeat of the band—always in time, always reliable both on and off the field

Leads with quiet confidence; the band trusts him to keep the tempo tight without extra fuss

Has perfect posture and a deep, commanding voice that carries over the field effortlessly

Gives motivational nods instead of big speeches—his presence is the pep talk

Memorizes each sections strengths so he can cue them perfectly during tricky moments

Jeonghan (Senior Drum Major)

Smooth and effortless with the tempo—keeps time casually but perfectly

Sometimes slightly offbeat on purpose just to keep the band on their toes (and a little amused)

Has a habit of flashing a sly smile right before the band nails a difficult run

Loves adding subtle flair to his conducting, like a dramatic wrist flick or a casual hair tuck

The “cool older sibling” of the drum majors, calming nerves with chill vibes instead of shouting

The one that everyone feels comfortable to go to ask things (and he’s proud of that)

Jihoon (Senior Drum Major)

The perfectionist drum major—every downbeat is exact, every transition crisp

Uses small, precise movements; he’s all about clean conducting and crystal-clear cues

May not be flashy, but the band follows his lead with laser focus because he never misses a mark

Keeps an internal mental checklist of every tricky measure to make sure no one falls behind

Tried one time to stop Jeonghan’s antics, but gave up pretty quick (now just gives him an exasperated look every time)

Chan (Junior Drum Major)

The eager and energetic junior, who adds extra bounce to the beat but keeps solid time

Has a habit of exaggerating cues a little—sometimes to hype the band, sometimes by accident

Still learning how to balance leadership and enthusiasm, but everyone loves his passion

Always practicing smooth transitions between sections, dreaming of being as composed as Seungcheol

Uses big smiles and encouraging eye contact to keep everyone motivated during long rehearsals

Also someone the band feels comfortable going to, usually for less serious things though

Hangs out with his old section the most

anyways thanks for reading this purely self-indulgent imagine. if you're in band (or not), remember to drink lots of water and wear sunscreen!! also for the love of god don't bend your damn knees, and don't scuff when marching 16/5. good luck out there 🫡

[caratstick]

Oh my god… Mingyu WOULD be a Trumpet naur! I feel about trumpets how you feel about trombones apparently 😭

[jayflrt]

now who asked them this 😭

[caratstick]

Enhyblr is a safe space for everyone BUT enhypen 🙅🏼‍♀️

[enhaflixer]

psh - BOUND & BEYOND - marriage law au! PART 1

A MARRIAGE LAW HARRY POTTER AU SUNSHINE X GRUMPY 2 LOVERS FIC!! PART 2

wizard diplomat grumpy!sunghoon x witch healer sunshine f!reader

warnings: sex lol, hes emotionally unavailable and it hurts, he also might be a bit mean but its okay.

-

Park Sunghoon had never lost a diplomatic negotiation until today.

As Head of the Department of International Magical Cooperation, he'd built his career on careful strategy and perfect control. Foreign dignitaries feared his unflappable composure. Fellow department heads envied his meticulous preparation. Even the Minister himself sought Sunghoon's counsel on matters requiring delicate handling.

But against the Marriage Unity Act, all his diplomatic skills had proven worthless.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Park, but your final appeal has been denied," said Matilda Fairweather, the pinch-faced witch from the newly established Marriage Compliance Division. Her tone suggested she wasn't sorry at all. "The magical compatibility readings are among the highest we've recorded. The match stands."

Sunghoon's jaw tightened, the only visible sign of his fury. "Magical compatibility has nothing to do with personal compatibility. You're binding strangers together based on theoretical readings."

Fairweather's thin smile didn't reach her eyes. "The law is quite clear, Mr. Park. Magical compatibility is the primary consideration. Personal preferences are secondary to the greater good of wizarding society."

"And forcing strangers to marry serves the greater good how, exactly?" His voice remained low and controlled, but the edge in it could have cut glass.

"By creating magically powerful unions capable of producing the next generation of witches and wizards," she replied, the rote answer suggesting she'd delivered it dozens of times already. "The population numbers don't lie, Mr. Park. Without intervention, we face magical extinction within three generations."

Sunghoon knew the statistics. He'd studied them extensively during his three appeals. But statistics didn't justify stripping away individual autonomy—especially not his.

"I understand tomorrow is the deadline for your compliance," Fairweather continued, consulting a file. "Your match has already submitted her paperwork accepting the union. The ceremony is scheduled for nine o'clock tomorrow morning, after which you'll have twenty-four hours to establish cohabitation."

"Twenty-four hours," Sunghoon repeated flatly. "The original directive specified thirty days."

"The timeline has been... adjusted," Fairweather said with bureaucratic indifference. "Experience has shown that prolonged separation after matching leads to decreased compliance rates. Twenty-four hours ensures the bonding process begins promptly."

Bonding process. As if they were magical creatures being bred in captivity rather than human beings with established lives and careers.

"And if my residence isn't suitable for immediate cohabitation?" he asked, though he knew his immaculate home with its three bedrooms and precise organization was more than adequate.

"Then the Ministry has prepared standard accommodations for newly matched couples," Fairweather replied, producing a pamphlet depicting a depressingly bland apartment building. "Though given your position, I imagine your residence will meet requirements."

The implied threat was clear: comply or be relegated to Ministry housing, where monitoring would be even more invasive.

"Fine," Sunghoon said, rising from his chair with fluid grace that belied his inner tension. "If there's nothing else, I have work to do."

"Just one more thing," Fairweather said, handing him another pamphlet. This one depicted a smiling couple surrounded by animated text about "Building Marital Compatibility" and "Fulfilling Union Requirements." "The complete timeline for compliance milestones. Shared sleeping quarters by three months, consummation by one year, conception efforts beginning by year two. All subject to regular Ministry verification."

Sunghoon took the pamphlet between two fingers as if it might contaminate him. "Ministry verification of consummation? You can't be serious."

"Detection charms," Fairweather clarified with clinical detachment. "Non-invasive but highly accurate. The Privacy in Marriage Act of 1753 prevents direct observation, but magic leaves traces, Mr. Park. The charms merely detect those traces."

The casual way she discussed monitoring intimate acts made Sunghoon's skin crawl. "How reassuring," he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm that seemed to pass entirely over Fairweather's head.

"Indeed. Many couples find the structure helpful in developing genuine bonds." She returned his file to a towering stack on her desk. "Nine o'clock tomorrow, Conference Room B. Your match has been notified. Do try to arrive on time."

Dismissed like a first-year clerk, Sunghoon exited the Marriage Compliance Office with his dignity intact but his future irrevocably altered. He'd known from the moment the Marriage Unity Act passed that he would likely be affected—single, magically powerful, and within the specified age range, he was an obvious candidate. But he'd believed his position and influence would secure him an exemption.

He'd been wrong.

Tomorrow, he would be legally bound to a virtual stranger. And not just any stranger, but the one person in wizarding Britain whose very existence seemed designed to disrupt everything he valued.

Y/N L/N. Pediatric Healer at St. Mungo's.

He'd encountered you exactly twice, and both meetings had left him with the unsettling feeling of having been caught in a hurricane of warmth and chaos. The first time had been at a Ministry function honoring medical innovation, where you'd received an award for your work with children suffering from unstable magic. Instead of the proper, reserved acceptance speech expected at such events, you'd told a story about a seven-year-old patient that had the entire room first laughing, then wiping away tears, and finally erupting into the kind of genuine applause rarely heard at Ministry functions.

Sunghoon had watched from the back of the room, increasingly uncomfortable with the emotional display. You'd broken every rule of formal Ministry presentations and somehow emerged triumphant, leaving the podium surrounded by people drawn to your genuine warmth like moths to a flame.

The second encounter had been at St. Mungo's, when he'd reluctantly accompanied the child of a visiting dignitary who'd been injured during an international portkey journey. You'd swept into the examination room in lime-green healer robes personalized with embroidered stars and moons, your whole being radiating such cheerful competence that the sobbing child had immediately quieted.

You'd barely acknowledged Sunghoon's presence, focused entirely on your small patient, kneeling to eye level and speaking in the kind of warm, engaging tone he associated with people who genuinely enjoyed children—a foreign concept to him. Your office, glimpsed through an open door, had been a riot of color and movement: animated drawings covered the walls, magical plants bloomed in every corner, and enchanted toys danced on any available surface.

Everything about you—from your bright laugh to your obvious comfort with disorder—represented the antithesis of Sunghoon's carefully structured existence. And now, by Ministry decree, you would be his wife.

The thought was so absurd that he might have laughed if he were the type of man who laughed at anything.

Conference Room B had been superficially transformed for its role as a wedding venue. Someone—presumably not the Ministry—had conjured garlands of flowers that draped the usually austere walls, and the harsh magical lighting had been softened to a warm glow. The effect was like putting a party hat on a troll: fundamentally incongruous but somehow endearing in its attempt.

Sunghoon arrived fifteen minutes early, as was his habit for all appointments. He was surprised to find the room already occupied—not by Ministry officials, but by you.

You stood by the window, adjusting a vase of wildflowers that certainly hadn't been provided by the Marriage Compliance Office. At the sound of the door, you turned, and your face bloomed into a smile so genuine it seemed to brighten the enchanted lighting.

"Good morning!" you greeted, as if this were a pleasant social gathering rather than a forced legal proceeding. "I hope you don't mind the flowers. I couldn't bear the thought of getting married in a room that looked like a place where people receive tax audits."

Your robes were a soft blue that complemented your complexion, with tiny embroidered stars at the cuffs and collar—similar to the ones you'd worn at the hospital, but more elegant. Your hair was styled simply but beautifully, and despite the circumstances, your eyes held a warmth that seemed to be your natural state rather than a cultivated expression.

Sunghoon, dressed in immaculate formal robes of deepest charcoal, felt suddenly severe in comparison. "This isn't a wedding," he said flatly. "It's a legal formality. Decorations just waste time."

Your smile dimmed slightly, but you rallied with visible determination. "Well, yes, but that doesn't mean it has to feel like signing a business merger in a dungeon, does it? It's still our wedding day, even if the circumstances are... unusual."

Our wedding day. The phrase made something in Sunghoon's chest constrict uncomfortably. This wasn't a wedding in any meaningful sense—it was a legal proceeding mandated by an overreaching government.

"I brought something for you," you said, reaching into a small bag to produce a boutonnière—a single blue flower with a sprig of greenery. "I know this isn't a traditional wedding, but I thought... well, it might make it feel a bit more special."

Sunghoon stared at the offering, momentarily at a loss. In his numerous appeals and countless mental preparations for this day, he had never once considered that you might approach the situation with such... sentimentality.

"No," he said simply, not bothering to soften his rejection.

Your hand, still extended with the boutonnière, faltered visibly. For the first time, uncertainty crept into your expression, the sunshine dimming behind gathering clouds.

"Oh," you said softly, withdrawing your hand. "Of course. I just thought..."

You didn't finish the sentence, but Sunghoon could read the disappointment in the slight slump of your shoulders, the way your smile became something practiced rather than natural. It was remarkable, really, how transparent your emotions were—like watching weather patterns move across an open sky.

He moved to speak, “Uh, I just-“

The Ministry official arrived then, saving him from having to respond. You quickly tucked the boutonnière back into your bag, straightening your robes and visibly composing yourself.

"Good morning," said the official, a harried-looking witch with ink-stained fingers. "Y/N L/N and Park Sunghoon?" At your nods, she continued briskly, "I'm Cordelia Figg, Marriage Registration Office. I'll be conducting your binding ceremony today."

She set a stack of parchments on the table, glancing around at the flowers with mild surprise. "Oh. Someone's made an effort."

"That would be me," you said, your smile returning, though it didn't quite reach your eyes. "I thought a few flowers might brighten things up."

"Very nice," Figg said, clearly indifferent. "Now, shall we begin? The Ministry has seventeen ceremonies scheduled today, and we're running behind already."

The ceremony was mercifully brief. Names confirmed, magical compatibility verified (with a begrudgingly impressed "Highest reading this week" from Figg), and binding vows recited—not traditional wedding vows of love and devotion, but Ministry-approved declarations of compliance with the Marriage Unity Act.

When it came time to sign the marriage certificate, you hesitated fractionally, your quill hovering above the parchment. Sunghoon, watching your profile, saw something like resignation pass across your face before you signed with a surprisingly elegant flourish.

He added his own signature beneath yours, the document glowing briefly as the magical binding took effect.

"Congratulations," Figg said with the enthusiasm of someone announcing a mandatory tax filing. "You are now legally bonded under the Marriage Unity Act." She handed each of you a copy of the certificate. "You have twenty-four hours to establish a shared residence and file your cohabitation notification. Failure to comply will result in immediate relocation to Ministry housing."

You tensed slightly at the timeline, though Sunghoon had expected it after yesterday's meeting.

"Additionally," Figg continued, consulting her notes, "your first compatibility assessment is scheduled in two weeks. A representative from the Marriage Compliance Office will visit your residence to verify appropriate cohabitation and evaluate initial bonding progress."

"Two weeks?" you asked, surprise evident in your voice. "I thought the first assessment wasn't until the one-month mark."

"The timeline has been adjusted," Figg replied, echoing Fairweather's words from yesterday. "Experience has shown that early intervention improves long-term compliance."

Sunghoon noted the tightening around your eyes—the first sign of genuine distress you'd shown. "What exactly are you looking for in this assessment?" he asked, his tone making it clear he expected a direct answer.

"Standard evaluation of living arrangements, observation of interaction patterns, basic questions about your developing relationship," Figg recited. "Nothing invasive at this stage. That comes later."

The casual acknowledgment of future invasions of privacy made your eyes widen slightly.

"Is that all?" Sunghoon asked, not bothering to hide his irritation.

"Just one more matter," Figg said, producing two small velvet boxes. "The Ministry provides standard binding rings. You're required to wear them at all times as visual indicators of your matched status."

She opened the boxes to reveal two plain gold bands. Nothing distinctive, nothing personal—just visible symbols of Ministry control.

"The rings are enchanted to monitor basic health status between matched pairs," Figg explained, "and contain locator charms that activate in emergencies. They also warm slightly when in proximity to each other, encouraging regular contact."

"So they're tracking devices," Sunghoon said, making no move to take the box.

Figg's expression hardened slightly. "Health and safety measures, Mr. Park. Standard for all matched pairs."

You reached for your box with visible reluctance, opening it fully to examine the ring inside. "It looks like a normal wedding band," you observed quietly.

"That's the intention," Figg replied. "To all external appearances, matched pairs should resemble traditional marriages. Public confidence in the program depends on perceived normalcy."

Sunghoon couldn't quite suppress a derisive sound at that, earning a sharp look from the official. He took the remaining box with precise movements that conveyed his displeasure without requiring words.

"The rings must be placed on each other," Figg instructed. "Part of the binding magic."

This, Sunghoon hadn't anticipated. The exchange of rings implied a level of personal involvement he'd expected to avoid. From your hesitation, he suspected you felt the same discomfort, though likely for different reasons.

"I can go first," you offered after a moment, removing the larger ring from its box. Your hand trembled slightly as you held it, and Sunghoon was struck by the realization that despite your attempts at cheerfulness, you were just as unsettled by this forced union as he was.

He extended his left hand, and you carefully slid the ring onto his fourth finger. The metal was cool for a moment, then warmed against his skin as the magic activated. He felt a curious sensation—like a door opening somewhere in his mind, creating an awareness of your presence that hadn't existed before.

"Your turn," you said softly, offering your own hand.

Sunghoon took the smaller ring from its box, noting the delicacy of the band compared to his own. Your fingers were slim but strong—healer's hands, steady in crisis but gentle with the vulnerable. He slid the ring into place with efficient movement, careful to maintain a professional distance despite the intimate gesture.

You inhaled sharply as the ring settled, your eyes widening slightly. He wondered if you felt the same strange awareness that he did—like a compass suddenly oriented toward magnetic north.

"The binding is complete," Figg announced, gathering her papers. "You'll receive an owl with the exact time of your first assessment. Remember, cohabitation must be established within twenty-four hours."

And with that anticlimactic conclusion, you were married.

Figg departed with brisk efficiency, leaving you and Sunghoon alone in the flower-decorated conference room, newly minted spouses with nothing to say to each other.

You were the first to break the silence. "So... twenty-four hours," you said, your voice determinedly bright despite the strain evident around your eyes. "That's not much time to arrange a move."

"No," Sunghoon agreed shortly, already thinking through logistics. "Where do you live?"

"Diagon Alley," you replied. "Above the apothecary. It's small but convenient for hospital shifts."

He nodded once, decision made. "We'll use my place. It's bigger, has three bedrooms, good security. Bring what you need today, the rest can come later."

The practicality of his response seemed to steady you somewhat. "That makes sense. Though I should warn you, I have a cat, Nyx. She's part of the non-negotiable package."

A cat. Of course there would be a pet. Sunghoon's jaw tightened again. "Just keep it off the furniture."

"She's very well-behaved," you assured him, though your expression suggested the cat might have opinions on the matter. "Thank you for offering your home. I know this isn't... well, what either of us would have chosen."

The simple acknowledgment of their shared predicament was unexpected. Sunghoon had prepared for tears, for anger, for manipulative emotional displays—not for this straightforward acceptance coupled with determined grace.

"Neither of us has much choice," he said, his tone less harsh than before. "We might as well make it workable."

You studied him for a moment, head tilted slightly as if trying to read something in his guarded expression. "You're taking this remarkably well," you observed. "I've been fluctuating between panic and hysterical laughter since I got the letter."

The candid admission surprised a nearly imperceptible quirk of the lips from Sunghoon—not quite a smile, but the closest approximation he'd shown all day. "Years of dealing with difficult diplomats," he said by way of explanation. "I've handled worse than this."

"I'm not sure whether to be relieved or offended by that comparison," you said, attempting a tentative smile. "Though I doubt your diplomatic training covered forced marriage."

"It did not," he confirmed, and if his tone held the faintest trace of dry humor, it was gone too quickly to be certain.

You glanced at the flowers you'd brought, now looking somewhat forlorn in the empty conference room. "I should clean these up before we go."

"Leave them," Sunghoon said, surprising himself slightly. "The next couple might need them more than we did."

Something in your expression brightened at this small consideration—disproportionately, in his view, to the minor gesture. "That's... surprisingly thoughtful."

Sunghoon shifted uncomfortably. He didn't do thoughtful. Practical, efficient, fair, but not thoughtful. "It's just efficient. Cleaning up would waste time we don't have."

"Right," you said, though your smile suggested you didn't entirely believe his explanation. "Efficient. Of course."

As you gathered your few belongings, Sunghoon found himself studying the ring now encircling his finger. The magic hummed just below his awareness, a constant reminder of the connection that had been forced upon him. When you moved toward the door, he felt a slight warmth from the metal—the proximity alert Figg had mentioned.

"Shall we?" you asked, pausing at the threshold.

Sunghoon nodded once, following you from the room. As the door closed behind them, he caught a final glimpse of the flowers brightening the sterile Ministry space—a small rebellion against institutional coldness that seemed to embody your approach to this entire situation.

It occurred to him, with unwelcome clarity, that navigating life with someone who met adversity with flowers and determined optimism would require reserves of patience he wasn't entirely sure he possessed.

This, he suspected, was going to be significantly more complicated than any international negotiation he'd ever handled.

Journal Entry: 14 March 2023

Day one of cohabitation with Y/N. Initial observations:

The woman is incapable of following basic organizational systems. I left a detailed orientation packet on her nightstand. Found it this morning with doodles in the margins. DOODLES. On a carefully prepared document.

Her belongings have already invaded common spaces. Colorful throw pillows appeared on my sofa. Books stacked at odd angles on the side table. Even the bathroom isn't safe. Potions bottles everywhere, none arranged by size or purpose.

The constant humming and talking to herself is worse than I anticipated. Also talks to the cat as if it understands English.

Speaking of the cat - it's staring at me. Constantly. Follows me from room to room. I've done nothing to encourage this behavior. Today it had the audacity to sit on my chair and stare until I gave it a treat. Not sure why I complied. Temporary lapse in judgment.

Sleep was difficult. The awareness of another person in the house is... distracting.

Y/N herself is less irritating than expected. She's handling the situation with surprising practicality, despite the excessive cheerfulness. 

The Ministry assessment is in 13 days. Need to create the appearance of "bonding" without actually changing anything. Should be straightforward enough. Just need to ensure she doesn't rearrange anything else in the meantime.

Initial verdict: Not quite as bad as projected. Still completely unacceptable.

— S.

-

Three days into your cohabitation, and you'd already established that Park Sunghoon's morning routine was inflexible. He woke at exactly 5:30 AM, spent forty-five minutes in the bathroom, and left for the Ministry at 7:15 AM sharp. The presence of a new wife apparently didn't warrant any adjustments to his schedule.

Your own hours at St. Mungo's were far less predictable. As a pediatric healer, you worked rotating shifts across days, evenings, and occasional nights. This morning, you were due at the hospital by 8:00 AM, putting you on a collision course with Sunghoon's immovable morning ritual.

At 6:10 AM, you stood outside the bathroom door, shifting from foot to foot, your patience wearing thin.

"Sunghoon?" you called, knocking lightly. "I really need to get ready for work."

Silence. Either he couldn't hear you over the shower, or he was deliberately ignoring you.

You knocked again, louder this time. "Sunghoon, I have rounds at eight!"

The water shut off abruptly. A moment later, the door opened just enough to reveal Sunghoon's face, his hair still wet, eyes narrowed with obvious irritation.

"I'm not finished in here," he said flatly.

"I know that," you replied, trying to keep your voice even. "But unlike you, my schedule changes day to day, and I need to be at St. Mungo's by eight. Could you please finish up so I can get ready?"

Sunghoon stared at you for a long moment. "This disrupts my schedule."

"Yes, I'm aware," you said, your famous patience beginning to fray. "But unless you want me to show up for work in yesterday's robes with unbrushed teeth, we need to adjust."

Sunghoon's jaw tightened, but he gave a curt nod. "Five minutes." The door closed before you could respond.

True to his word, exactly five minutes later he emerged fully dressed in impeccable Ministry robes, not a hair out of place. How he managed to transform from shower-damp to completely presentable so quickly remained a mystery.

"Thank you," you said, genuinely grateful despite his obvious annoyance. "I promise we can work out a better schedule."

Sunghoon stepped aside with a grunt that might have been acknowledgment. "Figure out a system for the bathroom. This isn't working."

"Tonight?" you asked, already closing the bathroom door.

He nodded once, already walking away.

The bathroom, like the rest of Sunghoon's home, was impeccably organized. Everything was precisely arranged, from the towels to the toiletries. Despite his hasty exit, there was no evidence he'd been there—no steam on the mirror, no water drops, not even a damp towel.

You couldn't help comparing it to your old bathroom, with its cheerful clutter of hair potions and colorful healing salves. You'd tried to contain your "mess" (as Sunghoon had bluntly called it) to your designated spaces, but the bathroom was necessarily shared.

As you showered, you wondered how long before Sunghoon lost his mind completely at having to share his perfectly ordered world with someone who considered "sort of organized" a major achievement.

-

Sunghoon returned from work that evening to find his kitchen transformed. Cabinet doors stood open, cookware rearranged, and something simmered on the stove, filling the air with rich aromas.

You stood at the counter, chopping vegetables with practiced precision. Music played softly from a wireless on the windowsill, and Nyx sat on a kitchen chair—flagrantly violating his "no pets on furniture" rule—watching with obvious interest.

"Hi," you said, looking up with a warm smile. "I thought I'd make dinner for both of us. Seemed silly to cook separately."

Sunghoon's eyes narrowed as he took in the scene, gaze lingering on the kitchen timer that had been moved from its designated spot. "I eat at seven. Sharp."

"Perfect timing then," you replied, undeterred by his lack of enthusiasm. "That's exactly when this will be ready. Nothing fancy, just stew."

Before he could respond, Nyx jumped down and wound herself around his ankles, nearly tripping him.

"Your cat is trying to kill me," he muttered, regaining his balance with a scowl.

You laughed, the sound bright in his usually silent home. "She's saying hello. Though with cats, the line between greeting and attempted murder is admittedly thin."

Nyx continued circling his legs, purring loudly despite the minimal acknowledgment from Sunghoon.

"I have work to finish," he said, carefully stepping around the cat. "Let me know when dinner's ready."

"Of course," you agreed, turning back to your cooking. "Oh, Sunghoon?"

He paused in the doorway, looking back with obvious impatience.

"About this morning," you continued. "I made a schedule of my shifts for the next two weeks. Maybe we could coordinate so we're not fighting over the bathroom?"

You pointed to a colorful chart on the refrigerator, held up by a magnet shaped like a frog. You'd detailed all your shifts and bathroom times with different colors.

Sunghoon stared at it longer than necessary, clearly caught off-guard. He'd expected complaints or demands, not a practical solution that actually respected his need for routine.

"Fine," he said finally, though his tone was notably less harsh. "I'll look it over."

Your smile brightened, as if he'd offered high praise instead of grudging acceptance. "Great! I know neither of us wanted this arrangement, but we might as well make it work, right?"

Sunghoon just grunted in response and retreated to his study, unable to formulate a proper reply to your persistent optimism.

Once safely behind his desk, he found himself staring blankly at his work, distracted by the unfamiliar sounds and smells filtering through the house. Even here in his private sanctuary, your presence seemed to permeate everything. The house felt different—warmer, more alive somehow.

The Ministry ring warmed slightly on his finger, a constant reminder of your presence elsewhere in the home. The sensation wasn't entirely unpleasant, which was perhaps the most disturbing part of all.

-

Dinner proved surprisingly tolerable. The stew was excellent—rich and flavorful. Despite himself, Sunghoon finished his entire bowl, a fact that seemed to please you immensely.

"There's plenty more if you want seconds," you offered, your own bowl already empty.

"This is enough," Sunghoon replied, though he wouldn't have minded more. Taking seconds felt strangely like admitting defeat.

"So," you said after a moment, "how was your day?"

The question caught him off-guard. No one ever asked about his day. His evenings typically passed in complete silence, with no expectations of small talk or social niceties.

"Fine," he said finally. Then, after a brief internal debate: "The Bulgarians are being difficult about potion imports."

To his surprise, you didn't just nod politely and change the subject. "Is that the nightshade derivatives issue? I read about it last week."

Sunghoon looked up, reassessing you. "Yes. They've implemented restrictions that violate Section Seven of the International Trade Agreement."

"Because of the poisoning cases?" you asked, seeming genuinely interested. "We had a child on the ward who got sick from a poorly regulated Sleeping Draught from Eastern Europe. Really bad situation."

"Exactly why proper regulation matters," Sunghoon said, finding himself drawn into the conversation despite his intention to keep dinner brief. "Bulgaria's unilateral action undermines the existing framework without actually fixing the problem."

You nodded thoughtfully. "I can see both sides. As a healer, I want the strictest safety standards for potions. But I also understand why uniform international rules matter."

"The two aren't mutually exclusive," Sunghoon found himself explaining. "A coordinated approach gives both safety and consistency."

The conversation flowed with unexpected ease as you discussed the intersection of international policy and healing practices. Sunghoon was reluctantly impressed by your insights. This wasn't the mindless chatter he'd expected but an actual exchange he found... almost engaging.

He was so focused on explaining a particularly complex regulation that he didn't notice Nyx jump onto the table until she was approaching his plate with determined interest.

"Nyx!" you exclaimed, reaching for the cat. "No, we don't do that!"

Sunghoon had already moved his plate away from her investigative nose. "Your cat thinks rules don't apply to her."

"She's testing boundaries," you said, scooping her up and removing her from the table. "She does this with every new place. Sorry—I should have warned you she'd try to take over the dining area."

"Take over?" Sunghoon repeated, eyeing the cat with new understanding.

"She's checking if you'll enforce rules or if she can gradually claim the house as her domain," you explained with a smile. "Classic cat power move."

"So she's deliberately challenging my authority," Sunghoon said, a hint of grudging respect in his voice as he studied the cat's unrepentant face.

"Exactly," you laughed. "It's basically a hostile takeover attempt, just with more fur and purring."

To your surprise, the corner of Sunghoon's mouth twitched slightly. "Tell your cat that I don't negotiate with terrorists, regardless of how fluffy they are."

"I'll relay the message," you replied with mock seriousness, "but fair warning—she's been known to leave hairball 'presents' for those who resist her rule."

This time, Sunghoon's almost-smile was more visible. Something about your willingness to joke about the situation without mocking his need for order was strangely disarming.

The rest of dinner passed in conversation focused mainly on the upcoming Ministry assessment. You both agreed on minimal compliance—showing just enough "bonding" to satisfy the bureaucrats without crossing Sunghoon's carefully drawn boundaries.

"I should probably put a few more of my things in the living room," you suggested as you gathered the dishes. "Nothing overwhelming, just enough to show we're sharing space."

"Makes sense, although you already have," Sunghoon agreed, rising to help with cleanup—a small but notable departure from his usual habits. "They'll look for signs we're actually living together, not just occupying the same house."

"Maybe a couple of photos? One of my healing journals on the coffee table?"

"Fine," he said, the word less clipped than usual. The excellent meal had perhaps mellowed his typical resistance, or maybe he simply recognized that some concessions were necessary to keep the Ministry off their backs.

After dinner, you retreated to your room, leaving Sunghoon to his evening reading. The house settled into quiet, punctuated only by your occasional movements upstairs and Nyx's determined patrols of the hallways.

-

The morning that changed everything came on your fifth day together.

Despite your carefully coordinated bathroom schedule, an emergency at the hospital had disrupted everything. Called in at three AM, you hadn't returned until nearly dawn, forgetting that 5:15 was exactly when Sunghoon would be waking up.

You were halfway through your shower when the bathroom door opened.

Sunghoon, still half-asleep, was two steps into the room before registering the running water and steam.

"Shit—sorry," he said, suddenly alert. "Didn't know you were back."

"Emergency case," you called over the water. "Completely lost track of time!"

"I'll come back—" Sunghoon began, when his retreat was interrupted by Nyx darting between his legs, nearly knocking him off balance.

What happened next unfolded too quickly to prevent. Sunghoon stumbled against the sink, knocking your bottle of Madame Mimosa's Magnificent Moisture Potion to the floor. It shattered, immediately releasing both its contents and its powerful enchantment.

The bathroom instantly filled with fragrant mist smelling of honeysuckle and vanilla. The moisture-enhancing charm transformed the already steamy bathroom into a tropical greenhouse.

"What the—" you gasped, shutting off the water and grabbing a towel.

"Goddamn magical beauty products," Sunghoon muttered, already looking for something to clean up the mess.

You stepped forward to help when your foot hit a slick patch. With a startled yelp, you lost your balance as the towel began to slip.

Sunghoon moved with surprising speed and grace, catching you firmly by the arms before you could fall. The towel stayed in place, though precariously low.

For a breathless moment, you found yourself held securely in his grip, your face inches from his. Through the enchanted mist, you saw his eyes darken as he registered your proximity. Water droplets clung to your skin, and you became acutely aware of how little separated you—just a damp towel and his rapidly dampening clothes.

"Thanks," you said softly, suddenly very aware of how strong his hands felt.

Sunghoon seemed to realize he was still holding you. Rather than jerking away awkwardly, he released you with controlled deliberation, his hands sliding down your arms before dropping to his sides.

"I should let you finish," he said, his voice lower than usual. "We can deal with this mess later."

He left with surprising composure despite his now damp clothes and the way his normally perfect hair had started to curl against his forehead.

When you emerged thirty minutes later, the house was quiet. On the kitchen counter, you found a note in Sunghoon's precise handwriting:

Early meeting at the Ministry today. Back this evening. —S

Beneath it lay a small velvet pouch containing a vial of Madame Mimosa's Magnificent Moisture Potion—the exact product that had shattered.

He'd replaced your broken cosmetic. Such a small gesture, yet as you held the vial, you felt a warmth spreading through your chest that had nothing to do with moisture potions.

Somewhere beneath that grumpy exterior, Sunghoon had not only noticed what you used but gone out of his way to replace it without being asked.

Maybe there was hope for this arrangement after all.

-

That evening, Sunghoon returned to find dinner waiting—a peace offering of sorts for the morning's disruption. He entered the kitchen cautiously, as if expecting another magical mishap.

"I promise there are no moisture potions involved in tonight's dinner," you said with a smile that acknowledged the morning's awkwardness without dwelling on it.

"Good to know," Sunghoon replied, and if his voice sounded less irritated than usual, you chose not to comment.

"Thank you for replacing my potion," you said as you served the food. "You really didn't have to do that."

Sunghoon focused intently on arranging his napkin, clearly uncomfortable with gratitude. "It was my fault it broke."

"Still, it was thoughtful," you persisted, unwilling to let the kindness go unacknowledged.

Sunghoon just shrugged, visibly uncomfortable. "I updated the bathroom schedule to include emergency shifts," he said, obviously changing the subject. "There's a buffer period built in now."

"Perfect," you replied, allowing him the redirect. "I've also moved my potions to a safer spot. Though I can't promise Nyx won't continue her reign of terror."

As if summoned, the cat appeared in the doorway, yellow eyes fixed on Sunghoon with unusual interest.

"Your cat is staring at me again," he said, eyeing Nyx warily. "It's unnerving."

"She's decided you're interesting," you said with a smile. "I've never seen her take to anyone so quickly."

"I haven't done anything to encourage her," Sunghoon muttered, though he didn't object when Nyx jumped onto the empty chair beside him and settled in to watch the meal.

"Some people just have that effect on animals," you suggested, hiding a smile as you noticed how Sunghoon had shifted to accommodate the cat's presence.

"No, she's definitely plotting something," he replied, though without real heat. "She knows I don't like her on the furniture, so she does it more often. She's probably enjoying my irritation."

"That's... actually spot-on cat psychology," you admitted, impressed despite yourself.

Neither of you mentioned the morning's encounter directly, but something had shifted between you. As you cleared the dishes together—a small routine that had developed without discussion—you found yourself wondering if Sunghoon was as aware of you now as you suddenly were of him.

Because in that moment in the steamy bathroom, you'd noticed things about your Ministry-assigned husband you'd been ignoring: the strength in his hands, the heat of his skin through damp fabric, the way his eyes had darkened when they met yours.

Physical attraction. Exactly the complication neither of you needed.

But as you watched him methodically drying dishes, his movements controlled yet oddly graceful, you wondered if he'd noticed something too—something that had sent him to the Ministry for the day, something that had prompted him to replace your broken potion with such uncharacteristic thoughtfulness.

The Ministry ring warmed slightly on your finger, as it always did when you were near him. But for the first time, you wondered if the enchantment was merely enhancing something that might have developed naturally, given time and proximity.

A dangerous thought, and one you quickly dismissed. This wasn't a love match but a Ministry arrangement. Developing feelings for a man who clearly valued order and emotional distance above all else would only make an already challenging situation unbearable.

Still, as you bid Sunghoon goodnight and headed upstairs, you couldn't quite forget the look in his eyes through the enchanted mist, or the careful strength of his hands as they steadied you.

Some boundaries, it seemed, were proving more difficult to maintain than others.

-

Journal Entry: 18 March 2023

This morning's bathroom incident requires documentation before I forget the details.

Thanks to Y/N's emergency shift and that damn cat, we had a collision in the bathroom. A bottle broke, releasing some kind of moisture enchantment that turned the bathroom into a steam room. She slipped, I caught her, and for a moment things got...complicated.

She was wearing only a towel. Her skin was wet. I could smell honeysuckle everywhere. And for a few seconds, I couldn't think straight.

Basic attraction. Nothing more. Just biology responding to an objectively attractive woman in close proximity. Doesn't mean anything.

Replaced her broken potion on the way to work. Simple courtesy since I knocked it over. She's reading too much into it, calling it "thoughtful." It was just fixing a mistake.

I need to be more careful about maintaining distance. Too easy to slip into casual intimacy in a shared living space. The proximity is...distracting.

— S.

-

The notes began on your seventh day of cohabitation.

The first appeared on the kitchen counter:

Second cabinet from the left has tea. Purple tin is good for early shifts. —S

More notes followed, appearing with increasing frequency throughout the house:

Book on Eastern European healing techniques is on the third shelf. Might help with your case. —S

Chair by the east window has the best light for reading. —S

Each note was brief and practical, yet together they revealed something unexpected: Sunghoon was paying attention to the minute details of your habits, preferences, and needs.

"Your husband keeps leaving me instructions," you told Nyx as you discovered yet another note, this one attached to a vial of headache potion after a difficult shift. "As if I can't possibly function without his guidance."

Nyx, curled on your pillow, regarded you with knowing yellow eyes.

"Okay, fine," you conceded. "The headache potion is actually thoughtful."

The strangest part was that Sunghoon never mentioned the notes. Not when you used the recommended tea, not when you sat in the supposedly optimal reading chair. He merely inclined his head slightly when he noticed, acknowledging without actually having to talk about it.

It was as if the notes allowed him to be attentive without the discomfort of direct personal interaction—a buffer that let him care from a safe distance.

"The Ministry assessment is in three days," Sunghoon announced over dinner. "We need to discuss strategy."

"I've been leaving some of my things in the common areas," you offered. "Signs of shared space, like we talked about."

"Good," Sunghoon said. "That covers the basics. But they'll be looking for signs we're comfortable with each other."

"So we need to act like we don't hate each other," you summarized. "That shouldn't be too difficult. I don't actually hate you, despite your militant organization of spice jars."

Something that might have been amusement flickered in Sunghoon's eyes. "The spice system makes perfect sense. And I don't..." He paused, as if the words were difficult to form. "I don't mind having you here. As much as I thought I would."

Coming from Sunghoon, this was practically a declaration of fond attachment.

"For the assessment, we'll need to look comfortable with physical proximity," he continued. "They watch for casual contact."

"Casual contact?" you repeated, feeling inexplicably nervous. Since the bathroom incident, you'd both been careful to maintain personal space. The thought of deliberately breaching that boundary sent an unexpected flutter through your stomach.

"Hand touches. Sitting close. Basic couple things." His tone was matter-of-fact, but you noticed how his fingers tightened slightly around his water glass.

"Right," you agreed, trying to match his casual tone despite the warmth creeping up your neck. "Just normal married-people stuff."

An awkward silence fell, broken only when Nyx jumped onto the table and began examining Sunghoon's water glass.

"Your cat is still testing me," Sunghoon observed, making no move to remove her.

"She likes you," you said.

"Cats like people who ignore them," Sunghoon replied, though he unconsciously extended a finger to scratch behind Nyx's ear. "Perverse creatures."

"Is that why you leave notes instead of talking to me directly?" The question escaped before you could reconsider it.

Sunghoon looked up sharply. "The notes are practical. They avoid unnecessary conversation."

"They're about which chair gets the best light and which tea I might like," you pointed out gently. "Not exactly essential information."

"Writing is more direct."

"And less personal," you added. "You don't have to look at me or deal with my response if you just leave a note."

"The notes keep things simple," he said, his expression closing off. "The Ministry wants us to live together. They don't require us to be best friends."

The coldness in his voice stung more than it should have. After all, this was a Ministry arrangement, not a love match.

Still, when you climbed into bed that night, you were surprised to find a new note on your pillow:

Found an error in that healing text you're reading. Page 394 has wrong moonflower dosages for children under seven. I made a correction in the margin. —S

Below his usual initial was an additional line:

Your input on the Bulgarian negotiations was helpful. They accepted our proposal.

You stared at the note, reading and re-reading the second part. It wasn't exactly effusive praise, but coming from Sunghoon, it was practically a standing ovation.

In a note, of course—heaven forbid he mention it in person—but still.

As you placed the note on your bedside table, you noticed something else: your wand, which you'd left on the dresser as usual, had been moved to the bedside table exactly as Sunghoon had suggested in his earlier note.

You'd moved it without even thinking about it, automatically following his "more efficient" arrangement.

The realization made you smile despite your lingering hurt from dinner. Perhaps, in your own way, you were both adjusting to each other—his brief notes, your gradual adoption of his systems. Not a traditional foundation for a relationship, certainly, but a form of communication nonetheless.

With the Ministry assessment rapidly approaching, you supposed any form of connection, however peculiar, was better than none at all.

-

"We should adjust how we sit," Sunghoon announced the following evening as you both stood awkwardly in the living room, attempting to "practice" looking like a comfortable couple.

"What's wrong with how we sit?" you asked, looking at the sofa and chairs that had been in their precise positions since you moved in.

"We sit too far apart," he said bluntly. "You're always in the armchair, I'm at the opposite end of the sofa. Real couples sit closer."

You glanced between your preferred chair and Sunghoon's usual spot at the far end of the sofa. He wasn't wrong—you'd naturally established territories as far from each other as the room allowed.

"So we should sit closer together when they visit?" you suggested.

"We should practice now, so it looks natural," Sunghoon said, moving toward the sofa with visible reluctance. "Forced closeness will look just as suspicious as sitting across the room."

You fought back a smile at his serious approach to what was essentially "pretending to like each other." It was so very Sunghoon to treat casual affection as something that needed rehearsal.

"Alright then," you said, settling onto the sofa at what you judged to be a friendly but not intimate distance. "Like this?"

Sunghoon studied the space between you with a frown. "Still too formal." Before you could respond, he shifted closer, not quite touching but near enough that you could feel the warmth emanating from his body.

"Couples who are getting comfortable with each other sit about this far apart," he said. His tone was practical, but you noticed how carefully he was holding himself, as if afraid to relax into the sofa cushions.

"You've really researched this, haven't you?" you asked, unable to keep the amusement from your voice.

"I looked into what Ministry inspectors look for," Sunghoon said defensively. "I don't want to fail over something as simple as sitting arrangements."

"Of course," you murmured, suddenly very aware of how close he was. The scent of his cologne—something clean and subtle that you'd begun to associate with his presence—seemed more noticeable at this distance.

"We should practice casual touch too," Sunghoon continued, though you noticed the slight tension in his jaw. "Hand touches. Arms brushing. Normal couple things."

You nodded, your mouth suddenly dry. "That makes sense. Should we, um, go for it?"

For a moment, neither of you moved. Then, with what appeared to be forced casualness, Sunghoon extended his hand, palm up, between you.

"Hand holding is pretty basic," he said, his voice lower than usual. "Nothing complicated."

You placed your hand in his, expecting a brief, perfunctory touch. Instead, his fingers closed around yours with a gentle pressure, his palm warm and surprisingly soft against your skin.

"This is the kind of thing they'll expect to see," he explained, his eyes fixed on your joined hands. "Just casual touch."

"Right," you agreed, trying to ignore the way your pulse had quickened. "Casual."

You couldn't help but notice how neatly your hand fit in his, how the simple contact somehow felt both ordinary and intimate at once. Sunghoon's thumb moved slightly, a small brush against the side of your hand that might have been unconscious but sent a surprising tingle up your arm.

"How long do we need to practice this particular touch?" you asked, attempting humor to mask your unexpected reaction.

Sunghoon looked up, and for the first time you noticed the flecks of amber in his dark eyes. "A few seconds is enough for a casual touch," he said. "Any longer means something else."

"And what might that be?" The question slipped out before you could stop it, softer and more genuine than you'd intended.

Something shifted in Sunghoon's expression—a momentary crack in his carefully maintained armor. His eyes dropped briefly to your lips, then back to your eyes, the movement so quick you almost missed it.

Before he could answer, the front door wards chimed with an unfamiliar pattern.

Sunghoon dropped your hand and stood in one fluid motion, suddenly all business. "Ministry officials."

"But the assessment isn't until tomorrow," you said, rising as well.

"They do surprise visits," Sunghoon replied, straightening his already immaculate robes. "To catch couples off guard."

The wards chimed again, more insistently.

"Do we look okay?" you asked, smoothing your own robes nervously.

Sunghoon's eyes swept over you briefly. "You look fine. Just try to seem comfortable with me."

"That makes two of us," you murmured, earning a brief, startled glance from him before he moved to answer the door.

You settled back onto the sofa, trying to appear relaxed rather than like someone who had just been practicing hand-holding with her reluctant husband.

You heard the door open, Sunghoon's polite greeting, then he returned to the living room with a short witch with iron-gray hair. A clipboard hovered beside her with a self-writing quill poised above it.

"Mrs. Park," the witch said, her eyes sharp behind square spectacles. "I'm Inspector Howell from the Marriage Compliance Office. This is a standard preliminary assessment visit."

You rose, offering your hand with what you hoped looked like genuine welcome. "It's nice to meet you, Inspector. We were expecting you tomorrow."

"That's the official assessment," Howell replied, shaking your hand briefly. "This is a preliminary observation to establish baseline interaction patterns."

"I see," you said, though you didn't really. The Ministry's procedures seemed designed to maximize discomfort. "Would you like some tea?"

"No, thank you. This will be brief." Howell's gaze swept the living room, taking in the signs of cohabitation—your books on the side table, the colorful throw on the armchair, Sunghoon's journals now mingled with yours.

"You've established shared living space," she noted approvingly. "And you use the common areas together rather than separately."

"We were discussing some international trade regulations," Sunghoon said, moving to stand beside you—not touching, but close enough to signal connection. "Y/N's experience with imported potions has been valuable."

You glanced at him in surprise. It wasn't exactly what you'd been discussing, but it wasn't entirely false—you had spent several dinner conversations on that topic.

"Professional collaboration is a positive sign," Howell said, making a note. "The Ministry encourages pairs to find connections beyond mere cohabitation."

"We're finding we have more in common than we expected," you offered, unconsciously leaning slightly toward Sunghoon.

Howell observed you both with clinical assessment. "Your physical comfort indicators are minimal," she observed, making another note. "Body language suggests formality rather than developing intimacy."

Without thinking, you reached out and touched Sunghoon's arm—a light, casual contact that might look natural between a developing couple.

"We're still getting used to each other," you explained, your fingers resting on his sleeve. "But it's getting easier."

To your shock, Sunghoon's hand came up to cover yours, his touch warm and sure. The gesture was so unexpected you almost pulled away, but the gentle pressure of his fingers kept yours in place.

"We're making progress," he agreed, his voice perfectly steady despite the unexpected touch he'd initiated.

Something flickered in his eyes as he looked down at you—a brief, unguarded moment when the mask slipped and you glimpsed something that looked remarkably like genuine attraction before his diplomatic expression returned.

Howell watched this exchange with sharp eyes, her quill making rapid notes. After a moment, she gave a curt nod. "Acceptable for preliminary stages. You'll need to demonstrate further development at your official assessment."

"We understand," Sunghoon said smoothly, though his hand lingered on yours a moment longer than necessary before withdrawing.

"Good. Your official assessment remains scheduled for tomorrow at two o'clock." Howell consulted her clipboard one final time. "Be prepared for a more comprehensive evaluation."

With that, she departed as abruptly as she'd arrived, leaving you and Sunghoon in a suddenly charged silence.

"Well," you said, your skin still tingling where his fingers had pressed against yours. "That was unexpected."

"The Ministry likes surprise inspections," Sunghoon replied, moving away to put more distance between you. "It prevents couples from rehearsing."

You nodded, trying not to feel hurt by how quickly he'd reestablished space after the inspector left. "Quick thinking with the hand thing. Very convincing."

Sunghoon glanced at you, something flashing in his eyes that was gone too quickly to identify. "It was the logical response to her comment about formality."

"Right," you agreed, forcing a smile. "Logical."

An awkward silence fell, broken when Nyx sauntered into the room. With impeccable timing, she assessed the tension and promptly jumped onto Sunghoon's favorite chair.

"Your cat has the worst sense of boundaries I've ever seen," Sunghoon observed, though there was no real bite to his words.

"She's just letting you know who's really in charge here," you said, grateful for the tension breaker.

The corner of Sunghoon's mouth twitched upward. "Then she should be conducting our Ministry assessment. She'd have everyone properly trained in no time."

Your laugh filled the room, genuine and relieved. "She'd have the inspector bringing her treats within minutes."

Sunghoon's almost-smile lingered for a moment before he turned toward his study. "I need to finish some work. We should practice again tomorrow before the official assessment."

"Looking forward to it," you replied, surprised to realize you meant it. Despite the awkwardness, there had been something undeniably... intriguing about those moments of closeness.

Sunghoon paused at the doorway, his expression unreadable. "You did well today. Quick thinking."

Coming from him, it was high praise. You smiled, warmth spreading through your chest at the rare compliment. "We make a decent team when we try."

He nodded once—not quite agreement, but not denial either—before disappearing into his study.

Later that evening, you found a new note on your pillow:

Would like your thoughts on the childhood magical stabilization research for our Eastern European initiative. Your perspective would be valuable. —S

Below, in a less formal postscript:

You have good instincts for dealing with Ministry officials. The arm touch was effective.

You smiled, running your fingers over his neat handwriting. A professional consultation request and what might actually be a genuine compliment, all in one note. For Sunghoon, this was unprecedented.

As you settled into bed, Nyx claiming her usual spot by your pillow, you found yourself thinking about the moment Sunghoon's hand had covered yours—not the practiced touch during your rehearsal, but the instinctive way he'd reached for you during the inspection. There had been something natural in that gesture, something that felt less like performance and more like genuine connection.

And that brief, unguarded look in his eyes...

You pushed the thought away. This was a Ministry arrangement, not a romance. Developing feelings for a man who kept himself behind such carefully constructed walls would only lead to disappointment.

Still, as you drifted toward sleep, you couldn't help remembering the warmth of his palm against yours, the surprising gentleness of his touch, and the fleeting moment when his eyes had revealed something his words never would.

-

Journal Entry: 21 March 2023

We had a surprise Ministry inspection today. Howell called us out for looking "formal" with each other. Like we're supposed to be madly in love after two weeks of forced cohabitation.

Need to fix this before tomorrow's real assessment. Y/N has good instincts for this stuff - grabbed my arm at the perfect moment when Howell was watching. I covered her hand without thinking about it. Worked well - the inspector bought it.

The hand-holding practice earlier was... distracting. Shouldn't have been. It's just holding hands, for Merlin's sake. I've touched plenty of women before without losing focus. Something about Y/N's hand in mine made it hard to think straight. Probably just the stress of the situation.

Y/N keeps using the chair by the east window I mentioned in my note. She moved her wand to the bedside table too. At least one of us is listening to reasonable suggestions.

The cat has claimed my reading chair. Again. I don't have the energy to fight a territorial war with a cat while dealing with Ministry inspections. Pick your battles, as they say.

11 days until the three-month assessment with the sleeping arrangements check. We'll deal with that when we have to. One crisis at a time.

— S.

P.S. Her laugh makes the room feel different. Less empty somehow. Just an observation.

-

"Don't you think we're approaching this all wrong?" you asked, setting down your teacup.

It was the morning before your official Ministry assessment, and tension filled the living room. You'd spent three days awkwardly "practicing proximity" with mixed results.

"Wrong how?" Sunghoon looked up from the notes he was reviewing.

"This—" you gestured between you "—all this practicing and measuring. It feels forced. The inspector already noticed we seem too formal."

"We need more practice," Sunghoon said, though he sounded less convinced than usual.

"I don't think we can rehearse our way into looking comfortable with each other," you said. "That's not how this works."

"What do you suggest, then?" His tone held a challenge, but his eyes showed genuine curiosity.

"I think we need to actually get comfortable with each other," you said. "Not just pretend. Real couples don't measure the space between them or time how long they hold hands. They have inside jokes, nicknames, shared habits."

Sunghoon's expression suggested you'd proposed something outlandish. "Nicknames."

"Yes, nicknames! Or at least using first names consistently. You still introduce me as 'Y/N L/N' to colleagues, like I'm a stranger rather than your wife."

"It's your name," he pointed out, frowning.

"Think of it diplomatically," you countered. "What creates stronger alliances - formal state dinners or casual meetings where leaders use first names and make personal connections?"

Sunghoon's eyes narrowed slightly as he considered this. "The informal connections last longer," he admitted reluctantly.

"Exactly! We need to stop treating this like a performance and build some real connection."

Sunghoon studied you for a long moment. "Fine," he said finally. "What do you suggest beyond... nicknames?"

"For starters, you could actually look at me when we talk, instead of staring at the wall like you're afraid eye contact might kill you."

To your surprise, Sunghoon immediately shifted in his seat, turning to face you directly. His dark eyes met yours with unexpected intensity.

"Like this?" he asked, and there was something almost vulnerable in the question.

"Yes," you said softly, momentarily caught off-guard by the full force of his attention. "That's much better."

Nyx chose that moment to jump between you, settling possessively in Sunghoon's lap. For once, he didn't stiffen or push her away, his hands automatically adjusting to accommodate her.

"Your cat has no concept of personal space," he observed, though his fingers found the spot behind her ears that made her purr.

"She's shameless,your complaining holds no value to her," you agreed, watching with hidden delight as the cat nestled comfortably against him. "But she gets what she wants."

"Something you have in common," Sunghoon said, and you could have sworn the corner of his mouth twitched upward.

"Tell me something about yourself that's not in your Ministry file," you said, seizing the moment. "Something personal."

Sunghoon was quiet so long you thought he might refuse. "I like autumn best," he said finally. "The colors, the crispness. It's... predictable but beautiful."

"And you?" he asked, the question awkward but clearly deliberate.

"Spring," you answered with a smile. "New beginnings, surprises, flowers appearing in unexpected places."

"Our preferences match our personalities," Sunghoon observed, surprising you with the insight.

He hesitated, then added: "My family moved constantly when I was young. My father's diplomatic postings."

"That must have been hard," you said gently. "Always being the new kid."

"I learned to adapt," he said with a shrug that didn't quite hide the old hurt. "New places, new rules."

"But lonely?" you suggested.

Something flashed in his eyes—vulnerability quickly hidden. "I got used to being on my own," he said simply, which wasn't a denial.

Then later, you came downstairs to find a note on the counter:

Early meeting about Bulgaria. Back by 1:00 for assessment prep. —S

Below, in less formal handwriting:

This morning's conversation was good. We should do that more.

As you made your tea, you noticed a small vase containing three perfect autumn leaves, their colors brilliantly red and gold, sitting on the table.

No note, no explanation. You touched one leaf gently, knowing Sunghoon had placed them there as a reference to your conversation.

From a man who communicated primarily through efficiency and structure, the gesture felt like something significant—a wordless acknowledgment that perhaps he was beginning to see you as more than just an inconvenient Ministry assignment.

The warmth that spread through your chest at the thought was dangerous, but increasingly difficult to ignore.

-

The official Ministry assessment arrived with all the subtlety of a rampaging hippogriff.

At precisely two o'clock, your fireplace flared green, and not one but three Ministry officials stepped through. Inspector Howell led the group, accompanied by a thin wizard with a monocle and a young witch whose Quick-Quotes Quill was already scratching away before she'd fully emerged from the flames.

"Mr. and Mrs. Park," Howell announced, brushing soot from her severe gray robes. "As scheduled, we're here for your first formal compatibility assessment."

Sunghoon, who'd been pacing the living room for the past half hour, immediately straightened his already immaculate robes. "Inspector. We've been expecting you."

"Indeed." Howell's sharp eyes took in the room, cataloging the small changes you'd made since her preliminary visit. More of your books mingled with Sunghoon's on the shelves. One of your cardigans was draped over the back of a chair. A half-finished game of wizard's chess sat on the side table.

"This is Examiner Finch," she indicated the monocled wizard, "and Record-Keeper Wilby." The young witch nodded, her quill still moving frantically.

"Please, make yourselves comfortable," you offered, gesturing to the seating area where you and Sunghoon had spent the previous evening rehearsing.

"This won't be a comfortable assessment, Mrs. Park," Examiner Finch said, his monocle glinting. "The preliminary evaluation indicated minimal physical compatibility indicators. Today's assessment must provide evidence of progress."

Your stomach tightened. "Progress? It's only been two weeks—"

"Precisely the period when compatible matches typically demonstrate initial bonding behaviors," Finch interrupted. "The Marriage Unity Act is quite clear on expected timelines."

Sunghoon moved closer to you, his hand coming to rest lightly at the small of your back. The touch was so unexpected that you nearly jumped, but his steady pressure kept you in place.

"We understand the Ministry's expectations," he said, his voice even but with an edge of steel. "However, we believe in a measured approach to relationship development."

"Measured approaches rarely produce the magical bonding necessary for the program's success," Howell said, making a note on her clipboard. "We'll need to evaluate your physical compatibility more thoroughly today."

The assessment began with standard questions about living arrangements, daily routines, and shared activities. You described your coordinated bathroom schedule, joint dinners, and professional collaborations, carefully emphasizing the aspects of your lives that had genuinely begun to intertwine.

Throughout, Sunghoon kept his hand on your back or lightly touching your arm. Each contact sent a small shiver through you that had nothing to do with the Ministry's intimidating presence.

"Your living space shows adequate integration," Howell finally concluded. "However, we must now evaluate personal knowledge and physical comfort."

She nodded to Finch, who withdrew a small silver sphere from his pocket. "This is a Veridian Orb," he explained. "It measures truth and concordance between matched pairs."

He placed the orb on the coffee table, where it hovered slightly above the surface, pulsing with a soft blue light.

"You will be asked a series of questions about your partner," Finch continued. "The orb will measure your knowledge of each other and the authenticity of your responses."

Sunghoon's jaw tightened almost imperceptibly, but he gave a curt nod. "Proceed."

The questions started innocuously enough. Favorite colors, preferred foods, daily routines. Thanks to your conversation the previous evening and Sunghoon's surprisingly attentive note-taking habits, you both answered with reasonable accuracy. The orb maintained its calm blue pulse.

Then the questions grew more personal.

"Mr. Park," Howell said, "describe Mrs. Park's reaction when she's particularly pleased about something."

Sunghoon hesitated only briefly. "She smiles first with her eyes before her lips follow. When she's genuinely happy, she makes a small sound—not quite a laugh—just before she speaks."

The orb pulsed slightly brighter. You stared at Sunghoon, startled that he'd noticed such a detail.

"Mrs. Park," Finch continued, "where does Mr. Park touch when he's feeling tense?"

Heat crawled up your neck. "He... adjusts his left cuff. Three times, always three precise movements."

Sunghoon's eyes flickered to you, a flash of surprise crossing his usually composed features. The orb glowed slightly warmer.

The questions continued, each more intrusive than the last. How does your partner sleep? What physical gestures do they find comforting? Have you noticed changes in their behavior when you're in close proximity?

With each answer, the tension in the room grew thicker. You found yourself hyperaware of Sunghoon beside you, the warmth of his thigh an inch from yours, the subtle scent of his cologne, the way his fingers occasionally brushed yours when you both reached to adjust positions.

"The knowledge indicators are adequate," Howell finally announced. "However, physical comfort remains underdeveloped."

"What exactly are you expecting?" Sunghoon asked, a dangerous edge to his voice. "We've been married for two weeks."

"The most successful matches demonstrate natural physical affinity by this stage," Finch replied, adjusting his monocle. "Simple gestures of affection without hesitation or overthinking."

"I believe a practical demonstration is in order," Howell said, making another note. "Please show us how you typically interact when alone."

You froze. Beside you, Sunghoon went so still he might have been petrified.

"That's hardly appropriate," he said after a moment, his voice low.

"Mr. Park," Howell replied coldly, "nothing you do in your own home with your spouse is inappropriate. Unless, of course, there is no genuine interaction occurring, which would indicate non-compliance with the Marriage Unity Act's core requirements."

The threat hung in the air. Behind her, Record-Keeper Wilby's quill scratched ominously.

Sunghoon turned toward you, his expression unreadable. "May I?" he asked quietly, his voice pitched for your ears alone.

You nodded, heart hammering against your ribs. You'd expected perhaps a brief touch, maybe an arm around your shoulders.

Instead, Sunghoon's hand came up to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing lightly across your cheekbone. The touch was so unexpectedly gentle that your breath caught.

"They're watching for authenticity," he murmured, his voice barely audible. "Follow my lead."

Before you could respond, he leaned in and kissed you.

It wasn't a passionate kiss, but neither was it the clinical peck you might have expected. His lips were warm and surprisingly soft against yours, the pressure light but lingering. His hand slid from your cheek to the nape of your neck, fingers threading through your hair with a sureness that suggested this wasn't the first time he'd done this.

You found yourself responding without conscious thought, your hand coming up to rest against his chest. Beneath your palm, his heart beat a rapid rhythm that belied his composed exterior.

When he pulled back, his eyes were darker than you'd ever seen them, pupils expanded to nearly swallow the brown. For a moment—just a moment—his careful mask slipped, revealing something raw and wanting beneath before he reconstructed his composed expression.

The orb on the table had changed from blue to a warm, pulsing gold.

"Well," Howell said, a note of surprise in her voice. "That's significantly more progress than your preliminary assessment indicated."

Finch cleared his throat, a faint color in his typically pallid cheeks. "Yes, quite. Physical compatibility appears to be developing appropriately."

Sunghoon's hand had returned to the small of your back, but there was a new tension in his touch. "Is there anything else, Inspector?" he asked, his voice remarkably steady.

"Just one more matter," Howell replied, consulting her clipboard. "Three-month milestone requirements. As you know, shared sleeping quarters will be required by that date. Our assessment then will include verification of appropriate accommodation arrangements."

"We're aware," Sunghoon said tersely.

"And the mandatory bonding retreat," Finch added. "All couples we see fit, in the program must attend the Ministry's three-day compatibility enhancement retreat at the three-month mark."

This was new information. You glanced at Sunghoon, whose jaw had tightened again.

"Compatibility enhancement retreat?" you repeated.

"A specialized program designed to accelerate the bonding process," Howell explained. "Under the supervision of marriage integration specialists, couples participate in therapeutic exercises to build natural physical and emotional connections."

Sunghoon's fingers pressed more firmly against your back. "And is this 'retreat' optional?"

"It's a mandatory component of the three-month compliance verification," Howell replied. "All couples we pick participate, no exceptions. You'll receive detailed information by owl next week."

The assessment concluded shortly after. As the green flames of the Floo died down behind the departing Ministry officials, an awkward silence fell over the living room.

Sunghoon had already moved away from you, putting his usual careful distance between you. His expression was closed, unreadable.

"So," you said finally, your voice not quite steady. "That was..."

"Intrusive," Sunghoon finished, his tone clipped. "But we passed. That's what matters."

You touched your lips, still feeling the phantom pressure of his. "About the... demonstration. I know that was just for show, but—"

"It was necessary," he interrupted, not meeting your eyes. "The orb measures genuine reactions. A clinical touch wouldn't have registered correctly."

"Right," you agreed, trying to ignore the twist of disappointment in your chest. "Smart thinking."

Sunghoon glanced at you briefly, something flickering in his eyes before he looked away. "I apologize if I overstepped."

"You didn't," you assured him quickly. "It was... convincing."

A heavy silence fell. The Veridian Orb still sat on the coffee table, its glow now faded to a dull bronze.

"This three-month retreat," you said finally. "That sounds..."

"Problematic," Sunghoon supplied, running a hand through his usually immaculate hair, mussing it slightly. "We'll deal with it when we have to."

He moved toward his study, clearly eager to escape the lingering tension between you. At the doorway, he paused, his back to you.

"You did well today," he said, his voice lower than usual. "The observation about my cuff adjustments... I didn't realize anyone had noticed that."

Before you could respond, he disappeared into his sanctuary, leaving you alone with the rapidly cooling orb and the persistent memory of his lips against yours.

You sank onto the sofa, trying to process what had just happened. The kiss had been for show, of course—a calculated move to pass the assessment. But there had been something in his eyes after, something unguarded and real that contradicted his dismissive words.

And now there was this "retreat" looming in the future. Three days of "therapeutic exercises" to build "natural physical connections." The very thought sent a flutter of both anxiety and something else—something you weren't quite ready to name—through your stomach.

Nyx jumped onto your lap, kneading your thighs with her paws as if sensing your turmoil.

"What am I getting myself into, Nyx?" you murmured, stroking her soft fur. "This was supposed to be simple. A paper marriage, minimum compliance, keeping our distance."

But nothing felt simple anymore. Not with the memory of Sunghoon's gentle hands and warm lips still so vivid. Not with the knowledge that he'd noticed tiny details about you that even you hadn't been aware of. Not with the Ministry pushing for even more intimacy in the coming months.

And certainly not with the realization that despite all your best intentions, you were beginning to want more than the careful distance Sunghoon insisted on maintaining.

As the afternoon light faded, you remained on the sofa, absentmindedly stroking Nyx while your thoughts circled around one unsettling truth: the Ministry might have forced you into this marriage, but they couldn't force the flutter in your chest when Sunghoon touched you. That had happened entirely on its own.

And judging by the way his heart had raced beneath your palm, you might not be the only one fighting an unwanted attraction.

-

The official Ministry assessment had gone better than expected. You'd passed, but something more significant had happened—something that changed everything between you and Sunghoon.

The following morning found Sunghoon in the back corner of the Leaky Cauldron, nursing a cup of tea while three of his oldest friends bickered over the last piece of treacle tart.

"It's mine by right of discovery," Jay insisted, his Ministry Legal Department badge slightly askew on robes that perpetually looked one charm away from respectability. "I saw it first."

"You've had two already," Jake countered, his Auror reflexes allowing him to snatch the plate before Jay could reach it. "Besides, Heeseung needs the sugar more than you do. Look at those eye bags—those magical bridge supports must be brutal."

Heeseung, who indeed looked exhausted from his latest Magical Construction project, just grinned and took advantage of their distraction to steal the tart for himself. "While you two were arguing, I was acting. Very Slytherin of me, wouldn't you say?"

Sunghoon watched this familiar chaos with the resigned expression of someone who'd endured it since their first year at Hogwarts. Fifteen years of friendship hadn't changed their dynamic—Jay still talked annoyingly, Jake still played peacekeeper while causing half the trouble, and Heeseung still quietly got his way while the others weren't looking.

"If you're done with the dessert theatrics," Sunghoon said, checking his watch, "I have fifteen minutes before I need to get back."

Jay rolled his eyes dramatically. "Still counting minutes, I see. Some things never change." He leaned forward, suddenly serious. "So, you finally cracked and asked for our help. Must be desperate."

"I didn't crack," Sunghoon replied, his tone defensive. "I just thought you might have some useful input."

"The great Park Sunghoon needs our advice on women that hate him," Jake grinned, leaning back in his chair. "Never thought I'd see the day."

"She doesn't hate him," Heeseung corrected, always the more tactful one. "She suggested nicknames, which means she's trying to make things work. That's encouraging."

Sunghoon's eyebrows rose slightly. "How did you know about the nicknames?"

"You literally started this conversation with 'Y/N suggested nicknames might help with the Ministry assessment,'" Jay reminded him. "We're not mind readers, you prat."

"So you want to know what to call her?" Jake asked, eyes gleaming with mischief. "Don't tell me the great Park Sunghoon is going to start saying 'sweetie' and 'darling' like a normal husband."

Sunghoon's expression suggested he'd rather drink bubotuber pus. "I just need to know what's standard. For the assessments."

The three friends exchanged a look Sunghoon had seen countless times—a silent "he's hopeless" communication that dated back to their Hogwarts days.

"What do you call your wife?" Heeseung asked Jay, steering the conversation toward actual help.

"Baby, mostly," Jay replied, grinning. "Or jagiya when I'm showing off my Korean."

"I use sweetheart with mine," Jake offered. "Sometimes baby when we're fucking and i’m really—"

"Just the name is fine," Sunghoon cut in before Jake could elaborate. Seven years of sharing a dormitory had taught him exactly where Jake's stories tended to go.

"I use 'angel' most of the time," Heeseung said, smiling fondly. "Sometimes 'doll' because of her collection. She can tell my mood by which one I use."

Sunghoon absorbed this information with a slight frown. The idea of using such terms still felt foreign.

"You don't have to force it," Heeseung added kindly, noticing his discomfort. "Maybe start with something simple. Her name, but said differently than you'd say a colleague's name."

"What's wrong with just using her name?" Sunghoon asked.

Jay snorted into his butterbeer. "Merlin's beard, Sunghoon. She's not a Ministry report you're filing."

"The assessment's over," Sunghoon said, redirecting the conversation. "What else am I missing?"

"Touch her," Jake said bluntly.

Sunghoon nearly choked on his tea. "What?"

"Not like that," Jake laughed. "Small things. Hand on her back when you walk together. Fingers brushing when you pass things. The little touches couples do without thinking."

"We've practiced appropriate proximity—"

"Practiced?" Jay interrupted, eyebrows shooting up. "Tell me you didn't schedule 'touching practice' like some kind of—"

Sunghoon's silence was damning.

"Bloody hell," Jay threw his hands up. "You can't schedule normal behavior. No wonder she suggested you try actually getting comfortable instead of pretending."

"She's right," Jake nodded approvingly. "Smart woman."

"How exactly am I supposed to develop 'comfort' on demand?" Sunghoon asked, frustration evident in his voice.

His three friends exchanged looks ranging from disbelief to pity.

"The same way you became friends with us," Jay said finally. "You spend time together. You pay attention to what she likes. You talk about things that aren't work."

"I pay attention," Sunghoon said defensively. "I know which tea she prefers after night shifts, which chair she likes to read in—"

"Do you tell her these things," Heeseung asked gently, "or just notice them?"

"I leave notes when relevant."

The collective groan from his friends turned heads at nearby tables.

"Notes," Jake repeated. "You leave your wife notes about her tea preferences."

"It's efficient."

"But not personal," Heeseung pointed out. "When's the last time you complimented her?"

The question caught Sunghoon off-guard. "What?"

"You know," Jake said slowly, "told her something nice about her. That she looks pretty. That she's smart. That you like her laugh. Anything."

Sunghoon frowned slightly. "I mentioned her bathroom schedule was well-designed."

Jay dropped his head to the table with a thunk. "We're all doomed."

"I also told her that her insights on Bulgarian potion regulations were useful," Sunghoon added, feeling oddly defensive.

"That's... something, at least," Heeseung conceded. "Professional respect is a start. But maybe try something more personal?"

"Like what?"

"Tell her she looks nice," Jake suggested. "Or that you like being around her. Small things."

Sunghoon considered this. There were, in fact, several qualities he'd noticed in you that deserved acknowledgment. Your persistent optimism despite difficult circumstances. The focused competence you showed when discussing healing cases. The way your entire face lit up when you laughed.

"I'll think about it," he said finally, checking his watch. "I need to go."

"Think fast," Jay advised, stealing the last bite of Heeseung's tart. "Connection isn't something you can plan like a diplomatic negotiation. Sometimes you just have to let yourself feel things."

"And Sunghoon," Heeseung added as they stood to leave, "we're giving you a hard time, but we're on your side. It's a terrible situation, but she sounds decent. Maybe it won't be as bad as you feared."

"Maybe," Sunghoon admitted, a rare moment of uncertainty crossing his features.

"Thanks for the advice," Sunghoon replied, his tone dry but not entirely ungrateful.

Back at the Ministry, Sunghoon found himself replaying his friends' advice while finalizing the Bulgarian trade agreement. Their suggestions, while buried in unnecessary teasing, weren't entirely without merit.

After sending the final draft to the Bulgarian liaison, he made a detour to the Ministry atrium's small conservatory. After checking no one was watching, he carefully selected three perfect lilac flowers from a charmed flower grove that cycled through seasons.

They weren't a traditional gift, but they were a reference to your conversation—a silent acknowledgment that he had listened and remembered what you'd shared.

As he arranged the lilacs in a small vase on the kitchen table that evening, Sunghoon admitted to himself that he actually wanted to see your reaction when you discovered them. Not just for the assessment. Not just for show.

A troubling realization, indeed.

-

Two days after the Ministry assessment, you noticed subtle but unmistakable changes in Sunghoon's behavior.

It began at breakfast. You'd come downstairs to find him already seated at the table, the Prophet open before him, a cup of tea steaming at his elbow. Nothing unusual there. But when you entered the kitchen, he looked up immediately—not the brief, perfunctory glance you were accustomed to, but an actual pause in his reading, his eyes meeting yours directly.

"Good morning," he said, his tone lacking its usual clipped efficiency.

"Morning," you replied, slightly thrown by the attention. "Sleep well?"

"Adequately," he answered, watching as you moved to prepare your tea. Then, with visible deliberation: "And you... angel?"

The endearment came out so awkwardly that you nearly dropped your mug. It sounded foreign in his mouth, as if he were attempting to speak a language he'd only read about in books. You turned slowly to find him looking faintly uncomfortable, a hint of color high on his cheekbones.

"What did you just call me?" you asked, certain you must have misheard.

Sunghoon cleared his throat, his discomfort visibly increasing. "I was attempting a term of... affection," he said stiffly. "If it's unwelcome, I won't repeat it."

The realization that Park Sunghoon was genuinely trying to use a pet name—and doing it so badly—created a warm bubble of amusement in your chest.

"It's not unwelcome," you assured him, hiding your smile by turning back to your tea preparation. "Just unexpected."

"Noted," he said, his usual crispness returning as he retreated behind his newspaper.

You thought that might be the end of it—a single awkward attempt never to be repeated. But that afternoon, as you sat in the living room reviewing patient files, Sunghoon surprised you again.

He entered from his study, a stack of parchment in hand, and paused by your chair. "I've been reviewing the childhood magical stabilization protocol you mentioned," he said. "Your approach is quite innovative... baby."

The endearment was even more stilted than the first, tacked onto the end of his sentence like an awkward afterthought. This time, you couldn't suppress your laugh.

Sunghoon's expression closed immediately. "You find it amusing."

"No—well, yes," you admitted, your smile softening the words. "But not in a bad way. It's just... very clearly not something you're comfortable with."

"Comfort develops with practice," he said defensively. "All skills require initial periods of inadequacy."

Understanding dawned. "Are you... practicing endearments on me?"

The color on his cheekbones deepened slightly. "The Ministry assessment demonstrated our need for increased displays of familiarity," he said, not quite meeting your eyes. "Verbal indicators of affection are standard components of marital communication."

You bit your lip, trying not to laugh again. It was so very Sunghoon to approach pet names as a skill to be mastered through deliberate practice.

"You don't have to force yourself," you told him gently. "The assessment went fine."

"It was adequate," he corrected, "but future evaluations will require deeper evidence of bonding. Advance preparation is practical."

Before you could respond, Nyx darted into the room, weaving between Sunghoon's legs with her typical disregard for personal space. To your surprise, rather than stiffening or stepping away, Sunghoon merely looked down at the cat with a slight frown.

"Your tactical timing remains impeccable," he told Nyx, who meowed back as if responding to the observation.

You watched in fascination as Sunghoon lowered himself to the sofa, still holding his parchments, and allowed Nyx to jump onto the cushion beside him without protest.

"She's really taken to you," you observed, pleased by the unexpected truce between your cat and your reluctant husband.

"She's persistent," Sunghoon replied, though there was no real annoyance in his tone. "I've determined that resistance requires more energy than accommodation."

"A diplomatic solution," you said, smiling. "Very on-brand for you."

Something that might have been the ghost of a smile touched his lips. "Effective negotiation often requires strategic concessions."

The conversation lapsed into comfortable silence as you both returned to your work, the only sounds the occasional rustle of parchment and Nyx's rumbling purr. It wasn't until you rose to make a fresh cup of tea that Sunghoon spoke again.

"Would you like me to prepare that... sweetheart?"

The third endearment was no less awkward than the previous two, but something about his determined persistence was oddly endearing.

"Thank you, but I've got it," you replied, fighting another smile. "You know, Sunghoon, you really don't have to keep doing this."

He looked up, his expression serious. "Is it objectionable?"

"No," you assured him. "Just unnecessary. And clearly uncomfortable for you."

"Discomfort is temporary," he said with characteristic stubbornness. "Adaptation requires consistent effort."

You studied him for a moment, a new understanding dawning. This wasn't just about Ministry assessments. In his own way, Sunghoon was genuinely trying to build something more comfortable between you—following the advice you'd given him about creating real connection rather than rehearsed proximity.

"Well, if you're determined to practice," you said lightly, "maybe focus on one or two that feel less unnatural to you. And perhaps use it when it actually fits the moment, not just randomly inserted into conversation."

Sunghoon considered this suggestion with the same gravity he might give an international treaty amendment. "A logical approach," he conceded. "Which would you recommend?"

The question caught you off guard. "It's not really about what I recommend," you explained. "It's about what feels natural to you when you look at me."

He studied you then, his dark eyes surprisingly intense. The scrutiny might have been uncomfortable if not for the genuine consideration behind it. After a moment, he nodded once, as if coming to a decision.

"Angel," he said simply. No sentence wrapped around it, no awkward placement—just the word itself, spoken with unexpected softness, “or Baby, I’m more determined to conquer that one.”

Something fluttered in your chest at the simple declaration. "Those ones definitely sound more natural," you managed, your voice not quite steady.

Sunghoon nodded again, apparently satisfied. "Angel," he repeated, testing the word. "Yes, that seems most appropriate."

The moment hung between you, charged with something neither of you was quite ready to name. Then Nyx broke the tension by standing abruptly, stretching, and deliberately knocking one of Sunghoon's parchments to the floor.

"Your cat requires remedial boundary training," Sunghoon observed, though there was a hint of something almost like humor in his voice.

And just like that, the unusual intensity dissolved, replaced by the comfortable routine of your shared domestic life. But something had shifted, however slightly. Sunghoon didn't use any more endearments that day, but his eyes lingered on you more often, and there was a new thoughtfulness in his expression when he caught you watching him.

That evening, as you prepared for bed, you found a note on your pillow:

Your suggestion regarding term selection was efficient. Implementation will continue at appropriate intervals. —S

Below, in what appeared to be a hastily added postscript:

Thank you for your patience with the process, angel.

You smiled, running your fingers over the carefully written endearment. It was such a small thing—a simple word that countless couples exchanged without thought. But from Sunghoon, with his carefully maintained walls and precise distance, it felt like a tiny miracle.

All you knew, in that moment, was that Park Sunghoon was trying—in his methodical, occasionally awkward way—to build something real with you. And for now, that was enough to fall asleep with a smile on your face and hope warming your chest.

-

You woke to the sound of Sunghoon's voice drifting up from downstairs. Curious about who he might be speaking to so early, you wrapped yourself in a robe and padded quietly toward the stairs.

What you heard made you pause, hand frozen on the banister.

"No, absolutely not there," Sunghoon was saying, his tone exasperated but lacking its usual edge. "That is designated working space, not a cat leisure area."

A plaintive meow followed.

"Your objection is noted but overruled," Sunghoon continued, as if having a perfectly normal conversation with your cat. "Previous concessions regarding the armchair do not constitute blanket permission for desk occupation."

Another meow, this one somehow sounding argumentative.

"Fine," Sunghoon sighed. "You may observe from the corner of the desk, provided you maintain a minimum six-inch clearance from active documents. Those are the terms."

You covered your mouth to stifle a laugh, hardly believing what you were hearing. Cautiously, you descended a few more steps until you could see into the living room, where Sunghoon sat at his writing desk with Nyx perched on the corner, exactly six inches from his paperwork, looking smugly satisfied.

"Your negotiation skills are improving," Sunghoon informed the cat, who began to purr loudly in response. "Though I maintain that emotional manipulation through sustained eye contact is a questionable tactic."

The sight of a stern, proper Sunghoon having a serious diplomatic negotiation with your cat was so unexpectedly charming that you couldn't help the small sound of delight that escaped you.

Sunghoon's head jerked up, genuine surprise crossing his features when he saw you on the stairs. For a moment, he looked almost embarrassed at being caught in such an unguarded moment.

"Good morning," you said, descending the rest of the stairs. "I see Nyx is expanding her territory again."

"We've reached a compromise," Sunghoon replied, recovering his composure with impressive speed. "Though I suspect her compliance will be temporary at best."

"She's very strategic," you agreed, moving into the kitchen to put the kettle on. "Always looking for weaknesses in the defense."

You heard Sunghoon's chair scrape back, followed by his measured footsteps as he joined you in the kitchen. When you turned from the stove, he was standing closer than expected, watching you with an expression you couldn't quite read.

"You have an early shift today," he said, and it wasn't a question.

"Until four," you confirmed. "Barring emergencies."

Something that might have been disappointment flickered across his face. "I had hoped we might discuss the Eastern European educational initiative this afternoon. Your research on childhood magical stabilization has direct applications."

"Tomorrow?" you suggested. "I'm free all day."

Sunghoon nodded, though the slight downturn at the corner of his mouth suggested genuine disappointment at the delay. "Tomorrow then."

As you prepared your tea, you were acutely aware of him watching you, his usual morning efficiency temporarily suspended.

"Is something wrong?" you asked finally.

"No," he said, then, with visible effort: "I simply find your presence... agreeable, My angel."

The endearment came more naturally now, less practiced but still careful. Combined with the unexpected compliment, it created a flutter of warmth in your chest.

"That's... thank you," you managed, oddly flustered by his direct gaze.

Sunghoon nodded once, as if confirming something to himself, then returned to his desk and a quietly smug Nyx, who had inched closer to his papers in his absence.

You finished your preparations for work, your mind replaying that quiet "angel" and the unusual intensity in Sunghoon's eyes. Something was shifting between you—something neither of you had anticipated when the Ministry had forced you together.

-

Your shift at St. Mungo's had run longer than expected. A seven-year-old with a case of magical hiccups that turned everything she touched temporarily invisible had required careful handling, especially when she'd accidentally made her little brother's left ear disappear. By the time you restored visibility to all affected body parts and calmed the panicking parents, you were running nearly an hour late.

You hurried through the hospital corridors, expecting to find an empty house and probably one of Sunghoon's notes about dinner being in the warming drawer. Instead, as you pushed through the doors into the reception area, you stopped short. Sunghoon himself stood near the welcome desk, his immaculate posture unmistakable even from behind. He appeared to be studying a display of educational pamphlets about magical childhood ailments with surprising interest.

"Sunghoon?" you called, still not quite believing he was actually there.

He turned, and for a moment—just a fleeting second—his expression softened with what looked remarkably like relief before his usual composed mask returned.

"Your shift ran late," he said, though his tone lacked its usual edge of criticism.

"Invisible ear emergency," you explained, still caught off guard by his unexpected presence. "What are you doing here?"

"I thought I'd meet you directly," he said, moving toward you. "I was in the area anyway."

You knew this was almost certainly untrue—Sunghoon's schedule was planned with such precision that spontaneous neighborhood visits were virtually nonexistent. But the fact that he'd chosen to wait for you rather than return home alone created a warm flutter in your chest.

"That was thoughtful," you said, genuinely touched. "Thank you."

A hint of color appeared high on his cheekbones. "It wasn't a problem," he replied, his eyes not quite meeting yours. "I thought we might try that new restaurant near Gringotts. Unless you're too tired, angel."

The endearment still sounded slightly practiced, but not as awkward as his previous attempts. Progress, it seemed.

"Dinner sounds lovely," you said, smiling. "Just let me grab my things."

As you collected your bag from the staff room, you couldn't help but marvel at this unexpected development. Sunghoon waiting at the hospital? Suggesting dinner out? Using endearments without Ministry officials watching? It was as if the carefully constructed walls between you were developing hairline cracks.

When you returned to the reception area, you found Sunghoon in conversation with Healer Matthews, one of the senior pediatric specialists. To your surprise, he didn't look uncomfortable or impatient—his usual response to unexpected social interaction. Instead, he appeared to be listening with genuine interest as Matthews gestured animatedly.

"—revolutionary approach, really," Matthews was saying. "The integration of emotional stabilization techniques with magical dampening is precisely what these cases need. Y/N's research could change our entire treatment protocol."

"She mentioned her work with the unstable core case," Sunghoon replied, his tone carrying a note of what sounded remarkably like pride. "The international applications are significant."

"Oh, absolutely! We're already documenting the methodology for the international healing journal. Your wife is quite the innovator." Matthews beamed at you as you approached. "Ah, speak of the devil! I was just telling your husband about the Mira case. Brilliant work, truly."

"Thank you," you said, slightly flustered both by the praise and by hearing Sunghoon referred to as your "husband" in a context unrelated to Ministry requirements.

"You two make quite the powerhouse couple," Matthews continued cheerfully, oblivious to your discomfort. "International magical cooperation and pediatric healing innovation under one roof! How long have you been married?"

"Three weeks," Sunghoon answered smoothly, surprising you with his hand coming to rest lightly at the small of your back. "Though it feels like we've known each other much longer."

You nearly choked at this uncharacteristic display of charm. Sunghoon was many things, but "smooth" had never been one of them.

"Newlyweds!" Matthews exclaimed delightedly. "Though you'd never know it from how in sync you two are. Young love is so refreshing to see these days."

You felt Sunghoon's hand tense slightly against your back but his expression remained pleasantly neutral. "If you'll excuse us," he said politely, "I've made dinner reservations."

"Of course, of course! Don't let me keep you lovebirds," Matthews winked. "Enjoy your evening!"

As you walked away, Sunghoon's hand remained at your back, guiding you through the evening crowd in the hospital lobby. The warmth of his palm through your robes created a distracting tingle up your spine.

"That was... unexpected," you said once you were outside. "You were very convincing."

"Practice makes perfect," Sunghoon replied, though his hand didn't withdraw from your back. "It seemed important to be consistent even outside the assessments."

"Right," you agreed, trying to ignore the twinge of disappointment. "For consistency."

Sunghoon glanced down at you, something unreadable flickering in his eyes. "The restaurant is just ahead, baby."

The second endearment caught you off guard, especially without any Ministry officials present to necessitate it. This one sounded less rehearsed than his previous attempts, almost natural despite the slight hesitation before it.

"I'm not used to hearing you call me that," you admitted as you approached the restaurant, a cozy establishment with warm golden lights visible through the windows.

"Do you mind it?" Sunghoon asked, a hint of uncertainty crossing his features.

"Not at all," you assured him quickly. "Just... different. Nice different."

Something that might have been relief relaxed his expression. "Good to know," he said simply.

The maître d' welcomed you, leading you to a quiet corner table partially screened by a decorative trellis covered in tiny fairy lights. It was, you couldn't help noticing, a notably romantic setting.

"This is lovely," you commented as Sunghoon held your chair—another unexpected courtesy.

"The Bulgarian ambassador recommended it," he replied, taking his own seat. "Apparently their seafood is exceptional."

Conversation flowed with surprising ease as you perused the menu. Sunghoon, typically so reserved about personal matters, spoke of his day at the Ministry with unexpected detail, describing the frustrating negotiations with a hint of dry humor you'd rarely witnessed. You shared stories from your hospital shift, including the invisible ear incident, which actually earned a small quirk of the lips that was the closest thing to a smile you'd seen from him.

When your hands accidentally brushed while reaching for the bread basket, Sunghoon didn't withdraw immediately as he might have done before. Instead, his fingers lingered briefly against yours, the contact brief but deliberate.

"You still haven't told me why you really came to the hospital," you said as your main courses arrived. "I know you didn't just happen to be in the area."

Sunghoon's fork paused halfway to his mouth, his expression shifting to something almost uncomfortable. "You caught me," he admitted after a moment. "I wasn't in the neighborhood."

"So why come wait for me?"

He set his fork down carefully, as if buying time to formulate his response. "I didn't particularly want to go back to an empty house," he said finally, the admission clearly difficult for him. "It's... quieter when you're not there."

"You missed me," you said, unable to keep the smile from your voice.

He frowned slightly. "I wouldn't go that far," he said, though the color in his cheeks suggested otherwise. "I've just gotten used to having you around."

"You missed me," you repeated, still smiling. "It's okay to admit it, Sunghoon. I'd miss you too if you were gone all day."

Something flickered in his eyes—surprise, perhaps, or something warmer. "You would?"

"Of course," you said simply. "We've gotten used to each other."

"We have," he agreed, his gaze dropping to his plate. "More than I expected, honestly."

The meal continued in this vein—moments of surprising warmth interspersed with Sunghoon's more familiar reserve. Yet something had undeniably shifted between you. His eyes found yours more frequently, lingering longer than necessary. His hand occasionally brushed yours when passing the salt or reaching for his wine glass, each touch seeming less accidental than the last.

By the time dessert arrived—a shared plate of tiny pastries filled with various magical creams that changed flavor with each bite—you found yourself genuinely enjoying not just the excellent food but Sunghoon's company as well.

"I found something for you today," he said as you sampled a pastry that tasted first of chocolate, then unexpectedly shifted to lemon. "It's at home."

"For me?" you asked, surprised. Sunghoon wasn't exactly the gift-giving type.

"It's nothing big," he said quickly, seeming almost embarrassed. "Just something I thought you might like."

Curiosity piqued, you finished dessert with perhaps more haste than the exquisite pastries deserved. Sunghoon paid the bill with characteristic efficiency, then surprised you by offering his arm as you left the restaurant.

"It might rain," he observed, glancing at the darkening sky as you walked toward the apparition point. "The forecast mentioned thunderstorms overnight."

"I've always liked storms," you commented, acutely aware of his arm beneath your hand. "They're so dramatic and unpredictable."

"You would like chaos," Sunghoon replied, though there was no criticism in his tone. "You and your disorganized filing system."

You laughed softly. "And you prefer everything orderly and planned. We're quite the opposite pair, aren't we?"

"Maybe that's not such a bad thing," he suggested, surprising you. "Different perspectives, working together."

Before you could respond to this unexpectedly thoughtful observation, you reached the apparition point. Sunghoon's arm tightened slightly around yours as he prepared to apparate you both home.

"Ready, angel?" he asked, the endearment now sounding almost natural on his lips.

The journey was brief, and moments later you found yourselves in the front garden of your shared home. The air felt heavy with approaching rain, the scent of ozone sharp in the twilight. Sunghoon's hand remained at your elbow as he guided you up the garden path, his touch light but steady.

Inside, the house felt different somehow—warmer, more inviting than the functional living space it had been when you first arrived. Your books now mingled with his on the shelves, your colorful throw blanket draped across one end of the sofa, Nyx's toys scattered across the rug. Somewhere along the way, it had become a home rather than just a house.

"Tea?" Sunghoon offered, removing his cloak.

"Please," you agreed, curious about his mentioned "something" but not wanting to seem too eager.

As Sunghoon moved to the kitchen, you wandered into the living room, drawn to a small vase on the side table that hadn't been there this morning. Inside were three perfect lilac flowers arranged with characteristic precision.

"Oh," you breathed, touching one petal gently. The texture was perfect, the colors vibrant despite being separated from their roots.

"They're from the Ministry conservatory," Sunghoon's voice came from behind you. "The groves there cycle through all four seasons weekly. These are from its spring phase."

You turned to find him watching you, his expression uncharacteristically uncertain. "They're beautiful," you said softly. "Is this what you meant?"

He nodded once, his posture almost stiff. "You mentioned liking spring. I thought... well, I thought you might like them."

The gesture touched you deeply. Not because the flowers themselves were particularly valuable or rare, but because they represented something precious—proof that Sunghoon had truly listened to you, remembered details of your conversation, and gone out of his way to bring you something personally meaningful.

"Thank you," you said, stepping closer to him. "I love them."

Something in his expression shifted, softened. "I'm glad."

"No one's ever given me autumn leaves before," you said, smiling up at him. "It's very thoughtful."

"It's nothing," he said, though he looked pleased at your reaction.

Standing on tiptoe, you pressed a quick kiss to his cheek—a gesture that would have been unthinkable just days ago. Sunghoon went very still, his eyes widening slightly at the unexpected contact. For a moment, you feared you'd crossed some invisible line, pushed too far too fast.

But then his hand came up to your waist, steadying you as you settled back on your heels. Instead of stepping away as you expected, he remained close, his eyes searching yours with an intensity that made your breath catch.

"Y/N," he said softly, your name almost a question.

In answer, you reached up, touching his cheek gently. His skin was warm beneath your fingertips, the slight stubble of late evening rough against your palm. For a heartbeat, neither of you moved, suspended in a moment of unspoken possibility.

Then, with a deliberateness that made your heart race, Sunghoon lowered his head and kissed you.

It wasn't the brief, almost clinical kiss he'd given you during the Ministry assessment. This was different—tentative at first, as if he was testing unfamiliar waters, but growing more certain as you responded. His lips were surprisingly soft against yours, the pressure gentle but unmistakably real.

Your hands found their way to his shoulders, feeling the surprising strength beneath his always-perfect robes. His own hands settled at your waist, holding you steady but not pulling you closer. Always so careful, even now.

When you finally broke apart, Sunghoon looked slightly dazed, his usual composure temporarily shaken. A strand of his always-perfect hair had fallen across his forehead, making him look younger, less severe.

"That was..." he began, then seemed at a loss for words—a rare occurrence for someone usually so precise in his speech.

"Unexpected?" you supplied, your own voice not entirely steady.

"But not unwelcome," he added quickly, his hands still resting lightly at your waist.

"Definitely not unwelcome," you agreed, smiling up at him.

For a moment, you simply looked at each other, something new and fragile hovering between you. Then, with a sureness that took your breath away, Sunghoon kissed you again.

This time, there was nothing tentative about it. His arms drew you closer, one hand sliding up your back to cradle the nape of your neck. You responded in kind, your fingers threading through his hair, disrupting its perfect arrangement in a way that felt quietly rebellious.

The kiss deepened, lips parting, breaths mingling. Sunghoon made a soft sound in the back of his throat—something between a sigh and a groan—that sent a shiver down your spine. Who knew that proper, composed Park Sunghoon could kiss like this?

You found yourself pressed against the bookshelf, the spines of ancient tomes digging into your back, but you hardly noticed. All that existed was Sunghoon—his mouth hot against yours, his hands now bolder in their exploration, the surprising heat of him through layers of formal robes.

When you finally broke apart, both breathing heavily, Sunghoon looked thoroughly disheveled. His hair stood up where your fingers had mussed it, his usually pale cheeks flushed, his perfect robes slightly askew. The sight of him so undone—because of you—created a flutter of something dangerously close to pride in your chest.

"I..." he began, then cleared his throat. "That was not what I had planned for this evening."

You couldn't help but laugh softly. "Do you always plan your evenings in such detail?"

"Usually," he admitted, a hint of something almost like humor in his eyes. "Though I'm finding that some deviations from schedule can be... acceptable."

"Just acceptable?" you teased, straightening his collar where your hands had disturbed it.

His expression softened, becoming almost vulnerable. "More than acceptable, baby."

The endearment, spoken in this context, created a warmth in your chest that had nothing to do with the lingering heat of your kiss. This was not a practiced performance for Ministry officials—this was something real, however unexpected.

"The tea must be getting cold," you said finally, though you made no move to step away from him.

"I believe you're right," Sunghoon agreed, though he seemed equally reluctant to break the moment. With visible effort, he stepped back, his hands lingering at your waist before finally falling away. "We should probably..."

"Yes," you agreed, though neither of you moved toward the kitchen.

A distant rumble of thunder broke the moment, reminding you of the approaching storm. As if on cue, Nyx appeared, winding her way between your legs with her usual disregard for personal space.

"Your cat has impeccable timing," Sunghoon observed, his composure gradually returning despite his still-mussed hair.

"She does have a talent for interruption," you agreed, bending to scoop her up. "Though she seems to approve of you."

"A dubious honor," Sunghoon replied dryly, though his hand came up to scratch behind Nyx's ears, earning a loud purr of appreciation.The tension of the moment eased, replaced by a new kind of comfort as you both moved to the kitchen for tea. Outside, the storm drew closer, occasional flashes of lightning now visible through the windows, followed by increasingly loud rumbles of thunder.

As you finished your tea, a comfortable silence fell between you, broken only by the sound of rain beginning to patter against the windows and Nyx's contented purring from her spot on the kitchen chair.

"It's getting late," Sunghoon said finally, his eyes meeting yours with lingering warmth. "You mentioned an early shift tomorrow."

"Six-thirty," you confirmed with a sigh. "The joys of pediatric emergency rotation."

Something that might have been disappointment flickered across his features, but he nodded. "You should get some rest."

As you both stood to clear the tea things, your fingers brushed again, the brief contact now charged with new meaning after your shared kisses. Sunghoon's hand caught yours, holding it gently for a moment.

"Thank you for dinner tonight," you said softly. "And for the flowers. It was... nice."

"It was," he agreed, his thumb tracing a small circle on the back of your hand. For a moment, he seemed on the verge of saying something more, but then simply nodded. "Sleep well, angel."

The endearment, now perfectly natural on his lips, created a warm flutter in your chest. "Goodnight, Sunghoon," you replied, reluctantly withdrawing your hand.

You both moved toward the stairs, the approaching storm casting dramatic shadows through the windows. At the landing where the hallway branched toward your separate bedrooms, you paused, suddenly reluctant to part.

Sunghoon hesitated as well, his usual decisive movements temporarily suspended. Then, with deliberate care, he leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to your lips—gentle, brief, but unmistakably genuine.

"Goodnight," he said quietly, drawing back.

"Goodnight," you echoed, your voice not quite steady.

You turned toward your bedroom, feeling his eyes on you until you closed your door. Inside, you leaned against it for a moment, touching your lips where his had been, trying to process everything that had happened.

From casual dinner to heated kisses against a bookshelf to this new, tentative tenderness—it was a lot to absorb in one evening. As you prepared for bed, you could hear Sunghoon moving about in his own room across the hall, the familiar sounds somehow comforting despite the growing storm outside.

You slipped under your covers, Nyx jumping up to claim her usual spot at the foot of your bed. The approaching storm had intensified, lightning now flashing more frequently, thunder following in quicker succession. You'd always enjoyed storms, finding something soothing in their wild energy, and tonight the dramatic weather seemed to match the tumult of your thoughts.

Sleep came more easily than you expected, the day's events and emotional revelations having left you pleasantly exhausted. You couldn't know that in just a few hours, the storm raging outside would wake you both, creating an opportunity for the final barriers between you to fall completely.

PART 2

TL: @ziiao @seonhoon @beariegyu @somuchdard @ddolleri @zzhengyu @annybah @elairah @dreamy-carat @geniejunn @kristynaaah @zoemeltigloos @mellowgalaxystrawberry @inlovewithningning @vveebee @m3wkledreamy @lovelycassy @highway-143 @koizekomi @tiny-shiny @simbabyikeu @cristy-101 @bloomiize @dearestdreamies @enhaverse713586 @cybe4ss @starniras @wonuziex @sol3chu @simj4k3 @jakewonist @azzy02 @addictedtohobi @cherrybeomm @urmomdotcom5678 @jaeyunsbimbo @yongbokified @changbinniescurlyhair

[caratstick]

This is so good and a creative take on the Harry Potter AUs I LOVE

[sluttyminghao]

♡ pairing: choreographer!junhui x choreographer!afab!reader ♡ genre: enemies to lovers, smut, angst, fluff ♡ w.c: 3.8k ♡ warnings: hate sex/rough sex, verbal power play + dirty talk, possessiveness, emotional vulnerability, toxic energy, semi-public sex, mirror sex, spanking, rough handling, degradation, semi-slow burn, hair pulling for a moment, multiple orgasms over multiple days, conflicting feelings ♡ a/n: thank you to @supi-wupi and @flowerwonu for beta reading for me! let me know who you guys want to see next!

It was supposed to be a clean collaboration, consisting of professionalism and a temporary nature.

But from the moment you were assigned to co-choreograph this high-energy dance with Junhui, the air between you was completely and utterly toxic; subtly laced with clipped comments that made your eye twitch, his constant territorial energy, and the kind of tension that makes everyone else clear the room early.

He always found a way to contradict you, whether it was to revise your counts, challenge your flow, or even push your buttons to the point where you’re either grinding your teeth or snapping back at him constantly. You’ve stormed out of that dim practice room twice. He hasn’t chased you either time.

Tonight is no different.

“You keep slowing the pace down,” you bite, hands on your hips as your chest heaves, sweat slick down your spine. “This part needs aggression and sharpness, not whatever the fuck you’re doing.”

Jun scoffs from across the studio, and you can almost hear his eyes roll. “And you think you’re the only one who understands sharpness?” He tosses his damp towel aside and walks toward you, every step controlled and almost predatory. “I’ve seen your work. It’s precise, sure, but it’s so, so cold, and even worse? It feels empty.”

You step forward, closing the distance between you. “And yours is arrogant and overconfident. I can throw words around, too, you know. You choreograph like the floor owes you something.”

He laughs, low and bordering on dangerous. “No. I choreograph like I own it.”

Something in you snaps, like a dusty lightbulb being turned on in a dingy basement. Before you realise it,  your hands are extended out to shove him. He doesn’t move far with the pathetic push, just enough to register it. Then his eyes flicker with something you’ve seen before, but never directed at you like this: heat.

“You’ve wanted to put your hands on me for weeks, I can see it in your eyes,” he says, his voice molten. “You just didn’t know if it’d be to hit me, or fuck me.”

Your stomach drops and then coils. You don’t respond to his snarky comment as much as you want to, but instead, you grab the front of his shirt and crash your mouth into his.

It’s brutal.

Your teeth knock together, your eye twitching slightly from sensitivity. His hands are in your hair, then at your waist, then under your shirt like he can’t decide what he wants to ruin first. You yank him closer to you, pressing your body into his until you can feel the hard line of him, already pulsing through his sweats.

“You’re so fucking smug,” you gasp against his lips.

“And you’re so fucking desperate to be proved wrong,” he growls.

You slam him into the mirror, he doesn't take that well. He flips you in an instant so that you are the one backed to the cool surface instead. His eyes are fiery, fueled with anger and what you can only presume is lust.

Your back hits the glass, and before you can even look at him, he’s situated himself between your legs, his plush lips trailing down your neck with the kind of hunger that makes your knees buckle. One hand pins both of yours above your head, the other slips under your waistband, fingers dragging over your wet heat.

“Look at you,” he murmurs, satisfaction oozing into his tone. “Already dripping. Are you sure you hate me?”

“Shut up.”

He smiles against your collarbone as he presses his lips to your fiery skin. “Make me.”

You do, you bite his shoulder hard enough to leave a mark, then moan, a little too loudly for your liking, when he sinks two of his fingers inside you with zero warning. The stretch is perfect, with just a tinge of pain that causes tears to well up in your eyes briefly, which quickly subsides as he begins to thrust his fingers. His rhythm is ruthless, and when you arch against him, desperate and furious, he leans in and kisses you like it’s a war he plans to win.

Your release hits you hard, like a wave breaking. Messy, loud, and has you shattering into a million pieces. He doesn’t stop his pace, however, he doesn’t even slow down, which sends your body into a series of aftershocks that have you gasping for air and gripping his shirt like a vice.

You claw at his waistband blindly before yanking it down carelessly, and the sound he makes when you take him in your hand is downright filthy. You drag your thumb along the underside of his cock, then guide him to your entrance, meeting his eyes with defiance.

“Do it,” you whisper.

He thrusts into you in one brutal, perfect stroke.

And everything burns.

He fucks you like he’s still arguing with his body, not his mouth this time. Every thrust screams I’m better than you, and your moans scream prove it. You claw at his back, red marks streaking his skin. He grips your hips hard enough to bruise, but the sensation only drags you further into your pleasure. You both hit the edge simultaneously with teeth gritted, sweat dripping, gasping each other’s names like curses.

When it’s over, you collapse against the mirror, your legs shaking and chest heaving, sweat dripping down your skin in small rivulets. Jun leans in, his softening cock still inside you, his forehead resting against yours.

For once, there’s silence between the two of you, almost like an unspoken argument.

Then, he speaks, his voice slightly hoarse. “You’ll still be insufferable tomorrow.”

You laugh breathlessly. “So will you.”

But neither of you pulls away. Not yet.

—----------------------- 

The next day, everything’s normal. Too normal.

You arrive at the studio a little earlier than you normally do, stretching on the floor like nothing happened. Like you weren’t pinned to the mirror twelve hours ago, gasping Junhui’s name with your legs wrapped around his waist.

He walks in five minutes later, fresh shirt hugging his stupidly toned body, water bottle in hand, his jaw clenched tight. Neither of you says anything. He moves to the other side of the room and pretends to scroll through his playlist, even though it's the same playlist you’ve both been using for the last 3 weeks. You count the seconds between his breaths. You can feel the ache in your thighs, almost able to feel his fingers digging into your skin still, and hate how much it thrills you.

You think maybe he’ll bring it up, maybe he would throw a smirk your way, or do that annoying thing where he licks his bottom lip when he’s being a cocky bastard.

But he doesn’t. And that’s somehow a thousand times worse than if he had done something.

Because when his eyes do flick to you in the mirror, it’s not teasing. It’s hungry. Like he’s remembering every sound you made, every place his mouth touched. He looks away from you before you can even open your mouth to say something.

You make it through half of the session. Half the routine, hell, you only made it through half a song before you explode, surprising yourself in the process.

“So you’re going to pretend that nothing happened?”

Jun doesn’t even turn to you, focused on his phone now. “Nothing did happen.”

You walk toward him, your heart pounding so hard you can feel it in your ears. “You’re lying.”

He shrugs nonchalantly. “So are you.”

You’re in front of him now, close enough to smell the fabric softener on his shirt, and you can see the sweat beading at his neck. “Say last night meant nothing,” you dare him. “Say it and mean it.”

His jaw flexes, so much so that his jawline looks like it could cut through glass, but he says nothing. Instead, his hand grabs your wrist and yanks you forward, his lips crashing into yours again like a match dropped on gasoline.

This time, there’s no build-up. No slow undressing and no banter. Just pure, fiery lust that cannot be put out with any kind of extinguisher. Jun turns you around quickly and bends you over the speaker console, dragging your leggings down with a roughness that makes your pulse skyrocket.

“You came in here dripping for me yesterday,” he growls against your neck. “What are the odds you’re already wet for me again? Pretty high, I would say.”

You’re about to snap back with a clipped remark when his fingers slide through your folds and prove you wrong.

“Fuck,” he breathes, almost like he’s in awe. “You like fighting with me, don’t you? Gets you fucking soaked every time.”

You reach behind yourself and blindly dig your nails into his thigh, a broken moan escaping your lips when he finally lines himself up and thrusts into you, deep and punishing. Your hips slam against the console with every stroke, but you couldn’t give less of a fuck. It’s raw and primal, just like him. It’s the kind of sex that makes you forget what you were fighting about to begin with.

He fists your hair, pulling your head back gently so that he can whisper in your ear. “Say you hate me.”

You choke on a gasp, his perfectly timed thrusts and the sting on your scalp making you see stars. “I hate you.”

He thrusts harder, a whimper dropping from your swollen lips. “Say it again.”

“I… hate you,” you whimper, but your body betrays you, you’re arching, clenching and begging for more. Your body is addicted.

“That’s right,” he snarls. “You hate me, but I know you’re going to cum for me anyway. Cum for me.”

And you do, you’re biting your lip so hard it nearly bleeds, your thighs intensely shaking as the orgasm rips through you, even stronger than the one he’d given you the night before. He follows right after, spilling his load into you with a growl, his long fingers digging into the skin of your hips like he’s trying to brand you from the inside out.

Afterwards, he pulls out slowly, his breathing ragged and chest heaving. Neither of you dares to move. The air smells like sweat, sex, and something dangerously close to addiction.

Finally, Jun breaks the silence, his voice almost a whisper.

“We’re never going to work.”

You look over your shoulder at him, your hair a complete mess, and your mouth red and swollen.

“No, we won’t”, you agree. “But we’re not going to stop either.”

He grins. And for the first time since you met, it’s not cocky. It’s hungry.

___________

You tell yourself it’s the last time.

You leave before he wakes up. You stealthily grab your hoodie off of his laminate floor and step into your practice shoes without looking back. It’s barely 6 a.m. and the sun hasn’t even started to show its face yet, which seems like a fitting scenario, considering you’re walking out of the most unholy night of your life.

The air outside is cold. It clears nothing from your mind, clouded with thoughts and leftover lust from the hours before. By the time practice rolls around at 8 am, you’ve rehearsed the line in your head at least twenty times:

“We need to stop this.”

But Junhui doesn’t give you the chance.

The moment you step into the studio, he’s already there leaning against the mirror, hair tied back in a small ponytail so it won’t be in his face, his water bottle in one hand like nothing happened. Like you didn’t scream his name into a pillow just a few hours ago.

He lifts an eyebrow at you. “Morning.”

You force the words out. “This can’t happen again.”

He tilts his head, possibly acting confused. “That's what you came here to say to me?”

You cross your arms, defiance setting in despite the lust trying to crawl its way to the surface. “I mean it, Jun. This thing? Us? It’s just a distraction. It’s distracting us from our main goal”

He hums, and you aren't sure why, but that action alone has you peeved. “A distraction that had you begging for me last night in all aspects.”

You snap. “God, you are so full of yourself.”

“And you’re shaking.”

Your spine straightens out at the callout, but it’s true. Your hands are curled into fists, not out of fear, but from restraint. He takes a step towards you, almost as if he’s challenging you to say something else.

“Don’t touch me,” you spit, stepping back so the distance remains the same between the two of you. But his eyes go dark in that way they always do when you challenge him. When you say one thing but your body screams something else.

“Why not?” he asks, taking a step closer. You don’t step back this time, your anger beginning to dissolve into something else, a mixture of emotions.

“Because you’ll ruin me.”

He stops, your words hitting him like a freight train, and the tension shifts. It’s not playful banter anymore, nor is it teasing. It’s raw.

“Don't you think I have already tried to stop?” His voice is low now, stripped of any performance, providing a raw insight. “I look at you and forget every line I swore I wouldn’t cross.”

You blink. That wasn’t what you had expected him to say in the slightest.

“Jun-”

But he’s already in front of you again, and this time, when he kisses you, it’s different. It’s still extremely intense, and it’s still hungry. But in this moment, it’s slower and deeper. The kind of kiss that says I hate how much I want you. I hate how much I need you. But I’m here anyway.

Your arms fall to your sides, and your fists loosen, before you finally kiss him back like you’re drowning and he’s the only one that can save you. The clothes fall off both of you just as fast again. But this time, when he lays you on the studio floor, he doesn’t pin your wrists like he did that first time. He doesn’t rush.

He moves like he wants to remember how you sound. Like he wants to make it hurt—but only because it means something. Every touch is still like fire licking across your skin, but beneath it, there’s intent. Like he's memorising the shape of your body, the way you gasp when he says your name low against your neck.

“Say it’s just sex,” he dares you between steadily timed thrusts, sweat dripping onto his toned chest.

You open your mouth, but nothing comes out. Your mind and body are at a standstill.

He slows his pace, almost dragging it out in a teasing way. “Say it.”

You drag your nails down his back and whisper, “I can’t.”

And the way his body shudders against yours says everything he doesn’t.

You don’t remember falling asleep. All you remember is the way Jun’s fingers stroked down your back long after the last wave hit, and the sound of his heartbeat under your cheek.

________________

When you wake up a few hours later, he’s still there. You’re pressed close together, and his breathing is slow and even. He has one arm slung over your waist like he forgot who you are, who you’re supposed to be to each other. You shift slightly, careful not to wake him, but his hand tightens on your hip.

“Don’t go.”

His voice is rough, half-asleep and barely more than a whisper, but it stops you in your tracks. You turn your head, just enough to meet his gaze. His hair is a mess, strands sticking out at every angle, and his eyes are puffy with sleep. And still, somehow, he looks unfairly good.

“We said this wasn’t going to happen again,” you murmur.

He lets out a quiet breath. “Yeah. We say a lot of things.”

You’re both quiet for a long time. Long enough that the weight of the situation settles deep in your chest.

“Why does this feel like more?” you ask softly. “Why do I feel like I’m going to start missing you before I even leave?”

Jun brushes his knuckles down your spine. “Because maybe it is more. Maybe we just never gave it a name.”

You blink and turn to face him, surprised by his genuine response. “What would you call it?”

He presses his forehead to yours. “Stupid. Messy. Real.”

You don’t say anything, you don’t have to. Because for once in this whole fucked up mess, you’re not fighting it.

_______________

It doesn’t get any easier after that emotional encounter.

You both try extremely hard to act as civilly as possible in public. You give it a week of pretending to be normal, you get separate hotel rooms during the tour leg, less lingering in the studio, nods towards each other in recognition instead of smirks.

It doesn’t last, not even the week that you both promised. There’s one shared look across the stage during rehearsal, a single whisper in passing. A momentary press of his hand against your lower back when no one’s watching.

And it detonates all over again.

This time it’s in the dressing room. The door is locked, and so are your lips.

He pushes you up against the wall, your thighs wrapped around his hips, clothes half-on and half-ripped because Junhui just could not contain himself. It’s frantic and brutal, you’re both like starving wolves trying to devour what they’ve already tasted and still crave. Neither of you can get enough.

“You’re ruining me,” you pant, your fingers fumbling to tug his shirt over his head in your haste to see him bare.

“Good,” he growls, kissing down your chest. “Because you ruined me first.”

He takes you fast and rough, similar to the first night, like he’s trying to chase something he’ll never fully catch. Your name is a curse on his tongue, and he is a prayer on yours. Afterwards, you slide to the floor together, skin flushed and breathing ragged. It’s the only sound that fills the otherwise silent area.

He leans his head back against the wall, eyes closing as if the back of his eyelids will provide him with the answers he wants.

“We’re not going to stop,” he says, voice wrecked and hoarse.

You shake your head, resting your forehead on your palm. “We don’t know how.”

And maybe, just maybe, you don’t want to.

Because what exists between the two of you is this chaotic, furious, irresistible thing, which has become like oxygen. It's a fire neither of you can survive without. Too toxic to last forever. Too addictive to give up.

So you do the only thing you can. You light the match again, ignite the fire, and this time, it continues to burn.

___________

You don’t even remember what the fight was about.

Something stupid, was it a timing issue? Blocking problem? His huge ass ego getting in the way yet again? It doesn’t matter now. Because after all the intense yelling, the stubborn silence on his end, the slammed doors as he left the studio and left you standing there fuming, he shows up at your apartment door.

He’s completely soaked from the rain. His normally light grey hoodie is clinging to him and saturated to almost black with how much rain is pouring from the skies. His eyes seem stormy but clear.

“I can’t do this halfway anymore,” he says before you even open the door fully. “If you want me, it’s all in. If not... I’ll leave.”

You stare at him.

He’s dripping onto your floor. He seems out of breath. But this? This is him, and it’s raw and it’s real.

“Jun…”

“No more pretending we’re just hooking up. No more pretending I don’t wait for your texts, or memorise the way you laugh when you think I’m not listening. No more lying to myself.”

You feel your chest crack open, as if he’s just inserted a key into the crevice of your heart where you’d locked away your feelings for him.

“I don’t want to fight you anymore,” he says, his voice tired. “I want to fight for you. For this. For us.”

The rain drums harder outside, a low rumble of thunder in the distance signals a powerful thunderstorm likely on its way.

And still, you step back. You let him in fully.

He drops his bag onto the floor, making a thwap as it hits the ground, shrugs off his soaked hoodie and throws it on top of his bag, and you’re moving before you realise it, your hands are in his hair, your mouth on his, and it’s all yes. Yes to the tension. Yes to the past. Yes to the future.

You pull him into your bedroom and undress slowly this time. No tearing of clothes and no slamming of doors. Just lingering touches and the kind of kisses that say I’m staying.

He lays you down like he’s trying to memorise every inch of you, and when he slides inside you, it’s not a battle. It’s a homecoming. Your bodies move in sync, like they’ve been waiting for this moment all along; no games, no roles, just truth in every thrust, every moan, every whisper.

“You’re mine,” he breathes, forehead pressed to yours. You nod, breath catching. “And you’re mine.”

When you cum, it’s quiet and deep. You are tangled together with Jun in something more than just heat. Afterwards, he doesn’t pull away from you. Instead, he wraps around you like a shield. Like a vow.

“I don’t care what we are to everyone else,” he murmurs into your hair. “But you’re it for me.”

You curl into his chest. “You always were.”

____________

The studio seems different now.

It’s still as intense as it ever was. It’s still very much alive with movement and music and creation of people from all over the world, but the tension no longer cuts through the air like it used to. It hums in harmony, like a bee pollinating a flower.

When you argue with Jun now, it’s with grins rather than scolding looks or snappy remarks. When you fight, it’s about who should do which part in a choreography, not who’ll break first. He still teases you relentlessly, and you still roll your eyes at his antics. But when the others leave, and the lights go low, he pulls you into his arms and kisses you like the last time. Like every time.

And when you dance together? It’s no longer war.

It’s worship.

[caratstick]

I barked out loud accidentally

[bang-chan-my-man]

[caratstick]

I screamed

[studioeisa]

company benefits 🗂️ junhui x reader.

you can’t really call wen junhui your ex-boyfriend. it was more of a friends with benefits situation—except you only got ghosted, while he got an internship at your recommendation. people always say to not bite the hand that feeds you; it looks like jun didn’t get the memo.

🗂️ pairing.  marketing intern!wen junhui x copywriter!reader.  🗂️ word count.  12k.  🗂️ genre/warnings. smut, romance, humor, pinch of angst. alternate universe: non-idol. mentions of alcohol, food; profanity. semi-public & unprotected sex. ex-situationship, forced proximity, tension... so much tension!!!, contract terms i’m not 100% sure about. soonyoung from eunha’s Be My Tigress? 🗂️ footnotes. this is part of the that’s showbiz, baby! collaboration. eternally grateful to all the writers in the server who motivated me to finish this. above all, indebted to @diamonddaze01, who pitched this collaboration to me over six months ago. what a pleasure to finally write a long fic for jun!!! goin to take a veryyy long nap now. 🎵 recommended listening ⸻ company benefits.

You never dated Wen Junhui.

You made out with him in the backseat of an Uber once. Shared a bowl of tteokbokki at 1:00 a.m. and left a toothbrush at his place. He sent you voice notes saying things like, “I wish you were here,” in that half-awake tone he got when he couldn’t sleep, which was often.

You spent entire weekends tangled on his couch, watching movies you barely remembered because you were too busy tracing the veins on his arm with your pinky. You cried once, in front of him. He didn’t flinch.

You never dated Jun, so when he shows up as one of the interns at your company, it's not like you can call him your ex. You can, however, nearly snap a Pilot G-2 pen in half.

The intern orientation is a thirty-minute slide deck with enough corporate jargon to resurrect a Roman senator. You're sitting near the back, doodling tiny skulls in the margins of your notes, when your manager says, “Let’s all welcome this year’s marketing interns!”

And there he is.

Wen Junhui. Hair longer than you remember. A navy button-down that you’re 90% sure used to be yours. He spots you in the crowd like it’s nothing. Like no time has passed. And then—the male audacity of it all—he smiles.

Your pen creaks, spine bending until the plastic gives a quiet, pitiful snap.

You recommended him. That’s the worst part. 

Back when he was unemployed and soft-spoken and yours in a way you never could quite name. You filled out a glowing referral form like an idiot. Said things like creative thinker and natural collaborator when what you meant was: makes me laugh when I don’t want to, makes me feel like I matter.

Now he’s here. Mid-career intern. Probably labeled as non-traditional in the onboarding notes. Definitely labeled as dead to me in your mental CRM.

You corner him in the coffee room after orientation. He’s stirring oat milk into some artisanal nonsense, back to you, as if this isn’t the beginning of your villain arc. “You’ve got some nerve, Junhui,” you declare, properly pissed. 

He doesn’t even flinch. Just turns, holding his mug like he’s in a toothpaste commercial. “... I was just getting coffee,” he answers, one perfect eyebrow already arched. 

You fold your arms. “What are you doing here?”

“Interning.”

“You’re in your thirties.”

“I’m only twenty-nine, actually.”

“You had a whole job before this.”

“And now I have a new one.”

You resist the urge to glower. “As an intern.”

“Mid-career transition,” he says smoothly. “It’s a thing. There’s a podcast about it.”

You’re aware. You introduced the podcast to him. “Why here?” you bite out. 

He sips his coffee, meeting your gaze without hesitation. “It’s the best, isn’t it?” he drawls. “And I always want the best.”

There it is. That infuriating sincerity, tucked behind some metaphor you can’t afford to unpack. That must mean I wasn’t the ‘best,’ then, you nearly snap, considering, you know, you up and left. 

You hate that your chest aches. You hate that he still looks at you like you mean something. Like he didn’t disappear. Like he didn’t cut the cord with clean hands and a lazy smile.

You made your bed. Now, you have to lay in it. 

–-

This Agreement was entered upon by Wen Junhui [“FORMER SITUATIONSHIP INTERN”] and You [“ABSOLUTE FOOL COMPANY”] and shall remain in effect until either party learns how to stop looking for closure in a coffee room.

–-

You decide to be a professional about it.

Which is to say: you ignore him. Flawlessly. The way an inbox ignores unread emails from old flings or the way a cat ignores physics. With dignity, aloofness, and a very calculated schedule of exits and arrivals.

You walk into Monday morning’s marketing sync with an iced Americano, a bullet-pointed agenda, and an expression that says try me. Jun, mercifully, sits at the far end of the table, between a girl who uses color-coded spreadsheets and a guy whose entire personality is PowerPoint animations. You pretend not to notice when he nods at you. You definitely pretend not to notice that he’s taken to twirling his pen the same way you do.

Soonyoung, the Marketing Director, is wearing a shirt printed with neon tigers. Again.

“Okay, okay,” he claps his hands once, then dramatically slaps a stack of post-it notes down. “Let’s make this week roar!”

The interns balk, but none of the full-timers bat an eye. You’re all used to it. The man once themed an entire quarter around ‘predator energy.’

You run through project updates with the calm precision of someone who did not threaten emotional homicide in the coffee room last Friday. You lead the discussion on the spring campaign revisions, answer questions, deflect unnecessary input, and even sneak in a joke that makes Soonyoung laugh hard enough to drop his whiteboard marker.

The meeting ends. You gather your things. You’re halfway out the door when he catches up to you. “Hey,” Jun says, gently, like he’s trying not to spook a wild animal. “You killed that. You always do.”

You glance at him, expression neutral. "Thanks."

He looks like he wants to say more. Like he wants to be invited to say more. But you walk away, shoes clicking a little faster than necessary.

You still remember the other times he said it. After your first promotion. After you helped him rehearse for a job interview he never got. After a random Wednesday when you had ranted over a headline you couldn’t get right and he said, I wish you could see yourself the way I do.

You don’t want to remember any of it, so you go get coffee with Jihoon.

The head of HR is not known for emotional delicacy. Or any kind of delicacy, really. He wears monochrome like it’s a moral stance and drinks black coffee like it’s a dare. But he’s your friend, and he gets to the point.

“I’m not asking for details,” Jihoon says, stirring his drink with the slow menace of someone thinking about a compliance form. “But I saw the way you looked at the new intern.”

You feign innocence while you still can. “Which one?”

“Don’t insult both of us.”

Short-lived. You sigh. “It’s fine. He’s fine. We’re professionals.”

“Good. Because if I get even a whiff of nepotism, I’m lighting your recommendation form on fire.”

“You’re throwing around the word nepotism pretty lightly.”

“Am I?”

You lean back. “Everything’s professional,” you insist. “I wouldn’t jeopardize my own career over someone who thinks career pivots counts as a personality.”

Jihoon gives you a look. You sip again. Neither of you smiles.

Business as usual.

At least, that’s what you keep telling yourself. Some of it fractures two days later, in the breakroom with the flickering fluorescent light. You’re there for a sad granola bar and a moment of peace. Instead, you walk into chatter. The kind with edges.

Three interns—clipboard girl, PowerPoint boy, and someone new who looks like she does CrossFit for sport—are huddled near the snack station, laughing in that tight, conspiratorial way that means something mean is about to follow.

“I swear, he’s like, ancient,” Clipboard says.

“Wasn’t he in finance before this?” PowerPoint Boy adds. “Kind of sad, right? Like, starting over in your thirties?”

“He’s not in his thirties,” CrossFit interjects. “I checked. He’s twenty-nine. But still. Mid-career intern? Kinda screams washed-up.”

There are no names being thrown out—the slightest practice of discretion. It’s not difficult, though, to nail the topic of their breakroom gossip. The oldest intern in the pool. The one who hasn’t quite meshed with the Gen Z-ers who take OOTD mirror selfies and film TikToks in the bathroom. 

You clear your throat. Loudly. The interns freeze, a tableau of bad choices and instant regret. “Funny,” you say dryly. “I thought interns were supposed to observe before speaking.”

Clipboard opens her mouth. Closes it. Tries again. “We didn’t mean—”

“You did,” you interrupt. “But that’s okay. Not everyone gets to be interesting on their own, so I understand the appeal of tearing someone else down.”

PowerPoint looks at the floor. CrossFit suddenly finds the nutritional facts on her trail mix fascinating.

Your words come out with their trademark sharpness, with the type of teeth that has silenced board rooms. “Jun has more experience than most of you. He chose to be here. He got in the same way you did. Maybe keep that in mind next time you’re measuring someone’s worth by your own insecurities.”

Silence. Blessed, blooming silence. You grab your granola bar and turn around.

And then you nearly walk right into Jun.

He’s standing by the doorframe, coffee in hand, eyes wide. You have no idea how long he’s been there. Long enough, judging by the way he looks at you. Not shocked. Not smug. Soft. And a little sad.

He doesn’t say anything. Neither do you.

You nod once. He nods back.

You walk away, heart tapping a rhythm that feels like a memory.

–-

IV. In addition, the Intern will be eligible to participate in bonuses and other employee benefits established by the Company for its employees. The Employer currently offers the following benefits to its employees: momentary witness to your better nature, free of charge.

–-

The assignment happens on a Wednesday. Which already feels unfair. Mid-week emotional warfare is always much more draining than, say, a Monday terror or a last-minute Friday deadline. 

You’re sitting in the glass meeting room with a half-dead laptop and a whole-dead espresso shot when Soonyoung bursts in with his usual flair, dragging Jihoon behind him like a reluctant paperweight.

“Alright, team!” Soonyoung announces, sleeves rolled and tie nowhere to be seen. “It’s time to mentor the future!”

Jihoon sets down his folder with the quiet judgment of a man who had no say in this decision. “Intern shadowing,” he says, flat. “Mandatory. Two weeks. No complaints.”

“Like a tiger teaches its cubs,” Soonyoung adds, teeth bared in a wide grin.

Pairings are doled out quickly. Clipboard girl is assigned to someone in data. PowerPoint boy goes to Accounts. CrossFit intern gets Soonyoung himself (“I will break her spirit or befriend her forever,” he declares).

And then—

“Junhui,” Jihoon reads. And then your name. 

You don’t flinch. You nod once, hand still moving across your notes. Professional. If the pen’s plastic creaks underneath your grip, that’s between you and whoever invented Faber-Castell ballpoints. 

Jun, across the table, shifts. “Is that... final?”

Jihoon frowns. Never a good sign, even if it is his default. “Would you like to dispute the legality of this HR-approved decision?”

“No,” Jun mutters. But he doesn’t look at you.

The meeting ends. People scatter. You’re organizing your things when Jun corners you in the hallway, by the glass copy room that reflects everything you don’t want to see.

“I was trying to give you an out,” Jun says curtly, almost explaining.

You glance up at him. “What?”

“Back there. In the meeting. I was trying to not make things worse.”

“By publicly questioning a department head’s assignment?”

“By not forcing you to work with me when things are clearly… complicated.”

You back out a laugh. “It’s just work, Junhui. Not everything is personal.”

He stares at you, like he’s trying to figure out if you mean it. You mean it. Mostly.

There’s a flicker of something—memory, maybe. The last time you fought, back in the vague non-label limbo of your not-a-relationship. Something about a canceled plan. Or the way he left your texts on read. It spiraled, and somehow you ended up half-yelling and then making out in his kitchen, back against the fridge.

Those arguments never lasted long.

This one already has.

You tuck a pen behind your ear, shoulders squared. “We’ll get the intern materials from Soonyoung this afternoon. I’ll book a conference room.”

“Okay,” Jun says. He still looks like he wants to say something else. Maybe everything else.

You walk past him before he can. The hallway feels colder than usual.

Just like that, the stage is set. You. Him. Two weeks. One shared desk. Zero unresolved tension whatsoever.

The project brief lands the next morning like a meteor.

Marketing strategy for upcoming romantic comedy starring Jeonghan, the email reads. The subject line includes a heart emoji. You click it with a growing sense of dread.

The film’s title? Just Friends.

“Fuck me in the ass,” you mumble underneath your breath, the same way a corporate slave does once or twice a week. 

You open the attached pitch deck. The logline reads: Two friends navigate the blurred lines of a no-strings-attached relationship until one of them catches feelings.

You close your laptop. You reopen it thirty seconds later. Professionalism, you remind yourself, is a decision.

By 2 p.m., you and Jun are in a borrowed conference room with Soonyoung, who has inexplicably brought snacks and a whiteboard shaped like a heart. “Okay! Let’s ideate,” Soonyoung says brightly, cracking open a soda. “No bad ideas. No wrong answers. Just vibes.”

“How about a trailer that ends with both characters alone,” you start, “because some things aren’t meant to be mutual.”

Jun’s lips quirk to one side. “A little bleak for a rom-com.”

“Not if it’s honest.”

“Or bitter.”

“Not everything has to be about you.”

Soonyoung pauses mid-sip.

Jun clears his throat of the faux pas. “We could do a digital campaign,” he offers. “Confession booth at the premiere. People record what they never told their almosts.”

You write it on the board. Then, without looking at Jun, you add: “QR codes on limited-edition tissues.”

“You still have those?” Jun asks, his tone a little snide. “Thought you threw them out.”

“I did.”

A beat. The marker you’re holding is probably going to run dry by the end of this hour. Jun’s fingers are tightly clenched over the table edge. Soonyoung is unashamedly looking back and forth between the two of you, as if this is a particularly interesting tennis match between Carlos Alcaranz and Jannik Sinner.

“Maybe a microsite,” Jun says quickly. “Where users can soft-launch their regrets anonymously. Could include heat maps for popular phrases.”

You nod. “We could include copy like Sometimes the fine print on friendship is heartbreak.”

Jun’s next words are spoken under his breath. “Right. Friendship.” 

Soonyoung raises his hand like he’s in school. “Sorry,” he squeaks. “Is this a pitch or—an actual breakup in real time?”

“Both,” you say simultaneously with Jun.

Jun clicks his pen. “At least I’m trying.”

“Is that what this is? Trying? Looked more like derailing.”

“Better than deflecting.”

“Better than ghosting.”

Soonyoung reaches for another snack. You turn back to the board. “Let’s bring in Jeonghan for a cheeky teaser. Maybe he narrates bad firsts. First kiss, first fight, first time you find their ex’s number still in their contacts.” 

Jun exhales, sharp. “How about the first time they refused to introduce you to their friends?” 

“Not as bad as the first time they said someone else’s name during sex.” 

Soonyoung coughs, intentional and interrupting. “Wow. Okay,” he exhales. “Let’s take a break, cubs. Hydrate. Process.”

No one moves.

You cap your marker slowly. “I’ll send a write-up.”

Jun’s stiff fingers flex on the table. “Looking forward to your notes.”

–-

V. The Employer also offers the benefit of one (1) shared creative meltdown in the presence of your manager, and unlimited awkward silence thereafter.

–-

Jihoon calls you into his office with the same tone someone might use to summon a guilty terrier who’s chewed through a power cord. You arrive with your laptop and your most composed expression. You know better than to ask what this is about.

He shuts the door. Points to the chair opposite his desk. You sit. Jihoon steeples his fingers. “Soonyoung says the marketing brainstorm was intense.”

“I’d call it thorough,” you say wryly. 

“He used the words ‘emotional combat.’ Also ‘trauma-fueled campaign ideation.’”

You exhale through your nose. “We delivered on the brief.”

“Is there something I should know?”

The question hangs. You think about deflecting. About redirecting. But Jihoon’s office is too small for half-truths, and cluttered with evidence of a man who lives off structure and caffeine. You suspect he can smell lies the same way bloodhounds smell fear.

You lean back into the chair and pick out the bullet points. “Jun and I were… sort of a thing. Before. It wasn’t official. But it also wasn’t not.”

Jihoon doesn’t even blink. “Yeah,” he huffs. “I figured.”

Your brow furrows. “Then why ask?”

“I wanted to see if you’d admit it like an adult,” he replies. “You passed. Barely.”

“I’m not going to make this a disciplinary thing,” Jihoon continues, flipping through some papers just to emphasize how above it all he is. “But you have to keep it together. Finish the project. Grin and bear it.”

“I am grinning,” you mutter. “Aggressively.”

“Good. Because this is what happens when you mix personal history with professional decisions.”

You squint at him. “You mean helping a qualified former friend apply for a job and letting HR do its job?”

“See,” Jihoon says, pointing with his pen, “this is why nepotism is bad.”

You groan. “It wasn’t nepotism. We weren’t even dating. He was unemployed. I had a moment of generosity.”

“And now you have a moment of regret,” Jihoon says. “Funny how that works.”

You cross your arms. “I liked it better when you barely spoke to people.”

“Me too,” he replies. Then, almost kindly: “Finish the campaign. Keep it clean.”

You nod. He returns to his laptop without another word. You take that as your dismissal.

As you leave Jihoon’s office, you hear him grumble, just loud enough: “God, I hate romantic comedies.”

You invite Jun for coffee the way some people file restraining orders. Terse. Cold. Legally sound. “After work,” you say, passing his desk without slowing. “Fifteen minutes. Corner place with the green awning.”

Jun, understandably, looks mistrustful. “Is this a trap?”

“Only if you make it one.”

Thirteen minutes later, he shows up. Hair slightly mussed. Shirt rolled at the sleeves like he’s trying to look less guilty. It doesn’t work. You’re seated already, nursing a decaf and a dull headache.

He slides into the chair opposite you. Eyes scanning your face like you’re a riddle he once solved and forgot the answer to. “If it’s not a trap, is it a truce?” he asks outright.

“Not everything has to be war, Jun.”

“You spent half our brainstorm launching missiles.”

“Well,” you say, sipping. “Some of them were paper airplanes.”

He grimaces. “I’m not doing this sober.”

You hate it when he’s right. 

The bar you two agree on is dim and semi-functional. Exposed brick. Mismatched stools. The music sounds like it was curated by a heartbroken DJ. Jun orders a peach soju; you get the blueberry one.

“So,” he says around the rim of his soju bottle. “Where should we start?” 

“How about,” you exhale, “with your obnoxious sipping habits?” 

“My what?” 

“The way you slurp. It still gives me the ick.” 

Jun’s responding laugh is humorless. The drinks go down quickly. The second round is unnecessary and immediate. 

“Remember that fight we had about ice cream?” you ask, after he chewed you out for being emotionally unavailable and unnecessarily anal-retentive about halving bills.

Jun laughs into his glass. “You said anyone who chose mint chocolate chip was self-sabotaging.”

“And you defended it like a personal religion.”

“You called it mouthwash in disguise.”

You shrug. “Still true.”

More drinks. More memory lane. There’s a half that has teeth, that tears through the gripes and frustrations. But there’s also a half that’s almost tender, that provides a montage of why it could have worked once upon a time. 

“You kept a spare toothbrush at my place,” he says.

“You gave me a drawer.”

“You never used it.”

“You never asked why.”

Silence. Real, this time. The music changes to something softer. A song you both know. You hate that you both know it.

“I was always trying to be careful,” he says delicately. “Trying not to overstep.”

You stare at your glass. “Yeah. Well.” 

In not overstepping, Jun ended up taking no steps at all. Another silence tugs. Longer. It doesn’t bite. Just lingers.

“We were never good at timing,” he says eventually. 

“We were never good at talking.”

You expect him to push back on that. He doesn’t. For a moment, you contemplate asking the million won question. Why did you ghost me? 

Before you can, though, he’s saying something too sincere for you to ruin. “Thanks for the rec. For the job.”

“Thanks for finally thanking me,” you answer, taking a long enough sip of your soju to ignore the way your heart flutters. 

He winces, smiles. “Small steps.”

You nod.

“So, we’re okay?” he asks.

You think about it. The ghosts, the drawer, the campaign brief that cut too close. “Whatever ‘okay’ means,” you say, because you never lied to Jun; you weren’t about to start now. 

He raises his glass in a wordless cheer. You clink.

The second brainstorming session is mercifully normal.

You arrive ten minutes early, not because you’re eager but because you’ve started pre-gaming meetings with silence. Jun arrives exactly on time, not a second more, not a second less. He looks at you like he’s bracing for shrapnel. You nod like you’re not holding any.

Soonyoung plops into the seat across from you both, wearing a tiger-print shirt that says FIERCE IDEAS ONLY. You want to make fun of it. You don’t. Growth.

The meeting flows. That’s the only way to describe it. No barbs, no barbed metaphors. Jun pitches clean, clever ideas. You counter with strategy. There’s laughter. There’s alignment. There’s a genuine moment where you look at him and say, “That’s a good one.”

He smiles, appreciative and maybe even a little fond. You have to look away from it. The compliment tastes like a penny on your tongue.

“Hehe,” Soonyoung cackles, eyes flicking between the two of you. “Am I interrupting something?”

“Just your reign of chaos,” you deflect.

“Horang-haaay,” he sighs. “Anyway. Love this direction. Run with it. Make it beautiful. Make it bite.”

You do.

The presentation goes well. Soonyoung beams like a proud zookeeper. Jihoon nods once, which is his version of a standing ovation. The execs approve the romantic comedy campaign with minimal edits. There are even murmurs of early awards submissions. You pretend not to care. You care deeply.

Jun catches you after the meeting, shoulder brushing yours in the hallway. “Hey,” he says. “We made that work. Really work.”

The pride blossoms in your chest, persistent and unwelcoming. “We did.”

“So,” he starts, casual but not, “Want to grab a drink? Just us. Not like before. Or maybe not not like before. Whatever works.”

You hesitate. 

If it were anyone else, you probably wouldn’t balk. This offer isn’t a romantic advance. It’s a grabbing-a-drink-with-your-workmate-after-a-job-well-done. Unfortunately, your mind is a slideshow of late texts, half-finished thoughts, and the sound of silence where a goodbye should’ve been.

“I can’t,” you answer. Not unkind. Just honest. You give no explanation, and Jun doesn’t press even though he flinches. Wavers. As if he’s remembering his place. 

He nods slowly. “Okay,” he says with faux cheer. “Another time.”

You don’t say yes. You don’t say no. He walks away like it doesn’t sting, and you stay rooted like it does.

To ease the hurt, you take yourself to dinner like a pity party with better lighting. Your comfort place is a hole-in-the-wall Italian spot tucked between a laundromat and a locksmith, which is, frankly, how you know it’s good. The tables wobble slightly, the waitress knows your name, and the carbonara tastes like a hug from someone who never judged you for your bad taste in men.

You order your usual. Set your phone face-down, then pick it up again. Jun’s contact is open. 

You don’t remember when you opened it. Your thumb hovers over the keyboard, caught between being impulsive and being pathetic.

You almost start typing. Something like, Hey, my schedule cleared up. Drinks on me? or Were you flirting with me or am I delusional? or I’m at the place where we had our first date. At the very same table we sat at, in fact. 

Then the door chimes.

You look up.

Jun walks in. Not alone.

He’s with another intern—the one from finance, maybe? She laughs at something he says as they walk toward the back. He’s relaxed. Rolling his sleeves like he wants to look like effort. He gestures to the menu like this place wasn’t once yours.

You watch, stone-still, as he orders. You catch fragments. “You’ll love the tiramisu.” “This place is a hidden gem.” “No, seriously, the carbonara—life-changing.”

You’re vaguely aware that you’re gripping your fork too tight. You don’t name the feeling. Not jealousy. Definitely not jealousy. Just territorial spite and righteous betrayal with a dash of indigestion.

Your pasta arrives. You pick at it. Every bite feels like chewing a memory that now has someone else’s fingerprints on it. In your head, it’s a litany of fuck you Wen Junhui, fuck you Wen Junhui, fuck you Wen Junhui. 

The carbonara is wrong. Too salty. Not al dente enough. And Jun is sitting a couple of seats away, smiling at his date. Blissfully unaware that he’s ruined your comfort food for life. Wrong, wrong, wrong. Fuck you, Wen Junhui. 

You flag the check. You tip generously, because if you’re having a terrible night, then the waitress might as well have a good one. 

Jun notices you only as you brush past his table. His expression morphs mid-laugh—first surprise, then something else. His companion’s gaze flits to you, recognizing you as a senior at the company.

“Hi!” she says politely. 

You give her a tight nod. “Hello.”

Jun rises. “Wait, hey—”

But you’re already pushing past the door. The air outside is cooler than expected. He catches up halfway down the block.

“Hey,” he calls, a little breathless. “I didn’t know you were there.”

“Clearly.”

“It wasn’t a date.”

“Didn’t ask.”

“I wasn’t trying to—”

“Oh, what, colonize my safe spaces?” You stop. Turn to him. “I didn’t realize you gave restaurant tours now. How generous.”

He runs a hand through his hair. Frustrated. “I wasn’t thinking about it like that.”

“You weren’t thinking. That tracks.”

The words hang. Sharp. Petty. 

“Don’t be rude to your not-date,” you grit out. “Haven’t you got some life-changing pasta to share?” 

You don’t wait for his reply.

You walk off, fast. The kind of walk that dares someone to follow.

He doesn’t.

That, too, tracks. 

–-

VI. The Intern is entitled to unlimited paid time off (PTO) for as long as they do not do it at bygone date spots. In light of this, the Employer may claim a lifetime of pettiness. 

–-

Soonyoung makes the announcement as if it’s a reality show reveal.

“There might be one or two interns we absorb after the cycle,” he tells the room of department heads, bouncing on the balls of his feet like this is an exciting twist instead of a budget conversation. “Jun’s doing well. Also, that other one—what's her name? Finance intern? The one who has a nice laugh.”

You freeze mid-note taking. He means the girl from the restaurant. The one who knows about the tiramisu. Your stomach coils, and your poor pen jabs into your paper a little too hard. 

You make it through the rest of the meeting on autopilot, the kind of dazed professionalism that only corporate trauma can birth. Jihoon gives you a look on the way out. You ignore it.

As expected, you’re assigned to write Jun’s intern evaluation.

It’s a task you’d normally treat like any other. Bullet points. Benchmarks. But the cursor on the blank Google Doc blinks at you like a dare. Because it’s not just about campaign contributions or interpersonal skills. It’s about putting on record what he it, or what he isn’t.

You close the tab. You’ll come back to it. Maybe. After a lobotomy.

Two days later, Jun finds you by the vending machine. “You’re evaluating me?” he says by way of greeting.

You take your time selecting a soda. The machine whirs dramatically. Maybe if you ignore him, he’ll go away. 

He proves otherwise. “Soonyoung told me,” Jun presses. “He said you’re writing my assessment.”

You procure your strawberry Fanta with deliberate coolness, fingers already toying with the metal lid. “Do you greet all potential references this way?” you say dryly. 

“I just—I figured you wouldn’t be neutral.”

That stops you. You turn, slow. “Excuse me?”

“I mean, after everything. The way we—” He gestures vaguely. “That night. The restaurant. You were pissed.”

You laugh. You can’t help it. God, what did you do in your past life to end up in a situation like this? The last of your patience snaps like a rubber band, and the words spill out of you with a kind of cutthroat that could melt tungsten. 

“I gave you a glowing recommendation, Jun,” you snipe. “I said you were sharp and collaborative and vital to the pitch. Which, in case you forgot, you were. I did my job. Maybe try doing yours.”

He gapes. You don’t stop. “You’ve been the unprofessional one here. You keep making things personal. You bring other people to restaurants that aren’t yours to share. You act like I owe you something when I don’t even owe you eye contact.”

Jun opens his mouth. Closes it again. You toss your still-full can in a nearby bin. You don’t have the appetite for anything sweet right now.

“You haven’t changed, Wen Junhui,” you bite out—the last word, huzzah!—before walking off.

It’s not the cleanest exit, but it’s something final. And right now, that’s all you have.

Jun pretends like nothing happened.

You’re not surprised. Denial is practically his native language. He nods at you in meetings, leaves polite spaces between you in the break room. He’s mastered the art of the neutral expression, the kind that suggests nothing has ever gone wrong. That everything is fine.

Then a package arrives at your desk.

No note. Just a brown paper bag tied up with string, like something out of a middle school crush fantasy. Inside, nestled in tissue paper, is a bouquet.

Of ballpens.

Dozens of them, in your preferred brand and ink weight. All black, all clicky. Not one of them chewed, cracked, or snapped in half—yet.

You stare at them like they’re a coded message. Maybe they are.

Jun used to tease you about it. How you went through pens like breath mints. How he’d hear the telltale crack of a barrel and look over to find you sheepish, a half-dismembered pen in hand. Once, he said he was going to buy you a box just to see how long it would take you to kill them all. You laughed and told him that was the most romantic thing he’d ever said.

You use one of the pens in the next meeting. On purpose. Jun notices. You can see it in the flick of his eyes, the way he registers it with a twitch of his mouth that isn’t quite a smile.

After, as people are clearing out, he lingers.

“That one working okay?” he asks.

You click it. Unclick. Click again. “Still alive,” you say. “No casualties yet.”

He nods. You don’t say thank you. He doesn’t say sorry.

All the same, it hangs there, between you. The closest either of you has come to being a decent person.

–-

VII. The Intern will respect all intellectual property of the Company, and in return, the Company will provide necessary tools for productivity—and occasional forgiveness.

–-

The interns are tasked with planning the company party to cap off the end of their rotation. It’s meant to be a fun assignment. Low-stakes. High morale. Naturally, it turns into an emotional landmine.

Jun, for reasons you pretend not to think too deeply about, takes the lead.

He delegates well. Manages expectations. Schedules with military precision. In the end, what catches your attention is the uncanny accuracy of his planning decisions.

The venue is one of your favorites. The playlist includes that one obscure indie-pop band you once had on repeat. The snacks avoid all your known aversions—no olives, no red velvet, no sad carrot sticks masquerading as party food.

You raise an eyebrow when he unveils the plan in the department-wide meeting. He doesn’t look at you directly, but when you glance his way, he winks. Later, when everyone’s clapping for the effort, you wait for him to slide into the seat next to yours. You lean over and mumble, taunt just for him, “Stalker.” 

He raises one shoulder in a shrug. “I shadowed you for two weeks. I’m observant.”

The party is in a week, which is probably why you run into him at the grocery store later that night, arms full of sparkling water and overpriced string lights.

You’re already in line, clutching a frozen meal and a bottle of wine that screams dinner-for-one. He falls in behind you, a little breathless, a little smug.

“Fancy seeing you here,” he says.

“Is that rosemary sea salt popcorn?” you ask, peering into his basket. “Wow. Intern budgets have really changed since my day.”

He grins. “Only the best for Carat Company.”

You point at a tub of hummus. “That brand’s terrible. Too tangy.”

“Noted,” he says, and swaps it out for another without fanfare.

You don’t know what makes you say it—maybe the buzz of fluorescent lights, maybe the way he’s stacking paper plates like it’s an art form—but you tilt your head and ask, “Bringing a date?”

Jun doesn’t miss a beat. “Nope.”

“Finance intern not free?”

“She’s got better taste than me,” he says. Then, a little more tentatively: “Position’s still open, if you’re interested.”

You click your tongue. Before you can think better of it, a responding flirtation breaks free. “I could be convinced.”

Jun giggles, quick and honest. He tries to cover it with a cough, but he’s still smiling as he sets down his basket.

The next couple of days unfold with unnerving ease. You tell yourself it’s just the party approaching, just everyone being unusually cooperative for once. But there’s a rhythm to the way you and Jun move around each other now—a familiarity that feels inherited. Like muscle memory. Like relapsing. 

You catch him finishing your sentences, anticipating your notes in meetings, handing you the pen you’re about to ask for before the words even leave your mouth. It’s annoying. It’s also disarming.

You’re in the office late one evening, finalizing a last-minute asset for the event. A print layout no one else had the brain cells to catch. Most of the floor’s lights have gone dark, save for your corner, glowing sterile and soft. But Jun’s still there too, cross-legged on the carpet like he lives here, surrounded by poster tubes and tangled cable wires, wielding a stapler with the intensity of a man on the edge.

“You know we have tape, right?” you say, leaning against the copy room door frame, sipping cold coffee that tastes like regret. 

He glances up, squints. “Yeah. Tape’s a coward’s tool.”

You snort. It sounds like something he would’ve said back when you were sharing fries and arguments on your living room floor, when evenings blurred into 2a.m. discussions about plot holes in movies and whether hotdog sandwiches were burgers.

“Besides,” he adds, popping a staple in with too much flair, “this is more permanent. It says, I commit.”

You raise an eyebrow. “To the banner?”

“To the bit,” he says, deadpan.

You roll your eyes and go back to your screen, but your grin lingers longer than you want it to.

He offers you a ride home. Says it casually, like it’s a weather update. You accept. Too casually. Like you haven’t already memorized the way his dashboard lights flicker, or how he drives five over the limit.

In his car, it’s too quiet. The AUX cable is broken. His windows fog slightly from the humidity. The air smells like mint gum, vinyl from a new car freshener, and something else—something old. You give him the directions without thinking, because they haven’t changed. Neither has the weight that settles in your chest when he takes each turn with instinctive precision.

Outside your apartment, the silence hovers. “Thanks for the ride,” you say, hand on the door handle, already half-gone. Trying very, very hard not to think about the dozens of other times this ride has happened, and how each of them ended the same way. 

He doesn’t answer for a moment. He just watches you, head tilted slightly like he’s solving a puzzle or waiting for permission. You face him, nose scrunching with mild confusion. “What?”

“Nothing,” he says. 

And then he kisses you.

It’s not sudden, but it still surprises you. Your body forgets to protest, forgets the smart thing to do, forgets the narrative you’ve been building for weeks about being over this. His mouth is warm, and patient, and frustratingly familiar. The kind of kiss that bypasses logic. The kind that knows too much.

You kiss him back. Automatically. Completely. As if no time has passed. As if the ghosting, the tension, the HR talks and overused pens never happened. Just mouths and memory and momentum.

It isn’t until you break apart—his thumb still barely touching your jaw, breath heavy in the space between—that you hear yourself say, “What are you doing?”

He exhales a laugh, like he’s embarrassed. “Convincing you.” A beat. “Is it working?”

The panic rises in your throat like bile. You’re not sure what you’re about to throw up—regret, probably. But for what? Which part? 

You don’t know the answer to that question. And so you peel away from a confused Jun, and you open the car door. The night air rushes in, cool and intrusive. You get out without a word.

He doesn’t follow. Doesn’t call after you. You don’t know what you’d want him to say, anyway. For once, you’re grateful that Wen Junhui has never chased after you when it counts. 

The morning after, you walk into the office like nothing happened. Which is to say: you walk in five minutes late with a coffee too hot for your tongue and sunglasses still on because your soul isn’t ready for fluorescent light.

You make yourself a promise. You will not acknowledge the kiss. You will not dwell. You will do what Jun did months ago. You will ghost in broad daylight.

It feels very mature.

Except, unlike Jun, you have to see him at the printer. And at the shared snack drawer. And at the joint team huddle where Soonyoung teaches everybody how to this weird, new hand gesture he picked up on. 

Jun keeps looking at you. That too-familiar softness, that edge of disappointment creeping around the corners of his mouth like he expected better from you. You don’t return the look. You don’t even return the stapler he loaned you yesterday. If professionalism is a hill to die on, then consider your gravestone already drafted.

Two days pass. You think you’ve successfully rewritten history until Jun corners you by the vending machine. Again. Before you can half-joke we have got to stop meeting like this, Jun is already snipping at the strings of your defenses. 

“Is this revenge?” he asks, low voice, eyes scanning your face.

Your hand hovers over the button for salted almonds. “What?”

“This,” he gestures vaguely at the space between you, which has become somehow both intimate and unbearable. “You pretending like it didn’t happen. Like the kiss didn’t happen.”

You choose the almonds. Not because you want them, but because silence is at least with vending machine clatter.

“You kissed me back,” he says. Almost an accusation. 

You shrug. It’s not as nonchalant as you probably want it to be. “People kiss. It’s a thing.”

Jun recoils, and something like white-hot guilt flashes through you. You douse it as Jun huffs out his next words with poorly-concealed offense, “Wow. Is this what being the bigger person looks like now?”

You pocket the almonds. “Well, you always said I was good at taking notes.”

His jaw flexes. Hurt flashes in his eyes before he smooths it over with a tired smile. “Right. Got it.”

You don’t stop him when he walks away. For the both of you, it’s a lesson learned. Turns out, the taste of your own medicine is bitter. 

And, sometimes, it comes with a side of overpriced almonds.

–-

VIII. The Employee acknowledges that emotional clarity is not listed among official job responsibilities, and therefore will not be provided under Company policy.

–-

The company party is held at a rented rooftop bar with fairy lights, questionable shrimp cocktails, and cheap beer masquerading as an open bar. Someone’s playlist is stuck on a loop of early 2010s hits, and there’s a half-deflated inflatable swan in the punch bowl. It’s all very on-brand. 

There are icebreaker games, a makeshift red carpet, and a cardboard cutout of Soonyoung in a tiger costume posing with the slogan: ROAR FOR Q4! It is, in every way, excessive.

You don a black silk blouse tucked into tailored high-waist trousers, sharp and clean and the only ironed thing in your apartment. Your lipstick is a soft red. Strategic, not romantic. You wear your hair up, simple earrings, and shoes that are just shy of painful. You look like someone who planned not to linger.

Jun shows up in a white button-down with sleeves rolled past his elbows, collar slightly askew like he got halfway ready and forgot to care. There’s a wine-colored blazer slung over one shoulder and, unfairly, it works. He has the ease of someone who didn’t expect to be watched yet somehow is.

You avoid each other all night with the precision of two people still nursing unspoken sentences. You talk to other departments. He lingers around the interns. Jihoon drinks exactly one cocktail, makes direct eye contact with you for three seconds too long, and vanishes like The Judgmental Ghost of Situationship’s Past.

The party buzzes on. There’s a chocolate fountain that no one trusts and a dance floor that Soonyoung won’t leave. There’s a photo booth filled with props from last year’s pirate-themed anniversary campaign. You find yourself laughing at something someone from Legal says, and immediately hate that it reminds you of how Jun used to make you laugh just like that—like you were surprised by it.

It’s going fine. Almost.

Until the awards begin. Soonyoung, of course, is the MC, beaming with chaotic delight. “And now,” he grins, pausing for effect, “for the honorary award for Best Enemies-to-Lovers Plot Unfolding in Real Time…”

You blink. Jun blinks. You both know how this film is going to end, and sure enough, Soonyoung is screeching your name and Jun’s. 

There are cheers. Some gasps. Mostly laughter. You rise with the grace of someone preparing for emotional war. Jun’s already on his feet, giving you that look like this is either his worst nightmare or his best bit. Possibly both.

Onstage, you are handed a trophy of a basketball player bought from the dollar store around the corner. You and Jun pose awkwardly for a photo as a chant of Speech! Speech! Speech! resounds in the crowd. 

You contemplate handing in your two week’s notice tomorrow.

Under string lights and scrutiny, you take the mic first. “I’d like to thank HR for not firing either of us,” you say for the lack of better thing to say. 

Polite chuckles. Someone from the Events team yells, “Not yet!”

Jun takes the mic next. “And I’d like to thank, uh, Soonyoung. For teaching me what a ‘horanghae’ is. Seriously, it’s done immeasurable damage to my vocabulary.”

Louder laughter. A few whoops. You both smile too hard, too bright, too fake. 

Later, you spot him near the edge of the bar, half-shadowed by a potted ficus. He’s slipping away. Classic Jun, retreating mid-scene. 

You excuse yourself before you think too hard about it. You follow him down a stairwell half-lit by emergency bulbs, the music above thumping faintly through concrete. He hears your steps before you speak.

“You always leave like this?” you ask.

He turns, hands in his pockets. His expression—initially closed-off, ready to bolt—creaks open ever so slightly. “I didn’t think you’d notice,” he answers. 

“Can’t help it.”

He looks at you like it hurts. Like you’re saying too much without saying enough. “Is this the part where you ask me why I’m leaving?”

You fold your arms over your chest, over the maddening beat of your heart. “No,” you breathe. “I want to know why you left.”

You don’t care about tonight. Jun could leave this party and never look back at The Carat Company, and you wouldn’t blame him. You care about the way his texts stopped coming in, the way it was radio silence for weeks. How he didn’t even come to take back his things, so you made the executive decision to donate them to a thrift shop like it might somehow make you feel better about yourself. 

Jun exhales, long and tired. He shifts from one foot to another. For a moment, you think he’s going to make a run for it. 

He doesn’t. 

“I didn’t think I could be enough,” he says, finally. “Not for you. Not for the version of you that has her life together, who writes like a scalpel and moves like she’s never tripped over anything in her life. I didn’t want to hold you back. I didn’t want to be another unfinished thing in your life.”

When Jun had gotten laid off his previous job, he’d fallen into a rut that you tried so hard to get him out of. You sent him motivational LinkedIn posts. You pointed out Harvard courses and helped him scour JobStreet. All the while, you were working your ass off at The Carat Company. Coming home burnt out but still willing to help him back on his feet. 

You hadn’t realized how that might’ve looked like for him. You hadn’t seen the cracks, stretching like spiderwebs over his fragile male ego. Obscuring the reason why you did it all in the first place. 

Love. Crazy, stupid love. You clear your throat, refusing to let the rage tip out of you. Some of it bleeds into your incredulous question, anyway.  “So you decided for me?”

His shoulders flinch. “I was scared.”

“You don’t get to do that,” you say, your attempt at being cool fracturing. “You don’t get to leave me, then show back up like a better man, when the truth is—you didn’t even let me choose.”

He looks at you, stunned. “I—”

“No,” you say, stepping forward. “Who I want to suffer for is my call.” 

This time, you kiss him. 

It’s not clean. It’s not soft. It’s messy and fierce and fueled by months of bitterness and longing, of misspoken lines and things unsaid. His hands find your waist like they’ve never left it. Your mouth moves like a dare. There’s a wall at his back, and your chest at his front, and none of this feels professional at all.

It feels like something finally falling into place. Or breaking open.

Jun’s car is parked two levels down, the far corner of a concrete lot that smells like rain, gasoline, and the ghost of things unsaid. It’s far from the rooftop’s sticky laughter and company-wide inebriation. A hush broken only by the soft echo of your heels and the low, restless rhythm of your breathing. His, too.

You’re kissing again by the time you get nearer to the car.  This time, it’s slower. Hungrier. The kind of kiss that drags a sound out of him—half-sigh, half-swear. 

Jun groans into your mouth, hands moving instinctively. One finds your jaw, the other your waist, fingers curling with intent. Your back hits the side of his car with a quiet thud. You smile against his mouth, sharp and satisfied.

“You gonna run again?” you mumble, voice low, all edge.

He shakes his head, dazed. “Not unless you tell me to.”

“Good,” you say, fingers slipping under the hem of his shirt, grazing hot skin. “Then shut up and get in the car.”

He listens. He always did know how to listen when it mattered.

The door slams shut, muffling the world. The air smells like him—clean linen, faint spice, something faintly sweet beneath it. The dash glows dim. Your blouse is unbuttoned by the time you straddle him, knees digging into the leather seat. He fumbles to push his seat back farther, and you don’t wait. You settle on his thighs, hungry hands pushing his shirt up, over his head.

His eyes are already wild. Chest bare. Breath uneven. Like he can’t quite believe this is happening. You kiss him again, rougher this time, teeth grazing his bottom lip. He gasps.

“You want this?” he asks, voice cracked, part awe, part fear.

You lean in, lips brushing his ear. “I need this.”

Clothes are tossed somewhere in the front seat—jacket, trousers, shirt, all lost to heat and haste. Your fingers fumble with his belt; he helps, hands shaking. You lift your hips, letting him drag your trousers down, your underwear already damp and sticking to your thighs. His knuckles brush the inside of your legs as he pulls them off, slow and reverent, then not-so-slow.

His fingers ghost along your inner thigh, then between your legs, slipping through slick heat. He exhales like it guts him.

“Still so wet for me,” he breathes, voice shredded. “How are you still so wet?”

You take his hand, guide his fingers to your lips, and suck your own slick clean. Your eyes on his the entire time. The sharp, guttural sound he makes is a reward in its own right.

The kiss that follow doesn’t end so much as it fractures. Broken by breath, by the heat of your thighs still spread over his lap, by the way your hips keep shifting like you haven’t quite had your fill.

Jun exhales sharply when you pull back. His mouth is swollen, his chest rising and falling like he ran a mile, and his hands—God, his hands—don’t stop touching you. One strokes your thigh, the other drifts higher, sliding back between your legs.

He groans, thumb dragging through your slick, and you shudder. “You always get like this,” he whispers, like it’s a secret meant only for you. “I touch you and you… fuck, you melt for me.”

You grind into his palm, voice already too hoarse to feign nonchalance. “Don’t pretend you’re in control right now.”

His eyes flick up, wide and wrecked. “I’m not,” he laughs. “Not even close.”

His fingers slip in. Two at once, with a stretch that makes your eyes flutter. You gasp, back arching, one arm braced against the seat in front of him as he starts to work you open. Slow. Deep. A rhythm that feels almost reverent, like he’s savoring this. Like he’s making up for every missed chance.

“So warm,” he grunts, forehead pressed to your collarbone. “So perfect.”

You reach down to find his cock still half-hard and twitching. Your fingers wrap around him, familiar with the way he likes to be touched, with how he reacts when you drag your thumb just under the head. He shudders. Moans. His hand falters inside you.

“Don’t—don’t do that,” he stammers.

You smile, sharp and smug. “Why not?” 

You jerk him slow, just enough to keep him on the edge. His eyes flutter. His mouth opens, breath catching on every exhale as your hand works him while his fingers fuck into you.

This is how it used to be, back when it was messy and undefined, back when you still pretended this didn’t mean something. His hands in your pants after a long day at work. Your mouth on him in a shared shower.  But this is different. Sharper. Hungrier. The way he looks at you now—it isn’t casual. It’s not temporary.

His lips graze your jaw. His voice cracks. “You feel so good,” he says, his words slurred with pleasure, “s-so good. I can’t think.” 

You lean closer, nipping at his throat. “Don’t think. Just give me your fingers.”

He does. He gives you everything. Curling deeper, pressing harder, stretching you out until you clench around him and gasp, nails digging into the side of his neck. “Shit,” you whisper. “There, please. Right there.”

He moans, like he’s the one being burned alive. His hips jerk up into your palm. “So polite,” he says affectionately, placing a quick kiss to your shoulder before going on, “You’re gonna come for me, baby? Huh? Just on my fingers?”

You grind down, breath punching out of you. The pleasure coils hot and fast in your stomach, that dizzy, electric pull that tells you you’re about to break. When you register that the old pet name had slipped out of him—baby—you shatter.

It hits you all at once. Tight, breathless, a wave crashing through your spine and curling your toes. Your moan rips through the silence, raw and wild, as you pulse around him.

Jun curses under his breath. Even as you climax, your hand hasn’t stopped moving. He trembles, thighs tight beneath you. “Fuck, stop, stop—please, I’ll come,” he pants. “I’ll come and I’m not inside you yet. Please.”

You still your hand, fingers flexing around the base of his cock. His hips twitch anyway, desperate. His head falls back against the seat, jaw slack, chest heaving.

You watch him. The boy you almost had. The man who’s trying not to lose you now.

“You good?” you ask, voice low. Fond. Worried. 

He nods, swallowing hard. “Barely,” he croaks. “Need you.”

You lean in, mouth grazing his. “You’ve got me,” you promise, and it’s the truest thing you’ve said all night. 

The second your hand lifts from his cock, Jun fumbles between your thighs with shaking fingers, lining himself up. His touch is clumsy, reverent, desperate. His breath hitches when the head of his cock drags against your slick, catching at your entrance.

“Fuck, yes,” he gasps, the sound raw, like he’s already too close.

You sink onto him in one motion.

It’s not graceful, not slow. It’s greedy.

Your body takes him deep, full, stretched wide around him in a single sharp thrust that leaves you both dazed. His head snaps back, mouth open in a moan that cuts off halfway, swallowed by the thud of your hips meeting. “Jesus Christ,” he chokes out. “You’re—fuck. Fuck. You’re perfect.”

Your nails dig into his shoulders, anchoring yourself. The leather creaks beneath your knees. You don’t wait, don’t answer. You ride him fast, rough, punishing—like you need him to feel just how badly you've wanted this.

His hands scramble to keep up, one sliding to your waist, the other gripping your thigh, then your ass, then back again. He can’t seem to pick where he wants to touch you, so he settles for everywhere.

“You’re taking me so good,” he groans, eyes flicking down to where you’re joined, completely lost in it. “So fucking deep. Missed this. Missed you.”

You grind down harder, pace unrelenting. “You missed me, or just my pussy?” you bite out, even as a moan escapes.

He laughs, broken and breathless. “Both. Don’t make me choose.”

You lean in and kiss him, open-mouthed and hungry, your teeth dragging against his bottom lip before you suck it into your mouth. His hands tighten, fingertips bruising. Your hips roll, bounce, grind. Every motion is intentional. Relentless. He’s twitching inside you already.

He lets out a strangled sound when you clench around him. “Trying to—hng—ruin me?” he whimpers, forehead pressed to yours.

“You’re doing that all on your own,” you exhale before chasing his lips. 

The car rocks. Windows fog. Sweat beads at your spine, your thighs, the crease of his neck where you bury your face to muffle a cry.

He’s fucking up into you now, meeting every downward slam of your hips with a thrust that has you seeing stars. His rhythm is messier than you remember, but it’s probably the moment. The setting. The reunion. 

“Gonna come,” he warns, voice wrecked. “Shit—baby, please.”

You pull back, lips brushing his ear. “Then do it,” you whisper. “Come—ah—inside me. Make a mess, baby.”

His whole body jerks. His fingers dig in. He groans deep in his chest like it hurts to hold on. You don’t let up.

Your pace gets rougher. Sloppier. He’s moaning, practically whimpering. The kind of sounds you’ve only ever pulled from him when he’s too far gone to pretend. “You sound wrecked,” you pant, dragging your nails down his chest. “You close, baby?”

He nods, dazed, unable to speak.

You fuck down harder. Grind meaner. Your clit drags against the base of him and your whole body tenses. It hits you without warning—full-body and sudden. Your orgasm crashes through you like a wave, ripping your breath away as your muscles seize around him.

He cries out, high and choked. His hips stutter. “Wait—wait, fuck, baby, stop—please,” he pleads, voice cracking. “Need this to last. Need to have you for longer.”

You freeze, panting against his mouth.

He’s trembling.

“Alright?” you ask.

He nods, frantic. “Yeah. Yeah. I just—don’t want this to end.”

You stroke his cheek, your body still sensitive in aftershocks.

He looks up at you, eyes glassy, lips kiss-bruised. “I used to dream about this,” he says, voice barely there. “After we... you know. Dreamt of having you again. But it never felt like this.”

“Like what?”

He swallows. “Like I could lose you if I didn’t hold on tight enough.”

The sincerity bowls you over, so you kiss him again. This time, you slow down. Not because you want to, but because you know you’re both too close to let it end like that.

Your next words are a tremble against his lips. “Don’t leave. Not this time."

“I won’t,” he answers without missing a beat.  

You don’t move for a moment. Just sit there, full of him, your body still trembling with aftershocks, hips twitching every few seconds like your muscles don’t know it’s over. Jun’s forehead rests against your sternum, his breath hot and uneven against your skin, his grip around your waist just this side of desperate.

You let it stretch. The quiet. The weight. The ache.

The car is still and humid, your skin sticking slightly where it meets his. All you can hear is the slow, syncopated rhythm of your breath tangled with his. Every now and then, your body clenches around him involuntarily, dragging tiny, startled sounds from both your throats.

After a couple of minutes, you start to move again. Just a slow, idle grind of your hips. Gentle. Lazy. The kind of roll that shouldn’t mean anything, but still makes you both react. A twitch from him. A flutter from you. You do it again. Then again. Just enough pressure. Just enough friction to keep you grounded in it.

He whimpers quietly, head tilting up to look at you through damp lashes. “This is torture.” 

You smile. Kiss his temple, almost laughingly. “I always did like making your life hard.” 

Jun huffs something like a laugh, more breath than voice. His hand curls around the back of your neck, thumb stroking over your pulse. The other traces down to your thigh, fingers dragging along the crease with slow reverence. You keep rocking gently, almost absentminded. Not fucking. Not chasing. Just—resting. Keeping him there. Letting him feel all of you, even in stillness.

It’s unfairly intimate, how your body fits against his like it remembers how. The arch of your spine molded to the shape of his chest, your forehead resting against the curve of his jaw, your hands cradling his face when you lift it.

His heartbeat pounds beneath your palm, too fast. Too vulnerable. “Can I…” he starts, voice cautious, almost shy.

You lift a brow. “Can you what?”

“Take some of the control. Just for a bit.”

It kills you. That he has to ask. That he still doesn’t think you’d give him the world. “Of course,” you say, the word murmured against the corner of his mouth. “Take me.” 

He doesn’t answer. His grip on your ass tightens, fingers digging into the supple fleshed. “Baby,” he says, wrecked and serious, “I’ve been dreaming of fucking you properly since the day I left.” 

Your teeth grazes his lips. “Do it, then,” you hum. 

And he does.

He plants his feet. Braces himself. Then lifts you slightly and thrusts up hard, cock dragging deep, unforgiving. The breath punches out of you like a hit. Your hands scramble for purchase on his shoulders, your head falling forward.

He does it again. And again. Brutal. Precise. Each upward slam meets the drag of your body grinding down, slick and hot and soaked with all the aftermath he’s still pulsing inside.

“That’s it,” he growls, his breath ragged. “Let me fuck you. Let me make you feel it.”

You let him.

You go pliant in his hands, let him chase the tempo, his rhythm messy but deep. Every thrust is a reminder of what you both lost and what he’s begging for now.

He fucks up into you like he’s trying to chase every unsaid apology down your spine. The car rocks with the motion. His arms strain with effort, sweat slipping between your bodies, your skin slapping wetly together with every filthy thrust.

“You’re unreal,” he moans. “So good. So fucking good. I forgot how you feel. I forgot how you sound when I—”

“You didn’t forget,” you cut in, panting. “You just—hng—thought you could survive without it.”

He whines at that. Literally whines. You tighten around him and his hips stutter.

The pressure rises again. Slower this time. No sharp edge. Just steady, building tension in your core. Your muscles twitch with each thrust, your chest pressed to his, damp and heaving.

Jun kisses you hard, tongue hot and desperate. “I wanna feel you come again,” he begs against your mouth. “Please. Please, baby. One more. Give it to me."

You nod, but it’s not conscious. Your body answers before your mouth can.

It crashes into you, serrated and mean. Your third orgasm claws through your nerves, your thighs clamping down around his waist as you cry out into his neck. It’s overwhelming. Scalding. Your body trembles, every inch of you unraveling in his hands.

That’s all he needs. He groans, deep and undone, shoving into you one last time and staying there. His whole body goes tight, shakes. You cup his face. Make him look at you.

The thought occurs to you for the nth time: Jun is so pretty when he comes. 

Even if he does it with a raw, wounded sound. He pulses deep inside you, buried as far as he can get, and you swear you can feel him shaking with it. Like it guts him. Like it saves him.

He clings to you afterward. Breathing hard. Drenched and unraveled.

You don’t say anything. You just stay. Let him hold you. Let him come back to you, slowly but surely.

Because this time, he isn’t running. And for once, neither are you.

The next morning, though, you wake to the absence of weight.

That’s the first thing you notice.

The second is the shape of your own anxiety, curling low in your chest, familiar as a bad habit. The other side of the bed is empty. The sheets are rumpled and cooling. There’s a single long strand of hair caught in the pillowcase. Not yours.

For a moment, you just stare at it. Then you look around. Bedroom door open. A thin shaft of light bleeds in from the hallway.

You don’t call out. You don’t move. You just go very, very still.

This is, after all, a familiar pattern. Boy meets girl. Boy runs away. Girl pretends she doesn’t notice until it’s convenient to feel something about it. The air smells like sex and detergent. The ceiling has a crack in it that you keep forgetting to report to the landlord. Your throat is dry.

Then Jun reappears.

Towel low on his hips, toothbrush in hand. He stops short in the doorway, mid-step, and you watch the exact moment he realizes what his absence must’ve looked like. The moment the air shifts. The look on your face must be something, because his shoulders drop in a slow exhale and his voice goes soft.

“Hey. I didn’t leave,” he says, swallowing his toothpaste—what a fucking psycho—before setting his tooth brush on to the nearest flat surface. “Just went to brush my teeth."

You raise an eyebrow. Try to mask the little betrayal that had already crept in. “You know, most people announce their morning survival before disappearing,” you say. “It’s customary.” 

Jun winces. “You’re right. I should’ve said something. I just didn’t want to wake you.”

You sit up, sheets falling to your waist. Your body aches in a way that feels earned. Your hair is a mess after the two, maybe three rounds that you and Jun had when he fell into your bed last night. You don’t care enough to hide the overthinking.

“You could’ve left a note,” you say. Half-serious, half-joking. “Or a sock on the door. A smoke signal.”

He laughs, crosses to the side of the bed. Drops the towel a little lower on purpose, the menace. “Noted. Next time I disappear into the bathroom, I’ll launch a full PR campaign.”

You narrow your eyes. “See that you do.”

His hand lifts to your face, thumb dragging just under your cheekbone. “I’m here,” he says, plain and simple as a promise. And he means it.

Maybe it’s stupid that you believe him. Maybe it’s messier than it should be, that you’re even in this place, in this bed, with this boy again.

But his hand is warm. His mouth is soft when he kisses your forehead. And when he climbs back in bed to hold you to him, you don’t say no. 

It’s a Saturday, so the two of you let the sun climb high enough to slice through your blinds. You’d move, but Jun is draped over you like a weighted blanket with abandonment issues. It’s clingy in a way that would be annoying if it weren’t also stupidly comforting. 

His leg is thrown across yours. His arm is a dead weight on your stomach. He smells like your shampoo and the faint citrus of your soap, and the whole thing is either domestic bliss or a very elaborate trap.

His fingers are tucked into the curve of your hip, not moving, just there. A quiet claim. As if anchoring himself will stop time or stop you from thinking of endings.

You’re not even annoyed, which is suspicious. You should be cataloging all the reasons this is a bad idea. Cross-department entanglements, your no-office-romance policy (written internally, unspoken externally), the sheer HR nightmare of it all. Instead, you’re memorizing the rhythm of his breathing.

“So,” he says after a long moment, voice still scratchy with sleep, mouth near your collarbone, "they offered me a job."

You blink at the ceiling. The fan clicks. One of the blades wobbles slightly. “‘They’ being The Carat Company.”

He nods into your shoulder. You feel the curve of his smile before you see it. It’s smug and sleepy and dangerous—a combination that should come with a warning label.

You hum. Neutral. “That’s… a choice.”

Jun shifts. Enough to glance up at you, catching your expression with lazy amusement. It’s probably somewhere between polite support and visible internal shrieking. “Wow,” he murmurs. “You are doing an excellent job of pretending that doesn’t horrify you."

You sigh, staring at the water-stained patch on your ceiling. “I just think our HR department is one passive-aggressive email away from imploding, and I’m not sure I want to share a copier with someone who’s seen me naked.”

He chuckles. Kisses your shoulder. “That’s fair. But relax. I’m not taking it.”

You pause. Blink. Turn your head just enough to catch his face. “You’re not?”

He shakes his head, pulling back slightly, grinning like a man who knows he’s about to get a dramatic reaction. You squint at him. "So?"

“Sebong offered me something better.”

Record scratch. Full stop. You sit up slightly, sheet dragging across your chest. “Sebong Corporation? Our most flamboyant and passive-aggressive rival?”

“The very same.”

You purse your lips. “The one that sent us cupcakes during Q3 just to say ‘Sorry about your metrics’?”

Jun grins. “A plus for petty. But yeah, they want me.”

“You’re going corporate spy now? Love that for you,” you jab. “Can you wear a wire to our next team sync?"

He shrugs, undeterred by your sarcasm as a coping mechanism. “They offered better pay, better benefits. Free espresso on every floor.”

You make a sound of mock envy. “Now you’re just bragging.”

“I am,” he adds, with that soft arrogance only he can pull off without getting slapped. “I think I’m gonna take it.”

“Why?”

He looks at you with the kind of gaze that burns just a little. Like he’s searching for a permission he already knows you’ll give. Then he says it. The same thing he said when he waltzed back into your life, self-assured and saccharine. 

“It’s the best, isn’t it?” Jun says. “And I always want the best.”

You roll your eyes so hard your ancestors probably feel it. But something in your chest stutters. This time, the words land different. Softer. Honest in a way that makes your ribs ache.

He’s making a concession. He’s doing something to make this, make the two of you, possible. 

He’s calling you something he wants, and calling you the best, in the same breath.  

Jun leans in, presses his forehead to yours, nose brushing yours like an apology. When he kisses you, it tastes like toothpaste and devotion. And also maybe like something terrifyingly close to commitment.

You lie there for a while. Wrapped in warmth and silence and the complicated calculus of wanting things that feel big and breakable. Like him. Like this. Like futures you haven’t even said out loud yet.

At some point, Jun shifts behind you, arms tightening around your middle. His chin rests in the crook of your neck, breath brushing your skin.

“You okay with it?” he asks.

You shrug. “I mean, it’s marginally better than you working across the hall from me and flirting over the printer queue.”

“We’d both get nothing done.”

“Exactly. Chaos.”

Jun kisses the back of your shoulder again. It’s like he can’t stop kissing you, like he can’t believe he can do it all again. Somewhere in the quiet that follows, your brain writes the paperwork.

--

This Employment Contract (“Agreement”) is made between Wen Junhui (“Boyfriend”), and you.

WHEREAS the Boyfriend agrees to remain shirtless in your apartment at least three mornings per week, and to bring the good coffee whenever you run out;

WHEREAS emotional transparency shall be upheld with the same rigor as quarterly reporting, including but not limited to: post-sex vulnerability, Sunday-night anxiety debriefs, and one (1) designated safe word for moments of self-sabotage;

WHEREAS both parties are permitted one (1) bad take per fiscal quarter, to be gently corrected and never mentioned again;

THEREFORE, both parties agree to exclusive rights to back scratches, late-night ramen runs, shared Spotify queues, and slow dancing in the kitchen when neither of you feels like cooking;

FURTHERMORE, cuddling shall not be used as a diversion tactic during emotionally intense conversations, unless unanimously approved by both parties in advance.

Effective immediately. Benefits include forehead kisses, a stupid amount of texting, sleeping on opposite sides but always ending up tangled, emergency ice cream runs, and never having to go to office parties alone.