Genre- Strangers to Lovers, Fluff and Angst, Mutual Pinning
Synopsis- At three in the morning, the world feels a little quieter. For you, it’s the only time you can escape the exhaustion of your job and the expectations that come with the day. For him, it’s the only time he gets to exist without being watched.
Word Count- 3k
Playlist- Plastic Palm Trees(Tate McRae)
The world was a bitch.
A bitch that poked, nagged, and worked new hires to the point where they could collapse from pure exhaustion.
It was around 2:40 AM when you finally looked up from your computer, only to be met with the sight of an office that was completely deserted and almost pitch black. Everyone had gone home hours ago, but for some ungodly reason, you—the new hire of only two weeks—had been left with the workload of three managers and a deadline that could honestly be considered workplace harassment.
You leaned back in your chair, letting your muscles finally relax after hours of being forced into the same uncomfortable position. Even then, they continued to scream in protest from the sheer physical strain they had been under.
Slowly, you stood from your desk and dragged yourself toward the break room, remembering the lunch you had brought with you that morning. A lunch you had packed with the foolish thought that you would actually have time to eat at some point during the day.
Your stomach ached with hunger, but even it seemed too exhausted to complain anymore.
Something else that should be mentioned was that the majority of your office—despite working for a high-end company that paid fairly well—were somehow the biggest group of cheapskates to ever grace an office building.
Which, of course, included the mysterious disappearance of anything remotely edible if you left it unattended.
And unfortunately, by the time that thought crossed your mind, it was already too late.
Your lunch was gone.
Along with whatever small amount of sanity you had left.
“Oh my god… this is it. This is where I die,” you whispered dramatically to yourself as you made your way back to your desk, grabbing your things and preparing to finally leave in a fit of anger.
The amount of rage running through your bloodstream was almost impressive. You were so annoyed that you barely even registered where your feet were taking you until you found yourself standing outside a convenience store at 3 AM, a few blocks away from your apartment.
The bright artificial lights of the store burned your tired eyes, almost as if they were mocking you.
You couldn’t even remember why you had come here in the first place.
Seriously, you should be at home sleeping. Resting. Recovering before waking up and doing the exact same thing all over again—only to get ignored when you asked if anyone knew where the stapler was.
You covered your face with your hands and let out a long, defeated sigh.
“What am I doing with my life?” you questioned out loud, staring at the glowing store in front of you.
You stared at the convenience store for a few more seconds, debating whether going inside was even worth it. The rational part of your brain reminded you that you had work in a few hours and that standing outside a convenience store at three in the morning while having an existential crisis probably wasn’t the healthiest use of your already limited sleep schedule.
But the louder part of your brain—the one that had just worked a fourteen-hour shift, survived purely on caffeine, and lost the only thing keeping it alive —won.
With a tired sigh, you pushed open the glass doors.
The small bell above the entrance chimed, and the warmth from inside immediately hit you. It wasn’t anything special, but after spending hours under the cold, lifeless office lights, the soft glow of the convenience store almost felt comforting. It was simple. Quiet. Normal. Something your day had been missing.
You dragged yourself toward the instant noodles, staring blankly at the options in front of you like choosing between different flavors was somehow the most difficult decision you had ever faced.
“You look like you’re about to fight the ramen section.”
The sudden voice made you freeze.
You turned around to see a guy standing a few feet away, a drink in one hand and a small look of amusement on his face. He had a hoodie pulled over his head, covering most of his face, but you could still see the tired expression in his eyes.
You blinked.
“Sorry?”
He gestured toward the shelves.
“You’ve been staring at those noodles for like five minutes.”
You glanced back at the noodles.
Then back at him.
Then back at the noodles again.
“Wow.”
You placed a hand over your chest dramatically.
“Not only am I sleep deprived, but now I’m being judged by a stranger at a convenience store.”
The corner of his mouth lifted slightly.
“I didn’t say anything about judging.”
“Your eyes did.”
“My eyes?”
“Yes.”
He looked genuinely confused.
“That’s impressive.”
You narrowed your eyes at him.
“Are you making fun of me?”
“Maybe a little.”
For some reason, that made you laugh.
A real laugh.
The first one you’d had all day.
The guy looked slightly surprised, like he hadn’t expected to actually get one out of you. Maybe he wasn’t used to people laughing at his jokes, or maybe he just didn’t expect someone as exhausted as you to still have the energy to.
After a moment, his expression softened.
“You okay though?”
The question caught you off guard.
Not because someone asked.
Because nobody had.
Not your coworkers. Not your manager. Not even yourself.
You opened your mouth, ready to give the automatic response. The easy one everyone used when they didn’t want to explain how they were really feeling.
I’m fine.
But for some reason, under the bright lights of a random convenience store at three in the morning, you couldn’t bring yourself to lie.
“No.”
Your voice came out quieter than expected.
“No, actually. I’m really not.”
His expression changed slightly, becoming softer.
You immediately looked away, suddenly embarrassed.
“Sorry. I don’t know why I said that. I don’t usually trauma dump on random strangers.”
“You didn’t.”
He shrugged casually.
“Sometimes it’s easier to tell someone you’ll never see again.”
You looked back at him.
“Are you speaking from experience?”
There was a pause.
Then he nodded.
“Maybe.”
The two of you stood there in comfortable silence, and somehow, for the first time all day, the silence didn’t feel heavy.
It felt peaceful.
A few minutes later, you found yourself sitting outside the store with a cup of ramen between your hands, the steam slowly disappearing into the cold night air. You didn’t even remember agreeing to sit with him. It just happened naturally, like the universe had decided you both needed a moment away from everything else.
“So,” he said, leaning back slightly. “Do you always come here at three in the morning?”
You looked at him.
“Are you asking because you’re judging me?”
“No.”
“Because you’re here too.”
That made him laugh softly.
“Fair.”
You smiled slightly.
“I guess we’re both losers who can’t sleep.”
He looked down at his drink.
“Maybe.”
The two of you didn’t exchange much personal information that night. Not names. Not jobs. Not anything that could make things complicated.
Just small things.
Favourite snacks.
Songs you hated.
Things that annoyed you.
Random thoughts that only made sense at three in the morning.
And somehow, it was enough.
When you finally stood up to leave, you realized you felt lighter.
Not fixed.
Just lighter.
The guy watched as you grabbed your bag.
“See you tomorrow?”
The question slipped out before he could stop it.
You smiled.
“Are you saying you want to see me again?”
He immediately looked away.
“No.”
A small pause.
“Maybe.”
You laughed.
“See you tomorrow.”
And you did.
Every night.
-
It became a routine.
Three in the morning.
The same convenience store.
The same little table outside.
The same two people pretending they weren’t waiting for each other.
You learned little things about him.
That he liked quiet places.
That he worked late.
That he loved music.
That he hated talking about himself.
You never asked too much.
And he never offered.
It was strange.
You had known him for months, but you didn’t even know his full name. You didn’t know what he actually did, why his schedule was always so unpredictable, or why he sometimes disappeared for days without explanation.
You just knew that when three in the morning came around, you looked forward to seeing him.
Until one night, you waited.
And waited.
The clock on your phone changed from 3:15 to 3:30.
Then 4:00.
The convenience store lights stayed on, glowing the same way they always did. The doors opened and closed. People came and went.
But he never walked through them.
You told yourself he was probably busy.
Or tired.
Or maybe something had come up.
So you came back the next night.
And the next.
And the next.
Each time convincing yourself it would be different. That eventually he would show up with that same tired expression and a drink in his hand, acting like he hadn’t made you worry.
But he didn’t.
The seat across from you stayed empty.
Slowly, you stopped looking at the door every time the bell rang.
You stopped checking the time.
You stopped buying two drinks.
Until one day, you realized you had finally stopped waiting.
And somehow, that hurt more than you expected.
-
The first thing he noticed was the silence.
Not the peaceful kind, but the kind that felt heavy. The kind that only existed after everyone had left the studio and the only sound filling the room was the quiet hum of the computers still running. He stared at the screen in front of him, the same eight lines of lyrics sitting unfinished for the past hour while the melody played softly through his headphones. It was good, at least he thought it was, but something about it felt incomplete. Like there was a missing piece he couldn’t find.
He leaned back in his chair, rubbing his tired eyes as he looked around the empty studio.
Everyone else had gone home hours ago. The other members had tried convincing him to leave too, telling him he was going to sleep in the studio again and that it wasn’t healthy. He remembered laughing it off, pretending it didn’t bother him, but the truth was that sometimes he didn’t even realize how late he stayed until everyone else was gone.
Everyone knew he worked late because he cared about music. They knew he pushed himself because he wanted everything to be perfect. They knew the version of him that stood on stage under bright lights and performed in front of thousands of people.
But knowing someone and understanding someone were two completely different things. Sometimes, after the lights turned off and the cheers faded, he was just tired. Not physically, but in a way that sleep couldn’t fix.
His eyes returned to the lyrics on his screen, and he almost laughed when he realized what he had been writing. A love song. He hadn’t even noticed it at first. He had started with a simple idea—a late night, a quiet place, someone who made the world feel less overwhelming—and somehow it had turned into something else entirely.
He eventually closed his laptop and grabbed his things, deciding that staying any longer wouldn’t help. His phone buzzed beside him with another reminder about tomorrow’s schedule, another recording, another meeting, another thing he needed to do. His life was planned down to the minute, and sometimes he wondered if there was any part of it that belonged only to him.
Instead of going straight home, his feet carried him somewhere else.
A convenience store.
Three in the morning.
He didn’t know why he came there. Maybe it was because it was the only place still awake with him. Maybe because nobody looked at him twice. Here, he wasn’t an idol, a producer, or someone people expected things from. He was just a tired guy buying a drink in a store that was too bright for the middle of the night.
The bell above the door rang as he entered, and that was when he saw you.
You were standing in front of the instant noodles, staring at the shelves with the most exhausted expression he had ever seen. It looked like you were having a serious argument with them, and for some reason, it made him smile.
Before he could stop himself, he spoke.
“You look like you’re about to fight the ramen section.”
You turned around, clearly caught off guard. “Sorry?”
He pointed toward the shelves. “You’ve been staring at them for a while.”
Your expression immediately changed. “You were watching me?”
He froze slightly.
“Wow,” you said, placing a hand over your chest dramatically. “Not only am I having the worst day of my life, but now I’m being judged by a stranger at a convenience store.”
He stared at you for a second before laughing quietly. He didn’t expect you to be funny. He didn’t expect you to make him laugh at all.
“I wasn’t judging.”
“Your eyes were.”
“My eyes?”
“Yes.”
He tilted his head, genuinely confused. “That’s impressive.”
“Are you making fun of me?”
“Maybe a little.”
He expected you to be offended, but instead you laughed. And something about that sound stayed with him.
Later, when the two of you sat outside the store eating ramen, he realized something strange. He didn’t feel completely exhausted anymore. The stress was still there, the schedules and expectations still existed, but for a little while, they felt far away.
You didn’t ask him questions he didn’t want to answer. You didn’t ask about his life or why he was awake at three in the morning. You just talked. About your awful day, your missing lunch, your coworkers, and all the little things that somehow felt important in the quiet of the night.
When you finally stood up to leave, he found himself asking without thinking, “See you tomorrow?”
The words slipped out before he could stop them.
You looked back at him with a small smile. “Are you saying you want to see me again?”
He looked away, suddenly embarrassed.
“No.”
A pause.
“Maybe.”
You laughed.
And then you left.
But the next night, he went back.
And you were there.
-
It became a habit.
Three in the morning. The same convenience store. The same little table outside. The same person waiting for him.
The girl from the convenience store.
He never understood how someone he barely knew could become such an important part of his life. You didn’t know about his schedules. You didn’t know why he sometimes disappeared for days. You didn’t know why his phone constantly went off or why he looked so tired.
You just knew him.
And somehow, that was the part that scared him.
Everyone else loved the version of him he showed them, the version that performed and smiled and always seemed to have everything together. But you liked the person he was when nobody was watching.
He started writing more after meeting you. At first, he told himself it was because he needed inspiration. Because he was a songwriter. Because music was what he did.
But eventually, he had to admit that every song somehow became about you.
The warmth of the convenience store lights at three in the morning. The sound of your laugh. The way you complained about everything but still smiled. The way you seemed less tired when you were with him.
He even started remembering small things, like your favourite drink and the snack you always bought.
And the worst part?
He liked it.
-
Then the announcement came.
Tour.
Months of schedules, different cities, different countries. Everyone congratulated him. Everyone was excited, and he was too. He loved performing. He loved music. But there was one thought he couldn’t get rid of.
You.
He sat in the studio after everyone had left again, but this time he wasn’t writing. He was thinking back to the last thing you said to him the night before.
“See you tomorrow night?”
His chest tightened.
He should tell you.
He knew that.
He should explain that he wasn’t just someone who worked late, that his life was more complicated than what you saw at three in the morning. But every time he tried, he didn’t know how.
How could he explain that the person you knew was only one part of him?
He told himself he would tell you the next night.
Then the next.
Until suddenly, there was no next night.
The day of the flight came too quickly. Everything moved at once—staff, members, luggage, schedules, cameras. Before he knew it, he was gone.
The first night away, he expected to miss the convenience store.
He didn’t expect it to feel like something was missing from him.
He looked at the time.
3:00 AM.
His first instinct was to grab his hoodie and leave. Find somewhere quiet. Go back to the place where everything felt normal.
But he couldn’t.
He was thousands of miles away.
And you were probably sitting at that little table.
Waiting.
The thought made his stomach twist.
He opened his phone and searched for your name, only to realize something painful.
He never asked for your number.
He knew your favourite snack. He knew your coffee order. He knew the name of the coworker who annoyed you most.
But he didn’t know how to reach you.
He had written songs about someone whose life he didn’t even have access to.
So he waited.
Thinking he would see you again.
Thinking he would explain.
Thinking there was still time.
Until he came home.
And when he finally returned to that convenience store…
The seat across from him was empty.
a/n - Life is unpredictable, enjoy everything you have in the moment to its fullest
Hi, I’m Cherish and I got into k-pop back around 2023-2024. I’m a massive fan of seventeen, Nct, Ateez, and genuinely so many other groups😭 I’m a massive multistan and listen to almost everything. I also really enjoy artists like Tate Mcare, the neighborhood, and still woozy.
I’m also a big fan of both J-pop and anime, with Ado and Sheena Ringo as-well as XG being my favorites and as shows, I like Haikyu and One piece.
I’m definitely still improving with my writing style, but I hope that my work is still good🥹
I’m genuinely so inconsistent with my posting but with summer coming up I think I’ll be able to post a lot more. I seriously run out of writing ideas and so requests are always my favorite to write.
I hope that you all like my delusions packaged into words and enjoy your time on my blog!
Rockstar!Jay and you had been public for quite a while—of course you were. How could you not be? The Korean rising star and his longtime manager, the woman who had worked with him since before his debut, who had been in the room when he signed his very first record deal, and who had watched from just a step behind as he rose to international fame.
“You’re really never alone, are you?” a host once joked during an interview, glancing between the two of you.
Jay laughed, easy and familiar. “Nope. She’d probably haunt me if I tried.”
You rolled your eyes from your seat just off-camera. “That’s called doing my job.”
In the eyes of the fans, you and Rockstar!Jay were like siblings—always beside each other, always moving in sync. If he stopped, you stopped. If he laughed, you were already smiling. It was something people noticed almost immediately after his global breakthrough.
“Are they attached at the hip?” one fan commented during a livestream.
Jay squinted at the screen. “Huh?”
Another comment flashed by: Blink twice if your manager is your soulmate.
He groaned. “You guys are ridiculous.”
Of course, the casual once-in-a-while fan edit would pop up—slow-motion clips of you handing him a mic, fixing his jacket collar, leaning in to whisper something just before he went on stage. Or maybe even a Reddit thread titled r/JayxY/ncanon?, gaining traction as fans poured in with their own theories and rumors.
User#1
Apparently they were spotted holding hands in Sydney when he was there for his tour last October!
┆
╰⪼ User#2
Nah, apparently that was just some random couple. Plus, they’re just friends.
┆
╰⪼ User#3
OMG I heard about that too 😭 and though I think they would be cute together, they really do just seem like friends 🤷♂️
Rockstar!Jay had been asked time and time again if you both were together, as he always said the same thing.
“She’s my best friend,” he said when someone on his live had (once again) asked if you were together.“She’s seen me at my worst and my best, it just makes sense that we’re so close you know? Not to mention she’s my manager”
When fans spotted you at a mall abroad and asked about your relationship with Rockstar!Jay, phones already raised, you simply responded,
“When people have been around each other for so long, it just kind of happens, right?” you said, offering a calm but charming smile.
“Does that mean you’re dating?” someone pressed.
You laughed softly. “That means we’re busy.”
To the public—or at least to most—you were simply an artist and his longtime manager and friend.
But what most didn’t know was what Rockstar!Jay's relationship with you was really like…
Nobody knows how Rockstar!Jay pulls you away halfway through rehearsals just to kiss you senseless against a janitorial closet at the end of a quiet hallway. When you both return from a “business talk” looking a little flushed, your hair slightly more tousled than before, you can practically feel the knowing smiles burning into your backs. No one says a word, but everyone knows.
Rockstar!Jay, who one night backstage, scrolling through his phone between sets, suddenly snorts.
“Sydney, huh?”
You don’t even bother looking up from your phone. “I told you wearing the same rings was a bad idea.”
“They were accessories,” he defends. “The stylists picked them.”
“Sure,” you say dryly. “And the hand-holding?”
He pauses, thumb hovering over his screen. “…Crowds were intense.”
You roll your eyes, but he’s already grinning at you—soft, fond, the kind he only ever wears when it’s just the two of you. He nudges your knee with his boot, pinky hooking around yours like it’s second nature, like he forgets sometimes that you’re supposed to be careful.
Rockstar!Jay always wrote songs about you. It was one of the main reasons people assumed he was dating someone—because when he had tracks like “So in Love” and “I’m Yours” credited solely under his name, it felt almost too obvious to ignore.
What most people didn’t get to see in the “Making Of” videos, though, was what happened off-camera: Jay stretched out across the hotel bed with his head resting in your lap, humming unfinished melodies while scribbling lyrics he’d written on a whim. The room was always quiet then, the kind of silence that only existed between people who didn’t need to fill it.
Sometimes, after a shower, you’d sit on the edge of the bed, gently towel-drying his hair as he settled between your legs, guitar balanced loosely in his hands. His voice would soften as he played, singing a slow, intimate rendition of Bon Jovi’s “Always,” like the song was meant for only one listener.
Those moments never made it into interviews or behind-the-scenes clips. They stayed tucked away in hotel rooms, late nights, and melodies the world would hear—without ever knowing who they were truly written for.
Rockstar!Jay, who is the main reason you’re both always late for early schedules. You tell everyone he sleeps in and never answers his phone, but the truth is most mornings are spent with his bare chest pressed to your back, his arm heavy around your waist. He traces lazy shapes into your naked hips, presses absentminded kisses along your shoulder, murmuring sweet nothings into your hair like the world doesn’t exist outside the room.
“Jay,” you groan, voice still rough with sleep.
“Hmm?” His lips brush your temple.
“We have to leave right now if we want to make it to the shoot on time.” You try to pry his arm from your waist.
Instead, he tightens his hold, pulls you closer, and whispers into your ear,
“Five more minutes.”
“You said that ten minutes ago…”
He just laughs quietly, burying his face into your neck, like being late is worth it if it means staying wrapped around you a little longer.
(You don’t end up making it on time.)
Later, when you’re both scolded separately and pretend not to meet each other’s eyes across the room, he still finds a way to brush his fingers against yours in passing—quick, hidden, reassuring. Like a promise that no matter how chaotic things get, you’re still his, and he’s still yours.
DO NOT COPY, TRANSLATE, USE AI TO ALTER, OR REPOST ON OTHER SCOCIALS WITHOUT CONSENT, ALL RIGHTS BELONG TO @cherish-n-cherries on tumbler
i loved your fwb!hwa work, i was wondering if i could request you to make a hongjoong version? same frat? college bf or fwb? whatever you feel with hongjoong bc he has been getting to me lately haha
First of all thank you so much for saying that you liked my work it seriously means so much to me😭😭. I also wanted to apologize for how long it took me to respond to you, for some reason I could just not get the story right and what I ended up publishing is probably like the third draft I was actually considering writing for Hongjoong when you requested this so it was perfect timing🥹❤️
|atz m.list|Navigation|Taglist sign up|Requests are open!|
Fwb!Hongjoong was a name you’d already heard long before you ever met him. Honestly, how could you not?
Kim Hongjoong. The leader of the ATZ frat house. Head of the student council. Rugby captain who’s carried the team to back-to-back championship wins. The campus “Golden Boy.” The same guy who throws ridiculously extravagant parties right before midterms… and somehow never faces consequences.
And if you’re wondering how he gets away with it?
It’s painfully simple.
He’s unfairly good-looking.
Fwb!Hongjoong who also happens to be your current situationship/Fwb.
It was a Friday night, and the last thing you wanted was to leave your room. Moonlight poured in through the window while you sat curled up in bed, a book in your hands, wrapped in a blanket and wearing your comfiest sweatpants. There was no way you were giving up this perfect little haven of peace and quiet.
The thought settled in your mind like a firm motto, right up until your phone started buzzing, snapping you out of it.
Fwb!Hongjoong whose name lit up your screen in bold letters, the contact photo a stupidly attractive candid shot you had taken of him without him noticing, head tilted back in laughter, hair falling into his eyes.
Hongjoong🐿️:
You coming tonight?
You stared at the message longer than necessary, thumb hovering over the keyboard. You already knew what “tonight” meant. It always meant the same thing—loud music, dim lights, his hand finding yours in a crowded room like it belonged there.
You sighed, dropping your head back against the headboard.
Peace and quiet, or Kim Hongjoong?
…Unfair choice.
You:
Wasn’t planning on it.
The typing bubble appeared almost instantly.
Hongjoong🐿️:
Don’t be like that.
I’ll come get you.
You huffed out a quiet laugh, shaking your head.
Of course he would.
—
Fwb!Hongjoong who didn’t take no for an answer, apparently.
You barely had time to change out of your sweats before there was a knock on your door. Three short taps that you’d come to recognize far too well.
Opening it, you were met with him leaning casually against the frame, hands in his pockets like he hadn’t just driven across campus at nearly midnight.
“Hi,” he said simply, like this was normal.
Your eyes narrowed. “You’re annoying.”
“And yet you opened the door,” he countered, stepping inside without waiting for permission.
Typical.
You crossed your arms. “I told you I wasn’t going.”
“And I told you I’d come get you.” His gaze flicked over you, taking in your outfit. It was simple, comfortable, not party-ready in the slightest. His lips twitched. “You can stay like that. You look good.”
Heat crept up your neck, and you hated how easy it was for him to do that.
“This isn’t a date, hongjoong,” you reminded, grabbing your jacket anyway.
“I know,” he said quickly—too quickly. “It’s just… you coming to a party.”
There was something off in his tone, but you didn’t push it.
Not yet.
—
Fwb!Hongjoong who, for some reason, didn’t leave your side that entire night.
At first, you brushed it off. He was the host, after all. It totally made sense he’d stick close, make sure you were having a good time.
But then his hand settled on your waist.
And stayed there.
And every time someone tried to talk to you, he was suddenly there—leaning in, inserting himself into the conversation, steering you away before it could go anywhere.
“Hongjoong,” you muttered under your breath, tugging his sleeve as he pulled you toward the kitchen, “what are you doing?”
“What?” he blinked, like he genuinely didn’t understand.
“You’ve been glued to me all night.”
His grip tightened slightly at your waist. “So?”
“So?” you echoed, incredulous. “Since when do you care who I talk to?”
His jaw ticked, eyes flickering away for a split second before returning to you.
“I don’t,” he said, but it came out clipped. “I just—those guys were clearly hitting on you.”
You let out a short laugh. “And?”
“And—” He stopped himself, running a hand through his hair in frustration. “Nothing.”
There it was again.
Something off.
You stepped back slightly, forcing space between you. “Hongjoong.”
He looked at you, brows furrowed.
“We’re not—” you gestured between the two of you, “—this.”
The words hung heavier than you intended.
His expression shifted, something guarded slipping into place.
“I know what we are,” he said quietly.
“Do you?” you challenged, softer now but firm. “Because this—” you nodded toward where he’d been standing practically wrapped around you all night, “—isn’t part of the deal.”
—
Fwb!Hongjoong and you had an agreement.
It had been simple.
No strings.
No expectations.
No jealousy.
Just late nights, quiet mornings, and the unspoken understanding that it didn’t mean anything more.
You had even joked about it once, lying tangled in his sheets, his arm lazily draped over your waist.
“No catching feelings,” you had said, poking his chest.
He had smirked, catching your hand. “You sound worried.”
“I’m serious,” you insisted. “The second it gets complicated, we’re done.”
He had studied you for a moment before nodding.
“Fine,” he agreed. “No feelings.”
A pause.
“…But you’re still staying the night, right?”
You rolled your eyes.
“Obviously.”
—
Fwb!Hongjoong who was now very clearly breaking that agreement.
“You’re acting like you have a say in who I talk to,” you continued, your voice quieter now, but steady. “You don’t.”
His lips parted like he wanted to argue… but nothing came out.
Because he knew you were right.
“You don’t get to be jealous,” you added, softer this time. “That’s not what this is.”
Silence stretched between you, thick and uncomfortable.
Then—
“I don’t like it.”
Your breath caught slightly.
“What?”
“I don’t like it,” he repeated, voice low, eyes locked onto yours now. “I don’t like other people looking at you like that. Talking to you like that. Acting like they have a chance when—”
He cut himself off, exhaling sharply.
“When what?” you pressed.
His hand flexed at his side.
“When I—” he started, then stopped again, like the words physically refused to come out.
You felt your chest tighten.
“Hongjoong…”
He laughed under his breath, but there was no humor in it. “This is exactly why we said no feelings.”
Your heart skipped.
“Joong please.”
“I tried,” he admitted, finally looking at you fully, all walls gone now. “I really did.”
The noise of the party faded into the background, like the two of you were in your own separate space.
“But every time you walk into a room, I notice,” he continued, voice quieter. “Every time someone else talks to you, I hate it. And every time you leave in the morning like it’s nothing…” He shook his head slightly. “It’s not nothing to me.”
Your throat went dry.
“You weren’t supposed to—”
“I know,” he cut in gently. “I know I wasn’t.”
A pause.
Then, softer—
“But I did.”
Your chest tightened painfully.
“I’m in love with you.”
The words landed heavy, real, irreversible.
“And yeah,” he added, almost bitterly, “I know that wasn’t part of the deal.”
Silence.
Your move now.
And for the first time since this whole thing started…
Nothing about this felt simple anymore.
Fwb!Hongjoong whose confession didn’t get the answer he was hoping for.
Not because you didn’t feel anything.
But because you felt too much.
—
You didn’t reply that night.
Not really.
You muttered something half-formed, something about needing time, about not expecting that—and then you left before he could say anything else.
And after that?
You avoided him.
Fwb!Hongjoong who suddenly found you nowhere.
No late-night texts.
No “you up?” messages.
No quiet mornings tangled in his sheets.
Just silence.
At first, he told himself you just needed space.
Then a few days passed.
Then a week.
And suddenly, everywhere he went, you were just… gone.
If he walked into a room, you walked out.
If he showed up at your usual café, you stopped going.
If your phone lit up with his name, you didn’t answer.
It was driving him insane.
—
Fwb!Hongjoong who wasn’t used to being ignored.
Especially not by you.
—
“Dude, you look like shit.”
He shot a glare at Seonghwa from across the frat house kitchen. “Thanks.”
“I’m serious,” Seonghwa continued, leaning against the counter. “Did you piss her off or something?”
Hongjoong scoffed, running a hand through his hair. “I told her how I felt.”
“…Oh.”
“Yeah,” he muttered. “Oh.”
Seonghwa winced slightly. “And?”
“And now she’s acting like I don’t exist.”
That… stung more than he expected.
—
Fwb!Hongjoong who finally saw you again.
At one of his parties.
Of course.
Because of all places, you showed up here.
And not alone.
—
The music was loud, bass vibrating through the floors as bodies moved under dim lights—but none of that mattered the second he saw you.
Standing near the drinks table.
Laughing.
With someone else.
His jaw tightened instantly.
The guy leaned in closer to say something in your ear, and you smiled was soft, easy, familiar.
Something ugly twisted in his chest.
—
Fwb!Hongjoong who didn’t think.
He just moved.
You didn’t notice him at first.
Too caught up in pretending.
Pretending everything was normal.
Pretending your chest didn’t tighten every time you thought about him.
Pretending you hadn’t replayed his confession over and over again in your head.
It was easier this way.
Safer.
“Want another drink?” the guy beside you asked.
You nodded absently. “Yeah, sure—”
Your words cut off as a hand suddenly grabbed your wrist.
Firm.
Familiar.
Your breath hitched.
“Outside,” Hongjoong said, voice low, controlled, but there was something simmering underneath it.
“Joong—”
“Now.”
The guy beside you looked between the two of you, confused. “Uh—”
“It’s fine,” you muttered quickly, already being pulled away.
—
Fwb!Hongjoong who didn’t stop until you were somewhere quieter.
A hallway. Dim. Away from the noise.
The second you were alone, you yanked your wrist free.
“What the hell was that?” you snapped, heart racing.
“What was that?” he shot back, incredulous. “Who is he?”
You blinked. “Why do you care?”
His laugh was sharp, humorless. “Seriously?”
“Yes, seriously!” you fired back. “You don’t get to do this. You don’t get to drag me away from someone like you have any claim over me.”
His expression darkened.
“I told you how I felt.”
“And I told you I needed time!” you snapped, frustration bubbling over. “You don’t get to just corner me like this because you don’t like what you’re seeing!”
Silence.
Heavy. Tense.
His chest rose and fell, eyes locked onto yours.
“You’re avoiding me.”
“Maybe I am,” you shot back. “Did you think I’d just magically know what to say after that?”
“No,” he admitted, voice lower now. “But I didn’t think you’d run to someone else.”
“That’s not what this is.”
“Really?” he challenged, stepping closer. “Because it looked pretty convincing.”
Your breath caught slightly at the proximity.
“Jealousy isn’t part of our deal, remember?” you said, quieter now, but still firm.
“I know,” he said.
Another step closer.
“But I meant what I said.”
Your heart pounded.
“Hongjoong—”
“I’m not him,” he cut in, voice softer now, but somehow more intense. “I’m not just some guy you can laugh with and forget about later.”
Your back hit the wall before you even realized you’d stepped back.
“And you’re not just… nothing to me.”
The air between you shifted.
Tension.
Familiar.
Dangerous.
“You don’t get to look at someone else like that,” he murmured, gaze dropping briefly to your lips before returning to your eyes.
Your breath hitched.
“And you don’t get to tell me what to do,” you whispered back—but it lacked the bite from before.
Because now—
Now you were too aware of how close he was.
Too aware of how this always went.
A fight.
A spark.
And then—
“Then stop me.”
The words slipped out before you could think.
His eyes darkened.
“…You don’t mean that.”
You swallowed.
“Try me.”
That was all it took.
—
Fwb!Hongjoong who closed the distance like he’d been waiting for it.
His hand came up to your jaw, tilting your face toward his as his lips crashed into yours—familiar, desperate, everything you had been trying to avoid all wrapped into one moment.
You kissed him back instantly.
Of course you did.
Because this, all of this.
This part had always been easy.
Your hands fisted in his shirt as he pressed you further into the wall, the tension from earlier melting into something hotter, heavier.
“Still think I don’t get to care?” he murmured against your lips.
You let out a shaky breath, trying—and failing—to hold onto your resolve.
“This doesn’t fix anything,” you whispered.
“I know.”
His forehead rested briefly against yours.
“But you still came back.”
And that?
That was the problem.
Because no matter how complicated it got…
You always did.
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a/n - This was a requested piece and one that took me way too long for NO REASON😭 I truly love getting requests because it lets me write ideas that I usually would never have thought of. Hongjoong is also my ult bias so writing for him was so satisfying😌 Thank you for everyone who read this and please don’t be afraid to request fics or just ask questions in general! Lots of love to everyone❤️
Warnings-Mention of alcohol, swearing, lil bit of tension, lmk if I missed anything pls
Playlist-Private by The Neighbourhood
Series m.list!
|Character intro page|Teaser|Ch.1|Ch.2|Ch.3|
The floor was already shaking by the time I pushed into the club. The windows rattled with the bass, each beat vibrating through my ribs, and the air was thick—sweat, perfume, and something heavier that clung to the back of my throat.
I shoved my way through the crowd, dodging slick shoulders and wandering hands, trying not to get dragged into someone else’s drunken rhythm.
Where the fuck is he?
By the time I reached the bar, I braced my forearms against the sticky countertop and dropped my head, catching my breath.
“I should seriously ask for a raise after this,” I muttered.
A sharp knock against the counter jolted me. I looked up to see a man—late thirties, maybe forties—standing across from me in a crisp, formal uniform. Bartender. His brows pinched slightly as he glanced me over, silently asking if I was alright.
I forced a smile that didn’t quite reach my eyes.
“I’m so sorry to bother you, but have you seen a man by any chance? He’s tall, pointy-ish nose, dark hair… wears way too many rings?”
The moment I said tall, something in his expression shifted. Without a word, he tipped his head toward the VIP lounge.
Of fucking course.
“Thanks,” I breathed, already turning away.
I pushed through the crowd again, weaving past bodies until I reached the velvet rope.
“I’m sorry, ma’am, but you’re going to need identification to get in here.” The guard barely spared me a glance.
“I’m so sorry, I just really need to get in there—”
“Y/N?”
I turned at the familiar voice. A tall woman with long, dirty blonde hair stepped out from behind the guard. Jiwoo. The VIP host. I’d seen her more times than I could count since starting this job—unfortunately.
“It’s alright,” she told him, patting his arm. “Let her in—she’s with me.”
“Thank you,” I exhaled, slipping past.
The hallway beyond was dim, washed in low red lighting that made everything feel slower, heavier. My footsteps echoed softly as Jiwoo led the way.
“How long has he been here?” I asked.
She hummed. “Two… maybe three hours.”
Great.
We stopped in front of VIP LOUNGE 8. Jiwoo glanced back at me, a knowing, almost teasing smile tugging at her lips.
“You ready?”
I didn’t answer.
The door opened.
Perfume hit me first—sweet and suffocating. Then him.
Sprawled across the couch like he owned the place. Two girls pressed against his sides, another behind him, holding a beer in one hand while another girl’s fingers threaded through his hair as she leaned in close, whispering something that made him grin.
Song fucking Mingi.
Something sharp twisted in my chest.
I crossed the room in seconds, grabbing him by the collar of his half-unbuttoned white dress shirt and yanking him forward.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing here?” I snapped..
It was like my voice sobered him on impact.
“Doll? I—uh… what are you doing here?”
I tugged harder, forcing him to stand before pinching the bridge of my nose.
“One: stop calling me that. Two: I’m here to save your ass from another scandal, so can we go?”
I grabbed his wrist, but before I could pull him away, one of the girls latched onto his bicep, dragging him back toward her.
“And who the hell do you think you are?” she snapped. “Mingiii, tell her to leave us alone!” she whined, stretching his name like it meant something.
I grimaced.
Slowly, deliberately, I grabbed her wrist and peeled her hand off him, stepping between them.
“Who the hell am I?” I said, my voice low and sharp. “I’m the person who will have your jaw broken if you don’t move in the next five seconds.”
The room went quiet.
She stepped back instantly, her expression twisting into disbelief.
“How dare you! I’ll have you know that I—”
She didn’t get to finish.
I was already dragging Mingi out of the room, his protests swallowed by the heavy door slamming shut behind us.
“Have fun, you two!” Jiwoo called after us, waving with a knowing smirk as we passed.
Mingi gave her a distracted wave—but the second we were in the hallway, his attention snapped right back to me.
I kept walking, grip tight around his wrist.
“You know…” he started, slightly breathless—not just from the alcohol. “That was really fucking hot.”
I didn’t respond.
He stumbled slightly, then used the pull of my hand to steady himself—fingers shifting just enough to wrap more securely around my wrist instead.
“Though,” he continued, voice dipping, closer now, “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you jealous before.”
I stopped abruptly.
“I’m not jealous,” I snapped, turning to glare at him.
Big mistake.
He was closer than I expected—close enough that I could see the way his expression had changed completely. No drunken haze. No lazy grin.
Just… focus.
On me.
“Right,” he murmured, but he didn’t sound convinced.
His gaze dropped briefly—to my lips, then back up to my eyes. Slow. Intentional.
My grip tightened instinctively.
“You always show up for me like this?” he asked, quieter now. “Or am I just lucky?”
Something in my chest stuttered.
I scoffed, pulling his hand away from my wrist.
“Don’t flatter yourself. It’s literally my job.”
“Yeah?” he said, tilting his head slightly, like he was studying me.
“Yeah.” I responded though it came out lest convincing as intended.
But he didn’t let go.
His fingers brushed mine again—not grabbing this time. Just there.
For a moment, neither of us moved.
The bass from the club thumped faintly through the walls, distant now—but my pulse was louder.
I yanked my hand back first.
“Keep walking, this by itself could already cause a lot of bad publicity for us both.” I muttered, turning away before he could see my face.
There was a pause.
Then—
A quiet chuckle.
And footsteps falling in line behind me.
a/n - So happy to finally have this out!! The whole idea for the series came to me in a dream so it’s been on my mind a lot. Ch.1 will HOPEFULLY be out by the end off the month but my school work has been killing me lately so I apologize in advance if it takes a long time😭 Thank you so much for reading and I hope you have a great day/night! (p.s - The series masterlist should be open soon and the character intros will be posted along side Ch.1!)
Warnings-Mention of alcohol, swearing, lil bit of tension, lmk if I missed anything pls
Playlist-Private by The Neighbourhood
Series m.list!
|Character intro page|Teaser|Ch.1|Ch.2|Ch.3|
The floor was already shaking by the time I pushed into the club. The windows rattled with the bass, each beat vibrating through my ribs, and the air was thick—sweat, perfume, and something heavier that clung to the back of my throat.
I shoved my way through the crowd, dodging slick shoulders and wandering hands, trying not to get dragged into someone else’s drunken rhythm.
Where the fuck is he?
By the time I reached the bar, I braced my forearms against the sticky countertop and dropped my head, catching my breath.
“I should seriously ask for a raise after this,” I muttered.
A sharp knock against the counter jolted me. I looked up to see a man—late thirties, maybe forties—standing across from me in a crisp, formal uniform. Bartender. His brows pinched slightly as he glanced me over, silently asking if I was alright.
I forced a smile that didn’t quite reach my eyes.
“I’m so sorry to bother you, but have you seen a man by any chance? He’s tall, pointy-ish nose, dark hair… wears way too many rings?”
The moment I said tall, something in his expression shifted. Without a word, he tipped his head toward the VIP lounge.
Of fucking course.
“Thanks,” I breathed, already turning away.
I pushed through the crowd again, weaving past bodies until I reached the velvet rope.
“I’m sorry, ma’am, but you’re going to need identification to get in here.” The guard barely spared me a glance.
“I’m so sorry, I just really need to get in there—”
“Y/N?”
I turned at the familiar voice. A tall woman with long, dirty blonde hair stepped out from behind the guard. Jiwoo. The VIP host. I’d seen her more times than I could count since starting this job—unfortunately.
“It’s alright,” she told him, patting his arm. “Let her in—she’s with me.”
“Thank you,” I exhaled, slipping past.
The hallway beyond was dim, washed in low red lighting that made everything feel slower, heavier. My footsteps echoed softly as Jiwoo led the way.
“How long has he been here?” I asked.
She hummed. “Two… maybe three hours.”
Great.
We stopped in front of VIP LOUNGE 8. Jiwoo glanced back at me, a knowing, almost teasing smile tugging at her lips.
“You ready?”
I didn’t answer.
The door opened.
Perfume hit me first—sweet and suffocating. Then him.
Sprawled across the couch like he owned the place. Two girls pressed against his sides, another behind him, holding a beer in one hand while another girl’s fingers threaded through his hair as she leaned in close, whispering something that made him grin.
Song fucking Mingi.
Something sharp twisted in my chest.
I crossed the room in seconds, grabbing him by the collar of his half-unbuttoned white dress shirt and yanking him forward.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing here?” I snapped..
It was like my voice sobered him on impact.
“Doll? I—uh… what are you doing here?”
I tugged harder, forcing him to stand before pinching the bridge of my nose.
“One: stop calling me that. Two: I’m here to save your ass from another scandal, so can we go?”
I grabbed his wrist, but before I could pull him away, one of the girls latched onto his bicep, dragging him back toward her.
“And who the hell do you think you are?” she snapped. “Mingiii, tell her to leave us alone!” she whined, stretching his name like it meant something.
I grimaced.
Slowly, deliberately, I grabbed her wrist and peeled her hand off him, stepping between them.
“Who the hell am I?” I said, my voice low and sharp. “I’m the person who will have your jaw broken if you don’t move in the next five seconds.”
The room went quiet.
She stepped back instantly, her expression twisting into disbelief.
“How dare you! I’ll have you know that I—”
She didn’t get to finish.
I was already dragging Mingi out of the room, his protests swallowed by the heavy door slamming shut behind us.
“Have fun, you two!” Jiwoo called after us, waving with a knowing smirk as we passed.
Mingi gave her a distracted wave—but the second we were in the hallway, his attention snapped right back to me.
I kept walking, grip tight around his wrist.
“You know…” he started, slightly breathless—not just from the alcohol. “That was really fucking hot.”
I didn’t respond.
He stumbled slightly, then used the pull of my hand to steady himself—fingers shifting just enough to wrap more securely around my wrist instead.
“Though,” he continued, voice dipping, closer now, “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you jealous before.”
I stopped abruptly.
“I’m not jealous,” I snapped, turning to glare at him.
Big mistake.
He was closer than I expected—close enough that I could see the way his expression had changed completely. No drunken haze. No lazy grin.
Just… focus.
On me.
“Right,” he murmured, but he didn’t sound convinced.
His gaze dropped briefly—to my lips, then back up to my eyes. Slow. Intentional.
My grip tightened instinctively.
“You always show up for me like this?” he asked, quieter now. “Or am I just lucky?”
Something in my chest stuttered.
I scoffed, pulling his hand away from my wrist.
“Don’t flatter yourself. It’s literally my job.”
“Yeah?” he said, tilting his head slightly, like he was studying me.
“Yeah.” I responded though it came out lest convincing as intended.
But he didn’t let go.
His fingers brushed mine again—not grabbing this time. Just there.
For a moment, neither of us moved.
The bass from the club thumped faintly through the walls, distant now—but my pulse was louder.
I yanked my hand back first.
“Keep walking, this by itself could already cause a lot of bad publicity for us both.” I muttered, turning away before he could see my face.
There was a pause.
Then—
A quiet chuckle.
And footsteps falling in line behind me.
a/n - So happy to finally have this out!! The whole idea for the series came to me in a dream so it’s been on my mind a lot. Ch.1 will HOPEFULLY be out by the end off the month but my school work has been killing me lately so I apologize in advance if it takes a long time😭 Thank you so much for reading and I hope you have a great day/night! (p.s - The series masterlist should be open soon and the character intros will be posted along side Ch.1!)
Fwb!Seonghwa who you first met at a frat party you’d been dragged to by your friends. The bass rattled through your ribs, loud enough to make your chest feel hollow, and the air was thick with heat, bodies, and something you couldn’t quite name. You’d been accidentally grinded on one too many times—hands brushing where they shouldn’t, strangers too close for comfort—before you finally slipped away, weaving through the crowd and heading upstairs in search of an empty room, somewhere—anywhere—you could breathe again.
Fwb!Seonghwa who just so happened to live in that frat house.
The hallway was quieter, but not silent—the music still bled through the walls, dull and distant. You tried one door. Locked. Another. Voices. You exhaled, already regretting coming.
“Looking for something?”
You turned, a little startled. He stood a few steps behind you, like he’d been there longer than you realized. Calm. Observant. Not drunk like everyone else downstairs.
“Just… somewhere quiet,” you admitted.
He studied you for a second—then nodded toward the door beside him. “You can use mine.”
You hesitated for half a second.
Then followed him in.
Fwb!Seonghwa whose room felt like a completely different world—clean, still, the bass reduced to a low hum. Who handed you a bottle of water without asking too many questions. Who didn’t crowd you, didn’t push, just… watched. Like he was figuring you out in real time.
“You don’t look like you’re having fun,” he said lightly.
“I’m not,” you laughed, softer now.
That was all it took.
The conversation came easy after that—too easy for two people who had just met. There was something about him. The way he listened. The way his gaze lingered just a second too long. The way he said your name like it already meant something.
And maybe it was the quiet. Or the leftover adrenaline. Or the way his knee brushed yours and didn’t move away.
But the shift was inevitable.
“Tell me if I’m reading this wrong,” he murmured, voice lower now, closer.
You didn’t.
Because he wasn’t.
—
It wasn’t careful. It wasn’t slow.
It just… happened.
Like something that had been building for longer than it should have between two people who had only just met. Hands that didn’t hesitate. Kisses that didn’t ask permission twice. Sounds pulled from a place of pure pleasure. The kind of closeness that blurred every line before you even thought to draw one.
And when it was over—when the room finally stilled again, when the bass downstairs felt like it belonged to another world entirely—you both just… lay there.
Not awkward. Not regretful.
Just quiet.
Fwb!Seonghwa who turns his head slightly to look at you, expression unreadable but not distant.
“That wasn’t part of your plan tonight, was it?” he asked with a cocky yet soft smile.
You let out a small breath of a laugh. “Not even a little.”
“Yeah,” he said softly. “Me neither.”
A pause.
Then, almost like an unspoken agreement settling between you—
“Let’s not make it weird.”
You nodded.
“Yeah. Not weird.”
—
Fwb!Seonghwa who texts you the next day like nothing happened.
did you get home okay?
No mention of it. No awkwardness. Just normal enough to make you question if it meant anything at all.
You reply anyway.
Because whatever that was—you’re not ready to pretend it didn’t happen.
—
It becomes your secret before it becomes your habit.
Fwb!Seonghwa who doesn’t seek you out in public—but somehow always ends up next to you when you’re both in the same room. Who doesn’t touch you where people can see—but lets his hand linger at your waist just a second too long when no one’s looking.
Fwb!Seonghwa who keeps it quiet. Controlled. Easy.
Until it isn’t.
Because “not weird” turns into late-night texts again.
Turns into you slipping upstairs without telling your friends during parties.
Turns into his door already unlocked when you get there.
“You’re back,” he says one night, like it’s obvious.
“You left it open,” you reply.
A small smile. “Did I?”
—
There are still no rules.
That’s the problem.
Because it’s easy to pretend it doesn’t mean anything when it’s just physical. When it’s just convenience. When it’s just two people passing time.
But it stops feeling casual faster than either of you expected.
In the quiet moments after.
In the way neither of you rushes to leave.
In the way he looks at you like he’s about to say something—and then doesn’t.
Fwb!Seonghwa who wanted to keep it simple.
Fwb!Seonghwa who definitely didn’t plan on it becoming anything more.
But somewhere between that first night and every one after—
it already has.
a/n: Still not quite sure how I feel about this yet but you can’t go wrong with mother hwa
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