Greetings stranger, fortuned fellow, Tis a party for which I bellow. I invite Y/N, so come all ye in Verdant Springs. Wear thine masks upon you to my masquerade until... 'ENHYPEN SEVENTEEN' may come to lost Verdant Springs. Hope for us there may be still.
Verdant Springs
EN-Komect Heights
SVT-Raitere Lofts
Otherworld Plaza
Divider by @/diviniyae
Do not plagiarise, repost, copy or translate any of my works.
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There will be 18+/nsfw content from time to time so i suggest minors to carefully reconsider interacting when coming across said content, by having a pfp and age indicated.
Will be posting every Friday unless future collab deadline is stated
Summary : Not all love stories end with a war of words. Seungkwan and Y/N’s love story ends in something so quiet and subtle that not a single person in the world noticed, until it was long, too long overdue. But the chance came, and with the given second chances to do it all over again.
💮 troop: exes to lovers
💮 fantasy: time-travel
non-idol, romance & fantasy au 🌼 seungkwan x female reader 🌼 13+ SFW 🌼 1,648 words
🌸 inspired by this
EN-Komect Heights 🌼 SVT-Raitere Lofts 🌼 Otherworld Plaza 🌼 Verdant Springs 🌼 Pinned Post 🌼 taglist
The quiet beat of music tapped at Seungkwan's right ear while his head bopped vaguely against his hand, propped on the counter at the bookstore. It was a slow afternoon, quiet enough to hear the page-turn somewhere between the shelves louder than the music. He rested his chin in his hand and let his eyes lazily drift over the checkout screen, mouthing lyrics only he could hear.
Ding.
The door bell chirped, jolting him. His head shot up and in a fluid motion he plucked the wireless ear bud from his ear and slipped it into his pocket, straightening up as the customer walked to the counter.
"Welcome," he greeted, forcing his professional smile into place.
The customer gave a small nod and placed a stack of books onto the counter. "I'd like to return these."
"Sure thing."
Seungkwan reached for the first book and flipped it over, running the barcode under the scanner.
Beep.
His eyes lingered on the cover.
Beep.
His fingers faltered slightly.
The familiar illustrations. The worn, curled corners. The author's name. Each and every book.
They weren't just books.
"... All set," he said vaguely, his own voice feeling foreign. "thank you for returning them."
The customer smiled and took their receipt before turning and exiting the store.
Ding.
The door chime rang again as the door shut and once more, silence fell over the small bookstore. Seungkwan continued to stand behind the counter, his hand resting on the last book returned. His thumb drifted across its spine and the memories hit him like a wave, all of them crashing down without warning.
A rainy afternoon years ago. Two cups of cold coffee on a tiny table in a coffee shop. His girlfriend not sitting across from him because "books are for sharing, not separating," and his elbow pressed to hers, sharing from the same pages.
They read and argued softly over the characters, laughing every time one of them read a line out loud.
Sometimes she would snatch the book and hide it. Sometimes he would intentionally skip ahead to the next chapter so she would protest.
"You skipped the good part!" she would whine, or, "How could you! I'm reading!"
"Just testing you," he'd lie, "To see if you're paying attention."
"Of course I am," she'd insist.
Back then, everything had felt easy. The bookstore hadn't just been a place that housed stories; it was a place where their own story was written, before life got in the way. Before conversations grew short, before the silences became comfortable, but no longer a choice, before they broke up.
The memories evaporated just as quickly as they had formed. Seungkwan blinked, the fluorescent lights buzzing overhead. The bookstore looked exactly the same, yet was somehow achingly different.
A tightness built in his chest.
He missed her.
With a pain that felt both new and old, he didn't take a second to think.
He pushed out from behind the counter, muttered an apology into the empty air, and bolted for the door.
Outside, the light rain coated the street with a silver sheen. It dappled his shoulders and brushed his hair with a chill wind as he ran, splashing through shallow puddles without breaking pace, the tires of cars hissing on the wet road, umbrellas bobbing around him like scattered clouds.
He ran past shops he knew by heart, across an intersection, and down a flight of steps and into the undergound train station. The scent of damp concrete and iron filled the air. He turned a corner-
and stopped dead.
His breathing echoed in the narrow hallway, his heart hammered against his ribs.
"… Why?" He questioned himself, a frown creasing his forehead as he looked around as though the answer could be written on the tiled walls. "Where am I going?"
He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to claw back his fragmented thoughts, but they slipped through his fingers like water. The reason he'd started running had evaporated, he couldn't remember breaking up with his girlfriend at all. The thought was so absurd it took him a moment to process.
They are still together.
Seungkwan chuckled quietly, rubbing the back of his neck.
"Maybe I am just overthinking."
He had spent all day at the office, his head must have felt tired.
One last look around the train station and Seungkwan made his way up the stairs, back into the drizzle and started his commute home—their home.
A few minutes later, the apartment building came into view with its warm windows against the cool night air. Rain dripped slowly from the roof above Seungkwan as he quickly pushed his way in, went up the stairs, and pulled his keys out from his jacket pocket.
Click.
The lock opened as easy as one two three.
"I'm home."
He was immediately met with the scent of freshly steeped tea.
It was warm, comforting, home.
Taking off his shoes, Seungkwan rounded the corner into the living room, and there she was. Y/N sat cross-legged on the couch with a blanket wrapped around her legs despite the pleasant weather. In one hand a book was open while the other absentmindedly twirled a lock of her hair. As she finished a sentence she a gentle smile grew on her lips before she let out a quiet chuckle she couldn't quite hold back.
Afternoon sunlight through the curtains framed her in a hazy gold, Seungkwan found himself smiling along with her.
She's beautiful.
It was a natural thought and Seungkwan's chest felt warm. He made his way over towards her, almost walking to her on his own without conscious thought.
He didn't bother to announce himself again. Instead, Seungkwan wrapped both of his arms around Y/N's waist and burrowed his face in her shoulder with a soft sigh.
"I missed you."
His voice was so quiet, barely above a whisper. Y/N let out a small gasp before a familiar laugh erupted.
"Kwannie," she giggled. Y/N's fingers danced over the hands clasped around her waist, trailing circles on Seungkwan's knuckles. "so clingy today."
"Hm…" He only tightened his grip. "can't help it."
He pressed a tender kiss against Y/N's forehead. She slowly closed her book and twisted in Seungkwan's arms to face him. Her eyes, when they met his, soften and the familiar corners of her lips formed that perfect smile that made the rest of the world fade. She tilted up on her tiptoes and placed a swift kiss on his lips.
"Welcome home, Kwannie~"
Seungkwan's cheeks flamed red. "You always do that."
"Do what?"
"Kiss me when I have no defense whatsoever."
Y/N's head tilted innocently to the side, a hint of a smirk tugging at her lips. "Oh? I can stop."
"… No."
Her giggle returned, echoing in the warmth of the apartment. "I knew it."
Seungkwan placed his forehead against Y/N's, smiling until his cheeks ached. For reasons unknown to him, he held Y/N a little closer, as if to assure himself she was there.
Somewhere on the couch, the novel y/n was reading slipped shut as if pushed by unseen forces, the bookmark resting between the pages: Chapter 17 – Memories We Choose to Change
Seungkwan leaned his forehead against hers, his smile aching his cheeks. For some reason he couldn't even begin to fathom, he held her a fraction tighter as though to reassure himself she was really there.
Y/N smiled and laced her fingers between his.
"What is it?" she whispered.
He shook his head with a light chuckle. "Nothing."
He dipped his head, stealing another quick kiss before she could even tease him about it. "I just… really wanted to come home."
Her smile softened further.
"I'm glad you did."
She reached for the book she was reading but Seungkwan kept her hand in his, settling beside her as he laid his head on her shoulder, listening as she continued to read aloud, occasionally giggling at something she read.
He laughed with her, even though he hadn't entirely gotten the joke, because hearing her was enough.
It was just a regular night, one of those nights that most people wouldn't remember, but for him this was the night that changed everything.
Because once on this exact night, in another life, Seungkwan had come through that front door and seen Y/N on the sofa with a book in her hands. He had smiled… and then walked right past her.
"We're already in our seventh year together," he had thought to himself as he walked towards the kitchen, "why do I need to be so clingy every time I get home?"
Tomorrow he'd tell her about his day, but tomorrow quietly turned into another day, then another. The greeting slowly grew shorter. The hugs became more spaced out. The kisses disappeared without either of them even realising when the last one had actually been.
Comfort began to pass as routine, and routine began to pass as distance, and distance began to pass as silence.
One day of silence became a couple of days, a couple days became weeks, until one conversation that both had dreaded finally happened. The breakup wasn't born from a singular fight, it was born from the endless small moments that they thought they could just push until the following day.
Following that, seungkwan found himself working in the book store they'd spent countless afternoons together in, stories of love surrounding him every day as he quietly mourned the story that had slipped through his hands.
But tonight, he hugged her first, he kissed her forehead, he told her that he was back. And Y/N smiled just like she always had done, as if fate itself had somehow decided to turn back one page, letting him read his story all over again—this time without skipping the chapter that mattered most.
EN-Komect Heights 🌼 SVT-Raitere Lofts 🌼 Otherworld Plaza 🌼 Verdant Springs 🌼 Pinned Post 🌼 taglist :
Summary : Far across the confines of her home a distant kingdom was where Princess Y/N resided, but that all ceased to matter when she was determined to escape the tedious and routine life that had been thrown into her plate from birth. After a while of pretending to be a lowly common boy, however, life unexpectedly led to her meeting her match Huening Kai. With the lies becoming revelations, secrets unraveled and facts uncovered, the paths of these two became set on the route they could never imagine; Marriage.
After all, would they have ever predicted a love story blooming after a chaotic start with the result of marriage?
💮 troop: strangers to lovers
💮 reader dressed up as male, forced marriage, chinese historical period, giving birth, mentioned of LGBTQ+ relationship
non-idol, historical, romance & angst au 🌼 TXT Huening Kai x female reader 🌼 SFW 16+ 🌼 19,885 words
🌸originally posted: 25/03/2025
EN-Komect Heights 🌼 SVT-Raitere Lofts 🌼 Otherworld Plaza 🌼 Verdant Springs 🌼 Pinned Post 🌼 taglist
The palace was blanketed by sheets of driving snow, its ornate peaks and marble ramparts blurred by a soft shroud of white. Warm lanterns glimmered over the stone walkway, casting sparks of light against the falling snowflakes. Winter had fallen into a deep slumber, leaving a stillness, the quiet punctuated only by the wind and the soft lapping of snow at the gates. Icicles hung from the carved bannister and empty tree branches surrounding the courtyard and the distant peaks melted away into the soft veil of snow and haze.
The heavy bronze mirror in front of you, your delicate fingers running through your gold-embroidered silk robes. During the day, you were the kingdom's reversed pearl; elegant, gracious and obedient. A princess.
A soft, delicate rap on the door then interrupts you.
"Your highness," a familiar voice chimes from outside, Kim Chaewon. You offer a deep bow before taking a step into the room. You continue the graceful movement, just as your tutor would have insisted upon. "Would I be able to steal a moments of your time?"
she asks softly, her properly enunciated speech having a slightly lighter undercurrent that no one else would be able to hear, only you. You nod towards the door.
"Close it please."
After the latch click into place, you let out a long and heavy sigh. It felt as though a lifetime of pressure melted from your shoulders, you slumped back in your chair before rolling it slowly to ease the tightness from your aching body.
Chaewon chuckles behind her hands which she had folded prettily in front of her as she watches you slump back.
"Y/N, stay like that!"
she teases. You lift your head enough to glare down at her with amusement.
"Nuh uh"
The two of you fall silent for a short amount of time, your laughter a welcome, though unheard, addition to the quiet palace.
On the outside, Chaewon is your devoted and proper lady in waiting, in essence, nothing but a paid servant who serves the daughter of the emperor. Of course, it's assumed that the emperor's daughter would never form any type of relationship outside of the kingdom and certainly not with her personal maid. As long as you could remember Chaewon has been by your side; yes as a servant who dressed you and performed countless other tasks for you, but more importantly, a friend and someone who understood you better than anyone. It was just a hidden friendship, one that most likely will never be exposed but regardless, in private moments such as this, Chaewon is just a simple girl who shares an unspoken bond with the princess and no other being in the kingdom is privy to such circumstances.
Chaewon's laughter subsided, and her lips pressed together with a knowing smile. She lowered her voice, hesitating slightly before speaking again "Y/N... The emperor wants to see you"
You groan, already bracing yourself for what's coming next. "Let me guess-"
"he wants you to find someone to settle down with immediately," Chaewon finishes your sentence, her hands folded in her lap. "And if you don't, he'll find someone for you."
You rub your temples and take a deep breath through your nose, exhaling it out through your mouth. "That's enough persuasion, thank you."
"His Majesty is firm on this one, it seems," she states gently, her eyes flicking to your face to observe your expression.
You snort.
He's firm on this one. The Emperor is no idle threat. Should you not comply with his wishes within the specified timeframe, a marriage will indeed be arranged, a notion that fills you with an unnerving sense of dread.
"Why is he in such a hurry?" you question aloud, your gaze falling on your reflection in the mirror. A poised and lovely imperial princess stares back at you, precisely what is expected of you.
But the weight of this expectation feels like it might crush you.
"It's as if my entire being hinges on finding a spouse."
Chaewon moves closer, lowering her voice as she says, "You know the reason."
Indeed, you do. Duty, the preservation of the bloodline, and an heir. All the usual reasons, but they still feel insufferable. However, defying the Emperor directly is not an option, not if you wish to maintain any shred of autonomy in this matter. It is crucial to tread carefully, to find a balance between defiance and obedience that will avoid his ire.
You roll your eyes dramatically. "Is that supposed to encourage me? It only strengthens my desire to put it off."
Chaewon lets out a soft chuckle. "On the bright side, His Majesty is giving you a chance to choose yourself."
You huff, averting your gaze. "A chance? He's setting a deadline, Chaewon. That's not a chance, that's an ultimatum thinly disguised as a privilege."
She doesn't protest, instead watching you sink into your chair, the responsibility weighing heavily on your shoulders. You refuse to let it overwhelm you.
You acknowledge this fact internally, but for now, you will allow yourself the illusion that there's more time. You exhale with a sigh, the fight draining out of you. There's no battling the Emperor when his will is as immutable as carved stone.
"Fine," you mutter, rubbing your temples. "Tell him I will find a man."
Chaewon watches you for a moment, her gaze sharp and expectant, as if waiting for you to take the words back. Seeing that you won't, she offers a deep bow. "Your message will be relayed, Y/N."
With that, she rises and exits the chamber, the gentle click of the door announcing her departure. Silence descends upon your room once more, leaving you to your own reflections.
You walk over to the window and rest your chin on your hand as you stare out at the snow-dusted courtyard. The sky above remains a tapestry of pale blue and gold, as if the sun is hesitant to retire for the night.
Another sigh escapes your lips.
If marriage is the inevitable path, then so be it, for now. You will play along, but on your own terms. You just wish that night would come faster.
The palace is a void—its massive halls swallowed in the suffocating darkness of night. Only in the distance, pinpricks of light from a few lanterns ward off the pitch black, painting long, eerie shadows on the polished floors. Taking a sneaky glance out your door, you check the hallways for any sign of movement, but there's none.
Cautiously closing the door behind you, a small smile begins to form on your lips.
It is finally your time.
You turn away from the door and pad over to your walk-in closet, where a plain wooden box lies tucked in the corner. Lifting the lid, you peer inside and grin. All your forbidden treasures reside in this box: impeccably tailored men's robes, a wig, and a couple of small cosmetics—items no maid should ever set eyes on.
Taking the box over to your vanity, you get to work on the transformation.
The plush silk of your everyday gown is swapped for loose and lightweight robes. The wig is placed neatly atop your head, tied into a simple and effective top knot. A touch of powder adds definition to your jawline and a few strokes of highlight create more angular features.
Once you are finished, you let out a little scoff at your reflection.
The fabric isn't nearly as fine as the silks you wear daily, and it simply doesn't possess the elegant grace they so demand from you.
Still, you couldn't care less. Freed from the heavy pull of embroidered silks and weighty jewelry, you feel unburdened.
You give yourself one last look in the mirror before scurrying out, tiptoeing from your room like a phantom. Each step is a deliberate act of silence, each breath measured and controlled. You glide down the empty corridors, drifting through the palatial maze. Past the sleepy, imposing guards and the opulent halls that seem more like a gilded cage than a welcoming home, you make your way to your personal getaway—a forgotten patch of outer wall away from any patrol routes.
The familiar roughness of the stones feels comforting beneath your fingertips.
With practised ease, you begin to climb. Taking a deep breath, you pause, steeling yourself before giving a final, decisive push and heaving yourself over the wall, the chilly night air meeting you as you tumble free from the palace, and a life of a princess, behind you. Landing smoothly on the cold, damp earth, you take a moment to get your bearings before breaking into a run.
Each stride carries you further and further from the life you temporarily leave behind. The farther you go, the less noticeable you appear, blending into the sprawling fringes of the ever-expanding city.
As you approach the bustling city centre, the cheerful noise of merchants and townsfolk fills the air. Stalls line the roads on either side, their owners calling out to passersby to tout their wares. The aroma of roasted chestnuts and sizzling meat permeates the air, intertwined with the gentle scent of incense from a nearby temple. Little children run past you, their gleeful shouts cutting through the frigid winter atmosphere, and groups of friends huddle together sharing whispered jokes over steaming bowls of noodles.
This is a world far removed from the palace walls: a world brimming with motion and voices, brimming with a life that you find incredibly appealing.
A faint smile touches your lips as you survey the scene around you.
You don't envy these people their humble lives. In fact, the very thought of envying anything implies a desire for what you lack, something you neither do nor will.
You are here now, existing in this very moment, and for tonight that's more than enough. With nonchalant ease, you slide into the crowd. You stop at several stalls, feigning an interest in the various trinkets and gifts on display, exchanging cheerful pleasantries that would have shocked the pants off any royal court. You then proceed to make your way to your favoured haunt, the local watering hole, a place where everyone is welcomed, royal or common, as long as you have some coins to exchange for their services.
Here, you are not called Your Highness, you are simply a face in the multitude.
Pushing the creaky wooden doors open, you are met with the usual wave of noise and heat. The air inside is heavy with the smell of spilled liquor and grilled meat, a cacophony of male voices bouncing off the wooden interior. Wooden mugs clash against tables as boisterous toasting begins. There is no music, yet there is a distinctly livelier atmosphere than most places offer.
Making your way to the bar counter, you plop down on an empty stool, already feeling quite relaxed. As is tradition, the barista's eyes scan you before settling on your face with a subtle nod.
"Same drink as usual?"
You pause, your fingers tap methodically on the wooden counter while your gaze sweeps over the regulars, landing on a stranger you don't recognise. A man sits alone near the far end of the bar.
Frowning, you lean closer to the barista.
"Who is he?"
Following your gaze, he briefly glances at the man in question before emitting a thoughtful "hmm… Newcomer, hasn't got anyone with him though... Apparently his girlfriend ditched him. Said he's "too boring"."
You let out a soft "hmm," your eyes resting on the stranger for another moment.
He doesn't appear actively miserable, but there's a certain droop in his shoulders, a way his finger trace the rim of his drink like he's caught in an intricate thought process.
"Give me his drink," you say abruptly, turning back to the barista. "And throw in one more."
The barista's brow quirks. "Trying to cheer him up, are you?"
You grin. "I'm on a mission to make him forget. And, by extension, myself."
The barista lets out a little chuckle.
"You do have a rather interesting way of making merry."
As the drinks are prepared, you steal another peek at the man with an increased sense of intrigue. Once two wooden mugs are in hand, you make your way through the animated chatter and clatter of the bar, directly towards the solitary man. A great thud rings out as you practically slam one of the mugs onto the table in front of him, ensuring he notices your arrival.
The man flinches at the sound and slowly raises his head to look at you. Although not truly dejected, there's a distinct air of disappointment about him; like a man struggling valiantly not to appear crushed.
"What's with the face, mate?"
You manage a smirk as you slide into the seat directly opposite him.
His eyebrows furrow slightly at your brazen query, but instead of offence, a short, wry chuckle emanates from him.
"And who, exactly, are you?"
You push the man's drink toward him before taking a long pull from your own.
"Someone who thinks that is an appalling waste of a perfectly good drinking atmosphere."
He eyes the mug, then you, and a sigh escapes him as he shakes his head. "And sitting with me will help solve that, will it?"
You smile, sinking back in your chair.
"No clue. But I know drinking alone after getting dumped is an insult to perfectly good alcohol."
He finally offers a genuine smile. It's small, but it's there. He picks up the drink you handed him and tilts it in your direction. "Then I guess I will have the company."
You clink your mug against his, the metallic ting echoing through the quiet space, watching him finally relaxing his shoulders a tiny bit.
The first few gulps of alcohol are enough to warm up the air between you and him. He says nothing, just stares down into his mug, swirling the alcohol with care, before taking another sip. You don't want to rush him, so instead you tilt your head sideways, watch how he looks deep inside himself, before he speaks.
"She said I was… boring" he mumbles almost as to himself. "That I wasn't…exciting enough." you raise a curious eyebrow. "And do you think you are boring?"
he snorts and shook his head,
" I don't know… I had never looked at myself in that way. I work for my family, and I do work hard for my family… I always thought that was enough" He huffs, his fingers tapping restlessly on the wooden surface of the table. "It seems I was wrong."
You sip on your drink slowly, hummimg a thoughtful melody,
"It looks like she was wanting more than just stability."
His lips press tightly into a line before a soft sigh leaves them.
"Yeah I guess she was hoping for some knight who would make her journey on a hot horse and would bring her to many exotic countries" He mumbles, his gaze lowered once again towards his mug "I am no that knight."
You lean forward placing your elbow on the table. "Is that a bad thing?"
He lifts his head slowly, his eyes meeting yours.
"I mean," you continue with a soft smile "not everybody wants excitement and chaos. Everybody just wants someone stable and reliable."
You let out a small chuckle and let your gaze wander towards your mug,
"Well you know, for being more exciting one should try drink more and think less."
He watches you for some seconds before bursting into laughter, "You are indeed a very strange person."
You smirk and clink your mug against his.
"I get that asked quite often."
He studies your face for a bit before leaning back again, his shoulders no longer as stiff as before.
"You're surprisingly easy to talk to."
You almost want to laugh; Oh boy, he has no idea what to do. A princess raised behind the palace gates and you cannot tell a normal person about anything from your own life.
"Well maybe it is the alcohol, or maybe the whole atmosphere... Or maybe I understand you more than I thought"
"I honestly think my father doesn't trust me," he said, running his hand through his thick brown hair. "No matter how much I try to show him I'm capable, he always finds some excuse to criticize me."
You let out a chuckle and you take a sip of your drink. "Fathers are like that."
He huffed. "No kidding."
"If only you knew, my father is much worse," You replied under your breath before raising your glass. "To all the fathers out there who believe we are incapable of running our lives."
He joined in with a toothy grin, "To that"
You realized you no longer thought of him as merely a stranger you approached on a whim. He was good company, a warm presence in the chilled air. You didn't have to pretend, didn't have to play the role of some reserved lady. You forgot all about being a disguised princess. For the first time in what felt like forever, you were simply you, and it felt… right.
The hours blurred into an enjoyable haze. Then, your gaze fell upon the bar's dusty window, where the deep indigo night was beginning to lighten, transforming into soft hues of pink and orange.
Dawn was on its way.
"Damn it," you muttered, pushing yourself up. "I need to get back."
"Already?"
He asked, his voice betraying surprise.
"Duty calls," you said with a grin as you stood. "Can't sit around here all night."
He scoffed. "I thought you were the wild type."
You laughed. Just before you turned to leave, he stopped you. "Wait."
You turned around, raising a brow.
After a moment's hesitation, "What's your name?".
For a fleeting instant, your real name hovered on your lips, but then you smirked and supplied an alias, "Jisoo.".
He nodded, as if etching the name in his mind.
"Kai Kamal Huening," he replied after a pause.
You repeated the name in your mind, finding a peculiar resonance in it. Without dwelling on it you gave him another nod and slipped out into the cold morning air.
The night was over, now it was time to resume your regal responsibilities. The abrupt shift from carefree evening to the demands of the morning is always the hardest part of your life.
As you make it back to your chambers, the palace is already waking. Servants bustle through the halls, the sound of water being drawn and dishes being prepared filling the air. You slip back into your room undetected, quickly changing out of your male disguise and washing away any traces of last night. Just as you finish dressing in your usual elegant robes, a knock sounds at your door.
"Enter," you call, already knowing who it is.
Chaewon steps inside, bowing deeply before straightening with a knowing look. "You barely made it this time."
You sigh, settling onto the cushioned stool in front of your vanity. "I did make it, though."
Chaewon simply hums, stepping forward to help arrange your hair. "And? Anything interesting happened?"
You think back to the bar—the laughter, the easy conversation, him.
"Not really," you say smoothly.
Chaewon raises a brow but doesn't push. Instead, she moves on to her next task. "Your father is expecting you for morning tea. He also mentioned that an advisor will be joining."
You fight back a groan. Politics this early in the day?
"Not another discussion about marriage, I hope."
Chaewon presses her lips together. "I cannot say for sure, but… it is likely."
Of course it is. You barely resist the urge to roll your eyes before standing up, fully embodying the graceful and dignified princess once more.
With a final glance in the mirror, you let out a quiet breath, straightening your posture before stepping out of your chambers. The moment your feet touch the polished floors of the palace halls, the carefree spirit of the night fades completely, replaced by the poised and elegant princess that everyone expects you to be. Chaewon follows behind you as you make your way to the tea pavilion, where your father awaits.
The morning air is crisp, the scent of blooming chrysanthemums drifting through the courtyard. As you approach, you see your father seated at the head of the table, his expression calm yet unreadable. Beside him is an advisor, an older man with sharp eyes and a calculating presence.
You bow gracefully. "Good morning, Father."
The Emperor nods, motioning for you to sit. "Come, join us."
You take your seat, smoothing your robes as a servant pours you a cup of steaming tea. The advisor studies you for a moment before speaking.
"Your Highness, I trust you are aware of the discussions regarding your future," he begins, his voice carefully measured.
You take a slow sip of your tea before responding. "If this is about marriage, I have already told Father that I will find my own partner."
The Emperor exhales softly. "You say that, but time is not in your favor. Many noble families have already inquired about a possible union. It would be wise to consider your options before I am forced to choose for you."
You resist the urge to sigh, keeping your expression composed. "I understand, Father. And I will not neglect my duty. However, I ask for more time."
The advisor exchanges a glance with your father before leaning forward. "A princess's duty is not just to herself, but to the empire. A strategic marriage could strengthen alliances, ensure stability-"
You tighten your grip around your teacup. "And I am well aware of that, Minister. But surely a wise match cannot be made in haste."
The Emperor watches you carefully, then nods. "Very well. But do not make me wait too long."
You lower your gaze in polite acknowledgment. "I will not, Father."
The conversation shifts to matters of court and governance, but your mind lingers elsewhere. Your father may have granted you time, but how long before he loses patience? And more importantly, how long before your double life catches up to you?
After the tea with your father, your duties continue without rest. Meetings, lessons, and the ever-present presence of court officials fill your morning. By midday, however, you find a brief reprieve when you are summoned to your mother's quarters.
Unlike the grand and formal halls of the palace, your mother's residence is quieter, more serene. The air smells of fresh jasmine, and the sound of a zither playing softly in the background soothes your mind as you step inside. The Empress sits by the window, dressed in flowing silks, her hair adorned with delicate jade pins. When she sees you, a gentle smile graces her lips.
"You look tired, my daughter."
You offer a small, respectful bow before sitting across from her. "It has been a long morning."
She chuckles softly, pouring tea into a delicate porcelain cup before sliding it toward you. "It always is, but you carry yourself well, as expected of my daughter."
You take the tea, inhaling the floral aroma before taking a sip. The warmth spreads through you, easing some of the tension in your shoulders. For a moment, neither of you speak.
It is a comfortable silence, one that you appreciate after the exhausting morning.
Then, your mother tilts her head slightly, observing you. "Your father expects much from you, do you feel burdened?"
You hesitate before answering. "It is my duty. I do what I must."
She hums knowingly. "Duty is important, but so is balance. Even an empress must find moments to breathe."
You glance at her, wondering if she knows how you find your balance through the nights spent outside the palace, living freely as someone else. But if she does, she does not show it.
Instead, she reaches out, gently brushing a loose strand of hair behind your ear. "You remind me of myself when I was younger."
You blink. "I do?"
She nods, a faraway look in her eyes. "I, too, had dreams beyond the palace walls."
Something about the way she says it makes you wonder… how much did she sacrifice to become the Empress? But before you can ask, she smiles again, this time with a softness only a mother could have.
"No matter what path you take, my daughter, just remember: you are not just a princess. You are you."
Her words settle deep in your heart.
For a fleeting moment, you wish you could tell her everything. About your secret nights, your disguised self, the strange but thrilling freedom you find in the outside world. But instead, you simply nod, sipping your tea as the afternoon sun casts golden light across the room.
Your way back to your room with Chaewon is as routine as ever. She walks beside you, maintaining the formal servant-princess dynamic in the presence of others. She updates you on tomorrow's duties-court meetings, etiquette lessons, and another tiresome banquet where nobles would undoubtedly try to win your favor. You nod absentmindedly, only half-listening, your mind already drifting to the night ahead.
When you reach your chambers, she steps forward and opens the door for you, then follows inside. The moment the door clicks shut behind her, she drops the act entirely. A mischievous smile spreads across her lips as she strides closer to you.
"Can I join in tonight?"
You stop short. You hadn't seen this coming. Of all the things for her to ask you, that certainly hadn't been on the list.
"No."
"Why not?" Chaewon raises an eyebrow and crosses her arms in front of her body.
You look away from her, pretending as if you weren't guilty about lying.
"You wouldn't enjoy it."
You don't even try to lie and you really, really didn't want her following you around because then what would you tell her?
Nothing but the absolute, unadulterated truth that would eventually be delivered into your father's ear.
And in that scenario, it either ends with him throwing you into the palace's oubliette until the end of eternity (he wouldn't; there wasn't enough stone in the entire kingdom for a permanent oubliette, anyway) or the far worse scenario of your father approving this new endeavor. In that case, he'd undoubtedly order his spies to start following you so he could 'guide you' into marriage.
"I just want to see what's so fun about these nights out." Chaewon says with an unwavering look.
You sigh exaggeratedly, letting out a soft, drawn-out puff of breath. "Nothing that you would find entertaining. I have drinks, I hear gossip, and I gamble in small card games with old men who haven't stood for more than a minute without groaning since dawn."
Her eyes narrow. "You are a terrible liar."
"And yet, I get through most of my days." You turn around to untie the satin sash on your dress.
Chaewon clicks her tongue and with a sound that you'd almost liken to that of a satisfied housecat stretching its body, she drops down onto the cushioned bench where your vanity resides and watches as you remove your elaborate hairstyle.
"Fine, I'll let it go this time," she says after a beat, and you let out a relieved sigh. "But."
She smiles, the curve of her mouth widening into a wicked grin that can only mean that you aren't getting through this night without a threat to be tossed at your face.
"If I discover you've been secretly slipping out of the palace for a man… I will make sure that the entire kingdom, up to your very own father, hears about it." You scowl at her. You throw a silk handkerchief in her direction and with a muffled laugh, she dodges it. Then, she stretches herself and relaxes on the bench, discussing the latest courtly rumors, until you can't even bear to think about it for another second.
You'll see him tonight, won't you?
The music in the street is growing louder. Finally, at last, you see a break in her monologue, as well as a break in the hallway through her doorway.
"I should go now." She say as she push herself up. "Before the head maid discovers I am slacking off again and throws us into cleaning every stall in the stable. And don't you dare get into any major trouble without me," she adds before pulling herself up as well and heading out the door. She peeks her head back into your room as she gets to the door. "And try not to stay up too late; I don't want to hear you sniveling all through the banquet."
With that, she exits, closing the door gently behind her.
You wait a moment for a full five minutes and then carefully slip out your door and into the hall after you have made sure it is empty. Moving to the wall that divides your bed from the larger part of the room you step into a hidden alcove where you keep the attire necessary for sneaking out to meet a boy. You reach for a men's outfit as you throw your fancy hair pins into a case to avoid their noise as you walk around in the night time and you reach for the wig, it's nothing very ornate and you throw a little makeup on to mask your identity a little more.
If only you can already hear faint strains of drums and flutes, the indistinct noise of revelers and the occasional shouted cry from the city at large drifting in from over the palace walls. That's a festival! Citizens don't hold festivals without orders from your family personally unless they are truly celebrating, or they need to riot; this would be neither so you guess they must be happy, and there's no better night than a festival for slipping out of the palace unnoticed.
It's a simple and easy climb over the castle wall, and the second you land on solid ground outside of the palace walls you start running towards the city. As quickly as you may be running through the bustling streets, it's nowhere near fast enough; you may as well as be sitting in your room reading etiquette and history.
Lanterns and glowing banners hang everywhere you can see, their bright reds and shimmering golds bobbing above like miniature suns. Kids dart around you and whiz by, red, blue, and green windmills clutched tightly in their fists while the noise of vendors selling candied fruit and grilled skewers fills the air. You know the rhythm by heart by now; the chanting music with the clanging bells of acrobats in the streets. You feel your cheeks burn in ecstasy when you notice it… him, sitting on the low railing bordering a nearby river you can spot him across the crowded street, lounging on his side.
Oh… You didn't plan on meeting him again, not so soon anyway. Nevertheless, you know it is time to act.
"Lost?" You ask, as you put your hands on your hips.
He seems surprised, and smiles.
"Oh, it's you" He says, and his shoulders relaxes a little. "I didn't think I was going to see you again tonight."
You laugh, taking your hand away from yours. "Thought you'd still be hiding out at the bar? What, get rejected for the second night in a row?"
Kai scoffs. "No such luck this time." He looks around at the crowded festival, then says, "Just kind of wandering around. Never really went to anything like this before."
"You picked a good night," You reply, sweeping your arm through the air to encompass the lively streets. "Now you've got an official guide."
And with that, the two of you meander into the festival, getting lost in the throng.
Stalls overflow with handcrafted charms, embroidered linens and sizzling foods that fill the air with their delicious aromas. As you and Kai wind your way through the bustling pathways, you fall into an easy rhythm of playful jokes and lighthearted teases, as if you've been acquaintances far longer than merely a few hours.
"What's this?" Kai picks up a wooden mask, turning it over in his hands with a curious frown.
"Some people wear them," you tell him, grabbing one similar and playfully draping it over your face. "Especially when they sneak out of the palace and don't want their fathers to know."
Kai laughs, unaware that you're speaking with a hint of truth behind your teasing. "Seems like you've had plenty of experience with that."
You just offer a wicked smile and let him think whatever he wants.
As the night deepens and the revelry continues, you and Kai find yourselves standing at the riverbank, where a crowd has gathered to watch the upcoming display. Children run past you, clutching paper lanterns and their laughter echoes as they pursue each other through the vibrant fair.
Then-
Boom.
The first firework arcs through the black sky, exploding in a burst of gold and crimson. Gasps and cheers erupt from the crowd as more fireworks ignite the heavens, creating a breathtaking spectacle of lights.
"I've never seen fireworks this close before," Kai murmurs in wonder, his gaze fixed upward.
You turn to him and watch the flickering colours reflected in his eyes. He looks at them with such pure amazement, so much like a child seeing the world for the first time, and you almost forget everything else. For a moment, the palace, your royal duties, the stark reality of morning disappear. You aren't a princess in disguise.
You are just you.
The fireworks continue to blossom above, their brilliant hues casting fleeting shadows on the faces gathered below. You see the fiery reds, the sapphire blues, the shimmering golds dancing in Kai's eyes, and you wonder—what has his life been like if a simple festival like this can hold him captivated in such a way?
"You seriously have never been to a festival like this before?" you ask, your voice light.
Kai shakes his head, still gazing upward. "Not really. My family never had much time for things like these."
You huff a small laugh. "I know the feeling."
Kai glances down at you now, a question etched on his face. "You sound like you understand it."
You shrug, leaning back against the wooden railing.
He doesn't question it further, and you're grateful for the brief reprieve. "Honestly, I wasn't expecting much tonight. But this..."
He gestures around him at the glow of the lanterns, the murmur of happy voices, the explosion of fireworks above.
"I can see now why people love it."
A child dashes past, nearly colliding with Kai and letting out a squeal of surprise, then continues her chase with giggles that draw you in.
"It's because for one night, you can forget about everything else," you say softly.
Kai hums in agreement and then turns a knowing smirk your way. "You sound like you make a habit of doing this."
You match his smirk. "Maybe I do."
"Or maybe you're running away from something," he muses, crossing his arms.
Your heart skips a beat at his accurate assessment. But you maintain a poker face and let out an easy chuckle. "Aren't we all?"
Kai regards you for a long moment before letting it go. Another volley of fireworks bursts directly overhead, showering the sky in a magnificent shower of gold, and you take the opportunity to glance at the horizon. The blackness of the night is already yielding to a soft glow in the east, a sure sign that dawn is near.
A knot of dread tightens in your stomach. You got distracted again. Quickly, you straighten yourself up. "I have to get going."
Kai looks at you then, his eyebrows knitting together slightly. "Already?"
You nod, offering a bright grin that fails to convey the urgency you feel. "I'm sure you can handle yourself without me, right?"
He lets out a scoff. "I think I'll manage."
You offer no reply, just a final, fleeting smile, before weaving through the crowds and making your escape. Finding your way back through the familiar streets and scaling the palace walls, you enter through your private chambers in the dark, the oppressive weight of your reality returning with full force. Soon, you will be a princess again, surrounded by expectations, etiquette, and the demands of your father and his court.
But as you lie down in bed, staring up at the ceiling, your eyes wide and bright despite your fatigue, a single man echoes in your mind.
The next morning, Chaewon's usual bright voice wakes you.
You groan, blinking your eyes open and seeing your lady-in-waiting standing by your bedside, your morning robe in hand.
She offers a small, almost-teasing smile but says nothing about your night away.
She combs your hair and helps you with your dressing in silence, much to your surprise. You can't help but expect some remark, but it never comes.
You go about your day, a princess in every sense, meetings and lessons and etiquette lessons blurring into a exhausting routine. The moment you have a chance to lay, sleep overtakes you before you can even close your eyes properly. And when you wake, the room is dark.
A jolt of panic goes through you as you sit up in bed, realizing night has already fallen again. You slept longer than you should have. You scramble out of bed, pulling the disguised clothes from your hidden compartment. And within minutes, you're back into the bustling town, weaving your way through the crowd, but something is missing though.
Kai is nowhere to be seen.
Initially, you dismiss it. Perhaps he's busy tonight with his own duties. You linger at the bar where you first met him, hoping for his appearance, but nothing comes. Disappointment flickers through you before you push it away.
People have their lives, after all.
So, you make do with what you have. You chat with strangers, grab a few drinks to warm you up and continue to wander the town until weariness settles upon you. Deciding to return to the palace earlier than expected, you make your way back as the festival continues to hum around you.
Kai leaned on the small wooden railing of a bridge overlooking the bustling town square, his arms crossed as he listened to Taehyun chatter. The lanterns for the festival hung and bobbed on the river below like miniature fireflies.
"You seem like you've been spaced out an awful lot, y'know," Taehyun mused, cocking his head as he observed Kai's expression closely. "Something on your mind?"
Kai scoffed, shuffling his feet and crossing to the railing. "Nothing."
"Nothing, huh?" Taehyun hummed, rolling his eyes. "You sure it's not about that dude you've been drowning your sorrows with that one night?"
Kai froze up. "It's not like that."
Taehyun grinned, leaning in slightly. "Y'know that it's quite all right to fancy a man, right?"
Kai glared sharply at Taehyun. "No it's not. Y'know that, too."
Taehyun's lopsided smile softened. He sighed, running a hand behind his neck as he stared out into the town square where pairs, male-female couples, walked with arms intertwined without any trepidation.
Kai followed Taehyun's gaze, but in all truthfulness the two of you both know that this world would not allow that. To love a man? It was as inconceivable as an ox playing an ox-harp.
"Y'know," Taehyun said in a more quiet voice, "just because you keep it suppressed doesn't mean it's not real."
Kai exhaled loudly, stepping away from the railing. "Nothing's being suppressed, Taehyun. He's… a friend I just sometimes drink with. Nothing more."
Taehyun's persistence knew no bounds. Before Kai could properly get his feet going Taehyun sped up, falling in beside him with his hands shoved into the folds of his sleeves. "Just a friend to drink with, huh? Then why did you look so disappointed when he wasn't in your company tonight?"
Kai sighed and rolled his eyes. "I wasn't disappointed."
"C'mon… Admit you wanted him here."
Kai clicked his tongue. "It's not like that."
"Then what is it like?" Taehyun chirped, stepping in front of Kai and blocking his path. The light tone of his voice was still present, but there was an underlying edge, one that said 'I know you well enough to not be lied to by a simple word.'
Kai clenched his jaw, eyes fixed on the festivities in the square beyond Taehyun. "It doesn't matter."
"It does," Taehyun countered calmly, his eyes steady. "You act like finding you admire a man is some crime, but it's not."
"Y'know it's not that simple," Kai shot back in a softer voice, though there was the undertone of pure frustration. "This world of ours doesn't accept such things. It's not just about me."
"You put far too much value on what the rest of the world thinks," Taehyun sighed, shaking his head as he looked up at the clear night sky.
"And you don't put enough," Kai exhaled sharply, rubbing his temples with a thumb and forefinger.
"I do," Taehyun countered quietly, though the calm tenor to his voice made him sound no less serious. "But I also put enough value on you. And as you can see, whatever this is, it's having a significant effect on you. Maybe instead of shying away from it you should figure out what 'it' is."
Kai exhaled slowly and shook his head, continuing on his walk through the festival with Taehyun close by his side.
"Listen, Taehyun," he muttered. "I appreciate your sentiment, but it's wrong. He's just… special, that's all."
Taehyun's eyebrows raised. "Special in what way?"
Kai frowned, trying to formulate his thoughts into something articulate. "He's unlike anyone else I've ever met, I suppose. He… listens to me when I talk. He doesn't pity me like so many others. He doesn't treat me like some broken piece of furniture. When I'm drinking with him, I don't feel like I'm being judged."
Taehyun hummed in consideration. "So, he's more than just a fellow to share a bottle with."
Kai scoffed. "No, he's not. That's exactly what he is. A very special fellow to share a bottle with."
Taehyun's gaze held an air of knowledge and amusement. "Are you quite sure of that?"
Kai inhaled sharply. "Yes."
And even then, the seed of doubt still remained planted in the back of Kai's mind.
The alcoholic warmth still hummed in your veins as you stumbled through your chambers and back. You barely had time to swap your casual wear for the usual attire you donned before a firm knock on your chamber doors roused you from your peaceful sleep. Groaning, you sat up rubbing your temples to shake away the haze from your drinks. The doors creaked open and in stepped Chaewon, her habitual grace momentarily marred by an underlying tension. She had averted your gaze.
"Your father wishes to speak with you," she stated in a calm voice, the subtle deviation from her normal persona alarming you somewhat. Your stomach lurched, and sat up fully, pushing away the languishing effects of the alcoholic daze as your mind raced through the possible reasons.
Yet another suitor? Perhaps talks of a potential bride? A collective sigh escaped your lips.
A few minutes later, you sat down at the massive table of the dining hall. The aroma of tea wafted through the air as bright morning rays pierced through stained glass windows and painted shimmering patterns on the expanse of the table. Your father sat at the head of it, his expression inscrutable.
Before you could even pick up your spoon, he cleared his throat.
"So," he announced, his tone light and almost jovial. "Did your consort agree to marry you?"
Spoons clattered as they dropped from your grasp. Your breath hitched.
"I... Am unaware of any consort, Father." You manufactured a puzzled expression onto your face.
A short chuckle from your father followed. "And here I thought you were in attendance of a young gentleman tonight?"
You froze. A dread, both cold and hot, creeped up your throat as you shifted your gaze to Chaewon at the side of the room. The nervous flicker of her fingers, the slight movement of her weight, you understand that she had watched you, followed you.
You took another steadying breath.
What could you say to divert your father's suspicions? He could demand answers, force a marriage, even put a royal investigation in motion.
You forced a light but strained smile onto your face.
"It... Is progressing," you answered calmly. "Although I doubt we can consider it a formal proposal as of yet."
Your father hummed contentedly, nodding slightly. "Take your time," he said reassuringly. "Now that you have a companion, you must feel more comfortable than ever."
Your stomach churned, the food on your plate turning to lead. You barely registered the rest of your father's words, your mind already churning to undo this unfolding disaster. After finishing your breakfast, you maintained your composure with effort, rose, and politely excused yourself.
"Chaewon, accompany me," you said, your voice firm and in command, although inwardly you were a wreck.
She just nodded, walking without a word with hands tied in front of her, posture in shape of the servant. You walked her through the luxurious hallways, with swift steps, the look of your face unknown. After you entered the study room, you stopped and let her enter before clicking door shut behind her. As the lock engaged with the body, you faced her and dropped your voice into a sharp whisper.
"Chaewon, are you crazy?"
The sudden words startled her, but then she stood upright, with confident grin that reappeared. "You were sneaking out, meeting a man. What was I supposed to think?"
"You were supposed to mind your own business!" You ran a hand across your temples in exasperation. "Do you realize what this is going to do? My father thinks I'm in a relationship now!"
Chaewon folded her arms across her chest, cocking her head to the side. "Well, is that better than being forced into marriage with a complete stranger?"
You opened your mouth and then closed it again. She had a point, but this was no better than anything else.
"He's going to want to meet him," you muttered, pace roaming around the study room. "Or worse, he might send someone to do his dirty work. To investigate Kai. And once they find out he's just a commoner from another province-"
Chaewon let out a sigh. "Then what will you do? Deny everything? Will that even trick your father?"
You inhaled deeply, closing your fists, your hands turning white with rage. " I have to fix this before it gets out of control."
Chaewon hesitated for a minute, before stepping forward. "Look, I followed you because I was worried," she finally confessed. "You've been sneaking out every other night and I didn't know if you were in danger or not, if you were ... I don't know, just trying to get away from palace life."
Your gaze faltered as guilt pricked at you. Chaewon had always been by your side and was loyal, even though you hadn't demanded it. Though annoying, the girl always did what was best.
"I'm not getting away," you mumbled. "I just... I like it out there, even if it's just for the short amount of time."
She eyed you for another moment before letting out a heavy sigh. " Fine. But if your father is going to be so sure you're in a relationship now, then you'll need a plan."
You pinch the bridge of your nose. " A plan? What kind of plan?"
She smiled subtly, and a sly look filled her eyes. " Well, you can introduce him as your partner to your father. Or you can somehow make it disappear before he gets more curious about it."
Leaning back against your chair, you gaze up at the ceiling, the reality of what could happen washing over you. Chaewon was right; your father wouldn't let something this easily go. He was an all-patient ruler, who followed through with his every intention. If he believed you were in a relationship, he would need a proof soon.
"You really gave me no other choice, did you?" You murmured, massaging your temples with the palm of your hands.
Chaewon merely shrugged, looking completely guiltless. "I just accelerated the inevitable."
You gave her a death glare, but let it fall off. Letting out a deep sigh, you straighten your posture, putting your hands in front of you. "All right, I'll have to think about it. It comes down to two options now: making the whole thing disappear or convincing Kai to play along with it."
Chaewon lifted an eyebrow. " You think a commoner like him will just agree to pretend to be your partner? What for? To humor you?"
Frowning, you knew that she was right. Kai always treasured his freedom, he would not just agree to something like this.
"I don't know," you admitted. "but I have to talk to him before father steps in any further."
Chaewon sighed. "Then I guess you'll be sneaking out again tonight?"
"Obviously," you responded, rising to your feet. " But this time, you're not coming with me."
Rolling your eyes, you walked towards your closet, wondering which male disguise would you be wearing tonight? It became clearer that this night was not going to be a casual meet-up. You need to handle this situation very carefully or Kai may end up involved in much deeper than it needed to be.
By the time the night fell, you had changed into your male attire but had abstained from the normal makeup and hair styling. No use to make yourself beautiful if the truth had to be revealed eventually. Adjusting the folds of your clothes, you looked in the mirror for one last time, then pulled up your hood and stepped through the secret entrance to the room. You had memorized the passage by heart over the many years that had passed.
The streets were bustling with their usual noise; laughter, clinking glasses, and the glow of lanterns swayed by the wind. However, tonight, you were not here to admire the atmosphere, but with a mission. You found Kai in their usual bar, leaning against the counter with a drink in his hands, without noticing your presence yet, caught in his own thoughts. Take a deep breath and approaching him, you pulled out the chair next to him.
"Drinking alone tonight?" you asked, your voice as casual as possible.
Kai turned to you, his eyes scanning your features carefully. But, this time, instead of the habitual smirk or a witty quip, his expression was a stark neutral.
"Do I know you?" He asked, tilting his head slightly to the side.
Your heart skipped a beat. Clearing your throat, you managed to conceal the surprise. You expected some reaction from him; perhaps a second look, or a flash of recognition. But he just shrugged and looked back to his drink when you didn't answer him, offering not even the slightest acknowledgement.
For the first time since you had met him, you felt like a stranger.
Letting out a harsh sigh, you knew that there was no more use in prolonging the wait. Without a word, you grab his hand and pull him off the stool before guiding him out of the bar.
"What the- hey!" Kai spluttered almost stumbling backwards in a fit of surprise and struggled to keep up with your quick pace. "Where are we going?!"
You did not reply, instead weaving your way through the crowds, finding the nearest alleyway with minimal lights far from the busy streets before stopping abruptly. You turn and faced him.
Kai scowled as he rubbed his hand on his wrist. " Seriously, what is your deal-"
Before he could finish, you run your hand through your hair, tie it up and pull the strands from your face with your fingers allowing the low lights to strip you of any illusive glamours. He'd raise an eyebrow in slight surprise, but he'd look at you with much confusion.
"Jisoo?" he'd scoff, shaking his head. "No way. Jisoo is a guy."
"Am I?" You'd fold your arms, meeting his gaze head-on. "Kai, I know about that time you almost got ripped off by that merchant, and you tried to play it off like you had it figured out all along."
He stiffened.
"Or how you have a completely low tolerance for anything spicy but have to fake it because you don't want to look weak in front of me."
Kai's lips part slightly but he said nothing.
"Or how you told me you came here because you wanted to run away from your hometown, from your parents' expectations from everything that was suffocating..."
"Stop." His voice was low, but it held a weight that none of you could ignore.
You stopped.
The alley fell silent, the sounds of the distant festival carrying without the two of you. Kai turned and looked at you, really looked. Not with anger or betrayal, but with an unreadable confusion and disbelief.
"This is… some kind of joke, right?" His voice was raspy with disbelief. "You- you were toying with me the whole time?"
The lump in your throat felt as big as a boulder as the full weight of the moment seemed to press down on you.
"No," you answered, your voice a mere whisper. "I never lied about who I am. Just what I look like."
With that said, the air between the two of you became heavy, stifling.
Kai stepped back, still taking it all in, his brow furrowing. He ran a hand through his hair, exhaling sharply.
"Why do you come to me now, like this?" His eyes searched your face. "In your real form?"
You opened your mouth but were unable to speak. Words felt so awkward now, so impossible to say to the man you knew, truly knew, but weren't supposed to. Still, you took a deep breath and forced the words out.
"Because… I'm a princess who needs to be married to a man. And you're the man I need." You stared at his face.
Silence stretched between you, thick and suffocating. Kai's lips parted, his expression blank. After a moment, he released a short, incredulous laugh. "You- you're kidding right?"
You shook your head.
A shadow crossed his face. "No. I won't marry you."
"Just please," you cut him off before he could continue, "all I need you to do is play along. Pretend."
Kai's jaw tightened, his fists clenching at his sides. His voice, though steady, carried an unmistakable bite. "And how am I supposed to play pretend when there's no such thing as a divorce in your family? And you lied to me, after all this time…"
He locked his eyes with yours, and for the first time you'd met him, there wasn't any warmth or humor, only frustration.
"You took advantage of me when I was down… You…" He then sighs. "I know nothing of your… world."
A shiver ran down your spine. He was right. For every night that you snuck out, ran away, and pretended to be someone else, you were escaping the life you were born into. But if Kai were to marry you, he would step into that life, perhaps even get trapped in it more than you ever had.
You took a step back, exhaling slowly, the air rushing out of you as you finally let yourself understand how selfish this all was. A small smile stretched across your lips, a smile that didn't reach your eyes. "Then I'll set you free," you whispered, your voice tinged with exhaustion. "I won't make you do something you don't want to do."
Kai's brows lifted at your words. He studied your face, his lips thinning into a straight line before he spoke. "If I don't marry you?" His voice was softer, yet there was an edge to it that warned you that this was more than idle curiosity.
"Then my father will find me a husband," you stated plainly, looking away and swallowing against the rising tide of… resignation. "Someone of noble blood, to continue our legacy, chosen for me without my say." You trailed off, the words tasting like ash in your mouth. "I'll just continue living as I was always meant to… just with a partner that I don't know. Possible that romance will bloom on the way but…"
Kai didn't respond, his silence amplifying the weight of the tension between you. He was thinking. Deeply.
"You don't want that," he said finally, not as a question but as an affirmation.
You gave a quiet laugh that held absolutely no amusement. "No, I don't. But I don't want to drag you down with me either."
Silence fell between you again, only broken by Kai exhaling and running a hand through his hair as if coming to terms with some internal battle. Then, with a steady tone, he declared, "I will marry you."
Your breath hitched.
Had you heard correctly?
His eyes met yours, his expression unreadable, but the steady conviction in his voice was undeniable.
"Wait, what?"
you spluttered, momentarily speechless. "Kai, are you sure you know what you're saying?"
"I am," he answered, his gaze unwavering.
You chuckled, a dry, disbelieving sound. "No, you don't. You have no idea what my life entails. Palace life is entirely different from the town. You will be monitored, controlled, expected to adhere to an array of social rules and etiquette that you've never had to deal with. You can't just… be you."
Kai's jaw tightened, but he didn't flinch. "You think I don't know that?"
You shook your head. "I don't think you do, not truly. Your days of freedom will be over. You will be a prince-consort. You'll be attending royal galas, learning ancient ceremonies, and navigating the world of nobles who will constantly remind you that you are not one of them."
You took a deep breath. "This isn't something you can just casually decide. Yeah, I know I proposed it to you earlier, but now that I'm saying all these, I realised that it is selfish for me to even approached to you about this matter."
But his response was immediate. "I'm not," he said, his eyes locked with yours, honest and unwavering. "I understand this won't be easy. I understand we come from different worlds. But if I leave, then what happens to you? You just told me that your father will find you another husband. Someone you may not even know. Is that what you want?"
You hesitated, heart lurching. No, it wasn't what you wanted, but that didn't mean it was Kai's problem.
"Kai…" You sighed, rubbing your temples.
"Why?
Why would you do this?"
He exhaled, looking away for a brief moment before meeting your eyes again. "Because I can't watch you suffer alone."
Your breath hitched, a knot forming in your chest. Kai, a man who had nothing to do with your world, who owed you absolutely nothing, was offering to walk into a life of confinement for your sake.
"You don't have to do this," you said, your voice softer. "I can handle myself."
Kai gave a short, cynical laugh.
"Oh, yeah? How has that worked out for you? You sneak out, you drink and laugh, you pretend to be someone else because you aren't handling it. You're running."
You clinched your fists, but the anger you'd wanted to feel wouldn't manifest. He was right, you were running. And now, with his words, you felt the weight of the truth closing in on you.
"If you marry me, though," you continued, forcing yourself to meet his unwavering gaze, "then you'll be trapped, too. You'll be running, as well."
Kai let out a sigh, tilted his head back for a moment as if wrestling with himself again. Then, with a steady voice, he replied, "Maybe I don't need to run." He looked back at you, a faint smirk appearing on his lips. "Besides, someone needs to make sure you don't do anything too stupid."
A little laugh escaped you before you could stop it. Even now, he was somehow capable of making you laugh. However, the moment was gone, and you stood staring at him, hunting for hesitation, doubt, any sign at all that might stop him from choosing something he would come to regret.
But there was no sign.
"You're serious?" you asked in a hushed tone.
Kai nodded his head. "I am."
The word hung in the air, the realization settling around you like a heavy, suffocating blanket. It was going to happen.
Slowly, you let out a breath, your eyes glued to him. "If you do this, there is no coming back from it."
"I know."
"You're going to need to learn how to act like nobility."
"I'll learn."
"You'll be expected to be right by my side for every royal gathering."
"That sounds like quite a bit of work," Kai grumbled. "But fine."
You narrowed your eyes at him. "You might be asked to produce an heir."
Kai's smirk disappeared, his eyebrows furrowing. "Now, there is a problem," he mumbled.
You chuckled, the sound louder and less strained than the previous ones. It was genuine. For just a few seconds, it felt as though the world wasn't going to fall in around you. It was lighter. Then, as the seriousness of the situation seeped back in, you stepped forward, reaching out your hand.
"Kai Kamal Huening," you declared firmly, "are you willing to stand by my side and face the world with me?"
Kai looked from your hand to your face and with a soft exhale, he reached out to grasp your outstretched hand, squeezing it lightly.
"Yeah," he agreed, a small, hopeful smile forming. "I will marry you."
And that was it. That was how you did it.
You told your father, and to your surprise, he didn't object much to a commoner marrying into the royal family; not at first, anyway, not as long as it happened. He offered a quick nod of approval, his initial surprise melting into satisfaction at your seemingly pragmatic decision, and immediately summoned servants to begin preparations for the wedding.
It all happened incredibly fast, probably too fast for Kai.
One minute, he was agreeing to become your husband; the next, he was being swarmed by tailors who measured him from head to toe, draped him in shimmering red silk and debated the finer points of embroidery while arguing about the most flattering shade of crimson for his wedding suit. Meanwhile, your own maids were busily stitching together a beautiful, elaborate red Chinese wedding dress for you, embroidering it with golden threads and mythical phoenixes, symbols of a prosperous union, while preparing the red veil that would hide your face until the moment of truth.
By the time the wedding ceremony was done, and you stepped into the honeymoon chamber, the festive uproar had receded, leaving an almost suffocating quiet. The room was illuminated by a soft candlelight that flickered from ornate sconces, casting elongated shadows against red silk drapes that billowed from the ceiling. The bed, emblazoned with embroidered patterns of phoenixes and dragons, was meticulously made.
It was all perfect-too perfect. And yet, you remained utterly still.
You sat on the edge of your bed, hands resting gently on your lap. Your veil hung loosely, covering your face beneath sheer layers of gold embroidery and rich silk. Kai was here, the soft rustle of his robes announcing his presence, the palpable tension of his hesitation clinging to the air.
It was this moment, the final one of the ceremony, where the veil was to be lifted and you would finally see the man you were now married to.
You waited, breath shallow beneath the red veil, hands still in your lap, and he did not move.
"Are you nervous?"
Kai's voice was surprisingly calm, yet laced with an undercurrent of doubt as it cut through the silence. Your breath hitched and the tips of your fingers curled slightly into the wedding gown's silk material.
You could lie, tell him you weren't, tell him this was just another duty you had always prepared for, but the words caught in your throat, heavy and unyielding.
"... Yes."
A slow exhale could be heard from Kai's direction, and you tightened your grip slightly.
"So am I."
That statement shocked you.
Nervous?
The very man who had so easily agreed to this marriage, this union, while you had been trying to pull away. Then, you felt it—a change in the atmosphere, an imminent movement.
"Then let's not rush it," Kai murmured, and though you could not see him, you felt as though he were standing mere inches from your face. "I'll lift the veil now."
A breath escaped your lips and you nodded, the motion slight but decisive. Slow and measured movements. The delicate red fabric was raised, and light spilled in, warmed by the flickering candlelight, falling on your skin in a soft glow.
For the first time in hours, you met his eyes. At first, they were unreadable, scanning your face with an unnervingly focused intensity as if he were memorizing you, memorizing who you were. But then, a softening subtle change that sent a warmth blooming in your chest.
"Do you really want to do this?" The words were quiet, but filled with an underlying weight you hadn't expected.
"What?"
you stammered, thrown by the unexpected shift.
"The honeymoon," he elaborated.
"Do you really want it, or is it just another expectation that's been forced upon you?" Your throat tightened. It was a question you hadn't bothered to ask yourself. Hiding behind the wedding preparations, behind duty and responsibility, you had never truly considered your own desires. He waited patiently for your answer, and the silence between you seemed to amplify the beating of your heart.
"I can't pretend to understand everything about your life," Kai admitted, "but I know what it feels like to be pushed into something you aren't ready for. And if that's the case here..." He met your eyes, a flicker of something you couldn't quite decipher in their depths. "... We don't have to."
Your heart performed a dizzying flip.
"Are you rejecting me?"
You asked, a small, knowing smirk playing on your lips, part teasing and part genuine. Kai scoffed, a low, rumbling sound. "I'm offering you a choice. Something I'm guessing you don't get often from a man."
And that was true, wasn't it? The kingdom's interests had always come first. Your father's wishes had dictated your life. But him, he was asking about you, and you were suddenly unsure how to answer.
"You look gorgeous," he murmured, almost to himself, and you felt your cheeks flush beneath the veil.
A breath caught in your throat.
You held his gaze, a silent question passing between you.
"Do you really want to do this? The honeymoon?"
Kai's question, though quiet, was sharp, cutting through the lingering silence with an unnerving sincerity. There was no sarcasm, no pressure, just a stark, clear question: your desire, as valued as his own. You had only considered duty, obligation, the next step in a plan that had been set in motion long before you understood it. But now, looking into his eyes, a different kind of warmth began to spread through you, a memory of simpler nights, of laughter shared over wine, of a freedom that felt impossibly far away.
You didn't analyze whether it was love. You didn't worry about the repercussions or the kingdom's gossip. All that mattered was him, in this room, with you. And for the first time in a very long time, you wanted what you wanted.
Your gaze drifted to his mouth, and when you returned to his eyes, he nodded slowly, almost imperceptibly.
"I'm comfortable with you."
So you did. Slowly, deliberately, you leaned forward and pressed your lips to his.
His warmth met yours, a hesitant, tentative touch that blossomed under the soft candlelight. No declarations of love, no grand romantic gestures, just the quiet acknowledgment of shared space, shared time. The kiss deepened, a gentle exploration that erased the expectations, the duties, the pressure from your minds, at least for now.
His hands found your waist, fingertips grazing the delicate silk of your gown, and you reached up, your own hands trailing the curve of his arm.
The red silk walls seemed to shimmer, reflecting the warmth that now emanated not from the candles, but from within yourselves. As dawn approached, your breaths mingled, becoming shallow, uneven, a testament to the night that had just unfolded. The air in the room was thick with unspoken questions, a palpable uncertainty that hung between you as you lay intertwined. You had done what was expected of newlyweds, of royal spouses, till the next day.
But… had you truly desired it?
The weight of the previous night pressed against your chest, a confusing blend of fulfillment and apprehension. You turned your head to look at Kai. His dark hair was a disarrayed mess, his features peaceful in sleep.
A childish urge to reach out and trace his face, to ensure he wasn't merely a figment of your desperate imagination, prickled at your skin. Then, his eyes fluttered open. A slow blink, and they found yours.
There was no smile, no greeting.
Just the quiet stillness of the morning. He ran a hand through his already tousled hair, a small sigh escaping his lips before he spoke.
"… Do you regret it?"
You're lying naked on the silk sheets, the heat of the previous night still radiating between you and Kai. His question hangs in the air between you, the uncertainty and apprehension of it palpable. You turn your head to look at him; your eyes trace the faint, stray strands of his dark hair that fall over his forehead, the barely-there part of his lips as he awaits your answer.
"…I don't know," you say, quiet but resolute.
He exhales a shallow breath, turning his face away from you as he falls back against the pillows. His chest rises and falls with what appears to be a steady rhythm, yet his body is stiff as if he's bracing himself for something.
"Yeah," he says. "Me neither."
A silence falls in the room. You shift slightly, feeling a dull ache that sings through the parts of your body touched by Kai last night. It's a strange sensation to be in such close, intimate proximity with someone, yet be utterly unsure of what it means. You gaze at his hand as it rests on the sheet nearby, close enough for you to reach out and weave your fingers with his, but you don't.
"We should get up soon," you sigh instead, pulling the blanket more closely around yourself as you turn to lie on your side. The attempt at reasserting normality feels hollow.
He hums his agreement, though he doesn't move. "Yeah… but not yet." His tone is soft, almost resigned, and for reasons you don't understand, you don't argue.
After you dress in your formal attire, you take a moment to look at yourself in the mirror. The elaborate wedding robes you wore for the night are replaced with slightly more sedate, but no less grand, ceremonial clothing appropriate for the morning after a wedding night. The familiar sense of pressure that accompanies the weight of your title returns to your shoulders, but something else lingers beneath it.
Kai stands at the window, dressed in the traditional red and gold robes for a groom, his dark hair pulled neatly back from his face. You've never seen him wear them before; there is something subtly different about the way he holds himself, a rigidity, a uncertainty you've never noticed.
"Are you ready?" you ask, your voice level.
He glances at your reflection in the mirror, his eyes meeting yours briefly.
"Not really," he says, running a hand over the fabric of his sleeve. "Does that even matter, though?"
"No," you reply, a soft exhale following the word.
A sharp rap on the door announce that the servant is waiting outside, ready to escort the newly-weds to the morning greeting with your father. You give Kai one last look, straighten your shoulders, and move towards the door, the pull of your duty stronger than your hesitations.
He follows in step, silent but present beside you. The night before is behind you now, its impact palpable, yet still undefined. Love or something else, neither of you knows. But from this day on, you are husband and wife.
The days turn into weeks, and you and Kai slip into the rhythms of your new married lives. Kai, formerly a freewheeling commoner, now navigates the complexities of palace life with surprising ease. Although initially ill at ease with the strict decorum and ever-present staff, his natural charm and keen intelligence allow him to master palace etiquette and courtly mannerisms faster than expected. He learns to stand and speak in the company of powerful men, and his quick wit, when it isn't softened by formality, often surprises the ministers.
You, on the other hand, spend your days with your mother, learning the intricate art of governance, how to hold yourself with an air of authority, and how to deftly balance the various cliques of nobles and ministers that vie for influence within the court. This was always your destiny, a life you understood in the abstract, but with Kai beside you, now, its weight seems somehow more substantial.
One evening, as you conclude another day of lessons, you find Kai in the courtyard. His sleeves are rolled up to his elbows and he's sparring with one of the palace guards, moving with an unexpected grace and speed, parrying blows with practiced ease.
"You fight well for someone who used to spend all day drinking in bars," you remark, walking over and settling onto the stone bench.
He glances over his shoulder, a knowing smirk on his face. "And you lead well for someone who snuck out to chase fireworks." He laughs under his breath.
You cross your arms, the casual banter a fragile veneer. "Are you adjusting?"
He looks away again, a shadow passing across his features that you can't interpret. "I don't know."
You sigh, the words slipping out before you can stop them. "I won't force you to stay, you know." Your voice is softer than intended, tinged with vulnerability you didn't intend to show. "If this life is too much for you, I understand."
He exhales slowly, running a hand through his damp hair. "And what happens to you if I leave?" he asks.
You pause, the answer a gaping hole in your heart that you can't yet fill.
Kai gives a dry chuckle, the sound devoid of humor. "Thought so."
Silence settles between you once more, a silence that is far from awkward. The opulence of the palace around you seems to fade, and for a moment, you are no longer Queen, nor is he a mere commoner. You are simply you and him, as you were beneath the stars at the festival, before you knew either your past or your future.
Maybe neither of you truly understand what love is, but perhaps, you think, perhaps you will one day learn.
Kai is dozing in the pavilion, his back leaning against the railing, his eyes half-closed with exhaustion. You tiptoe over and hand him a cup of warm tea, the fragrant steam warming your face.
He opens his eyes, a slight smile playing on his lips. "Serving me, Your Highness?" he jokes, but he takes the cup from your outstretched hand.
You roll your eyes, sinking down beside him. "Just drink."
He sips the tea, a comfortable silence falling between you, punctuated only by the gentle lapping of a distant fountain and the sweet perfume of night-blooming jasmine carried on the breeze. Then, Kai speaks again, his voice laced with a mischievous amusement.
"You know," he says, tilting his head, "my friend once told me that I had a sort of… male version of you. Like, someone similar, in spirit." He chuckles, shaking his head. "He kept on trying to convince me that it was okay to… you know… 'be into dudes', but I always told him he was out of his mind and forgot all about it."
Your breath catches in your throat, your grip tightening on the fabric of your sleeves. "What?" you manage, your voice barely a whisper.
"Yeah," Kai continues, resting his head back. "But I always remembered that comment, somehow. But the whole situation with you turned everything on its head, and I just totally forgot I had once liked that person until you reminded me. It all got overshadowed, I guess, with marriage and all these things I had to learn."
His tone is flippant, almost nonchalant, but a chill traces down your spine. You can't explain why. You are, you realize, not entirely happy with his answer.
Without conscious thought, before you can even rationalize the impulsive action, you lean in and place a gentle kiss against the skin of his cheek.
Kai flinches as if struck, his eyes flying open in stark shock. His entire body tenses as you pull away, leaving him frozen in a state of bewilderment, his lips slightly parted as if trying to form a response, but nothing comes. His ears are visibly flushed crimson; the surprise, clearly, was absolute.
A playful smirk touches your lips as you tilt your head. "Do you like the female version of me now?" you ask, your voice sweet.
Kai visibly jumps, his hands twitching at his sides. He opens his mouth to speak, then closes it with a strangled sound. "Not- not so fast!" he manages at last, the words rushing out in a panicked rush.
And with that, he shot out of his seat, nearly overturning the teacup in his rush. He turned his back to you, running a hand through his hair as if trying to get his thoughts in order.
You bit back a laugh as you watched him go retrieve the wooden sword from the rack beside you, swinging it wildly to distract himself. He was stiff, his movements clumsy, and his grip too tight on the polished hilt.
"Going to practice," he muttered, his voice a fraction too high to be normal.
"You sure?" you leaned your head against the back of your hand, your eyes twinkling with amusement. "You look less focused and more flustered."
"Shut up!" he snapped without turning.
And just like that, you knew you had won.
From that day on, you vowed to find every excuse to fluster Kai. Whether it was whispering a surprise compliment in his ear as he read over documents, playfully brushing your fingers against the back of his hand as you helped him study calligraphy, or simply leaning too close while you were supposed to be tying his robe. It always worked.
He would blush, stammer, and excuse himself.
"Not so fast!"
It would become his refrain, but you had to admit, he was starting to grow accustomed to your little jabs. In fact, he might have been expecting them.
Somewhere along the line, however, things had shifted.
It was during one of your usual games of teasing. You were lightly pulling the hem of his robe, making fun of his wobbly sword stance, when Kai abruptly turned. He stepped forward, his hand reaching up to gently brush an errant strand of hair from your face.
You froze.
The air around you hummed, the usual playful back and forth dissolving into something new, something uncharted. His gaze met yours, and for the first time since you began this little dance, you were the one left stunned. A slow smirk began to bloom on his lips.
"Why so quiet now?" he asked, his voice dropping a level lower than before.
Your heart fluttered.
This was it. The moment you'd been indirectly orchestrating, but you'd never actually believed would come. Your teasing had been a means to an end, a game played out of a desire to prove to him that you were capable of turning the tables. And now, in a blink of an eye, you had done just that.
You swallow hard, managing to choke out a scoff.
"Don't get cocky." You tried to step back, to regain control, to make some distance between you. But Kai closed it instantly, he was surprisingly steady as he followed your retreat, his confident presence a startling new aspect of his demeanor.
"You're the one who started this game," he observed, tilting his head. "Why do you look so nervous now?"
You felt the familiar heat creep up your neck and resisted the urge to roll your eyes. You were the aggressor in this situation, yet he was the one throwing you off.
"I'm not nervous," you huffed, crossing your arms defiantly.
A soft chuckle escaped his lips as he moved closer still. "Oh? Then why aren't you looking at me?"
He was right. You hadn't even realized that your gaze had drifted, the confident eye contact you'd maintained moments before wavering. Before you could even form a proper reply, he leaned in closer, his voice a low whisper, barely brushing your earlobe. "Do you like me now?"
Your breath caught in your throat, and this time, your programming seemed to malfunction completely.
You pushed against his chest in a feeble attempt to create some space, but his reaction was swift. He caught both of your wrists in one hand, pulling you closer until your back pressed against the cold, floral-patterned wallpaper. His free arm slid around your waist, holding you firmly against him. His breath was warm on your cheek as he lowered his head, his voice a hushed rumble.
"So, how is my future queen doing with her heart?"
Your pulse hammered against your ribs. The playful mockery in his tone failed to dampen the sudden heat creeping up your neck. You were unable to meet his eyes, but you could feel his smirk spreading across his face, taunting you without mercy.
He let out a deep, knowing chuckle and leaned in further, his lips skimming the shell of your ear. "Suddenly, I miss our first night together in the honeymoon room."
A shiver tracing along your spine. Your fingers twitched in his grip, but before you could protest or pull away, he released you. The warmth of his proximity was gone, leaving an imprint on your senses. You stood rooted to the spot, a mortified blush covering your entire face.
Kai glanced over his shoulder with a wry smile. "Try not to miss me too much, Your Highness."
And with that, he was gone.
You tentatively raised a hand to your chest, the frantic pounding beneath your fingertips a testament to the chaos inside you.
What in the world just happened?
For a few moments, you just stood there, your body trembling slightly, your mind reeling.
He'd always been playful, teasing you relentlessly, but this… this was something different entirely. The look in his eyes, the low whisper of his voice… None of it felt like the innocent banter you'd come to expect.
And the worst part? Your heart had actually betrayed you.
Shaking your head to clear the swirling thoughts, you straightened your posture, trying to shake off the lingering warmth of his touch.
"He's just messing with me," you reassured yourself, though the words held little conviction. Determined not to be so easily swayed, you made your way back inside the palace, forcing yourself to concentrate on your royal duties. But no matter how hard you tried to focus, the echoes of his words persisted.
That evening, while poring over royal documents in your chambers, you heard a knock at the door.
"Come in," you replied.
Kai stepped into the room, clad in formal robes instead of his usual relaxed attire. His presence alone seemed to thicken the air around you, though you tried desperately not to show any weakness.
"You're working late," he observed, gesturing to the papers spread before you.
"Unlike you, I have responsibilities," you shot back, not looking up from the parchment.
He chuckled and moved to stand beside your table. "Ouch, but you're right. I've been spending a lot of time on learning to be a good husband, rather than a good king."
You looked up at him, raising an eyebrow. "And how is that going for you?"
Kai smirked. "Well, my wife hasn't quite fallen for me yet, so I'm clearly doing something wrong."
Your breath hitched briefly, but you quickly recovered. "Perhaps you should stop playing games and actually try to take this seriously."
He hums thoughtfully before leaning in slightly. "And if I start taking this seriously, would that make you fall for me?"
You hate how easy he gets under your skin. The cocky, almost lazy flirt, as if he already knew the effect he had on you. But two can play at that game.
You fully turn your attention on him, resting your chin in your palm. "Who said I haven't already?"
A sweet smile curves your lips, and for once, Kai seems thrown off. His signature smirk falters, his brows flying up, as if he can't believe you went along with him.
"Oh?" His voice deepens. "Is that a confession, my queen?"
You meet his dark, mysterious gaze, Refusing to let him see the thumping against your chest. "Maybe, maybe not. You'll have to figure that out for yourself."
Kai stares for a moment, then throws his head back and bursts into a loud, genuine, and somehow heart- lightening laugh. "I see. So we're playing that game now?"
He stands and stretches out his arms before flashing you a grin.
"Alright then, Your Highness. I accept the challenge."
He turns on his heel and walks out, leaving you with a smirk all your own.
This time, you were the one who made his heart skip a beat.
Flustered, a burning need for revenge settling into your veins, you spent the rest of the day scheming ways to turn the tables on him. You'd tried sneaking up behind him and whispering something tantalizing, but he'd somehow anticipated it, catching your arm with a sly smirk. You'd even gone as far as trying to fluster him with a sudden peck on the cheek, but he'd tilted his head back at the last second, your lips barely missing his.
Nothing worked.
Everything you attempted seemed to bounce right back at you, leaving you more frustrated. How could he seem so completely unfazed by you, while you were… well, this flustered.
Eventually, you had had enough, you needed distance. You slipped away from your attempt at revenge, opting to retreat to your chambers before your racing heart sent any more signals that would give him the upper hand.
Stepping out into the cooler night air, you took slow, deep breaths.
This was getting ridiculous. You had set all this in motion, the back and forth, so why did it feel like you were losing the match?
Baffled and annoyed, you stood outside your door. You'd backed away, your chest pounding, and rested a hand over it in an attempt to regain control. Why did he have this effect on you? Your heart thumped erratically in your chest and you tried to regulate your breathing, when…
Footsteps. You tensed, realizing the sound growing closer belonged to the very man occupying your thoughts.
Kai.
He came to a halt directly in front of you, close enough that you could feel the heat radiating from his body. You looked up, your eyes meeting his in the dim hallway. His expression was unreadable, dark with something you couldn't quite decipher.
"You ran away too fast earlier," he murmured, his voice soft and laced with amusement, though there was a hint of something more intense beneath the surface.
He moved closer still before your brain could even register what was happening. One of his hands found the small of your back, pressing gently but firmly, the other extending behind you. There was a faint click and then he turned your door open, guiding you into the room before stepping inside. The door closed behind him with a quiet finality.
A beat of silence stretched between you.
"You always tease me," Kai whispered, his fingers brushing over your arm and sending a shiver down your spine. "Always trying to make me fall for you. Have you ever wondered what it would be like if you actually succeeded?"
You parted your lips to speak, but the warmth of his body pressed against yours seemed to steal your breath away.
"You're always going on about making me fall for you," he continued, his voice like warm honey flowing over silk, "but what about you?"
Your heart pounded in your ears as he leaned in, his breath fanning over your lips, his hand on your waist tightening subtly. You weren't entirely sure who made the first move, but before you knew it, his lips were against yours. The kiss was slow at first, tentative and testing, but when you didn't pull away, it deepened.
His hands swept up your back, drawing you closer into the space between you until you were practically melting against him.
The silken curtains by the bed swished and billowed with your movement. His lips moved from yours to your jaw, down to the hollow of your throat, his hands memorizing the contours of your body as you melted against him. There were no games anymore; there was just you and him, pulled by an irresistible force into the night.
The morning sun peeked through the delicate silk curtains, painting the room with a soft, golden light. The air was still, peaceful, filled only with the quiet rhythm of steady breaths. You snuggled deeper into the blanket that covered both of your bare forms, the fabric offering a subtle shield from the cool morning air, but the true warmth emanating from the man beside you.
A tiny, contented smile tugged at your lips as you remained motionless, eyes closed, clinging to the fading warmth of the previous night. You could feel the gentle rise and fall of Kai's chest, his arm comfortably slung around your waist, pulling you closer.
Reluctant to break the spell, you sighed softly, pressing your face more firmly against his bare shoulder. His scent swirled around you, making it difficult to focus on anything but this intimate bubble of quiet bliss. Just as sleep began to tug at your consciousness once more, a deep rumble of laughter vibrated from Kai's chest.
"You're awake, aren't you?" His voice was husky from slumber, a touch of amusement laced within it.
You hummed in reply, stubbornly keeping your eyes closed. No need to disrupt this perfect peace just yet.
Kai stirred slightly, his fingers dancing along your spine with a slow, almost lazy grace. "Snuggling into me like this… are you trying to tempt me again?"
Your cheeks flared with heat, but you offered no verbal response, instead pressing yourself even tighter against him. You could feel the muscles in his shoulders tremble as he laughed at your reaction.
"You were much bolder last night," he teased, his fingertips trailing light, feather-like patterns along your arm.
Finally, you blinked open your sleep-heavy eyes and peered up at him. His dark eyes, still shadowed with drowsiness, held a playful glint, but there was a softer quality beneath the surface that you hadn't yet figured out.
"Are you regretting it?" His voice softened, turning more serious.
You considered his question for a moment, your fingers instinctively tightening their grip on the fabric of the blanket before slowly unfurling.
"No," you admitted quietly. Kai watched you for a beat, a knowing smirk playing on his lips.
"Good," he murmured, pulling you in even closer and pressing a lazy, warm kiss to your forehead.
And so, the morning stretched out before you, a lazy continuation of the previous night, neither of you wanting to pull away from each other's embrace.
The warmth of the morning clung to you both as you remained tangled within the sheets, no one eager to initiate movement. Kai's hand traced slow, absentminded patterns along your back, his touch light, almost tentative. The silence that hung between you was far from awkward, it was brimming with something unspoken that you both seemed hesitant to voice.
After a long while, Kai stirred, propping himself up on one elbow and gazing down at you. His messy hair and sleep-heavy eyes lent him a vulnerability that was rare, a soft edge you rarely saw.
"We should get up soon," he mumbled, although no move was made to get out of the bed.
You grunted, burrowing your face further into his chest. "Five more minutes."
A soft chuckle rumbled from deep within his chest, sending a pleasant shiver down your spine. "If I give you five, you'll ask for ten."
You peeked up at him with an exaggerated pout. "So what if I do?"
Kai's smirk widened, his fingertips gently grazing your cheek before tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear. "Then we'll never leave this bed, and while that's a rather tempting prospect, we do have obligations."
You sighed dramatically but knew he was right. The obligations of royalty, of marriage, beckoned beyond the closed doors of your chambers. Yet, for these few precious moments, you yearned to suspend them. As if reading your mind, Kai suddenly leaned down and placed a slow, lingering kiss against your lips. It wasn't a demand or a rush, but rather a soft, silent reassurance that beneath all the duties and expectations, this, them, would always remain.
Pulling away, he gave you a wicked grin. "Alright, now we can get up."
Reluctantly, you slid out from under the blanket, the cool air a sharp contrast to the lingering warmth on your skin. Kai followed, wrapping his arms around a robe while you grabbed your own.
The instant the doors to your chambers swung open, the air in the palace seemed to palpably shift. The usual morning hustle was replaced by hushed murmurs and knowing glances from the servants who lined the hallway, all bowing deeply as you and Kai approached. Kai, walking beside you with his usual composed facade, didn't seem to notice at first. But then, an elderly maid with bright, eager eyes stepped forward, a deep bow punctuated by a sly smile.
"Your Highness," she said, her gaze flitting from you to Kai and back again. "The palace is already preparing for the excellent news."
Your brow furrowed in confusion. "Excellent news?"
The maid's lips curved upwards. "It is only natural for a husband and wife to grow closer. We are simply anticipating the blessing of a royal heir."
Hot color flooded your face, and your eyes widened in horrified realization. The words reverberated through your mind, leaving you stammering for a coherent response.
Kai, ever the composed one, merely raised a brow, an amused glint in his eyes. "That's quite an assumption."
The maid bowed again, her smile unwavering. "My apologies, Your Highness, but the very air between you has changed. It is simply… natural for us to assume."
You wanted to burrow under the nearest carpet. Flinging your hands out in a flustered gesture, you declared, "No! There's… there's nothing! No baby! You are all mistaken!"
Nearby servants tittered amongst themselves, quickly excusing themselves and leaving you utterly mortified. You rounded on Kai, who was openly smirking at your predicament.
"You're enjoying this, aren't you?" you grumbled, your face still burning.
He chuckled, leaning closer. "I'm just surprised. Apparently, everyone has high expectations for our conjugal duties."
You moaned and turned away, picking up your pace. But the maid's words lingered in your mind: A baby. The thought, unbidden, took root.
What would it be like? To carry Kai's child? The very idea sent a wave of warmth through you, so vivid it took your breath away. You could picture him, his hand gently resting on a rounded belly, his typically teasing smirk softening into one of paternal devotion, his dark eyes filled with worry as he soothed any restless kicks.
Would he read stories to the babe at night? Would he whisper sweet nothings to both you and the tiny life growing within?
The image was so tender, so deeply unexpected, that it made your heart ache in a way you couldn't explain. Shaking your head vehemently, you tried to dismiss the thought, telling yourself it was far too soon to even consider. Yet, the warmth had already settled deep within your chest.
That thought had stuck in your mind far longer than it should have, making you fidgety even though you tried to continue with your work for the day. Each time you caught Kai from the corner of your eye, your mind would insistently overlay his familiar, confident smirk with a soft one, turning his teasing jibes into caring ones.
The worst part of all was… that you liked the idea.
You found yourself lost in your thoughts during your lesson with your mother, too. She was detailing the duties of a queen but her voice barely registered as you absently ran your finger over your stomach.
"Are you feeling unwell?" your mother asked, jolting you out of your daydream.
You flinched, hastily shaking your head. "N-No! I was just... Thinking."
She observed you for a moment before nodding. "Good. It is important to think ahead now that you are married." After a brief pause, she added, "Have you given any thought to the next step?"
Your eyes went wide. "Next step?"
She raised an eyebrow, giving you a knowing look. "An heir, of course. The kingdom will expect no less of us."
Your cheeks flared scarlet and you instantly regretted ever thinking about the silly thought earlier.
"Mother, it's too early!" you blurted, feeling trapped.
She simply smiled, taking a sip from her tea. "You are still young, my dear. But I have noticed the way you look at your husband, and it's very possible it won't take much longer at all."
You almost choked on air. Was it that obvious?
After the lesson, you scurried back to your chamber, praying you'd be safe from any more embarrassing questions. As soon as you entered, however, you found Kai lounged carelessly on your couch with his arms folded behind his head.
"You are early," he mused. "Or did you just miss me too much?"
You rolled your eyes, feeling heat climb up your neck. "Do not flatter yourself."
He tilted his head, smirking. "You look as though you have something on your mind."
You hesitated. Should you tell him or dismiss it as ridiculous? Before you could make up your mind, he reached for you, tugging you down to sit next to him. His fingertips brushed against your cheek and the normally amused smirk softened.
"Tell me," he murmured.
You gulped, heart hammering against your ribs. And before you could stop yourself, the words tumbled out.
"They think I'm pregnant."
Silence descended over the room. Kai's eyes widened for a moment, the smirk replaced with something entirely unreadable. "... Are you?"
"No!" you exclaimed, waving your hands wildly. "But they assumed because of how... Close we've been."
His expression eased, though a thoughtful look remained in his eyes. Leaning closer, lips nearly touching your ear, he whispered, "Well, we could always make it happen."
You tensed, heat washing over your body as you shoved him away. "Kai!"
He laughed, leaning back into the couch again. "I am just teasing you. Or am I?"
You groaned, burying your face in your hands. There was no way you would survive this marriage.
The weeks bled into months and the unexpected presence of Kai in your life slowly faded into the norm. His teasing, his lingering touches, his consistent need to be near-it all became as common as breathing. Neither of you uttered the word "love," though… perhaps it wasn't needed, was it?
You were married.
Words were always too cheap, and actions always spoke so much louder.
He always knew how you liked your tea served, even the exact time to make sure it was on your side table without you asking. You knew when he needed his space and allowed him it without question, without resentment. He would note the tenseness in your hands, interlacing them with his without missing a beat.
You would run your fingers through his hair, feeling his shoulders loosen as he leaned into the touch.
When he looked too long, even the cutting remarks would soften.
Small things, but significant. A shift had occurred. Now he never returned to his chambers alone anymore; he'd simply drift off beside you, even if you were already asleep.
He'd grab your hand under the table if anyone could see, but he never dropped it as long as you'd let him.
He stole kisses when he thought you weren't looking, only to look at you innocently when you'd catch him, feigning ignorance. And more than anything, the fluttering in your stomach wasn't caused by mortification, but by something far deeper, far quieter. Because, somewhere, even if neither of you had said it, you'd come to know that love existed between you. And perhaps that was enough.
… Or maybe not quite enough, as it turned out.
It started after your third encounter with Kai since that awkward, embarrassing afternoon. The air in the palace seemed to have changed. A certain atmosphere, almost palpable, hovered over the stone corridors.
And it was all directed at you.
The servants who once maintained respectful indifference now smiled at you with almost an knowing gleam in their eyes, their gaze lingering slightly too long.
At first, you dismissed it as nothing but a coincidence. But as the days rolled by, it became undeniable. The hushed whispers that seemed to follow you, the sudden wide smiles, the excited way the maids would nod and avert their gaze-something was clearly afoot.
One morning, a young maid greeted you as you left your chamber, her eyes sparkling like freshly polished gems.
"You are glowing, Your Highness," she trilled.
You blinked. "Glowing?"
The maid just giggled and rushed away before you could get a proper explanation. The comments didn't cease, though. During breakfast, the head maid poured your tea, a gentle smile playing on her lips.
"You look radiant today, Your Highness."
Even the palace guards seemed to give you a quick glance, a flicker of amusement in their normally impassive faces.
Finally, unable to contain your curiosity any longer, you approached one of the older, more trusted maids. "Why is everyone acting so… strangely around me?" you asked.
The maid hesitated, then burst into a radiant smile. "It is because… we believe there may be good news soon, Your Highness."
Your eyebrows knitted together in confusion. "Good news?"
She giggled again, a light tinkling sound. "A royal heir, of course."
The words hit you like a blast of cold air. Your eyes widened in astonishment and your lips parted. "A- what?"
The maid's smile wavered as she suddenly clapped a hand over her mouth. "Oh! Forgive me, Your Highness! It's just… well, you have been glowing for quite some time now, and it is widely believed that such radiance portends new life."
Your heart gave a sudden lurch.
Pregnant?
The very idea hadn't even crossed your mind.
Your hand involuntarily went to your abdomen. No, no, no obvious bump. No telltale signs. But was it possible…?
The thought took your breath away.
Just then, your chamber door opened, and Kai walked in, his expression of casual confidence momentarily wavering as he registered your expression. He stepped further in, his brow furrowed.
"What is wrong?" he asked, concern finally overriding the familiar smugness.
You looked up at him, your mind reeling. Could you truly be carrying his child? He saw your hesitation, his eyes searching yours, and his expression softened as he reached out to gently cup your face, his thumb brushing against your cheekbone.
"What is it?" he asked again, his voice quieter this time, filled with patience.
You swallowed hard, your hands clutching the fabric of your robes, and finally, you found the courage to speak.
"The servants… they believe I might be pregnant."
For a brief moment, silence settled between the two of you. Kai's eyes widened slightly, his lips parting, but he didn't speak. Then, slowly, a small, almost hesitant smile formed on his lips.
"Pregnant?" He repeated the word like he was trying to make sense of it.
"I don't know for sure," you admitted, looking down. "But they say I've been 'glowing', and…" You trailed off, feeling unsure of yourself.
Kai took a deep breath, then suddenly pulled you into his embrace. His arms wrapped around you firmly, his warmth surrounding you.
"If it's true, then we'll face it together," he whispered into your hair. "You're not alone in this."
His words melted the nervousness in your chest. You closed your eyes, resting your head against his chest, listening to his heartbeat.
Days passed, and just as the servants predicted, you began feeling unwell. The first time you woke up nauseous, you ignored it, thinking it was just something you ate. But when the morning sickness became more frequent, you knew you couldn't ignore it anymore.
A physician was called to check your condition. The elderly man took your wrist delicately, pressing two fingers against your pulse, his brows furrowing in concentration. Kai stood behind you, his hands resting gently on your shoulders, offering silent support.
The moment the physician's expression softened into a warm smile, you felt your breath hitch.
"Congratulations, Your Highness," the physician finally said. "You are with child."
You froze. The room seemed to fall silent except for the ringing in your ears. Kai tightened his grip on your shoulders slightly. His voice was steady, but you could hear the unmissable emotion in it.
"You're sure?" he asked, his tone almost cautious, as if he didn't want to get his hopes up too soon.
The physician chuckled. "Quite sure. The signs are clear. The princess is expecting."
A mix of emotions flooded you all at once-shock, disbelief, joy, and a lingering sense of fear.
Kai squeezed your shoulders reassuringly, leaning down so his lips were close to your ear.
"Did you hear that?" he murmured. "We're going to be parents."
Your hand instinctively moved to your stomach. The realization hit you fully.
A child. Kai's child. Your child. Your eyes burned with unshed tears as you turned your head slightly to look at him. His expression was one you had never seen before-soft yet fierce, like he had already decided he would protect both you and this unborn life with everything he had.
You weren't alone.
And for the first time in a long while, you felt nothing but warmth.
News of your pregnancy spread like wildfire, reaching every corner of the palace and even the bustling streets of the city. The people rejoiced, celebrations unfolding in honor of the future heir. Lanterns were lit, prayers were said, and the citizens beamed with pride knowing their empire would soon welcome a new royal.
Within the palace walls, your mother took it upon herself to guide you through this new journey. She spent hours with you, offering wisdom and advice that had been passed down through generations.
"You must be careful with what you eat," she reminded you, pressing a gentle hand against your stomach. "And rest when you feel tired. The body works harder than you realize when carrying a child."
She even had palace physicians prepare herbal tonics specifically for your health, ensuring both you and the baby would be strong.
Kai, on the other hand, had thrown himself into intense preparations. He studied harder, not just for his role as your husband but as a future father.
"You're working too hard," you teased one evening as you found him surrounded by scrolls, absorbing every lesson about parenting and ruling.
He looked up, a sheepish smile forming. "I just want to be ready."
Your heart softened. Kai, once a man reluctant about marriage, was now someone who was dedicating himself to learning how to care for a child.
At night, he would place a hand on your growing belly, whispering things you could barely hear. When you asked, he simply shrugged.
"They say the baby can hear us. I'm just letting them know their father is waiting for them."
His gentle devotion, the way he cared for both you and the child you carried, made your heart swell with emotions you never thought you'd feel.
For the first time, this marriage—one that started out of duty—felt like something far more profound.
One afternoon, the garden was calm, and you strolled down the stone path amidst a riot of blooming peonies, your mind blissfully vacant. A cool breeze kissed your overheated skin, a welcome balm against your flushed cheeks, and overhead the rustle of leaves offered a much-needed respite from the relentless sun.
Peace.
It had been, for a fleeting, glorious moment, absolute peace, until the pain arrived. An agonizing, twisting spasm convulsed your lower abdomen, forcing you to a halt, gasping, one hand instinctively clawing your belly as unseen fingers clamped down with crushing force. This was no mild cramping you'd endured for the past few weeks. This was raw, deep, unforgiving torment.
Another surge, fiercer, made your knees buckle and your vision swim.
Panic gnawed at your throat.
"Your Highness?" one of your handmaids called out, catching your sudden stillness.
You could barely turn to meet her horrified gaze before a strangled cry ripped from your throat. A searing pressure flooded your lower back, expanding like a inferno through your veins, forcing you to lunge toward a nearby stone bench, bracing your trembling arms against it.
"I… I think-" You couldn't finish the sentence, didn't even have a chance. A contration, stronger, more violent than the last, seized you, tensing every fiber of your being until sweat slicked your brow.
The maid's eyes widened with frantic realization. "The baby-! Someone, fetch the imperial physician immediately! Inform His Highness!"
The tranquil garden dissolved into instant pandemonium. Palace staff converged on you, their voices a blur of urgent commands. One person steadied your wobbling knees while another tore off toward the main palace.
Through the throbbing pain that consumed you, one name echoed.
Kai.
Where was Kai?
Would he reach you in time?
Because this, you knew with a certainty that transcended the agony, was no drill.
Your child was coming.
The palace was in uproar as attendants scrambled to prepare your chambers. Supported by an attendant and the palace physician, you were helped back into the soft silks of your bed chamber, already filled with a hushed, purposeful energy. The midwives bustled about, arranging everything according to ancient ritual. Giant basins of water, warmed to just the right temperature, stood ready, fragrant herbs were burned, and rich red silk drapes, believed to bring fortune and ward off evil, were drawn across your windows.
Your mother's face, etched with concern but radiating unwavering strength, loomed over you as another monstrous wave washed through your body. You clenched your teeth, hot sweat trickling down your temple. The pain hammered against you like a relentless surf, its strength building with each passing surge.
"Breathe, my child," your mother whispered, her voice a soothing balm as she mopped your forehead with a cool cloth.
"You are strong. You can do this."
Kai had, by tradition, been banished from your side, the birthing chamber no place for a man, yet you could feel his anxious energy just beyond the doors, a taut coil of worry. Carefully, the midwives guided you to the birthing stool, a sturdy wooden structure designed to ease the journey of a new life into the world. They supported your sides, steadying you as the physician knelt before you, his keen eyes tracking the progress.
"The baby is well positioned, Your Highness," the physician announced. "When the next pain takes hold, you must push."
You gritted your teeth, a desperate nod your only reply. The pain was a tearing, a stretching that threatened to split you in two. You took a deep, shuddering breath, and as the contraction surged, you bore down, clenching the cloth wrapped around the stool's armrests.
The midwives murmured soft incantations, encouraging you.
"Push, Your Highness! Almost there!"
Time fragmented, each excruciating contraction following so quickly on the heels of the last it seemed there was no moment to breathe, to even think. With every guttural push, a bit more of your strength ebbed, but the thought of Kai, of the future you had imagined for this child, renewed your resolve. You clenched your jaw, took one final, defiant gasp, and pushed with everything you had.
And then, piercing through your ragged breaths and the burning agony, you heard it—the clear, unmistakable cry of a newborn baby boy. A single, robust wail that seemed to echo throughout the entire palace, as if all within it were taking a collective sigh of relief.
Tears blurred your vision as the midwife, gently cradling a bundle swaddled in embroidered crimson silk, announced, "A healthy prince, Your Highness!"
Your heart swelled in your chest, a profound joy overwhelming the lingering pain as the impossibly tiny weight of your son was placed in your arms. Your baby boy's fingers curled instinctively against your skin, his little face perfectly formed.
From beyond the closed doors, you could hear Kai's frantic cries of impatience. Then, with a sudden crash, they swung open, and he was there. His face was a mixture of raw relief and profound tenderness as he knelt beside you, his gaze moving between your face, then the baby's, and lingered on yours with a depth you'd never seen before.
"You did it," he whispered, pressing a soft kiss to your tear-streaked forehead. "You're incredible."
A faint smile touched your lips as you looked down at your son, stroking his impossibly soft cheek. "We did it."
The palace erupted in joyous pandemonium. Firecrackers exploded in the distance, drums pounded, and the news spread like wildfire throughout the empire-the emperor had an heir. Celebrations raged for days, filling the streets and palatial grounds with colorful banners and the scent of incense and spent fireworks.
Meanwhile, in the quiet seclusion of your chambers, you were finally starting to recover, your baby nestled contentedly in your arms, his tiny breaths a comforting rhythm against your own. Each rustle of his small body sent a smile flitting across your lips. Kai, a constant shadow, had hardly left your side since the birth, his presence a silent testament to his devoted love. He sat beside your bed now, his finger tracing the curve of his son's palm.
"He's so small," Kai murmured, awe thick in his voice.
A soft laugh escaped you. "He won't be small forever."
Kai's gaze met yours, an unreadable emotion flickering in his eyes, before he leaned in and planted a gentle kiss on your forehead.
"Thank you," he whispered. "for giving us this son, for weathering this storm."
You reached out and squeezed his hand. "You don't need to thank me, he's ours."
A polite knock interrupted the tender moment, and your mother entered, the imperial physician in tow.
"Your Highness," your mother said, her voice soft with pride, "it is time to begin the naming ceremony preparations. Have you and His Highness decided on a name?"
Kai nodded at you before turning to your mother. "Yes," he declared. "his name will be Suhyeon. It means a bright and virtuous soul, fit for his future."
Your mother's smile widened. "A fitting name for a future emperor."
The physician approached to check your pulse as the midwives finished tending to your needs.
"Your Highness is recovering exceptionally well," he announced. "But I do insist on a month of rest for complete recovery. The prince, thankfully, is also in excellent health."
Relief flooded you at the news. As a mother, your child's well-being had been the only concern that truly mattered. Then, you addressed a matter that had been weighing on your heart since before Suhyeon was even born.
"I want Suhyeon to carry my surname," you said softly but firmly, your fingers tracing the delicate outline of your son's tiny hand.
Kai seemed unsurprised, you had already had this discussion before. There were many disagreements at first; an almost palpable tension between the two of you. But ultimately, he let it go. You had carried Suhyeon, and suffered his pains of delivery. Even if this defied a thousand customs, he wouldn't steal this from you.
"Alright then," Kai finally breathed, a small sigh escaping him. "He'll bear your surname."
The other women, as well as your mother, looked stunned, yet nobody batted a lash. You were the mother of the future emperor, it was your prerogative.
Tonight, the palace was silent. In the gloom of the chamber the candles threw their small flames on the silk of the bed upon which you lay with Kai at your side. The silk seemed to heap about the both of you with his hand about your waist, and as his body warmth seeped through into yours he idly fiddled with the strands of your hair.
Your thoughts drifted to the past one year ago the moment you first met Kai. It seemed ages ago, a different time, a different era. Then you were dressing as a male to try and fit in, as merely acting. Yet, by coincidence it seemed, that chance meeting would make all things now into what they were.
"Do you know what?" you breathed softly. "I'm so grateful to you about putting on men's clothing
"And for making me question your personal sexual choices?" He laughed softly.
"Maybe," You smirked.
He hummed, his laugh vibrating against your stomach.
"Do you know what?" he said looking in your eyes "I'm so grateful to you for you appearing before me that day… no matter it was you as your male persona."
You softly laughed and together your giggles echoed in to the quiet of the palace, in the soft beat of the night. As the candle flames wavered and the night became deeper and darker still, it struck you that there was no need for grand confessions or dramatic words.
You were already here together, and that, in itself, was enough.
EN-Komect Heights 🌼 SVT-Raitere Lofts 🌼 Otherworld Plaza 🌼 Verdant Springs 🌼 Pinned Post 🌼 taglist :
Summary : Your mandatory overseas job transfer keeps you and him apart, and Wonwoo clings to the colorful memories of you until the last dream murmurs a white farewell that might be forever.
💮 troop: lovers to ???
💮 supernatural: ghost, fantasy: magic, major accident: car accident, major character death, long distance relationship
non-idol, supernatural, fantasy & angst au 🌼 wonwoo x female reader 🌼 16+ SFW 🌼 5,168 words
🌸originally posted: 20/02/2026
🌸inspired by Ateez's Inception
EN-Komect Heights 🌼 SVT-Raitere Lofts 🌼 Otherworld Plaza 🌼 Verdant Springs 🌼 Pinned Post 🌼 taglist
The email arrived on a Tuesday, an unassuming one at that. It's just one of those quiet, somnolent evenings where the dishes were only halfway cleared and the gentle murmur of the TV provided a low soundtrack.
You were snuggled up on the sofa, legs interwoven with his like you always were, when your phone gave a small buzz, almost inaudibly, and you were just about to ignore it when-
"Work?" He asked, his gaze dropping momentarily.
"Probably." You murmured, already bracing for the minor prickle of annoyance that your career was, once again, intruding on your serenity. You opened the email nonchalantly, then your breath hitched, and promptly stopped.
Subject: Mandatory International Transfer Notice
You read it again, and then again, because your brain flatly refused to absorb the words: Transfer. Another country. Mandatory. One year.
"Hey," He calls out for you, his tone softened as he felt the subtle tension shift in you. "What's up?"
For a moment, you couldn't speak. Your throat was tight, as if a phantom hand was squeezing it shut.
"They're transferring me." You finally whispered, and he blinked.
"Like... To a different department?"
You shook your head slowly. "Another country."
The air in the room thickened with an uncomfortable silence.
"Is it optional?" He asked, the question tinged with a familiar certainty that already had an answer.
"It says compulsory." A shaky, hollow laugh escaped you. "Apparently it's urgent to get me there for a replacement. I will still come back though, after... A year..."
He stared blankly at the floor, his brow furrowed, while you stared unblinkingly at the screen.
A year.
A year until the shared cozy apartment you inhabited became solely his.
A year until goodnight kisses would be exchanged only via pixels.
"I don't want you to go…" He said, the words a soft exhalation.
And that was it. It broke you completely, because, God, you didn't want to leave.
You buried your face into his shoulder, and tears began to fall, silent and insistent. Not wailing, but that aching kind, the ones that feel as if your insides are being slowly, carefully, rearranged.
"I don't want to leave you..." You mumbled into his shirt, the fabric dampening under your face. He tightened his grip around you, his arms encircling you in an embrace that was both desperate and comforting.
"Then don't."
"It's not that simple."
Neither of you needed to say it aloud. It was your job, the job you had clawed your way to, the job that funded your life, the job that secured your future.
And so the compromise came slowly. You record yourself for him every night with no exceptions. You sent him care packages beforehand. You made shared playlists that only the both of you know.
But right now, you know that your future felt very, very far from your present.
The first morning without Jeon Wonwoo felt wrong even before your eyes were open. You reached out on instinct, your hand settling against unfamiliar old sheets. No arm looped loosely over your waist, no sleepy mumble of your name, no spectacles a little crooked on his face as he'd blink at you, smile, and then pull you in again with a sleepy groan.
Just… nothing.
The company house was clean, sterilized to the point that it was clear no one had ever lived, loved, and laughed in these walls. This place was made for the transients, the expats, those just passing through.
You stayed on your side for another minute, eyes glued to the ceiling fan, trying to summon the motivation to physically pull yourself up and out. You missed the weight of his arm around you, the comforting heat, the insistence on dragging out your morning by pulling you closer and whispering, "Five more minutes.".
There was no one holding you down now and for some reason, that only made it harder.
Work was slow, agony. Every email seemed to require an additional level of thought that just wasn't there. Every meeting stretched for what felt like hours and you spent far too much time idly scrolling through your phone, waiting for a message you knew wouldn't be there any time soon.
What was he doing? Eating dinner? Playing games? Reading one of his novels in his typical, quiet focus?
You'd picture him pushing his glasses up his nose, turning another page in a story, blissfully unaware that someone was halfway across the world, aching with a pain that felt far more real than it should be.
You forced yourself to focus, you had to. This was what you'd worked for, the whole reason for the transfer. It wasn't punishment, it was a testament to your competence, and competence didn't make loneliness any less biting.
By the time you made it back to the company house, the sky had darkened into a deep, inky black.
You hesitated at the door for a beat too long before punching in the code. You pushed it open, yet only darkness greeted you. Not the dim hallway lights, not the warm glow from the living room lamp, not Wonwoo's quiet figure, perched on the sofa with a book, his glasses resting on the bridge of his nose as his eyes immediately lifted to yours when he heard you come in.
You could see it so vividly in your head: his eyes meeting yours with his small, reserved smile, "You're home.". Instead, the air was utterly still, broken only by the faint, hum of the refrigerator. You stepped inside and shut the door behind you, the sound echoing a little too loudly.
The routines were the worst. Brushing your teeth the next morning, you were the only one in the holder, not even a spare one leaning there to jostle you. There were no elbow shoves, no one who snickered if a dribble of foam slid down your chin.
Just you.
You made coffee the next morning, then opened the cabinet from habit.
One mug.
You looked at the empty space beside it for a moment before you grabbed it. You'd barely begun sipping your coffee when the machine started gurgling.
The silence during the brew time was deafening.
In your life, there was the gentle clatter and whirr of another person moving through the space. Him shuffling out of bed, cabinets opening and closing, his soft morning voice asking if you preferred americano or espresso. All you had here was the rhythmic dripping.
Cooking for one person felt unnatural. The portions looked laughably small, your plate looked comically empty.
Eating was even worse. There were no comfortable conversations, no soft laughs over spilled cereal, no "try this bite" as he'd reach across the table. There was only the scraping sound of your fork against the plate, punctuated by the ticking of a clock you hadn't previously noticed.
Even the dishwashing ritual was now a solo operation. The steady sound of the running tap was now filling the void where his voice should have been. You even turned it on a little louder than usual to try to create some kind of audible life in the kitchen.
You hated how aware of it all you were, how undeniably alone you were. That night you'd crawled into bed, exhausted. You'd pulled the blankets closer, pretending to feel his arm draped around your shoulders, trying to imagine his warmth emanating from the fabric instead of the simple heat of the blanket.
Your fingers had fumbled for your phone, and then you'd seen the message, blinking brightly in the dark.
Wonwoo: Did you eat? Don't skip meals. Text me when you wake up.
Your chest had ached and you'd held the phone tight against your heart for a long moment before typing. You'd wanted to tell him how much you despised this, how the house felt hollow, how every familiar routine now was a stark reminder of what was missing. But you hadn't. Instead, you typed:
You: I'm holding on. We'll be okay.
Because you had to believe it wasn't forever, because you were holding on to the life you were building with him, the job that would eventually bring you back together. You'd brushed a tear from your eye and whispered to the dark, although he couldn't hear you.
"I'll hold on, Wonwoo."
You walked out of the office building after your first day back. The city lights flickered on in the sky, transforming the twilight into a vibrant display.
Streetlights cast a warm glow onto the slick pavement, reflecting in the shallow puddles left by an earlier rain shower.
A steady stream of people flowed out of buildings. Tired faces, the familiar hunched shoulders of the working class, and mobile phones glued to their ears. Everyone seemed to be rushing towards a similar goal: a warm bed, a hot meal, a brief respite from the demanding world before it all began again.
You paused beside your car, the ignition key cold in your hand. Your fingertips traced the familiar contours of the steering wheel but your body didn't respond. It remained locked, a statue against the backdrop of a city that refused to stop moving. The fluorescent lights of the parking lot buzzed overhead, their sterile glow creating an eerie atmosphere.
Going home meant returning to an empty company house where your shoes lined up neatly by the door and the bed was far too large, far too cold without you.
Exhaustion seeped into your bones. Not the physical kind, but a deeper, more profound weariness that settled over your spirit when each day blurred into an indistinguishable replica of the last. You'd never realized how many small bits of sunshine he'd quietly sprinkled into your days.
Five years. Five years of building a life that felt warm, alive, and shared. And now you were back to merely surviving as you had done before him. You hated that feeling. There was a reason you never wanted to go back to being alone after loving someone for five years. Once you'd been chosen, with the totality of his being, silence amplified into a roaring abyss.
You sighed and finally turned the key in the ignition, and the engine coughed to life, a low hum filling the quiet car. You let it idle, staring straight ahead, letting your thoughts drift in the in-between state of numb and sorrowful.
As you pulled out of the parking lot, a light drizzle began. It grew steadily heavier, soon becoming a relentless downpour that pelted the windshield like a barrage of tiny stones. The wipers swung left, right, left, right. The X intersection remained empty, just as it always was at this hour, a lonely void in the chaos. At first, it had unnerved you, but now you embraced it. It was a sanctuary, a place where you didn't have to put on an act.
You turned the radio up, but only a little; you wanted to be alone, yes, but you didn't want to be in total silence.
The red light illuminated the stormy scene through the rain. You took a deep breath, and then a soft exhale.
Green.
You nudged the gearshift from park into drive, pressing gently on the accelerator. Suddenly, lights from the left, blindingly bright, impossibly fast, swerving. Your heart leaped into your throat. The car wobbled, its erratic movements a desperate ballet on the slick pavement, careening towards the intersection.
Panic flared.
Brake? If you stopped, it could slam right into your door.
Accelerate? Maybe you could just clear the intersection, and it would only clip the rear bumper.
Both outcomes felt terrifying, both felt potentially fatal. Time was a luxury you didn't have. Your foot mashed down on the pedal, trying to outrun the trajectory.
"Wonwoo…"
The name left your lips as a breath, a plea, a prayer.
They told you to stay calm in accidents, that calm was what saved you. Calm was what prevented fender benders and costly repairs. Calm was what kept you alive. But what if you were calm and the person in the other car wasn't?
A violent impact tore through the car. The sound of metal screaming against metal ripped through the air as the speeding car barreled into the back of the company vehicle. The steering wheel was wrenched from your hands. The world tipped, and your car spun out of control. The tires shrieking a desperate song against the wet asphalt. You gripped the wheel, trying to correct your course as you'd been taught, your heart pounding so loudly you couldn't hear anything else.
"Wonwoo, Wonwoo, Wonwoo!"
You repeated, a frantic, circular chant in your mind.
The rain added to the chaos, turning the road into an unpredictable hazard. The car wouldn't obey, spiraling again. Then, the traffic light pole loomed, a stark, black silhouette against the rain-streaked sky, hurtling towards you at an impossible speed. You didn't have time to fully comprehend what was happening before the crash. The front of your car crumpled against the solid metal, a deafening impact that sent jolts of pain through your body. The seatbelt dug cruelly into your chest, and the airbag deployed, a blinding white cloud that obscured everything.
Then, silence.
The rain continued to fall, a steady, rhythmic soundtrack to your stillness. For a moment, perhaps longer, all you heard was the high-pitched, ringing whine in your ears. You blinked, finding yourself surprisingly still in one piece. Your hands trembled uncontrollably.
The wind shield cracked like shattered ice. The hood began to seep a mist of vapor. You drew a cracked breath. The first thing you thought about was him. You clawed with trembling hands to reach your cell.
"I can't leave him" You choked out to the desolate automobile in the middle of nowhere, your tears now mixing with rain, shock and the pure relief that they had only come close.
The nights were always a little quieter without you, but tonight it felt wrong.
From your side of the world it was just numbers and discipline.
6:30 am for you. 2:30 pm for him.
10:00 pm for you. 6:00 am for him.
Eight hours between you.
He had memorized your schedule without stating it, just letting the cadence of your days entwine itself with his own. He designed his sleeping schedule around your safety check-ins.
And this was another typical night.
Your message arrived at 6:02 am, his time.
You: Done with work.
He gave the screen a soft smile, still bleary with sleep.
Wonwoo: Be careful driving home. Let me know when you're safe.
30 minutes to get back to you. He didn't push it further, didn't care how much he craved your words, your safety came first. So he waited.
6:30 am.
6:33 am.
Fine… stuck in an unprecedented traffic jam, but could have at least let him know.
6:40 am.
… Fine. Sometimes you were just too tired and forgetful. It had happened before, you'd be back texting in a few hours, a stream of apologies and "I'm so sorry"s, and then both of you would apologizing to each other.
He set the phone face-up on his desk and began getting ready for the day, his gaze darting to it between each task.
7:30 am, as he settled into his office chair. 11:30 pm your time, an hour later than you should have been home.
Still no word.
A prickle of anxiety tightened in his chest.
7:32 am, the phone rang.
Unknown number.
He froze. A chill ran down his spine.
Unknown numbers were dangerous now. Scams were everywhere—robotic voices, fake emergencies, stolen identities. He'd warned you enough times after seeing enough news.
The phone vibrated insistently in his palm, his heart thumping against his ribs.
Should he answer? But what if this was a call perfectly crafted to trigger exactly this situation?
He didn't answer.
The subsequent silence was far worse. He stared at the phone long after the call ended.
7:34 am.
No text from you.
His jaw set. Don't panic, you're just tired. Maybe you just crashed without even bothering to turn on your phone.
You made it home, you fell asleep, you just… forgot.
He grabbed his bag to head to work, but an unease sat in the pit of his stomach. A dull, throbbing discomfort he couldn't shake.
7:36 am.
The unknown number rang again.
His breath hitched.
Same number. The phone rang, and rang, and rang.
His thumb hovered over the green accept button, but doubt won out. If it were real, they'd leave a message. If it were urgent, they'd text. You'd tell him something if it were important, right?
He let it go to voicemail, again. When the screen went black, regret washed over him. He swallowed and opened your chat log.
Still empty.
He typed.
Wonwoo: Did you get home safe?
It was 3:30 pm his time. 7:30 am yours.
He watched the screen. Delivered, not read. Even though you were probably heading to work by now, no morning "good morning" or "here at work" text. He locked the phone and tried to focus on the commute, on work, but the ringing of the unknown number repeated in his head. Twice, it had rung.
10:00 pm.
He slid into his driver's seat and sat for a beat.
"Just overthinking." He muttered.
You'd been exhausted, mentally run-down. You'd told him that. Maybe you got home and fell into a deep sleep and didn't even think to plug your phone in. Maybe it died.
Maybes. So many maybes.
He started the engine.
The drive back home felt like it was stretching for miles. At every traffic light, he reflexively pulled out his phone. By 11:00 pm his time (7:00 pm yours), unease had transformed into a lead weight in his chest.
He opened your chat again and scrolled upwards, a mindless review of five years of conversations reduced to glowing text bubbles: meal photos, workplace woes, your unrestrained laughter in voice notes.
He typed again.
Wonwoo: Baby?
The message sat there, delivered, yet still unread.
His throat felt raw. He had forgotten to eat. The take-away remained on the kitchen counter as he paced the apartment, raking a hand through his hair again and again.
"This is useless." He breathed. Pacing wasn't going to make his phone light up, and worry wouldn't bridge the distance.
He collapsed onto the sofa, flicking the TV to a low volume.
The screen bled light and sound into the room, neither of which he registered. His phone stayed clasped loosely in his hand. Each potential vibration sent a jolt through him, a ghost buzz in his palm that never materialized. His heart would leap and then settle, leaving him only with the quiet.
Work's exhaustion finally began to seep into his bones, but his mind refused to cease its churn. He squeezed his eyes shut, leaning his head back against the sofa, phone cradled against his chest. Eventually, without even meaning to, he drifted into a restless sleep.
This was no dream, not one he'd ever had before, not one that felt quite this… real… so real that when he saw your softest, most familiar smile etched across your face, standing not a foot away from him in his bedroom, his chest had yet to tighten with that familiar ache.
You said nothing, just smiled, and you just looked as if you'd always known every little doubt he'd been fighting against all day.
"I'm sorry, Wonu~" Your voice was like that of wind chimes, light, playful. It's the same one you used when he knew you were trying to coax him into doing something that should be very, very difficult. You swayed his hand back and forth, your fingers laced with his. The one thing you did to convince him that all the bad would be forgotten. "Forgive me, hm?"
You then leaned closer, placing a gentle kiss on his cheek, so vividly real, it'd made his very skin prickle.
"Here, I got you the latest PS5 game. Your favorite of course." You giggled, a radiant, happy sound, holding it up in triumph.
The world then blurred, swirled, then instantly transformed into a never-ending expanse of yellow under the brilliant sun, a field of sunflowers extending out to where the sky met earth.
He found it odd, but in that moment, it felt completely… natural.
You were dressed in a simple sundress, its light material flitting to and fro with the gentle breeze as you bobbed around him with a childlike glee.
"Wonu! Wonu!" You bounced with enthusiasm, waving him to you.
He stood there in silence, marveling at the golden light clinging to you.
"Hey, today is our off day, so smile?" You asked, mimicking a comical grin, your eyes crinkling at the edges.
"There you go!" You said, beaming as if you were reading the joy etched onto his lips.
"Thank you!" You added, pulling a bright yellow sunflower from a bloom, holding it up to him. He didn't remember picking it, yet somehow in your hand, it looked just as he imagined one of his gifts from you would look.
"Wh-! No, no, no, don't embarrass me!" You pouted, turning your head away, a soft blush staining your cheeks, like the moment his words hit too close to home and his heart fluttered in his chest.
You were so vibrantly alive. So wonderfully, completely… you… The sunshine cocooned around the both of them.
For the first time in what felt like forever, he wasn't drowning in despair; for the first time in a long time, he was floating on a calm, serene wave. There was no distance, no unread messages, just endless laughter and warm sunshine.
As sleep pulled him under, Wonwoo smiled. He wouldn't know, though, that even in dreams, the waiting silence lingered just beyond.
The days blur. One day becomes a month. And for Jeon Wonwoo, reality become something he endures, whilst dreams become something he live for.
At first, the dreams seem like a comfort, a mercy. He will drift to sleep filled with worry, and then he will find you there, smiling, chattering, teasing him as if absolutely nothing has happened. With every time he will meet you in his dreams, that carefree emotion will restart, and the warmth will come back and his heartache will get a rest.
He will be able to breathe.
But then, he would wake up, and would feel like loosing you all over again. Over and over again. He will find himself lie still on his bed for a long time, eyes closed, trying his best to force himself to fall asleep again. But reality always finds its way back.
The ceiling, the silence, the empty chats.
It have gotten to the point where he stopped asking himself why he was no longer responding. He stopped calling. He stopped check all those unread chats from his and your parents. He just told himself he will have to wait for you, for you to explain. But slowly the dreams started to become more and more real, the dreams turned to vivid scenes. He could feel the texture of his clothes, the heat of his skin, even the tone of his voice when he was laughing. Those dreams were full and he started wondering if this was more than just dreams.
What if this was how he is contacting him? What if this was the only way?
He knew it sound irrational but the heart dont care if it is logic when it is hungry for love and this was what he is going through right now. Soon he found himself searching for sleep.
If he missed him a lot at work, he will take some few hours off to take a nap just to meet him even just for few minutes.
If he missed him a lot during nights, he will take melatonin to sleep faster.
He gave up on fighting his dreams, he welcomed it. He love sleeping so much that he feel more alive then actually living. He craved his dreams so much, like how he craved the smell, the warmth, the air.
Every morning, when he wake up and meet the same cruel reality, his dreams, he will feel a fresh burst of sadness. Some mornings he will cry before he can even sit up from the bed, silently letting the tear fall onto his pillow. He was so lost, the grief will be unbearable, but he can't explain what exactly did he lose.
And so a month passed like that. Him shutting off from reality, from questions, simply existing in this semi-sleep, semi-awake state.
Until one night.
He drifted off just the same, phone in hand, succumbing to the crushing weight of exhaustion, but when the dream took form, You weren't there. There was only white, an unending white expanse. He found himself standing in the middle of it, all alone.
"Y/N?" He called. His voice came back to him strangely, a hollow echo, before he started walking, then running.
The white went on forever in every direction. No walls, no sky, no defined ground texture.
"Y/N!" His voice broke. He spun around in circles, a frantic, desperate search. Inside the dream, he could see himself too. He watched himself run with wild abandon, hair askew, eyes wide. He looked insane, desperate, broken. "Where are you?!"
His words were swallowed whole by the silence.
Back in the real world, dozing on the couch, Wonwoo's brows furrowed. His lips tightened into a grim line, his breathing turning erratic and uneven.
In the dream, he fell to his knees on the blank floor, hands pressing into nothingness. You're always here… you're supposed to be here. So where aren't you?
The silence was deafening now. For the first time in a long time, there was no warmth, no smile, no you. Only him, alone, surrounded by flowers that seemed to shed a lonely tear, trying in vain to add some color to this stark, empty white.
As he slept, his frown deepened, as though even in his sleep he knew, he understood that something was irrevocably ending.
He woke up choking. The white space burned behind his eyelids. He remained still for a moment, his eyes glued to the ceiling, trying desperately to re-enter the dream.
The realization crashed down on him like a physical blow: you're not here. You're not even in his dreams anymore. His chest felt like it was being squeezed, constricting so violently that breathing became a struggle. He sat bolt upright, hands clawing at his hair, yanking at the roots, willing the pain to wake him up into a different reality, a reality where you were still there.
"No, no, no..."
He lurched to his feet.
The living room felt suffocating, the walls closing in on him.
He grabbed the remote and threw it. It struck the wall with a loud, sharp crack, but it wasn't enough. He shove the coffee table across the floor. It shrieked and scraped against the linoleum before tipping over, taking a chair with it. A sound like shattering glass, but he didn't process it.
His breathing turned harsh, ragged.
"Why?!" He croaked.
His fists slammed against a shelf, books cascading around him like a miniature avalanche, but he didn't care. He didn't care about the mess, the noise, anything. He fell to his knees amidst the debris, his shoulders wracking with violent sobs.
"Y/N..."
The name ripped from his throat, raw and torn. Again and again. And again.
It went nowhere.
The apartment didn't answer him. The world didn't answer him.
He crumpled forward, palms flat on the floor, the sobs wracking his entire body. He needed you so desperately.
So why… why had even his dreams abandoned him too? Were they telling him he had to face reality? No, he couldn't, not when he didn't even get a proper goodbye.
The last real dream he'd had with you was… him holding your hand, you laughing, pretending it was just another ordinary day. No hint of what was coming, no fading, no final words.
You couldn't just leave like that. You just couldn't.
He rested his forehead against the cold, hard floor, and wept until something inside him finally broke. Or perhaps, it already had.
There is this other perspective.
You never made it to the hospital.
The speeding car. The pouring rain. The awful collision. An hour's wait until a kind soul, called a paramedics to transport you to a hospital, but by then it was too late.
Calls coming from unknown numbers weren't from the mafia or tricksters, but a distant land. It was them attempting to call your Emergency contact on your phone. The unread message notification, from both your parents wasn't to chat about anything in particular, it was a notice that you passed on.
He never let the real truth seep in, thus they continued living within illusions.
For the first few months, you worried how desperately he'll miss you.
There is only so much a soul can do but love is resilient, even after death. So, you granted him the wishes from his imagination. You were trying to help him out; thinking if he can have those dreams, he would not collapse. You never assumed that he will hold onto those dreams with such vigor that he'll choose slumber over the starkness of his reality, that he will consume sleeping tablets earlier and then took afternoon naps to avoid morning despair; that he will spend each morning in utter agony.
Then, it dawned on you: it's all you; you've done this.
Even a soul can reach its limitations. There was nothing that can mend the disaster you'd set in motion. The last dream was consequently different. It was pure, utter, white, and emptiness. You moved your focus and walked out of the place leaving him in there to feel that void and to hopefully awaken. And before the expanse of white obliterated the entire vision, you placed a minuscule token behind.
A single white chrysanthemum, signifying sorrow, and cemeteries, as an apology. And a bouquet, like the ones for Valentine's. Since, you knew all along, that this was your and his last Valentine's together.
It was meager, but you couldn't do anything more to relieve his pain.
You observe him as he, now on his knees amidst the debris, cries out your name to the vacant space. He's unaware that tears stream down your eyes as well, and a profound sense of regret is churning in your heart for all the illusory comfort you'd afforded him. You truly thought love meant holding on, when, in fact, sometimes love mandates release.
Yet, the question persists: Would you create illusions of your presence for him? Or, would you simply stand by as he fades, utterly hollow without you?
EN-Komect Heights 🌼 SVT-Raitere Lofts 🌼 Otherworld Plaza 🌼 Verdant Springs 🌼 Pinned Post 🌼 taglist :
Summary : Wherein two people, who accidentally bound themselves despite not being the right soulmate for each other.
💮 troop: strangers to lovers
💮 fantasy: soulmate, wrong person right timing
non-idol fantasy, romance & angst au 🌼 jihoon x female reader 🌼 13+ SFW 🌼 4,478 words
🌸originally posted: 06/08/2025
EN-Komect Heights 🌼 SVT-Raitere Lofts 🌼 Otherworld Plaza 🌼 Verdant Springs 🌼 Pinned Post 🌼 taglist
"Lee Jihyun, please just-"
You can't even finish the sentence, because what's the point? Your son has already zoomed past the living room for the umteenth time, socked feet squeaking against the hardwood floor, arms stretched like airplane wings, hollering about saving the universe. While you stand in the exact same spot, unmoving, eyes trailing his endless loops like a spectator at a tennis match. Each breath you exhale comes with a sigh, and god, there have been so many you've lost count.
It's already 8pm. Bedtime, supposedly.
But the concept of 'night' seems to be a forgotten entity in this house, because our son is, as always, a ball of untamed energy that refuse to be tamed, much to your growing dismay. You just want him to tire himself out. One tumble to the floor, one yawn, one-too-long blink- anything, but Jihyun is all fire and no smoke, a perpetually burning ember.
You're exhausted.
Not in the kind that sleep can remedy, but in the kind that seeps down into your bones.
Jihoon's still out, working to keep food on the table, and you are stuck here with the tornado that simply won't stop spinning, the only member of this household not the slightest concerned with anything other than his immediate surroundings.
God, how you want to scream into a pillow or pack a bag for a solo vacation but you can't. He's just a child, albeit an extremely loud, hyperactive one. So, you close your eyes for a beat and call his name again, a hint of more desperation now, a sliver less hope.
"Lee Jihyun, please."
"But mummy! I'm still being a spaceship!"
Your eye twitches.
Before Jihyun, you and Jihoon dreamt of a calm child. Both of you introverts; book lovers, homebodies, people who could spend days in silence without a care in the world. Fate, however, clearly had a sense of humor. It skipped your combined genetic make-up and instead decided to grant your son a double dosage of his grandmother's extrovert energy.
He has Jihoon's mannerisms, your stubbornness, and your mother's flair for partying, all rolled into one pint-sized package. You both originally dreamed of two children, a dream that was promptly shoved to the back of the closet after Jihyun's third birthday and the subsequent discovery of his love for climbing the bookshelf for entertainment purposes.
You sigh again and slump down onto the couch, watching your son's tireless circuits.
"Honestly," You mumble under your breath. "I just wish Jihoon would come home already and rescue me from the brink of insanity."
And wouldn't you know it, as if on cue, you hear the distinct sound of a car engine rumbling down the driveway and the gentle click of a car door closing.
Your lips instantly curl into a small smile.
Energy courses through you, as if his arrival acts as a biological charger, more potent than sleep. "Jihyun-ah," you call out, your voice a touch lighter, "Daddy's home."
As if on impulse, the front door swings open, and Jihyun shrieks "DADDY!" before launching himself from the living room and barreling towards his father. You trail behind, a much more sedate pace, watching Jihoon, clearly weary from a long day at work, set down everything he was holding and pull their son into his arms, lifting him effortlessly. He looks up and offers you a tired but warm smile, leaning in to kiss the side of your temple.
"Welcome home." You whisper, feeling the strain in your shoulders ease a fraction. Then, you raise your eyebrows at Jihyun, pointing a stern finger. "Now that Daddy's home, it's time for bed, young man."
"But I want a bedtime story!" He whines, already sulking.
You let out a soft, defeated sigh.
"Please help…" You murmur under your breath.
Jihoon hears you, chuckles gently, and turns to their son. "Lee Jihyun, go get ready for bed. We'll read you a bedtime story if you're already tucked in."
"Okay!"
Your son yells, bouncing out of Jihoon's arms and racing to his room. You move towards your husband, wrapping your arms around him, breathing in his familiar scent.
"Gosh, I missed you so much." You sigh, snuggling closer.
He laughs, planting a soft kiss to your neck.
"Was he giving you a hard time?"
"More like… he drained my entire life force. So, yes."
He laughs again, fingers idly drawing circles on your waist.
"You're beautiful."
You giggle. "You say that every day."
"Gotta keep that princess ego up." You click your tongue.
"You do know we can't see colors, right? You're not lying to me because you literally can't see me in colors, are you?"
He grins. "Beauty doesn't need color. I still remember what you looked like before it all turned grayscale, and you're just as stunning now."
Your heart skips a beat. "… If that's the case, then you're handsome too."
"MUMMY! DADDY!"
Jihyun yells from his room, interrupting the moment as usual. You groan, a deep, drawn-out sound.
"We seriously need alone time."
Jihoon's lips twitch into a mischievous smile. "Want me to drop him off at your parents' tomorrow?"
"Please," You practically beg. "anytime- no, the sooner the better."
He chuckles and presses a kiss to your nose before gently letting go. You walk towards Jihyun's room together. When you enter, he's already nestled in bed, eyes bright, despite having run laps around the house for hours. As you both sit down beside him, one on either side, he perked up.
"What story do you want to hear tonight?" Jihoon asks.
"Anything!" Jihyun beams.
A smile spreads across your face as a memory pops into your mind.
"Alright. How about this… Once upon a time, before you were born, there was a lady who just graduated, rushing her way to-"
"Wait, wait!" Jihyun interrupts, head popping up.
"What's a graduate?"
You giggle. "It's when you finish school."
"Oh! Okay, continue mummy!"
"Mum, hold on! Where's my blazer? You know, the one in black!""
You almost trip over your long, black formal pants, shuffling your feet along the hallway as though walking a red carpet in a dream. Your hair's in disarray, sticking out in ways defying gravity and common sense.
Your mum, a rock in the storm, simply saunters over and chucks the black blazer at your face.
"Y/N, you have to prepare everything the night before." She says, as casual as anything, but you don't argue, not when your own limbs seem to have a mind of their own within the layers of your clothes.
First-day-at-work panic is a special kind of chaos, a beast you're wrestling with at this moment, thanks to your useless but loving alarm clock that's decided this is the day for a duvet party. Your only hope was your mum, banging on your door like fate itself. A piece of toast is jammed into your mouth as you toss your bag onto your shoulder, muffling a, "I'm going!" as you slam the door behind you.
The bicycle ride is an epic saga. Your hair's flying, the blazer's flapping like a cape, and your heart is pounding harder than the traffic surrounding you. By the time you reach the imposing office building, your legs are rubber. You lock your bike with superhuman speed and practically sprint into the blessedly cool lobby.
The sudden change in temperature barely registers as you stab the elevator button, imploring it to move with the ferocity of a thousand suns. When the elevator finally dings open, you nearly tumble out as you swipe your access card to the glass doors.
"Oh, you actually made it… on time!" Your high school friend grins mockingly from her desk.
You stumble in and finally exhaled the breath you've been holding since you left home. Dragging your chair over, you collapse into it like a fallen opera star.
"I… I think I'm going to die." You wheeze, clutching your chest. She snorts but doesn't tear her eyes from her screen.
"over-exaggerate much?"
"Perhaps," You gasp dramatically, "but let me bask in this near-death experience for a moment."
"Yeah, yeah. Get it over with, though. We've got a mountain to climb today."
You sit up straighter, flipping open your computer.
"Already? It's literally our first day! Since when are we buried under work like seasoned veterans?"
"The newbie initiation ceremony appears to have been moved up," She deadpans, clicking away. You glance around and everyone seems… occupied, exhausted yet professional.
You let out a sigh and crack your knuckles with a grimace.
"Well, I suppose it's time to earn our keep."
The hours meld into a blur of typing, responding, drafting, and troubleshooting. Day surrenders to night; the bright blue skies morph into a soft twilight, then a deep, star-speckled darkness. You stretch your back with a weary groan, then check your watch. The countdown… is nearly complete.
A slow smile spreads across your lips.
Your friend catches it, giving you a sideways glance of suspicion as you begin packing your belongings with unnerving speed.
"What's the sudden rush?" She asks.
You flash your watch in her face.
"Soulmate's inbound."
Her eyebrows shoot up.
"Oh! It's tonight?"
You nod, feeling a blush creep up your neck. "I've already filed all the paperwork. Dates, times, confirmation, the works."
"I feel like I am!" You exclaim, slapping her shoulder playfully. "Wish me luck. See you tomorrow!"
With a practically skipped exit, you burst through the building's doors and leap onto your bicycle.
The cool evening air caresses your skin as you pedal down familiar streets, humming a happy little tune. There's a gentle breeze, soft and comforting, and a palpable sense of anticipation hanging in the air. With every turn of the pedals, you're inching closer. Closer to a destiny that awaits you, a person you haven't met yet, but whom you already feel as though you've known forever. You touch your watch again.
Tonight, it's the night.
You ease off the pedals, tapping the ground gently with your feet as you approach the pedestrian crossing. The red man remains stubbornly illuminated on the signal post, a temporary roadblock to your destiny.
You glance down at your wrist, your heartbeat in sync with the countdown on your watch. You can feel your chest tightening with excitement.
Almost there.
Finally, the light changes to a reassuring green.
You resume pedaling, pushing forward with renewed vigor. The air suddenly feels… different. Quieter, more serene, as if the world is collectively holding its breath. You're entering your neighborhood now, the familiar small garden coming into view.
As you usually would just ride past, something stops you. A pull, an intuition, a quiet whisper in your chest: This is it. You slam on the brakes, the tires chirping softly against the asphalt. Carefully, you dismount your bike and begin wheeling it with you into the garden.
It's serene and silent, broken only by the gentle rustling of leaves and the distant murmur of traffic. You drift toward the center, your breath coming faster now. There's no one in sight yet, but your watch insists.
Five seconds. You halt, standing perfectly still, a wide smile spreading across your face.
Three seconds. You shift your gaze to the road just beyond the hedges.
Two.
A figure walks into view, just behind the greenery, mid-stride.
One. Your watch flashes.
Zero.
A soft gasp escapes your lips. Without a second thought, you let go of your bicycle, which falls gently onto the grass. You sprint forward, your heart pounding a frantic rhythm against your ribs. Reaching out, you grab the stranger's hand without hesitation.
The instant your fingers close around theirs, the world around you seems to slow down, like the moment before a deep breath. And then, it begins.
Colour draining away, not instantaneously, but in a gradual, unsettling bleed. The vibrant green of the trees turns to a muted, olive tone. The warm, rosy hues of the sunset fade into a desaturated grey-blue sky.
Your heart sinks into your stomach.
No- no, no. You rip your hand away as if you've been burned, your breath catching in your throat. You look down at your wrist, but your watch is gone.
Before the panic can truly set in, your eyes fall on the man still standing in front of you. His gaze mirrors your shock, and as you look at his wrist, you realize it's bare as well. His eyes are darting to the space behind you. On instinct, you turn. There, behind him, stands a man frozen mid-step.
A gentleman in formal attire, his eyes wide with disbelief.
You meet his gaze, and a silent recognition passes between you.
It's him, the one your heart was meant to find.But it's too late.
As you stare at the man you touched, you watch his pupils dilate, his eyes flick upward toward the sky. His mouth falls open in astonishment.
You can feel it, too. The world around you losing its vibrancy, as if someone is dialing down the saturation of your reality. For a suspended second, time becomes a fragile bubble between you.
"I… I touched the wrong person…" You whisper.
The wrong guy turns to face you, eyes widening, but you don't take your eyes off the one behind him. Now, the consequence is here: your colors are fading... together. You… and the wrong person.
The universe was clear. The rules were set in stone. The universe does not undo mistakes.
"I'm- I'm so sorry…" you stammer out, dipping your head into a little bow towards the guy you just touched. He looks confused for a moment, then realization spreads across his features as his gaze falls on his wrist where his own watch had previously rested, and as realization dawns in him, so too does a grey hue spread across his features, the warmth of his colours leaving behind a blank stare.
You want to scream, because you knew it. The moment your hand brushed his, it didn't feel right, not like the one everyone had talked about. It didn't feel like home, but you were desperate. Time was running out and you'd grabbed the first person you'd seen in panic.
You forced fate.
"I'm sorry…" You whisper again, even softer this time, more to yourself, as you force your eyes from the man you now see a horrible stranger to the empty street where the real person had been. You lean against your bicycle, knees threatening to give out as you bite back a sob. You scan the street, but it's empty, except for the grey man who stands before you.
The stranger stands for a moment in utter silence, as if processing the abrupt change in his surroundings.
"I'm sorry…" You croak again. "I'm so sorry…"
You feel like screaming into the void but no words will come out of your mouth, but he doesn't walk away. He simply lets out a long sigh and squats down in front of you. You look at him with watery eyes, utterly confused. He doesn't look at you but his hand raises and comes to land softly on your head.
"I'm not forgiving you, yet," He says and his voice, calm and cold like the colours draining from his own eyes, resonates through the space around you, "but… we're stuck with each other."
He turns to look at you and something flickers in his eyes, a mix of sorrow and resignation. "So we'll try to make the best of it then."
He offers you a hand and you hesitantly take it.
"I'm Lee Jihoon," He says.
"Y/F/N." You reply, your voice catching in your throat.
The weeks that follow are... An adjustment. Your morning texts to each other were terse at first, slowly morphing into brief descriptions of your days. Lunch dates were awkward exercises in maintaining conversation and trying not to stare too long at the grey tinges of your world.
He found himself annoyed by how quickly you flinched away from conflict, you found yourself irritated by his quiet refusals to confront things head on.
Your phones were a battlefield of missed messages and forgotten dates. Then the first fight erupts. It's messy and cathartic, full of all the resentments that have simmered beneath the surface.
"He's impossible to talk to," You lament to your friends. "I'm trying, I really am."
"Well you did take away his colors, Y/N. You forced his fate into something it wasn't meant to be. You need to accept the consequences."
It hurts because it's true, and it fuels your guilt until you can't stand it.
You walk over to his house that night, a deep breath steadying your resolve. He answers the door, arms crossed and eyes guarded, but he doesn't turn you away.
"I'm sorry," You whisper. "not just for today, for…" You falter. "everything."
A beat of silence hangs in the air, and he steps aside.
"It's okay," He finally says, "I forgive you."
A year has passed. The quiet understanding you two shared slowly blossomed into something more substantial. You decided to take the plunge, to move in together.
The novelty of a shared apartment gradually gave way to the reality of living side-by-side. Disagreements were no longer just disagreements, they were full-blown conflicts of habit and communication. You learned his annoying quirks, and he became accustomed to your outbursts of emotion. Sleep on the couch became a recurring, albeit unwelcome, ritual. But with every spat came an effort to resolve it.
You both wanted this to work.
Wedding plans nearly derailed the entire operation. Vows were debated, themes argued over, guest lists scribbled out and rewriten countless times. Only a stern talking-to from both your parents reminded you of your promise, of the choice you had made to build something from this mistake. The wedding was beautiful, and far more real than any fairytale.
Yes, you love Jihoon. And Jihoon, in his own ways, loves you too. But some parts of him still irritated you, just as some parts of you rubbed him the wrong way.
It was the side effect of touching the wrong soulmate.
The faint sense that something was always... just slightly off. But by now, you've both learned how to live with it. It took a long time to agree to have a child, fully because you were afraid that the constant arguments might come back, especially with the added weight of hormones, fatigue, and stress.
But Jihoon listened, held your hand, and agreed to wait until you were truly ready. Eventually, you both welcomed Lee Jihyun into the world.
That nine months of pregnancy were no walk in the park. You were emotional, unpredictable, and sometimes irrational. There were nights you wanted to pick a fight over something as small as him breathing too loudly. But Jihoon, he always apologized first, always lowered his pride.
And after Jihyun was born, as the cries of a newborn filled your once-quiet home, you slowly started repaying Jihoon in your own quiet ways.
You didn't say "I'm sorry" out loud, but it showed in the way you ran your fingers through his hair when he was tired, in the way you cooked his favorite dishes without him asking, in how you tucked a handwritten note into his coat pocket when he left for work.
You weren't the right soulmates, but maybe, just maybe, you were building something just as meaningful.
You blink, pulled out of the story as your son turns to face you beneath the covers, his small voice fragile in the stillness of the room.
"So... Is this why I can't see colours as well?"
The question strikes deeper than any blade. You freeze, your lips part slightly, but no sound escapes. Guilt swells in your chest like a rising tide.
Of course he noticed, of course he's always wondered. He was born from two people who were meant to see colours. Vivid, vibrant, living colours, but instead... Because of your mistake in the past, his world will always been dull, muted, like a painting washed too many times. And it's your fault.
Your fingers clutch at the edge of his blanket, knuckles turning white.
You open your mouth to explain, but nothing comes out, just silence. Before you can gather the words, Jihoon's voice gently cuts through the room.
"It's not your anyone's fault…" He says quietly from the doorway, arms folded, but his tone soft. "Sometimes... Mistakes happen, and they're not always fair."
You glance up at him. He's looking at your son, but he spares you a fleeting glance, one that doesn't accuse. One that still, somehow, holds a trace of warmth.
"Your mom didn't mean to choose wrong. And I should've reached out before it was too late." He smiles sadly.
"We both messed up. But even so, we got you." Your son stares at both of you, blinking.
"But... I don't get it. If you two are soulmates, why did I lose the colours?"
You inhale sharply.
Jihoon's hand rests over your son's. "Because by the time we found our way back to each other... The damage was already done."
You turn your gaze away, eyes stinging.
You don't know what hurts more. The fact that your mistake cost your son something precious, or the fact that Jihoon still spares you from blame, even now.
Your son quickly shrugs off the weight of the question, announcing with a small yawn, "I'll go to sleep now."
Maybe he saw how tense you and Jihoon had become, or maybe he already knew the answer deep down.
"Goodnight," You both say in near unison, standing by the door as he nestles under the covers. Jihoon gently closes the door after one last glance at Jihyun.
A quiet sigh leaves your lips.
Jihoon's hand rests lightly on your back, rubbing small circles as he guides you down the hallway toward the dining room.
The house is dim, warm with leftover candlelight from dinner. He pours you a glass of wine first, setting it gently before you before pouring his own. You take a seat, grab a piece of the leftover chips from the bowl, and toss it into your mouth. The silence isn't uncomfortable, but it's loaded, like the weight of the bedtime story still lingers between you both. He sits across from you, quietly observing, waiting. The wine glass sits untouched in his hand, his eyes focused only on you.
"You did well," he says after a pause. "with the story, I mean."
You nod, chewing slower, thinking about your son's question again, and the truth behind it. You take a small sip of the wine, feeling the warmth trickle down your chest. Jihoon watches you for a beat longer before rising from his seat. He rounds the table and pulls the chair beside you, sitting close enough that his thigh brushes yours under the table.
Your gaze stays on the dim candle flickering in the center of the table.
"He shouldn't have to suffer for our mistakes…" You murmur, voice fragile.
Jihoon doesn't answer right away. Instead, he reaches over and gently takes your hand, his thumb brushing the back of it slowly.
"It's not suffering," He says quietly. "He's growing up with love. That matters more than the colours."
You look at him, finally. His eyes, though colourless to you, are kind, reassuring, familiar in the way only Jihoon could be. And when he offers a small smile, the kind that tugs a little crookedly at one corner of his mouth, you almost forget the guilt.
"You always say the right things," You whisper.
He scoffs, leaning forward to press a kiss to your temple. "I don't, but for you, I try."
Your eyes flutter closed at the warmth of his lips. Then, turning slightly, you rest your head on his shoulder.
"I'm tired…" You admit.
"I know."
You stay like that for a while. Just the two of you in the quiet night, wrapped in the kind of silence only people who've known each other deeply can share. His hand never leaves yours, and even if you can't see colour anymore, in this moment, it feels like you don't need to.
The night hums softly outside the windows, cicadas singing somewhere far off, but inside, everything feels still, and peaceful. Your body leans into Jihoon's side, and you feel him shift slightly, only to loop his arm around yours. His fingers trace idle, slow circles over your forearm, no pressure, just presence.
It's a silent kind of love, the kind that doesn't need to be spoken out loud to be heard. You don't look at him, and he doesn't ask you to. You don't have to, he knows.
You sigh quietly, the weight on your chest lightening just a little more.
"Thanks for... staying."
His voice comes low, right beside your ear. "I'm not going anywhere."
You let your head sink lower against him, your shoulders going slack, the tightness draining away slowly.
"I don't say it enough," You whisper, the words barely audible. "but I'm glad it's you."
There's a pause, then a soft peck to the crown of your head.
"Even if I'm not who you were supposed to find first?" He murmurs.
Your eyelids flutter closed. "You're who I chose."
His fingers falter for a breath before resuming their pattern, smoother now, grounded by your response. He gives your hand a gentle squeeze. And for the moment, it doesn't matter that you aren't perfect individuals with primary colours; you are two people who have built this thing together, with time and effort and love.
Later, the glasses of wine are half-empty and the snacks largely ignored between the soft hum of conversation and comfortable silences. You and Jihoon slide off the sofa together in an unconscious movement, making your way to the bathroom to wash up.
The night wind hums outside the open windows, like an old favorite tune you've known forever.
By the time you make it into the master bedroom, the lights are dimmed low. A rustle of sheets precedes you and him slipping beneath the blankets. Jihoon pulls you close, his arm curving naturally around you, his fingers settling high on your hip, his body heat radiating into yours.
"You good?" He asks, his voice a little rough, muffled in your hair.
You nod, shifting. "Better."
Your legs entwine beneath the comforter as you ramble, his thumb grazing your arm.
Time seems to dissolve, the night stretching out before you like a warm, cozy blanket. Eventually, your words turn into sighs, your sighs into murmurs, and then there's just the comfortable cadence of your two hearts beating against each other.
You drift off nestled in his embrace, your head tucked against his chest, finally at peace.
EN-Komect Heights 🌼 SVT-Raitere Lofts 🌼 Otherworld Plaza 🌼 Verdant Springs 🌼 Pinned Post 🌼 taglist :
Summary : Deep in a moonlit wood, Y/N ventures where shadowed trails meet unknown threats, where an impossible white wolf, whose fur shimmers like silver and whose eyes gleam red as blood, stands to watch.
💮 troop: strangers
🥀 fantasy: werewolf, as the name suggest this is twisted version of LRRH, wolf fights, blood, werewolf riot, hint of cannabalism at the end
non-idol fantasy, romance & angst au 🌼 NCT Jeno x female reader 🌼 18+ NSFW 🌼 12,212 words
🌸originally posted: 13/10/2025
EN-Komect Heights 🌼 SVT-Raitere Lofts 🌼 Otherworld Plaza 🌼 Verdant Springs 🌼 Pinned Post 🌼 taglist
What a beautiful and quiet night. One the kind that poets talk about, a soft kind where moonlight falls like silver milk across rooftops and the breeze hums to the trees a lullaby. But you've known since you were a little girl that peace is a lie.
In a country where every child learns the story of Little Red Riding Hood at their bedtime, how could it be anything else, and you're no different. Thank the universe, your grandmother doesn't live out deep in the woods, and you've never had any reason to even visit the edge. But here you stand, in the entrance to the very forest shrouded in rumor.
Because of your friends, and apparently, you're "too much like Little Red". You love the color red—own a coat that puts the real Red Riding Hood's to shame—and you don't have any other living family besides your grandmother.
They said it as a joke, of course, but then one of them blurted out, "Then prove them wrong. Go on in. Show us you aren't the same as her.". And so here you stand, under a full moon that's a bit too bright for comfort, listening to the mock in their voices.
"We'll give you an hour." One says, tapping at his phone. "One round trip into the forest and back. Don't worry, though, we're not going to leave you to get mauled by a bear. If you're not back within the hour, we'll call the cops."
Your eye almost rolls. Some thoughtful friends you've got… Guess you'll be doing some shopping for some better ones when this is over.
Still, as the wind tugs at your red coat and the forest beckons like a dark mouth, you take a single, hesitant step forward, because apparently, you're dense enough to demonstrate you aren't a little red riding hood.
As your boot lands in the damp earth, the air seems to hum. Behind you, the sound of your friends' laughter is a quickly fading echo, quickly absorbed by the trees sighing between one another like murmurs. It's not entirely silent; the leaves rustle and the crickets sing a fragile, high-pitched lullaby between intervals of chirps. It's a little unsettling, but also... harmless, as if the forest is merely acknowledging your presence.
The moonlight falls between the branches in shimmering streams like spilled mercury, dappling the pathway with a silver glow. The floor is covered in a moss so plush and soft that it swallows your footsteps almost entirely. Each stride you take feels muted, distant, and isolated, as if all other existences have ceased to be beyond the trees' reach.
How eerily quiet it is, you muse.
For a brief moment, you almost forget you're only here because your friends are convinced you're some damsel-in-distress, that this forest is rumored to be a gaping mouth that swallows people whole.
The scent of pine and wet bark fills your nostrils, grounding and almost comforting, but a subtle, metallic hint underneath seems to linger far too long. The trees here are ancient, gnarled and contorted into shapes resembling faces. Their shadows stretch out, distorted, long and slender like grasping arms.
With every stir of the breeze, the branches twist, and for a split second, they seem to lean in towards you, like curious onlookers. You tighten your red coat around you.
The night is breathtakingly beautiful, true, but it's the kind of beauty that watches you, a kind that smiles invitingly but bares sharp teeth beneath. Even with the apparent tranquility, there's a definite sense of anticipation. The forest is silent, but it's the quiet of a hunter waiting, not one that's sleeping.
Thankfully, you have your trusty old watch. A gentle, comforting ticking against your wrist. You pull your arm from the sleeves of your coat and glance down, performing a quick mental calculation under the silvery glow of the moon.
Thirty minutes in for exploration, thirty for the return journey, and you'll have a good buffer before your so-called friends start dialing the cops.
The forest seems to stretch infinitely in every direction, but your aim is far more focused than deep penetration. You follow a narrow, almost imperceptible trail that looks like it's barely been used, maybe forged by deer or long-forgotten wanderers. Soon, a faint, trickling sound reaches your ears.
Curiosity piqued, you push aside a curtain of hanging branches and behold your reward.
A lake. It lies like a perfectly polished mirror, glass-smooth and serene under the light of the full moon. The moon seems to float on its surface like a silver coin dropped into a still pool, its reflection wavering with the softest puff of wind. The light glints off the water, making it appear as though a myriad of stars has fallen to earth and are suspended just below the surface.
You walk towards it, your boots crunching softly on the loose gravel at its edge.
The air here is distinctly colder, the silence more profound, more absolute. It's so calm you could almost forget your location and purpose. You squat down on the mossy bank, watching as a small stone you tossed into the water sends out ripples that shatter the moon's reflection, scattering it into a mesmerizing mosaic of light.
For a fleeting moment, it's purely serene, untainted, and utterly magical. Then, you notice it. A shadow that flickers, then coalesces on the water's reflective surface.
A wolf, but no ordinary wolf. This one is immense, far larger than any you've encountered, even in your wildest nightmares or children's storybooks. Its fur, shimmering like moonlit frost, seems to glow faintly as it stands near the water's edge. Its eyes, burning with a raw and crimson fire, catch the moonlight and hold it.
It has seen you. Your breath catches in your throat, freezing you in place. Every cell in your body screams to flee, but your muscles refuse to comply. The world seems to hold its breath, the wind stilled. You know the slightest move could mark you as prey, and to face a creature of this magnitude is to face certain defeat.
The wolf remains poised on the opposite side of the lake, a taut bundle of muscle and power, its head cocked as if it's analyzing you. Moonlight slicks its back, outlining its form in liquid silver. With slow, deliberate steps, it begins to move, not towards the dark depths of the forest, but directly towards you. It circles the edge of the lake with a predator's silent grace, its red eyes locked on yours, unblinking, dissecting every movement, every nervous twitch. The muffled thud of its paws on the earth is barely audible, but each step sends a fresh wave of adrenaline pounding through your chest.
You dare not stir, hardly even daring to breathe, your gaze fixed solely on the approaching beast. As it closes the distance and stops a few paces away, the air becomes thick with an ancient, primal energy—a cocktail of fear, awe, and an unsettling, inexplicable sense of recognition.
The wolf exhales, its breath a cool mist in the frigid air, and continues to watch you intently. And then, something begins to change.
A sharp crack splits the air, then another, and another, like the sound of dry branches snapping under impossible weight. The wolf's body convulves, its bones shifting beneath its luminous fur, twisting, reshaping. You stagger back a step, heart pounding, frozen between terror and disbelief.
The sounds grow louder. Crunching, snapping, and rearranging, until it feels like the whole forest echoes with the noise. You squeeze your eyes shut, unable to watch, bracing for the moment it pounces and pins you to the earth. You wait for the weight, the claws, the bite, but none of it comes.
The cracking stops.
The forest exhales.
And then, a low, commanding, distinctly human voice cuts through the silence.
"Get back out, human."
You jolt, your eyes flying open just a fraction before you dare to widen them. The sight before you steals every trace of breath from your lungs. The wolf is gone, yet in its place stands a tall, broad-shouldered, and impossibly striking beneath the pale moonlight man.
His skin carries a faint luminescence, a remnant of the wolf's silvery sheen, and his hair falls in dark waves that frame his sharp, sculpted features. His jawline is clean and defined, his lips a soft curve that looks almost too perfect to belong to someone with such a deadly presence. But it's his eyes that root you in place, they glow crimson, intense and unyielding, burning with a mix of irritation and something else you can't name.
He looks at you as though you've committed the greatest inconvenience of his night.
"Did a human not understand basic language?" He says again, his tone clipped, his words crisp enough to sting. "Get out, human."
You open your mouth, but your throat betrays you.
"I..."
That's all you manage. The rest of your voice seems to dissolve before it even reaches your tongue. Because yes, there's fear, a deep and instinctive fear that reminds you this man isn't normal, but mingled with that fear is something else: awe. The kind that crawls under your skin and makes your chest tighten.
His presence is magnetic and dangerous, yes, but mesmerizing in a way that makes it impossible to look away.
The moonlight clings to him, outlining his figure in a faint silver glow, and for a moment, you wonder if the stories of monsters and men have always been one and the same. His gaze narrows slightly, a flicker of impatience flashing through those blood-red eyes.
"Well?" He says, his voice lower this time, almost a growl. "Do you need me to show you the way out?"
The man exhales sharply through his nose, a sound that's half frustration, half restraint. His crimson eyes remain locked on you as he takes a single, deliberate step forward.
The earth beneath his boots barely stirs, but somehow the air shifts all at once, as though the entire forest leans closer with him. You instinctively take half a step back. The cold air bites harder against your skin, and your body trembles despite your best effort to stay still. You can feel your pulse hammering at the base of your throat, wild and uneven.
Every instinct in you screams to run, but your legs refuse to listen.
He stops, his gaze flicking briefly over your face, your coat, the trembling in your hands. The faintest crease forms between his brows, as though he's trying to decide whether you're brave, foolish, or both.
Still, you don't speak. Your throat feels locked, the words buried deep somewhere between fear and disbelief. The moonlight catches his profile: sharp nose, defined cheekbones, a jaw that tenses as if he's fighting the urge to growl again.
He looks every bit the creature he once was: something wild and regal, beautiful in a way that feels both divine and dangerous.
"Humans…" He mutters under his breath, almost too quiet for you to hear, though the edge of irritation is still there.
Your fingers clutch at your red coat unconsciously, grounding yourself against the dizzying mix of fear and awe that swirls inside you. You want to ask who he is, or what he is, but your voice still won't come. He tilts his head slightly, watching you with the same unblinking intensity as before. For a fleeting moment, something in his eyes softens, maybe curiosity, before it hardens again.
"Still not moving." He says, voice low, his tone carrying an unspoken warning. "Do you truly wish to test me, little red?"
The nickname strikes through the air like lightning, and your breath catches. If you like, you could laugh at the irony, that of all stories, you ended up living this one. But laughter dies somewhere in your chest before it can even form. You don't want to be like the Little Red Riding Hood's outcome, you don't want to be the one who gets eaten.
Still, the thought echoes bitterly in your mind: there's no grandmother in a cabin waiting for you, no hunter conveniently patrolling nearby, no trick for the wolf to play this time. Your grandmother lives in the city, far from the whispering pines and secrets of this forest, and you're the only one here.
The only heartbeat trembling in the cold air, and the words gather at the edge of your tongue. "P-Please, I didn't mean to t-trespass; please, I'll leave; please, don't-" but you stop yourself.
Would begging even work?
You glance at him, the man with the crimson eyes, the wolf beneath the skin, and you already know the answer. His gaze isn't one of mercy or patience, it's primal, ancient, and steady as the moon above. He doesn't look like someone who can be swayed by pleading. He looks like a predator, and predators don't listen to fear, they feed on it. The distance between you feels smaller now, heavy with tension.
The night itself seems to hold its breath, waiting for what comes next. Then, like a jolt of cold water, you remember the dare.
Thirty minutes to walk into the forest, thirty minutes to walk back out.
You swallow hard, forcing your stiff throat to move.
"I- I'll leave…" You manage, the words stumbling out between shallow breaths. "I- I wasn't supposed to- I'll go now."
Your fingers fumble for your watch, desperate to ground yourself with something familiar.
You read your watch, trying to see through the faint fog of your own trembling breath.
Shoot.
You have twenty minutes left. You glance back up, but the man is already watching you, his head slightly tilted as though reading every thought running wild in your mind. A faint smirk ghosts across his lips, the kind that isn't quite amusement but something far more dangerous. Then, his eyes narrow.
"Run, while you still can," He says, taking a slow step forward. "while I chase behind you."
Your breath hitches. He doesn't count down, doesn't even blink, just waits. And like the fool you are, you think he might give you a head start, so you turn sharply on your heel and start running.
Your first step nearly sends you sprawling because your legs are still trembling from fear. The ground blurs beneath you as you force yourself to move faster, branches slapping against your arms, your lungs burning from the cold air. But the moment you start to think you're doing well, that maybe, just maybe, you've gained distance, you hear it.
The cracks. That same dreadful sound of bones shifting, twisting, reshaping. The sound that belongs to him. And then, the forest erupts. Leaves whip past your face as something enormous moves behind you. The thunder of paws pounding against the earth, the snap of twigs breaking beneath inhuman weight.
You don't dare look back. You can feel him—the presence, the force, the wolf-closing in, the air itself trembling with his chase. You run faster than you ever thought you could, heart hammering, mind blank with pure survival. The forest seems endless, until suddenly, the trees thin, the air opens, and you burst out into the moonlit clearing where your friends are waiting.
You stumble, sliding across the dirt, barely catching yourself before you fall face first. Your knee scrapes against the ground, hot pain blooming as blood trickles down your skin. You're panting so hard it hurts.
"Whoa- hey! Are you okay?" One of your friends rushes forward, grabbing your arm.
"What happened? You look like you've seen a ghost!"
You can't answer, you're still staring past them at the dark line of trees you just escaped from. And there, deep among the shadows, a faint glimmer catches your eye: two crimson lights.
The wolf's eyes, watching and unmoving.
You can't shake the feeling that somewhere between the running and the escaping... He let you go. Because no matter how fast you ran, no human could've outrun that beast.
He spared you.
But as the wind stirs and your friends keep asking what's wrong, you know one thing for certain: if you ever come back to this forest again, you won't get a second chance, so you say nothing. You brush the dirt off your bleeding knee, ignore their questions, and start walking home alone, leaving the forest behind.
Or at least... trying to. Because even as you leave, you can still feel his eyes following you.
You broke things off with your friends not long after that night.
The excuse was simple, you'd "grown apart," you said, pretending it wasn't because of the way they laughed about the dare the next day, completely unaware of what really happened. You couldn't stand their voices anymore, or how easily they dismissed the fear that still curled cold inside your chest. So, you made new friends, kinder ones, ones who didn't mock you for the things that haunted you.
You tried to live normally again, study, work, eat, and sleep. You told yourself to forget the forest, to forget the glowing red eyes that burned through the dark.
But you couldn't forget him. His face, so devastatingly beautiful under the moonlight, carved into your mind like something too vivid to be real. You remembered the gleam of his silver-white fur before he changed, the sound of his low and commanding voice, and the way it made your heart tremble in a way that wasn't entirely from fear.
The longer you stayed away, the worse it got. The temptation grew like a shadow following you quietly, patiently, and always waiting. Sometimes you'd catch yourself glancing out your window at night, half expecting to see those red eyes staring back from the tree line.
You told yourself you weren't going back, that you'd be smart this time, but curiosity has always been the true curse of Little Red Riding Hood. And so, when morning came one weekend, bright and clear with sunlight streaming through your curtains, you decided it was harmless, just a look.
Daytime couldn't be dangerous, not when the sun touched everything, not when the shadows were small. That's what you told yourself, so you went back.
The forest looked different under the daylight, warmer and softer. Sunlight poured through the canopy in golden ribbons, catching the dust in the air and turning it to drifting specks of light. Birds sang somewhere far off. The air smelled clean, almost sweet. It was nothing like the eerie stillness of that night.
You followed the same path, the memory of every turn and tree embedded in your steps. Your heart still pounded, but not out of fear this time, anticipation perhaps, or something deeper. Eventually, you found the lake. Still, quiet, shimmering like glass beneath the sun. But there was no wolf, no man, nothing at all except you and the sound of rippling water.
You hesitated. Going deeper felt wrong, but leaving so quickly made you feel ungrateful, as if you hadn't appreciated the forest's strange beauty the first time. So, after a long pause, you bent down and untied your shoes. The grass was soft under your feet as you peeled off your socks and stepped closer to the water's edge.
The lake was cool when your toes touched it, the temperature crisp enough to make you shiver slightly. You let the water lap at your ankles, its gentle flow tracing around your skin like a quiet greeting.
It was peaceful.
You let out a small breath and stared at your reflection rippling in the sunlight. Your red coat draped beside you, your face calm for once. Your peace doesn't last long when it's broken by the sharp crunch of something behind you, the sound of twigs snapping beneath heavy weight. Your breath stills. The air, once warm and golden, turns thick in your lungs.
You turn, heart thudding, half-expecting and half-hoping, to see the familiar silver-white fur glinting in the sunlight, but what greets you freezes your blood instead.
A massive wolf like the last, but its fur is as dark as night, sleek and shadowed, absorbing every ray of sunlight that dares touch it. Its lips curl back, revealing sharp teeth slick with saliva, and its crimson eyes gleam with hunger, not curiosity.
You stumble one step back, then another, the water rippling around your calves as you edge deeper into the lake's center. Your voice trembles as you whisper, "I... I don't mean harm- Please-"
But the wolf doesn't care for words. It lowers itself, shoulders rippling, every muscle tensed. A low growl rumbles from its throat, a sound that vibrates through the ground, through the water, through you. You keep pleading, but it keeps coming closer, step by deliberate step. The ripples spread wider around you, your reflection breaking apart. But then, a blur of silver flashes past you, so fast the water bursts upward in a spray.
Another growl cuts through the air, deeper, sharper, one you recognize immediately.
The silver-white wolf.
Him.
He crashes into the black wolf so hard they both hit the ground with a yelp and a roar. You back away as they tangle up in a whirlwind of teeth and fur, you fall backward with a splash into the water; your heart is in your throat, they begin to tear at each other fangs baring. You're just listening as they snap and bite and snarl with noises too animal and fierce to be earthly.
You have no idea who's winning or who's losing, or breathing for that matter, you jump back out onto the damp grass and start to run, shoes clutched in your hand as you race out of the trees; branches whip and scratch at you as you continue running at top speed.
You never once look back; the roar of the wolves quickly fading into the background until it's gone completely.
By the time you are out of the trees; your lungs burning as they pull air back into your chest, your chest constricting you're on your knees; your eyes roll back as you claw your shoes onto your feet before you run off, a small cut on your foot now bleeding as you trip and almost fall but carry on. You run through your door not stopping to close it behind you; running through drawers you don't bother opening you grab antiseptics; bandages and the smallest, cleanest towel you could find. You don't think you just run back out into the trees toward the lake, toward him, toward the silver-white wolf that looked at you like he was protecting you he was bled for you.
You don't know what he'll be like, if he'll even be there, if he's even still alive, but you have to go you can't not after everything; can't ignore the pull in your chest. The forest immediately pulls you into silence. The familiar chill presses against you, you walk toward the lake as you begin to sniff the metallic smell. The black wolf lies at the lake's edge, half submerged in the water, his fur bloodied, his body contorted; you reel backwards trying to catch yourself before you can hit the ground, leaning against a nearby tree.
You bring your hand up to your mouth in sheer horror as you try to force yourself not to retch.
You try to think the man's eyes come into mind, the voice that felt ancient you knew he hadn't traveled far when he'd fought. Ignoring every inch of you screaming that you need to leave, you tightened your grip around your meager kit of supplies. Your steps are tentative, but the faintest trails of blood lead your way silver flecks glistening under the moonlight; you follow the signs toward what seems to be an impossible dream until finally there he is a faint limping shape moving between trees, fur a dark crimson in the dim light of the forest.
Your breath catches and in a surge of instinct.
"Hey! Wait!" You call out, and he freezes, his sharp eyes turn toward you. A low growl vibrates in his chest, his sharp eyes gleaming in the darkness of the night. You stop where you are and held up both your hands in surrender. "I want to help, I don't want to harm you."
He glares at you, his expression is menacing as you hear a sicking click from bones moving and shifting. You quickly squeeze your eyes shut as you hear more sounds of grinding before it stops to nothing but shallow breathing; opening them back up you see the same man from before, his normally silver hair streaked with red blood that flows down his right arm.
"Don't you understand, you stupid human?" He asks gruffly as if trying to hide pain.
Your throat is suddenly dry.
"I…I wanted to help."
He grunts, his gaze glinting. "I don't need help from you, you insignificant pest."
You flinch at his tone, but you remain where you are.
"You helped me earlier…" You say, your voice quiet. "… please."
He chuckles under his breath with a scornful sound, his face contorting in something that looks like disgust.
"Why would you think that? You're weak humans, always chasing what you can't attain. I didn't save you, little human, I was simply asserting dominance"
The sting of his words felt real. A faint, sad smile crosses your face. You slowly and carefully get to your knees and set your kit on the ground before you.
"Even if… you don't believe it, I just want to help." You manage to get out, not looking into his eyes.
He clicks his tongue.
"So what are you implying?" He asks dryly, sighs and turn his back toward you.
The silence lingers in the air until he turn sharply, his shadow falling over your body as you can faintly see the annoyance etched on his features.
"You are pathetic."
You begin to get to your knees, grabbing your bag. He just stares, you finally meet his eyes for a fleeting moment as you apply pressure to the wound. His skin radiating an unearthly heat to yours, his breath caressing your cheek. You remain where you are, your trembling hands pressed firmly against the gash; not a single sound breaks the suffocating silence between you. The air around him felt like static.
" So…" You whisper, the words faltering as your heart begins to hammer. "I-"
"Don't, say a word." His interruption slices through you like a sharp blade, freezing your breath.
"Are you and that black wolf the same?" You ask nervously.
His jaw clenches, his eyes blazing. "Do not ever refer to that black animal in the same breath as me, human. He is a rival; nothing more."
You frowned."And because you're rivals, you'd kill him?"
"… He said something," He spat out, looking away. "something that angered me."
You tilt your head; the faintest smirk forming on your lips. "And what was your eloquent reply to his savage threat?"
He ignores your question, the light in his eyes fading and changing to something far away.
"He's from another pack," He says as if to change the topic of conversation. "so I have no worries ending him once and for all. It's might be kind of annoying for my pack but that's about it, it's not like my pack is weak."
Your eyes dart towards him, and the comment brings a soft snort from your lungs, unable to help it. "You're quite confident of your pack."
"Confidence is a good thing to have." He responds, the calming presence back with a touch of smug.
With utmost care, you finish wrapping the last of the bandage and leaning back on your knees you brush the dirt off your pants.
"There, all done." You look up at him with a warm smile. "Thank you... For saving me."
He doesn't respond, merely stands up and begins dusting twigs and leaves from his trousers. Then with a distant look on his face, he states flatly.
"Do me a favor, and don't come back."
Your hands still for a second, tightening around the medikit box. The thought of not being able to see him again brings more of a pang of disappointment than it should have. While going back into this place still sends chills down your spine, it somehow feels worse not to be able to see him again.
Your eyes fall back to your lap as you murmur, "But... I'm going to miss you."
His head tilts, a glimmer flashes in his eyes before his voice cuts through the air with chilling certainty.
"Don't like me too much, you are just a human," His voice drops to something closer to a warning than a demand. "and I am way more powerful than you are."
Before you could retort anything further, he turns away sharply and the familiar sound of popping bones echoes through the trees once again. Fur bursts through flesh, and in a matter of moments the man you thought you knew is gone, replaced by the familiar, shimmering silver-white wolf that haunted your dreams.
With a single, unreadable but fierce look, he darts into the shadows, leaving you alone with only the sound of rustling leaves and your hammering heart.
Kneeling on the forest floor, you stare into the direction he disappeared into with a dull ache in your chest, a sense of quiet confusion.
The next morning you're back at the edge of the woods. Sunlight streams through the leafy canopy, warming the ground with a soft golden light. It's bright, warm, and utterly peaceful—a stark contrast to the haunted darkness of last night.
You stand on the border, never daring to step past the tree line. A childish pout tugs at your lips; after coming all this way, you can't even see him, you don't even know his name, just the glint of his silver-white fur.
You sigh and tap your foot against the dirt.
"You could have at least told me your name before just vanishing like that..." You mumble, gazing into the woods, as if he could somehow hear you.
You want to go in, everything in you screams to push past the first tree, to explore the hidden world beyond. But the image of the black wolf's snapping teeth, the guttural growls, the gruesome sight of its torn body… that's enough to keep your feet firmly rooted to the spot. So you hover at the edge, a ghost of indecision circling the boundary between two worlds.
Then, a voice slices through your thoughts.
"Hi?"
You spin around, and a man stands behind you, carrying two paper grocery bags. He looks perfectly ordinary—dark, slightly unkempt hair, soft facial features, and a kind smile. There's a striking tranquility about him, however, an aura that doesn't quite match the everyday persona.
"Oh- uh, hi." You stammer out, surprised.
He gives a small, easy laugh. "Why are you here, young lady?"
Oh, right. That's… a really valid question.
Your mind races. You can't exactly admit you're here hoping to run into a gigantic wolf who transforms into a red-eyed, beautiful man. Saying you're just standing here for fun seems decidedly strange. So, you fall back on your trusty tactic: deflect.
"Why are you here?" You ask, feigning a casual tone.
He doesn't falter. "My parents live inside the forest."
You blink. "Oh..."
Wait, what? His parents live inside the forest? The same forest where fierce wolves that rip each other apart? The same forest that feels alive with more than just nature?
"How... Do they live in there?" You blurt out before you can stop yourself.
He laughs, a soft, untroubled sound. "They've lived there all their lives. It's quiet and peaceful. You get used to the company of animals over time."
Company of animals… right, that's certainly one way to put it.
A wave of pity washes over you. Does he even know? Or… maybe he does, maybe everyone here plays a game of willful blindness. Then, as if the universe has heard your unspoken plea, he adds, "Would you like to come with me? I could introduce you to my parents, and you'd see for yourself just how beautiful the inside of the forest is. I promise it's not as scary as it looks."
Your heart lurches. He's inviting you in.
"I- um..." You hesitate for a moment before nodding. "sure, I can help carry your groceries."
He offers a grateful smile, handing one of the bags to you. "That's very kind of you. Let's go, then."
As you step past the first line of trees, your pulse quickens, though this time it's with anticipation, not fear. You tell yourself you're just curious, exploring, but in the depths of your being, you know you're holding out hope for something more. You walk behind the man, your footsteps soft against the mossy ground. He moves through the trees with an effortless grace, as if he knows every root and contour of the forest floor intimately.
With every step deeper in, you feel the outside world recede. The hum of insects fades, replaced by a hushed, steady calm.
You look around. The trees stretch infinitely upward, each appearing to be an identical, imposing structure. There's no distinct path, no indication of human habitation, no sounds of birdsong. Nothing to suggest that people could possibly live here.
Doubt begins to gnaw at the edge of your mind. Could his parents really live in this remote wilderness? Just as you're about to voice your thoughts, the trees open slightly, revealing a small cottage tucked away in the shadows.
It looks… entirely out of place. Wooden walls weathered with moss, smoke wafting lazily from a crooked chimney, and a small porch adorned with wildflowers blooming in cracked pottery pots. Despite its improbable location, it exudes an aura of cozy seclusion.
Your skepticism melts away, replaced by a reluctant wonder.
The man turns to you, his calm smile still in place.
"Behind the cottage, there's something even more beautiful," He says, his voice warm and relaxed. "you should go have a look while I bring this inside. My parents would be delighted to meet you later."
He extends his hand and takes the bags from yours.
You nod, a trace of nervousness lingering but masked by politeness. "Oh- uh, okay. Thank you for letting me come with you."
His smile widens. "My pleasure, it's not very often we have visitors this deep in the woods."
He then disappears through the creaking door of the cottage, leaving you alone once more. You linger for a moment, unsure of your next move. Driven by curiosity, you walk around the side of the cottage, pushing past low-hanging branches until you emerge into the area behind it.
But... There is nothing there, only trees again, the same old landscape of trunks and leaves and shadows. There is no awesome viewpoint, no secluded lake, no glimpse of beauty more beautiful than you have seen before.
You feel the stillness in the air thickening as you turn back towards the cottage door with your heart rate quickening.
"He said there was something behind this cottage…" You say, and then you trail off. There is no thing. "He must have meant something else."
You take a step backwards as hairs stand up on the back of your neck. Best not to risk venturing in any further, and you carefully make your way around to the front of the cottage clutching your bag to your side.
Standing before the front of the cottage, you shift your weight on your feet, peering around with nervous eyes. There is no answer to your anxious call "Hello?" as the trees remain silent, and then you look at the dark cottage door and await the appearance of the man who offered you help earlier in exchange for delivering this basket of apples.
Anytime now, he should be coming to the door with a smile, to offer a sincere thank you and lead you out to the safety of the forest edge.
The longer that you wait however, the more uneasy you feel.
A rustle behind you catches your attention as you quickly turn. Behind a large tree a flash of silver-white catches your eye.
"Hi again!" You say, waving to it like you have known each other all your life and it is merely visiting.
You giggle as it looks at you, head tilting in what looks like confusion before a stretch of its limbs transforms the wolf back into a human with eyes that look as crimson as the fruit you are carrying.
"I missed you?" You say with your arms folded behind your back to give you that innocent and not-a-worry attitude, as Jeno sighs heavily.
"So how did you get into our territory?" Jeno asks you, and you immediately point to the cottage before replying.
"A man that lead me here told me there was something special behind there to see, but when I got there, it seemed as though he was mistaken, so I just decided to wait here."
Jeno rubs the bridge of his nose as though he is at the end of his patience with you. Before turning to the door he calls out.
"Na Jaemin, come out!" As the door creaks open to reveal the face of a young man who grins with anticipation.
"Jeno, my man!" He begins to walk toward you two, and Jeno places a strong hand in the centre of Jaemin's chest.
"You were going to eat her, weren't you?"
Jaemin pouts. "Can't I?"
"Eat me?!" You yelp as you jump backwards.
As you are about to launch into a state of panic, Jeno places an arm in front of you to keep you shielded.
"I'm here," he murmurs, his eye darting back at Jaemin.
"I told you about her."
"Ohhh... So she's your-" He says but he gets no time to finish as Jeno claps a hand over his mouth.
"Not. Another. Word."
You ask with narrowed eyes. "I am your what?"
"Mind your own business, human." Replies Jeno in a cold voice as his ear goes crimson.
Jaemin grin, as he frees his mouth. "Welcome to the NCT Dream werewolf pack!"
He says with arms flung wide to gesture at the small wooden cottage.
"That is our humble abode, to keep the humans away from us that is."
You look at Jeno who glares fiercely at Jaemin as you whisper. "And you lead me in here knowing all of that?"
"Jaemin," Warns Jeno.
"Relax, I'm not going to eat her unless you said okay, and maybe she wants some dinner?"
You pause.
"What kind of dinner?" You stammer and Jeno groaned pulling a hand over his face.
"So! Since you're standing in our very secret, definitely-not-for-humans territory, you might as well know who we are." Jaemin says, clapping his hand to his chest. "I'm Na Jaemin, the chef, caretaker, and the one responsible for keeping this bunch of wolves alive."
He gestures to Jeno. "This broody one beside you? This is Lee Jeno, our pack's second-in-command and the king of bad temper."
"Keep talking and I'll make sure your tail's on the menu." Jeno mutters, and Jaemin laughs
"Then we have Mark, our leader. He's off in the north woods sorting some pack business out. Haechan is probably sleeping in some ridiculous place, Renjun is scouting, Chenle is hunting down by the river and Jisung..." He pauses, smiling gently. "well, he is the youngest and most likely trying not to set the entire forest alight."
"You have quite a team!" You reply, unsure if he is joking.
"Of course," Replies Jaemin proudly. "we are family."
He stretches lazily. "Anyway, since you are our special guest," He wink's at Jeno. "why don't you join us for dinner?"
"Dinner?" You repeat cautiously as you tummy twist between excitement and terror.
"Don't worry, we don't eat… humans." says Jaemin with a giggle, before side-eye at Jeno. "We can have rabbit stew then, and since I am doing the cooking, I expect Jeno to go fetch us some rabbits!"
His words sing out in a musical voice and Jeno sighs heavily before turning around and disappearing into the trees. After a few minutes you hear rustling, then silence, before the wolves appear carrying small, bloody corpses.
Jaemin gasps dramatically, his hands coming together. "Ho ho ho, thank you for the hard work, Jenoooo!"
You blink, eyes wide between a mix of awe and pure terror. "... That was quick."
Jeno shrugs, completely unbothered as he wipes his hands with a cloth Jaemin tosses his way. "Jaemin talks too much, I just needed him to shut up faster."
Jaemin pouts, his nose wrinkling in offense but a grin returns in an instant as he kneels beside the rabbits. "Anyway! Let's get cooking, shall we?"
He peeks up at you, his eyes glinting with amusement. "You're staying to eat, right? After all, it's not everyday Jeno hunts for someone else."
You open your mouth to answer, but the look Jeno sends you, almost imperceptible but potent nonetheless, makes your breath hitch in your throat.
Jaemin hums a cheerful tune as he carries the rabbits into the cottage, the door creaking open to reveal the distinct smell of wood smoke and herbs. You hesitate at the threshold, catching Jeno's eye. He leans against the doorframe, arms crossed, watching Jaemin with an unreadable expression.
"Come on in," Jaemin calls out happily, turning from the pot. "don't just stand there like a lost pup!"
You step inside, your gaze flicking around the cozy interior. Wooden furniture is scattered with fur pelts, herbs hang from the ceiling in bundles, and small glass jars are filled with various mysterious contents. It's rustic but somehow welcoming.
Jaemin pulls up his sleeves and starts skinning the rabbits with impressive dexterity.
"So," He says casually. "how did our dear Jeno find you?"
You risk a glance at Jeno, who seems to be contemplating disappearing into the wall.
"I… I found him first," You admit, a small smile tugging at your lips. "he… uh… saved me the second time we met."
Jaemin gasps theatrically, his hand flying to his chest. "Saved you? Oh, Jeno, how romantic."
Jeno's jaw tightens. "Jaemin."
"Alright, alright," Jaemin concedes, tossing a bone aside with a flick of his wrist. "I'll stop before you growl at me again."
You let out a soft giggle, earning you another look from Jeno—a flash of sharp, then a slow softening when he sees the genuine amusement on your face. His lips twitch just the slightest. Jaemin hums again, adding a handful of dried herbs to the simmering broth. The warm, earthy scent begins to fill the air.
"You know," He muses, stirring the pot. "most humans don't dare venture into these woods, so you're quite the brave one."
You tilt your head. "Or quite the foolish one, said Jeno."
Jaemin laughs heartily.
"Perhaps both." He turns to you with a gentle smile now, softer than before. "But you're in luck. Our pack… we… don't harm humans. Not unless they harm us first, of course."
You nod, feeling the weight of his words settle in your stomach.
A soft rustle behind you signals Jeno moving closer. His voice, low and almost too quiet to be heard, reaches you. "Don't listen too much to him. He's prone to exaggeration."
You look up at him, meeting his steady, silver-grey eyes. "But he's right, isn't he? I shouldn't be here."
Jeno lets out a soft sigh, his expression a blank slate. "Probably not."
"Then… why aren't you chasing me out this time?"
Silence stretches for a beat, broken only by the bubbling stew. Jeno glances away, mumbling to himself, "Because it feels… wrong."
Jeno glares at him, a look that could flay flesh, but Jaemin merely chuckles, stirring the pot with gusto.
"You two make the cottage feel a bit less lonely," Jaemin declares, setting bowls on the rustic wooden table. "Sit and eat, both of you have earned it. One for the hunting, the other for surviving Jeno's moods."
You giggle softly as you take a seat, warmth spreading through you that has nothing to do with the stew.
As you take your first bite of the savory, herb-infused broth, your gaze drifts to Jeno beside you. His silver hair gleams in the golden light filtering through the window, his wolfish aura a subtle undercurrent beneath his calm demeanor.
Jeno groans in despair the moment Jaemin points his wooden spoon at him.
"I did the cooking," Jaemin announces dramatically, waving the spoon like a general commanding an army, "so someone needs to do the cleaning! And I can't possibly subject our honored guest to dish duty, can I? That leaves…" his grin stretches into a wicked curve, "… you, Jeno."
Jeno narrows his eyes, looking distinctly unimpressed. "You could have just cooked less."
Jaemin gasps, feigning offense. "Blasphemy! Are you rejecting the generous bounty of my exquisite culinary skills?"
You can't help but snicker behind your hand. Jeno sighs in utter resignation, muttering something that sounds suspiciously like "You will regret this later", before he rises and starts collecting the dishes, shuffling towards the sink at the other end of the cottage.
Once he's out of earshot, Jaemin leans in, resting his chin on his hand, a playful glint in his eyes.
"So…" He begins, lowering his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "You and Jeno, hmm?"
You blink, startled. "Me and Jeno… what?"
"Oh, come on." Jaemin waves a hand dismissively. "You think I didn't see the way he looks at you? Jeno's not one to keep humans around long. He's extremely picky, and you're currently sitting in his pack's cottage eating his hunt."
Your cheeks feel warm. "He's just being nice."
"If that's how you choose to interpret it."
Jaemin chuckles, a warm, rumbling sound before looking back at you, his curiosity now overriding the playful teasing.
"Tell me, do you happen to know what a mate means to a wolf?"
You shake your head, a slight frown on your brow. "No… I'm not really sure."
A faint smile plays on Jaemin's lips. "Think of it like a soulmate, but… more. A bond that's born of instinct and sealed by destiny. When a wolf finds their mate, it's as if they've discovered the missing half of their soul. The connection runs so deep, no force in the universe can sever it, not even time."
You listen, your eyes widening with each word. It sounds both beautiful and terrifying, like love distilled into an eternal, inescapable truth.
"For wolves, being mated means belonging to one another fully." He continues, his voice hushed and serious now. "No vows are exchanged, no rings worn, instead, a mark naturally appears on both mates, a mate tattoo. It's our version of a wedding band."
He pauses, his eyes gleaming with an ancient mischief. "And… it's possible with humans too."
Your breath catches in your throat. "… Humans?"
Jaemin nods. "Rare, but possible. The Moon Goddess blesses such unions when destiny dictates it."
Then, his grin returns, sharper and knowing. "Like you and Jeno."
You nearly choke. "W-what?!"
Jaemin laughs at your reaction, leaning back with satisfaction.
"You didn't know? Of course you didn't, Jeno would never tell you, he's too… private."
"I… I think you must be mistaken…"
"Nope."
Jaemin pops the ‘p' with a sly grin. "You're his mate, all right. I can feel it in your scent. It's different. Softer and calmer. Remember that fight with a black wolf? That rival of ours wanted to eat you, but Jeno fought back because from the first time he met you, he already knew that you are his."
Your mind scrambles, trying to process this unbelievable revelation, but before you can formulate a response, Jaemin's expression shifts, softening into something more serious. "There is a disadvantage, though."
You glance up, a sense of dread prickling your skin. "…A disadvantage?"
"If one of you dies," He says quietly, his voice almost a whisper, "the other follows immediately. The bond is that strong, it won't allow one half to live without the other."
"And that's why he probably hasn't accepted you," Jaemin lets out softly. "Jeno's careful, he's seen what loss of a mate does to a person, but…"
He smiles again, though it's fainter this time. "the fact that he hasn't rejected the bond is simply him trying to protect you, in his own way."
You look down, your fingertips dragging across the smooth surface of the wooden table. "That's… sad, but also a little sweet."
"Precisely," Jaemin grins, then adds gently, "so be nice to him. He can seem pretty stoic but Jeno's heart is deep, and once a wolf gives theirs, it's gone for good."
The sounds of water running and dishes being scraped echo throughout the kitchen from the other room. Jeno glances over his shoulder, catching your eye for a brief moment before turning back to the sink.
You rest your chin on your palm, Jeno's words of 'mate' and 'destiny' and 'unbreakable' swirling in your mind. Driven by the curiosity you feel building inside you, before you can stop yourself, you speak.
"Then… what about you, Jaemin? Do you have a mate?"
Jaemin's spoon stills in his hand for a split second. The mischievous grin he'd worn all this time fades to something softer, more human.
"Ah," He hums, a low chuckle rising in his throat. "you just had to go and ask that, didn't you?"
You nod shyly, unsure if you've stepped over a boundary, but he dismisses it with a wave of his hand. Setting down the spoon, he leans against the counter, crossing his arms and gesturing to his neck.
"I do," He finally says, his eyes drifting to the window in the kitchen, as if peering through the forest to see something beyond. "from another pack."
Your eyebrows shoot up in surprise. "Another pack?"
"Mm." He nods, slowly. "I met her on a territory run. Wasn't meant to happen; we're not supposed to get so… close… with outsiders so easily, but I guess fate didn't really care for our rules that night."
He grins to himself, a wistful one, far off.
"I didn't even know she was a wolf for the longest time, honestly, thought she was human. Her scent was so faint and her aura was so calm… but when she looked up, under the moonlight…" He lets out another light, nostalgic chuckle. "I was gone."
You can't help but smile. "So… are you together?"
Jaemin nods again. "We are, her pack is not far from ours. In fact, we've been working together recently, to try and merge the two packs. It's been… tense, between them and us, for a long time, but now that an alliance is forming… it's better."
He taps his finger lightly on the counter as he thinks.
"It's not easy. Some wolves are not too fond of the idea of mixing bloodlines or sharing power, but if merging packs means she won't have to keep sneaking out of their territory just to see me…" he shrugs. " then I'll damn well do anything I can to make that happen."
The sincerity in his voice catches you off guard, and for all you've only known him for a short time, the warmth in his tone and the devotion hidden beneath his playfulness make you see a completely different side to him.
"That's… really sweet." You murmur.
Jaemin laughs a bit. "Sweet, huh? I'll take that."
Then his playful spark returns as he looks back to you.
"You see? Even someone like me can get serious about the right person."
You giggle, shaking your head. "Your mate's a lucky lady, Jaemin."
"Trust me," He grins. "she'd argue that."
The two of you laugh again, the tension in the air dissolving around you.
The sun dips lower in the sky, painting the canopy with warm shades of orange and red. You've been so engrossed in your conversation with Jaemin that you lose track of time until he stretches his arms wide with a yawn.
"Alright, lovebirds," He teases, glancing from you to Jeno. "I should probably let you two go. Human girl shouldn't be wandering around the forest once the sun's down."
Jeno glances over, a frown forming on his brow. "I'll walk her out."
"Good," Jaemin nods, a satisfied smirk on his face. "Pack rules; no humans stay past sundown. Safety precautions."
He leans down a bit to lower his voice so only the two of you can hear him, his playful smirk wide as he says to Jeno, "And you, my dear Jeno, try not to scar her for life before she even reaches the border."
You can't help but laugh, clutching your bag. "Thanks for the food, Jaemin! I'll be fine."
"Any time," Jaemin says with a wink as he nudges the two of you out the door. "Go on before your poor heart gets broken by this grumpy oaf's silence."
And with that, you and Jeno begin your trek side-by-side down the forest path. The air grows cooler as the last of the sunlight fades away and the woods begin to settle down, your footsteps and the rustling of the leaves filling the silence between the two of you.
After a few moments, you can't take the quiet any longer and you break it with a teasing smile on your face. "So… your mate is me?"
Jeno visibly tenses and mutters, eyes fixed on the path ahead. "Stop listening to what Jaemin's telling you."
"But it's an interesting idea…" You insist.
"No." He replies.
You pout. "Bummer."
He lets out a sigh and shakes his head. "You'll get used to it."
"Oh?" You smirk. "You mean I'll get used to it because I'll be your partner in the future?"
Jeno halts mid-step, his crimson eyes flicking toward you for a fleeting moment before darting away again. Even in the dimming light, you catch the faint flush creeping up his neck.
"You talk too much, human." He murmurs, his voice softer than before, but not cold.
You giggle, covering your smile with your hand. "You didn't say no though."
He exhales sharply, an attempt to conceal a subtle smirk playing on his lips.
The path continues to grow dimmer as you near the edge of the woods, the golden glow of dusk giving way to the pale blue of early night. The distant chirping of crickets begins to mingle with the soft crunch of your footsteps and your ever-chattering voice.
"So just imagine," You begin with a wide grin, gesturing animatedly with your hands as if you're painting pictures in the air. "if I were really your mate, you'd probably wake me up in the morning to… I don't know, hunt, or do whatever it is werewolves do all day, and I'd probably make you breakfast even though I'm the worst cook in the world."
Jeno says nothing, his hands stuffed into the pockets of his coat. Though his expression is unreadable, you notice his crimson eyes flicker toward you from time to time, his gaze curious and listening.
"Then…" You continue, your voice turning more playful as you continue your imagining. "we'd go on walks in the forest, of course, only when it's safe. Oh! And you could teach me how to talk to your pack? Or… you know… run with you when you're a wolf?"
You laugh, excitement glinting in your eyes. "Though I'd probably end up face-planting into the dirt after the first five steps."
Silence again, only the quiet rhythm of his breathing beside you as you walk.
"You didn't deny it," You tease, tilting your head toward him. "which means you've thought about it right now, right?"
Jeno lets out a little breath through his nose, a quiet sound that's not quite a sigh, not quite a laugh trying its hardest not to escape.
"Do you ever shut up?" He murmurs, finally, the tone too low to be offended, more affectionate than you care to admit, or perhaps that's just wishful thinking.
You grin.
"Nope. Not when you're so quiet, Jeno. Somebody's gotta fill the space, right?"
He shakes his head, just slightly, a faint smile playing at the corner of his lips before vanishing again.
You continue rambling, filling the space with observations about the forest, about Jaemin's surprisingly delicious soup, about the way Jeno's hair shines in the moonlight. Jeno just listens. He never interjects, never replies, but somehow the air around him feels less guarded. And though he doesn't speak, his eyes will occasionally drift to you, for a split second too long, and you catch a glimpse of something softer in their crimson depths.
It turns out you're a frequent visitor to the NCT Dream pack's cozy cottage. Your 'accidental visit' morphed into regular drops, promising yourself each morning would be your last, but somehow always finding yourself drawn back to Jaemin's infectious warmth, Renjun's dry wit, Chenle's teasing, and Jeno's silent presence. The first morning you returned, Jaemin simply chuckled, already wielding a wooden spoon that was still dripping soup.
"Well, look who couldn't resist." He'd winked, ushering you in.
And just like that, you were part of their lovable, chaotic crew. Mark, the elder of the group, was the resident pragmatist, calm yet utterly weary from managing the others. Haechan was the life of the party, constantly joking at your expense, but with a genuine concern beneath his loud exterior. Renjun, sharp-tongued and quick to call you "human trouble" was surprisingly the first to offer a hot cup of tea.
Youngest of them all, Jisung observed you with wide, curious eyes, his tail often thumping softly against the floor when you smiled at him.
Chenle was all fun and games, and Jaemin was your personal, surprisingly insightful, gossip columnist. But Jeno… Jeno was in his own world. He rarely spoke, but you found yourself naturally gravitating toward him.
Sometimes he'd be grooming his claws by the fire, and you'd perch beside him, sharing stories from your human life. Other times, you'd follow him on solitary walks through the woods, your words filling the quiet space his silence occupied. It wasn't like he tolerated your presence, it felt more like he simply allowed himself to exist in it.
"Do you guys wake up this early everyday?" You yawned one morning, stumbling out the door to find Jeno already stretched out by the lake. He turned, his silver-white hair glinting in the morning sun, and his crimson eyes seemed to soften fractionally.
"You didn't have to come out this early."
"I'm not complaining," You lied, stifling a yawn. "Jaemin threatened to throw a bucket of water on my head if I was late."
A soft, almost inaudible hum escaped Jeno's lips, enough to make your stomach do a flip. Later, as the other pack members wrestled and debated over breakfast, you helped Jaemin set the table, your gaze drifting back to Jeno, who sat by the window, watching the trees as if they held all the answers.
Jaemin caught your eye and smirked.
"Staring again."
You felt your cheeks flush. "I am not!"
Still, even with the distance, there was something undeniable about him, something that pulled you in, from the way his eyes would dart to you whenever you laughed, to the subtle way he'd angle his body towards you.
Slowly, the forest became less menacing, the cottage felt more like home, and Jeno's silence grew more and more comforting. The morning sunlight streamed through the windows, bright and cheerful, a stark contrast to the unease that had been simmering under the surface of your daily visits.
It was a calm morning, the kind that lulled you into a false sense of security. You finished breakfast in the familiar hum of the pack's morning chatter, the usual flurry of goodbyes before heading out for your customary walk to the NCT Dream pack's cottage.
It had become a comforting ritual: the walk through the familiar woods, the friendly banter with Jaemin, Jeno's quiet presence, and the endless, fascinating insights into their wolf world.
The scent of pine and damp earth filled the air as you reached the edge of the trees, dew clinging to the grass. A soft smile played on your lips as you adjusted your bag. Just as you took a step forward, the bushes ahead rustled violently. Your head snapped up, and you caught a flash of golden fur as a massive wolf burst from the shadows, skidding to a halt right in front of you.
"Jisung?"
You breathed, recognizing the familiar golden coat immediately. He let out a panting huff, his large golden eyes fixed on you, and before you could process it, he pressed his wet nose firmly against your side, pushing you backwards with surprising force.
"W-what are you doing?"
You stammered, losing your balance, but the wolf only pushed harder, a low growl rumbling in his throat out of sheer urgency. Sensing the sheer panic in his posture, you didn't hesitate. Climbing onto his powerful back was an act of pure instinct, your hands gripping his thick fur.
"Okay, okay! I'm on, Jisung! What's going on?"
Of course, he didn't answer, he simply turned and sprinted.
The forest a blur of green and shadow as you held on tight, your heart hammering against your ribs. The trees and the path twisted and turned until suddenly, Jisung screeched to a halt before a large wooden house you'd never seen before.
You slid off his back, legs shaking.
"Where are we?"
The door burst open before the words even left your lips, and a woman with wide, panicked eyes rushed out. "Come inside! Quickly!"
"Jisung, what happened?"
You demanded, but the look in his golden eyes told you everything you needed to know.
Something had gone terribly wrong, something involving Jeno.
You stumbled into the house, your pulse still racing from the adrenaline of the ride. The air was heavy with tension and the distinct, musky scent of wolf. Slowly, figures began to emerge from the hallway, morphing from their wolf forms into their human counterparts, each with grim, exhausted faces.
"Jisung, tell me what's happening. Why did you bring me here?" You asked, your voice trembling now. Jisung ran a hand through his disheveled hair, chest heaving.
"NCT Dream's cottage… it was attacked."
His voice was strained, heavy. "The rival pack… they finally made their move."
You blinked, the words taking a moment to register.
"Attacked? What do you mean attacked? Is it because of that night?"
Jisung's eyes flicking towards the window with a look of deep concern. "When that black wolf went after you, their pack saw it as a declaration. They believe Jeno claiming you under his protection is an act of war, since they found out you're human… and they're going to use you as bait."
Your breath hitched.
"Bait?"
"Renjun found out their plans and warned us," Jisung explained, his voice hurried but firm. "We had to evacuate the cottage immediately, which is why I brought you here."
You stare at him, your stomach twisting in dread. "Then… where is everyone else? Where's Jeno?"
"He's out there," Jisung says quietly. "he stayed behind with the others to fight."
The world seems to freeze for a moment, and the only sound is the drumming of your own heartbeat in your ears as fragments of memory: Jeno's clear, calm eyes, his quiet sighs, the way he always managed to keep you close but protected—flash through your mind.
"No," You whisper, shaking your head. "no, he'll get hurt again. I need to go to him- Jisung, take me back. I need the med kit, I need to find him, I need-"
"Y/N!"
A sharp, woman's voice cuts through your rising panic. A hand lands on your shoulder, her eyes, warm and kind, now blaze with authority.
"You cannot go out there, not now. You're human. Stepping out there will only confuse him, possibly make him fight worse. Or, much, much worse."
Your hands clench into fists. "But I can't just stand here and do nothing!"
Before the woman can reply, a loud howl sounds from outside, a clear signal. The other pack is getting closer.
Her expression hardens as he turns to Jisung. "Get her out of the forest. Now!"
"But-"
"Now, Jisung!" She orders, pushing you towards the boy. "Leave and do not come back!"
Jisung's eyes flicker a faint golden, the wolf surfacing, his instincts kicking in. Without another word, he grips your wrist and pulls you towards the door.
You try to pull away, try to look back, but the sounds of snarls and breaking things from beyond the walls forces you to move forward. As he pulls you out into the night and into the woods, you whisper. "Jeno…please be safe."
Jisung's grip pulls at your wrist, making you almost stumble as you run blindly through the dense trees. Your lungs ache, branches scrape against your bare arms and face, and the faint, distant roars of wolves make your blood run cold.
Then, a loud thud vibrates the earth beneath your feet.
A shadow leaps from above, landing directly in front of you with a menacing growl. Its eyes burn a fierce crimson, its fur black as night.
A black wolf.
Jisung immediately shoves you behind him, his body tensing. "Stay back!"
The black wolf bares its teeth, growling, and before you can blink, it charges.
"Jisung!" You scream, but it's too late. The two wolves collide, leaves and dirt flying.
Jisung looks back at you for one fleeting moment, his golden eyes flashing, and shouts. "Run straight! Don't look back! Please!"
Your heart cracks as you hear his voice, a mixture of fear and desperation. You hesitate for only a second, then you force your legs to move.
You run.
Branches claw at your clothes as you tear through the undergrowth. Growls and yelps are in your ears, mixed with the clang of claws on metal and bone. Tears blur your vision as you flee through the dark trees, each step feeling heavier than the last, your breaths coming in ragged gasps.
You don't look back, just like he asked. But then your foot catches on a root and you fall hard, and pain shoots up your arm as you hit the ground, the impact sending a jolt of shock through you. You gasp, scrambling to get to your feet, your hands covered in dirt.
You stumble forward until you break through the treeline and out into the open field. You collapse on your knees, gasping for breath, your entire body trembling. You look back, staring at the dark, silent wall of trees that swallows the night.
There's no movement, no sound, only the forest… absorbing everything into its silent, shadowy depths.
Your lip quivers, and your chest tightens so much it hurts to breathe. And then, a raw, broken cry erupts from your throat, a sound that seems to tear straight from your very soul.
"LEE JENO!!!"
Your voice echoes through the empty woods, eventually swallowed by the wind, unanswered.
A month passes quietly, painfully.
Life, as you know it, settles back into its rhythm, though it's one you barely recognize. You go to classes, submit homework, hang out with friends when they invite you, and force the appropriate smiles.
On the surface, you are fine. But deep down, a part of you remains trapped in that forest.
As you walk home from university, your eyes inevitably drift to the far edge of town, where the trees begin their silent march into the distance. The same forest that both frightened and mesmerized you. The one that continues to stalk your dreams.
You never get any closer, you can't. You're terrified that the truth waiting there would shatter you. Afraid of finding no one there to welcome you back, afraid of confirming that the warmth, the teasing laughter, the rare glint of softness in Jeno's eyes—they are gone forever.
So you stay away.
And when Hyunwoo, a sweet and gentle boy from your literature class, asks you out for coffee, you say yes. It's time to move on, you tell yourself, this is how normal people heal.
He laughs easily, talks about his favorite movies, and compliments the way you write. He's too perfect, really. The kind of boy any girl would dream of, and yet, even as you smile back at him, a faint ache throbs in your chest, like an old wound refusing to fully heal.
His hand might brush against yours sometimes, but it never makes your heart skip a beat.
When he walks you home that night, you thank him and look towards the far woods. The moon hangs high in the sky, silver, serene, and eerily peaceful.
You force a smile.
"See? I'm fine…" You murmur, barely audible to yourself.
You move on, or you try. Moving on doesn't always mean forgetting. Sometimes, it's just about carrying the memory with a quiet tenderness, like a scar that doesn't bleed anymore, but still aches when the air grows cold.
Maybe Jeno is gone, maybe he isn't. The forest remains, quiet, enigmatic, alive with secrets you no longer have the courage to seek. And yet, whenever the wind blows through the leaves, you can almost feel a familiar presence in its whisper.
You will laugh again. You will live, love, and finally stop scanning the treeline for a silver-white shape. But the part of you that witnessed more than what is supposed to be possible, the part that encountered a different world and an extraordinary wolf… will always remember.
And perhaps, on a particularly clear, moonlit night, you'll think you catch a glimpse of silver eyes watching you from the dark, not to haunt, but to protect. Because a bond that strong, formed between species and sealed by fate… it never truly breaks.
The forest is a bit quieter now, the silence heavy with a particular kind of weight, the kind that settles after a storm has passed, the air still faintly tinged with blood and the acrid scent of smoke. Jeno lies stretched out in his wolf form, silver fur ruffled and clotted in places, his deep gashes slowly knitting shut. Jaemin curls up beside him, his black tail a gentle rustle against the fallen leaves. The pack is battered but alive.
The whispers are in their minds now, merging into a silent chorus with the sighing of the trees.
Do you miss her?
Jeno's reply doesn't come immediately. His crimson eyes fix on a shard of sunlight slicing through the branches overhead, a beam that used to land on your hair when you would laugh at him.
… yeah.
A puff escaped Jaemin's lips, half sigh, half laugh. Too bad she's a human, huh?
Jeno's ears twitched.
If only she wasn't, if she was one of us... then maybe we wouldn't have to pretend like we don't eat people at all.
Jaemin was silent for a moment and Jeno continued.
When she came to the cottage each time, she'd smile at us like we were normal. She didn't know that what we had for dinner that night was actually humans. She didn't know that we had a secret we were keeping.
The words felt sharper than the wounds across his body. He turned his head towards the edge of the woods, a dividing line between you and him.
No one ever really believed a wolf and a human could truly form a bond. But she did. She came, and for the first time, my stomach didn't grumble. I wasn't hungry anymore. She made me believe that a bond with human can be real… and beautiful.
Jaemin hummed softly and closed his eyes.
You made the right choice to send her away, then.
… I hope she's living life the way a human is supposed to, safe from all of this… and safe from all of you.
Above, the sky was starting to turn to night, fireflies beginning to appear amongst the trees.
Soon the other members of the pack would settle down to sleep, or mourn. Jeno continued to sit up though. He kept his tail stretched along the grass while his mind went over and over every second of his time with you: your laughter, your fear, the determination in your gaze, the little bit of sorrow in your voice as you told him you'd miss him.
He knew he would likely never see you again, unless the fates decided to toy with them. But still, as the wind gusted through the trees carrying your faint scent on it one last time, Jeno let himself close his eyes and absorb it.
Live a happy life, Y/N.
Because to a creature born of pure hunger and darkness, loving you had been the only act that made him feel human, but that doesn't mean that the others will follow as well.
EN-Komect Heights 🌼 SVT-Raitere Lofts 🌼 Otherworld Plaza 🌼 Verdant Springs 🌼 Pinned Post 🌼 taglist :
Summary : Fueled by hidden passions, bound by unexpressed desires, two determined souls discover they were born to belong together.
💮 troop: stranger to lovers
🥀 dark romance: yandere, kidnapped, stalking, hacking, heavy obsession
non-idol & dark romance au 🌼 joshua x female reader 🌼 18+ SFW 🌼 7,768 words
🌸 originally posted: 14/06/2025
EN-Komect Heights 🌼 SVT-Raitere Lofts 🌼 Otherworld Plaza 🌼 Verdant Springs 🌼 Pinned Post 🌼 taglist
Sun bright above, bathing campus buildings in warm gold light as you walk through the university gates for the first time. The suitcase behind you hums quietly, wheels dragging against cobblestones, but you can't help it. Your heart thuds erratically in your chest, a mix of nerves and exhilaration all tangled up.
For years, you've viewed the world through glass. Tutors came and went, and your name was a whisper, often associated with promise and expectation. Homeschooling had always been part of the deal, an excuse to keep you shielded from the harsh realities outside.
You weren't just anybody, you were a child of immense privilege, raised with grace, refinement, and just enough room to fly.
But this is a world beyond the glass. Here, nobody knows your name or the weight it carries. To them, you are just another wide-eyed student with a dream tucked away in your back pocket. For the first time in your life, that's a comfort.
Students mill around, their laughter echoing across the green, a cacophony that feels surprisingly soothing. You're not sure where to go, but that doesn't matter. The important thing is you're here, with them. You take a deep breath and it fills you with the scent of possibility: fresh cut grass, new books, and perhaps the promise of something real—friendship, freedom, love.
Whatever it is, it waits for you down these paths, hidden within a smile or a shared glance. You tighten your grip on the suitcase and stride forward, shoulders squared. You're no longer the person waiting for life to begin, you are living it.
You only realize how long you've been walking when you spot the staircase, winding upwards towards the dorm building, illuminated by the sun. It's the type of staircase that looks deceptively manageable until you're standing at its base with a heavy suitcase by your side. You sigh and assess the stubbornly upright luggage.
No elevator in sight, no shortcut, just stairs and your own determination.
With a grunt, you lift the case an inch and heave it onto the first step. As you prepare to tackle the next, a hand touches your shoulder. You turn, and your breath catches. A tall young man with warm brown eyes and a gentle smile stands behind you. He gestures to your suitcase, his voice soft but firm.
"Need a hand with that?"
Hope sparks within you and you can't suppress the grateful smile that blooms on your face.
"Really? That would be great, thank you."
He lifts the case easily and you ascend the stairs together, conversation flowing as smoothly as the lighthearted jokes about the steep climb and the baffling dorm map. You discover a natural ease in his presence that calms your nerves. At the top, he sets the case down with a careful plop.
"First year?" he asks, brushing his palms against his jeans.
You nod, still a bit shy but smiling.
"Year Two." he says, a slight grin playing on his lips. "If you get into trouble or have any questions, feel free to ask. I'm not part of the student council or anything," he chuckles, "but I don't mind helping out."
You beam.
"Joshua Hong. Pleasure to meet you," he says, extending his hand, his charm effortless.
"Y/N," you reply, slipping your hand into his, your gaze meeting his with a flicker of awe.
His handshake is firm and warm, and for a moment, the world seems to still between your palms. He releases your hand first, a parting smile in his wake.
"See you around, Y/N."
"Thanks again." you call out just as he begins to turn.
He offers a slight wave over his shoulder, sunlight glinting in his hair.
You stand watching him walk away, a soft sigh of admiration escaping you. You're not entirely sure what just happened, but your heart is definitely beating faster than it was a few minutes ago. A small grin touches your lips, a warmth blooming in your cheeks as you grip your suitcase handle.
University just got a little more interesting.
The dorm hallway hums with the faint scent of fresh paint and new beginnings. Soft chatter drifts from behind closed doors as you walk slowly, dragging your suitcase along until you find the room number that matches the key in your hand. Room 207. You take a breath, turning the key and opening the door, you step inside.
The room is simple and inviting: two beds positioned on opposing walls, a desk for each of you, and light cream curtains billowing from the open window. One side of the room is already occupied. Bags are unpacked, a few photos are tacked above the bed, and a plump panda sits propped against the pillow.
As you enter, a girl, humming to herself, is organizing her belongings by the closet.
She looks up, her eyes widening with excitement.
"Oh! You must be my roommate!" she exclaims, a wide grin spreading across her face. "Hi! I'm Hana."
She moves towards you with her arms slightly outstretched, not quite an invitation to hug, but an gesture that makes you feel welcome.
You return the smile, and a knot of tension in your shoulders begins to loosen. "I'm Y/N. Nice to meet you."
"Nice to meet you too! I was really hoping you wouldn't be someone creepy," she laughs, her eyes crinkling. "I've had nightmares."
You laugh, a more relaxed sound than you expected. "Me too."
Just like that, the awkwardness melts away. In minutes, you're both sitting on the floor amidst the chaos of half-unpacked bags, discussing your hometowns, your plans to major in what, and the general surrealness of being on your own for the first time.
You discover that Hana hails from the other side of the country, has an insatiable love for strawberry milk, and is absolutely terrified of insects. She learns that you've spent most of your life homeschooled and are feeling a blend of excitement and overwhelm about virtually everything.
As the sun dips below the horizon, both your beds are made, your desks half organized, and the day's schedule rests on top of your notebooks.
"First class tomorrow at nine," Hana says, collapsing onto her bed. "Intro to Communications. You?"
You glance down at your timetable.
"Same."
"Perfect! We can walk together."
You nod your head with a gentle smile playing on your lips, sliding into your pyjamas. The room is dark now, silence save for the sound of the blankets rustling and the soft draft wafting through the window curtains.
You are lying in the bed now with your eyes on the ceiling and all the thoughts of the day race in your head: the sky and its bright colors, the staircase, Joshua's charming smile and the soft giggles of Hana you are just now able to hear. You have just landed here but… it already feels like the right place for you.
Tomorrow it's going to start.
Morning came so quickly, but you couldn't even bring yourself to complain when the thought of it all made it too hard to stay tucked under the warm duvet. A beam of sunlight peeked through the thin fabric of the curtains, illuminating dust motes dancing over your desk and scattering over the pillows of your bed like gold coins.
You and Hana got dressed in sync, like you'd been roommates your whole lives instead of just one night. Brushing your teeth together in the bathroom, then selecting your outfits, the comparison of sneakers under your feet felt as familiar and natural as the inside of a childhood toy box.
Grabbing your notebooks and one of your water bottles, you two bustled out into the busy hallway, amidst a mix of students who looked panicked, cocky, and everything in between.
The campus was that much livelier in the early hours. First-years fumbled around with crinkled maps while older students leaned back in trees, iced coffees clutched in their hands. The air hung sweet and cut and fresh, mingling with the steam from countless coffee shops brewing ambitious futures.
Together, you navigated the unfamiliar terrain, heading in what you hoped was the right direction toward your first lecture hall, relying more on the surge of students in front of you than your unreliable map.
And then you heard a voice cut through the general clamor. "Y/N!"
Turning, you caught his eyes: Joshua. He was walking toward you, his hands nonchalantly stuffed into the front pockets of his jeans, a slow smile spreading across his face that made your heartbeat skip like a flat stone thrown across the water. Sunlight caught the soft brown curls at the top of his head, and for a split second, the entire world narrowed down to him and that easy expression.
"Morning," he said, stopping a few feet in front of you. "looks like you've found your way around."
You offered what you hoped was a small, steady smile. "Just got lucky. Had a map… and Hana."
At the mention of her name, Hana's arm suddenly hooked itself through yours with surprising firmness, as if she'd been waiting for this exact opportunity. Joshua gave her a brief, polite nod.
"Anyway, I'm heading off," he continued, a casual glance at his wrist indicating a need for time management. "but I'll see you around?"
"Yeah," you managed, perhaps a touch too eagerly. "definitely."
He offered one last, genuinely warm smile, a warmth that settled deep in your chest, before turning and heading off down another intersecting path.
The second he was out of earshot, Hana let out a strangled shriek and latched onto your arm, bouncing up and down with the uncontained glee of a kindergartner on Christmas morning.
"Oh my God, WHO is the super cute guy?!"
You ducked your head, cheeks already heating. "Joshua. He's in second year."
Hana's eyes widened, her jaw dropping open as if you'd just told her you'd met a unicorn. "You know him?"
"I… yeah." you mumbled sheepishly. "Met him yesterday. On the stairs? He helped me carry my luggage."
Hana's mouth fell open further, and you were pretty sure you saw stars twinkle above her head. "You're kidding me. That is literally the opening scene of every single campus romance drama ever written."
A laugh bubbled up inside you, an attempt at regaining your composure that was utterly betrayed by the wide, dumb smile on your face.
"Oh my God, you like him!"
"I! No, I mean-" You clamped your hand over your mouth, but it was too late; your grin had given you away completely.
"I knew it!"
Hana squealed, tightening her grip on your arm. "You two are ADORABLE. I completely ship this. You and Joshua? Yes, Campus couple, CC status unlocked. I'm all in!"
You groaned, hiding your face in the fabric of your sleeve, but the smile remained plastered firmly across your face.
It felt ridiculously premature to even entertain the idea of real anything, but the image of Joshua, the way the sun caught his hair and his soft smile and that gentle voice, it sent your heart into a joyful flutter it hadn't experienced before.
The lecture hall for Introduction to Communications was a cavernous space, all curved tiers and endless rows of seating rising steeply toward the back. And as finally the lecture ended and students began to gather their belongings, Hana stretched with a dramatic sigh. "Okay, I'm going to need either caffeine or sugar. Or both. Immediately."
You agreed wholeheartedly and together you made your way towards the campus caf, a cozy little spot nestled between the arts building and the main library. The space was bathed in soft afternoon light filtering through large windows, and the air was warm with the scent of coffee and baking spices.
You were in the midst of deliberating over whether a vanilla latte or an iced matcha was the best post-lecture fuel when a familiar voice cut through the ambient chatter from just behind you.
"Y/N?"
You froze for a beat, then turned around. There he was, Joshua, just like you'd only imagined you'd see him again, a cup of coffee already in his hand and that easy, relaxed smile still gracing his features.
"Didn't expect to see you again so soon."
You smiled back, consciously trying to keep the sheer happiness from flooding your face. "Yeah, small campus, I guess."
He took a step closer, gesturing with his coffee cup toward the menu behind the counter. "Need a recommendation? I swear by the iced caramel latte. Dangerous stuff."
Hana watched, her eyes wide and fixed on your every move, sipping her drink so slowly she might have been making a study of it, all the while absorbing the interaction like a seasoned soap opera viewer live on set.
You scanned the menu again, your gaze briefly lingering on the option he'd suggested. "I'll try it. Thanks for the tip."
Joshua lingered for another moment, his gaze warm and direct. "Glad to see you're settling in. Hope your first class wasn't too rough."
"No, it was fine." you said, shaking your head. "Actually kind of fun."
"Good. Well, I'll catch you around?" he asked, slowly stepping back toward the far side of the caf.
"Yeah," you answered, your heart fluttering a little stronger now. "definitely."
With a final, small wave, he disappeared around the corner, leaving you and Hana alone with your still-to-be-ordered drinks and the lingering hum of his presence. The second he was out of sight, Hana practically vibrated with excitement.
"Oh. My. God."
You shushed her, your face flushing a deep pink. "Hana-"
"No! I cannot. That was the most beautifully rendered, softest boy interaction I have ever witnessed in person. I feel blessed beyond measure."
You retrieved your newly purchased iced caramel latte, your smile now unapologetically wide, and made your way to a small, secluded table with Hana. You took a tentative sip; the drink was sweet, smooth, and deeply satisfying, not unlike Joshua's voice. Sitting down, you felt as light and buoyant as a balloon set free.
Days roll like pages in an aged journal. Ever since you answered your parents' CEO proposal with a decisive "yes," an almost imperceptible change began to infuse your everyday life. While your mornings remained an echo of classroom lectures and hurried students, your evenings were gradually consumed by a world beyond the normalities most freshmen even gave a second glance.
Finance reports, public speaking seminars, corporate etiquette courses, and private business mentoring sessions.
Your parents had arranged these with you, not to.
You found yourself living a bifurcated life.
In one reality, you were a student—textbooks, group projects, coffee breaks. In the other, you were an heir to a destiny unchosen, groomed, polished, ready for a grand reveal you'd neither requested nor prepared for.
You're attempting to juggle it, to keep both worlds afloat, and it's taking a toll. Especially when you glimpse your phone screen, the little red notification icon showing unread messages from Hana.
[Hana]: Wanna grab boba after class? You need a break
[Hana]: I'm here for you if you wanna talk. Always.
You reply when you can, and you always do. But even she is beginning to sense the shift, the ever-so-slight distance that has been slowly growing.
Then there's Joshua. He never presses, he never questions why you've been a little withdrawn, he still offers you that kind, familiar smile when your paths cross, by the library entrance, a passing glimpse across the courtyard, even during a rare, brief moment at the campus cafe. He still waves, as if nothing has changed. As if he doesn't see the hollowness in your own smile these days.
The most regretful part?
You remember rejecting Joshua. It was that warm evening you almost agreed to a walk around campus with him, a simple pause, he'd said, to refresh your mind. You were so close to saying yes, your heart yearned to. But a heavy mind, burdened by expectations, said otherwise.
"I can't…" you had told him, with regret. He'd simply nodded, that warmth unwavering.
"It's okay," he'd assured you. "I understand."
And then he'd smiled. That particular smile, had broken something inside you, because he meant it.
You're not regretting the choice of taking your future more seriously. You're regretting the loss of the life you had only just started to experience.
But yet finally, a full day without business seminars, without leadership bootcamps, without men in sharp suits asking you to answer questions you haven't yet lived long enough to formulate.
Just you and Hana.
The student version of you. The version of you that laughed with you during classes, complained with you about those profs who'd assigned three chapters for homework over the weekend, and playfully bickered with you about whose caf served the best matcha latte.
It felt like a breath you hadn't realized you'd been holding.
After your last class, you and Hana headed down the familiar streets near campus to the small dessert shop she'd sworn was the best in the neighborhood. You each ordered two cups of ice cream—hers the classic strawberry swirl, yours a blend of vanilla and coffee chip. As you waited, she nudged you with her elbow, a playful smile on her face.
"So today is a no-boys-talk kinda day, yeah?" you asked. Hana snorted in laughter.
"When is it not?"
The easy giggle shared between the two of you felt natural. You turned to grab your order, when a flicker of movement caught your eye. A pair of tall light-brown hair, a soft smile, a voice you knew too well. Your breath caught, your fingers hovering over the ice cream cups.
Joshua, standing just outside the dessert shop, laughing with a girl you'd never seen before. She had on a pastel cardigan and lightly touched his arm as she spoke. They looked comfortable. Intimate. He was smiling the way he'd once smiled at you.
Your chest ached. Blinking rapidly, you snatched up the cups and turned back to Hana, pasting on a grin you hoped was convincing.
"Strawberry, my lady." you said, handing her her dessert with a wink.
"Ugh, thank you, I was about to wither and die," she chirped, already digging in.
Managing a chuckle, though your eyes kept darting back to the couple outside the entrance. She was leaning in to whisper something in his ear. He chuckled and rubbed the back of his neck.
The way he was looking at her...
You tightened your grip on your ice cream cup until your knuckles were white. You hadn't meant to stare. You hadn't meant to send death glares their way, but you did.
God, how you hated this feeling.
It wasn't her fault. It wasn't his. You were the one who had walked away. You were the one who had said no. So why did it feel like your heart had gone rogue?
"You alright?" Hana asked, peering at you between mouthfuls, a touch of concern in her voice.
"Uh huh, just got a bit of ice cream brain freeze." you lied, flashing her a quick, strained smile. Hana laughed, passing you her water bottle.
"Amateur."
You laughed again, even though it wasn't a complete lie.
It just didn't cover the real source of the cold that was seeping into your chest. Someone you might have started to fall for, may have started falling for someone else. And all you could do was put on a show and pretend you didn't care, even when it hurt like hell.
He pulled the sleeves of his sweater, looked at his watch.
Five minutes early, good.
He always preferred to arrive a little early to take the time to calm down, to mentally review what he was about to do, to remember his reasons.
He saw her at once, the youngest secretary of his parents. He saw the woman wearing a clean white blouse, leafing through a tablet, his expression cool and efficient. She resembled his parents' youngest secretary in every way possible. Just two or three years older than him, and already proficient in business lingo.
"Secretary Kim?" he asked.
She glanced up, smiled, then quickly stood and took a shallow bow. "Mr. Hong."
"Joshua, please," he said smoothly, then gestures towards the small dessert shop located just outside campus, "Shall we?"
She nodded and they went in and found a quiet table by the window. It wasn't a date, and it wasn't even remotely casual. His parents told him of their plans to make him their successor, only a few days ago. According to them, it was preordained. The prospect didn't surprise Joshua much.
Nevertheless, he didn't want to be just some unqualified puppet that they would later train.
He came up with this idea on his own. He wanted to meet Secretary Kim who was currently helping his mother to managing the new development subsidiaries. After all, if someone could provide with more of a behind-the-scenes look, it would be her.
He craved real insight. He listened keenly as she laid out the framework of overseas operations, interjecting a few questions and jotting down notes from time to time.
"I'm very impressed," Secretary Kim said at one point, taking a sip of her iced tea, "not all future successors approach their training so actively."
Joshua chuckled and ran his hand through his hair. "Well, I've witnessed what happens when they don't."
"Still," she said with a smile, "I admire you, you'll do great things."
He offered a polite smile in return and remained silent. He hadn't wanted all of this initially, of course, but he had no other option, and if he really had to be a CEO in the future, he'd at least have to do so honorably.
About half an hour later, their conversation drew to a close.
"I'll email you those documents I mentioned," said Secretary Kim as they stood up, "and if there's anything else that you need-"
"I'll let you know," he replied with a nod. "thank you again."
She left first, for another appointment, and he continued to review the notes from the meeting in his periphery until a familiar shape caught his eye. He looked up and there you stood, outside the dessert shop with a cone in hand, next to your friend Hana.
His heart skipped a beat. You didn't seem to notice him at first, but as your gaze finally drifted his way, your eyes softened. He didn't know why, but he could feel it. You looked so distant, so… hurt.
Soon after, you quickly turned your back to him, handing the ice cream to Hana. He watched you for another moment until you turned around, and this time, you had something inscrutable in your eyes, something fleeting and sharp, that vanished instantly.
He let out a soft sigh.
He knew that you thought he was here on a date with her or something like that.
God, how he wished he could come to you right now. He wished he could explain everything and tell you that she was nothing like what you imagined. Tell you that his heart had not belonged to anyone since he met you, that it was still waiting for you. But he didn't dare because he already had his share of rejection.
Nonetheless, you had the rest of the day haunted him.
Ding.
You stand before its polished silver doors, your reflection staring back at you—a smartly dressed girl in an immaculately pressed blazer, soft makeup, and a pair of very tremulous hands clasped firmly behind your back.
It is finally the first day, your first day as the official CEO.
The title is more of a weight than you had ever expected. You graduated at the top of your class, honors on all your degrees. The late night sessions for leadership courses, team projects, business simulation games… it had turned you into something sharp, wise, a little more tired. But you did it.
There was no boyfriend, no scandals.
Nothing that had to be carefully cleaned out. Nothing that would stain the brand. Only some very, very small pieces of memories clung to you: like Hana's infectious laughter when she'd dragged you out of your room to go out for late-night ramen on a weeknight.
Or how in fact, you still saw Joshua sometimes. It wasn't very often, but enough that it wasn't mere chance.
He hadn't vanished completely as he was supposed to have. He was supposed to have graduated a year before you, after all. And yet, there he was in the cafeteria, seated a couple tables away from you, or crossing the opposite sidewalk as you walked. He always showed up right around the time you were leaving.
And you never really dug, telling yourself it would hurt.
You still liked him maybe a little too much, but now, he was a ghost. A whisper in the background of your life. You had to focus on what really mattered.
The elevator doors opened to a gleaming, pristine office floor with vast glass walls and perfectly organized desk spaces. Everyone looked at you as you stepped out, shoulders straight as if you weren't screaming internally. They bowed, and you returned the gesture with a confident smile, though you were most certainly not, but you would be.
"Welcome, CEO Y/N. Your first meeting is in 15 minutes. Would you like a moment to compose yourself in your office first?" Your assistant asked, walking swiftly up to you, a tablet in her hands.
"Yes, thank you." you said, your voice betraying none of the thumping in your chest. As you walked toward your office, a soft buzz came from your phone.
[Hana]: You're gonna kill it today CEO power mode ON Go get 'em, boss!
You chuckled, a small breath escaping your lips.
The air around you didn't feel quite as cold anymore.
God, I miss her already.
She'd politely refused your offer to become your secretary, preferring to build her own venture. Hana now owned a cozy, adorable café downtown. You frequented it often, especially around finals week; her caramel lattes were legendary and so was her advice.
[You]: I'll do my best. Come by for lunch sometime. My treat.
You stepped inside your office, and the doors clicked shut, sealing you off from the rest of the floor. The cityscape unfolded before your eyes, sunlight dancing off the towers as if they were cheering you on. You inhaled deeply and rolled your shoulders.
This wasn't just your parents' legacy, it was yours now. As you sank into the CEO's chair—a seat that had always seemed out of reach—you caught your reflection. It was still you, nervous, but there was a new steadiness behind your eyes. You glanced at your phone one last time, then locked it and slid it into your pocket without comment.
"Could you book a time for me at Hana's Cafe?"
you asked your assistant nonchalantly as you made your way to the meeting room.
"Yes, ma'am," she replied, tapping the information onto her tablet. "I'll send you the confirmation once it's made."
You nodded, then with a composure you had carefully cultivated, you pushed open the doors to the boardroom. The room fell silent as you entered. Shareholders, executives, department heads—all heads turned, attention locked on you. You stood tall, spoke with a clear voice, and carried out your presentation with precision. All those months of preparation were finally paying off. The meeting went far smoother than you had dared to hope. As it concluded, your assistant reappeared at the door.
"Let me know if anything urgent comes up," you said, adjusting your blazer.
"I'll be away for a bit."
"Understood, ma'am."
You left the building, slipped into your waiting car, and gave the driver directions to a place he surely already knew. The bell above the caf door chimed softly as you entered into a familiar, almost comforting sound. You took your usual corner booth, the one with enough visibility across the room without being too obvious. You ordered a coffee, a light, sweet blend you often shared with Hana during study sessions when the rest of the world seemed to cease existing.
But today wasn't about Hana.
You glanced at the clock on the wall, two more minutes.
Sipping your drink idly, you scanned the room with feigned indifference. One more minute.
And then, just as the second hand reached the top of the clock, you smiled.
The door chimed again, and there he was. Joshua Hong, impeccably dressed in a tailored black suit, a sleek laptop bag slung over one shoulder, walking in with his usual confident grace. He nodded politely at the barista and joined another man at a table diagonally across from you.
A business meeting, undoubtedly. You didn't need to hear the details to know. You weren't here for the details.
You were here for him.
Watching him take the lead in the conversation, his brows slightly furrowed as he gestured towards a point on his tablet, then adjusted the cuff of his blazer—it was captivating. It felt familiar, yet new. Years had passed, but your heart still fluttered just like it had the first time you'd bumped into him by the school stairs when you were just a freshman laden with luggage and even more expectations.
You sipped your coffee slowly, a faint smile playing on your lips.
He didn't know you were here, and that was perfectly fine.
It wasn't about chasing him anymore, it was just about being near him, in these small, insignificant ways. Knowing his schedule, knowing he still came to this particular cafe to meet people.
You checked your watch again, quickly typing a message to your assistant before slipping your phone back into your pocket.
[You]: Heading back. Let me know if anything changes on the project schedule.
You stood, took one last look at Joshua—still deep in discussion, a soft, sure cadence to his voice—and felt a warmth bloom in your chest.
You left the cafe, your heart buoyant, your steps lighter.
Strange how a man who was completely unaware of your presence could make your day immeasurably brighter. And now? You were ready for the rest of your responsibilities as CEO, ready with just a hint of Joshua fueled pep in your step.
Another day, another pile of work. Emails, meetings on top of meetings, project approvals, and your head was already bursting with all you had to do when your phone chimed on your desk. It was your secretary.
[ I'm so sorry, Y/N. I have a personal family matter I have to attend to urgently, and so I won't be in for a while. I've asked someone to fill in temporarily, and I completely trust them. I hope that's okay. ]
You blinked at the screen, then let out a long sigh as you leaned back into your chair. Your day was already taxing enough; now this. Nevertheless, you reasoned, someone is better than nobody, and anyone she trusted was likely competent. You returned to scrolling through the proposal, trying to get back into the right mindset, until a knock rapped against your office door.
"Come in," you said, eyes fixed on the file in your hands.
The door creaked open. Footsteps, steady and firm, sounded in your office. The sound was… familiar, somehow? But you didn't look up until-
"Good morning, CEO Y/N. I heard your assistant is unavailable." a calm, smooth voice said.
You immediately shot up in your seat.
Joshua. Joshua Hong. In your office.
Your eyes widened, your breath caught. He stood there, resplendent in a sharp navy suit, a slight, easy smile on his face, a sleek tablet clutched in one hand while the other rested in his suit pocket.
"I find myself with a bit of free time at the moment," he continued, his gaze meeting yours. "so I thought I might be of assistance. Temporarily, of course."
Your lips parted, but no words emerged. You were shocked.
First, he was there. Second, he knew about your assistant. And third, a fellow CEO was offering to assist you like you were… well, like you were his assistant.
You blinked, trying to process it all. "Wait, you're… you're a CEO too. Why would you…?"
He tilted his head slightly, a mischievous gleam in his eyes. "I have some time to fill between contract negotiations and my board meeting in a few days. Besides, I always like to observe different leadership styles. I thought we could compare notes."
You could barely comprehend what he was saying; your heart was too busy attempting to levitate out of your chest at the mere thought of Joshua, your lifelong, impossible crush, offering to help you.
Without thinking, you nodded. "O-Okay, sure."
He chuckled softly, moving towards the chair across your desk with practiced ease. He placed the tablet down and squared his shoulders, looking ready to work. "Wonderful, where should I start?"
You swallowed and took a moment to regain your composure. "I'll send you a list of items to review. You can begin by sorting through the intern applications and then help me to finalize the logistics budget."
"Understood," he replied with a curt nod. "I'll treat it as if it were my own company."
He gave you another easy smile, and you offered a tight-lipped, stunned smile back, but as he set about his work, your gaze softened. It was strange, you knew, absurd, even. But Joshua Hong, the boy you'd stared at from across crowded cafés, the one who'd secretly motivated your drive through the years, was now sitting across from you, working in your office.
You hadn't expected the workday to go by quite as smoothly as it did. In fact, it wrapped up much sooner than you'd initially anticipated.
Joshua's efficiency was both remarkable and incredibly calming. He didn't just power through the backlog; he exuded this quiet, unwavering confidence that seemed to make every task feel less daunting. Instead of the weary sighs you typically issued at the end of a long day, you now found yourself stealing glances at him, admiring the concentration that furrowed his brow or the quick, decisive movements of his fingers on the tablet.
You'd never experienced such seamless teamwork.
"The budget is completed." Joshua announced, closing the file with a soft smile. "Would you like me to go over the vendor contracts for a final review?"
"They're already perfect." you replied, the warmth in your own voice catching you by surprise.
Your eyes stayed on him, lingering a moment longer than necessary. He'd taken off his jacket earlier, sleeves rolled up, and that image, the professional and just slightly more relaxed, was somehow burned into your mind. You leaned back in your chair, a mixture of relief and awe washing over you.
"I can't believe we're finished." you murmured.
Joshua chuckled. "You make for an easy-to work-with colleague. Focused and direct."
Your chest fluttered at his words, but as you said that, your mind, ever the worrier, immediately returned to the bubble of harmony you were enjoying. This was temporary. Once your assistant returned, there would be no reason for Joshua to be here. there is no reason for him to be across from you, sharing lunch or fleeting smiles, no reason to be a part of your space at all.
You swallowed, forcing yourself to focus on the schedule on your tablet while a mischievous whisper crept into your thoughts.
What if… what if you didn't have to let him go? What if you could pull him into your world, more permanently? He could continue to manage his own company, of course; you would never dream of interfering. But perhaps he could stay closer.
Assist you when things became overwhelming. Share ideas over evening coffee.
Perhaps… live with you?
The thought bloomed in your mind, a bright, warm cascade of images.
A roommate. A constant presence.
Someone to wake up and groan with you about the morning emails. Someone whose laugh would fill the quiet corners of your apartment. Someone you'd find asleep on the sofa, glasses slipping down his nose, the very picture of domestic tranquility.
Joshua, in your home. Right there, always within reach.
Your lips curved into an irrepressible, dreamy smile. In that moment, all the stress and titles and the demands of work simply faded away. You were no longer just CEO Y/N; you were Y/N, picturing a future where Joshua wasn't just a boy you once liked, but the man you were finally going to keep.
Forever.
Your plan had taken weeks to perfect.
Joshua was always so kind, so composed, always the type to think before acting. So of course, you couldn't just say it outright: "Stay with me forever. Let me love you. Be mine." He wouldn't get it. Or worse, he'd smile softly, just like he always did, and gently reject you. So you had to approach this differently.
With a heart full of longing and logic, you planned it all, and now, it was in motion.
Your heels clicked softly against the polished floor of Joshua's company. No one questioned your presence, you were a fellow CEO, after all, someone with power and elegance, and most importantly, someone Joshua trusted.
You waited near the parking lot where his car was already parked, driver in place. You held a simple bottle of water—unopened, untouched, except by you.
Joshua arrived on cue, phone in hand, suit crisp, hair perfect like always.
"Joshua," you called softly, holding out the bottle. "thought you'd need this for the road."
He blinked in surprise before smiling, that beautiful, gentle smile that always made your heart ache.
"Ah, thank you," he said, taking it without hesitation. You nodded, watching him unscrew the cap and take a few sips. He turned his back to you, checking his phone again, and you tilted your head, watching him with a serene expression. Moments later, just as you timed it, the bottle slipped from his hand. His posture faltered, and then he dropped, so did the driver.
Your heart didn't panic, it beat steadily and calmly, as if everything was finally right in your world. You moved with grace and efficiency, like someone who had rehearsed this before. You opened the back door, gently lifting Joshua's unconscious form into the seat, adjusting his limbs so he wouldn't wake up sore.
You looked at his peaceful face. So close now. You smiled, sweet, wide, genuine.
"Finally," you whispered, brushing a loose strand of hair from his forehead. "you'll understand soon."
You walked to the driver's seat and slid in. The keys were still in place, the route already planned in your head. The car purred to life, and you drove smoothly, quietly, toward your home. Your eyes flicked to the rearview mirror where Joshua lay unconscious, and your smile softened into something nearly tender.
It wasn't out of cruelty. You didn't want to hurt him, you just wanted to keep him, where you could love him freely, where he'd never have to leave, where maybe, he'd learn to love you back forever.
Joshua awoke in the dark, gradually regaining his senses. He was tied to a chair, both hands secured firmly behind his back, with a strip of tape across his lips. No sounds would come from him even if he tried.
You saw the moment awareness dawned on him.
The switch from confused to horrified in his eyes. Yet he did not protest, did not fight against his binds, only stared. You didn't care the thoughts in his head, you cared only that he was now awake. You smiled, so pleased, leaning in to plant a small kiss on the tape over his mouth.
"I'm gonna make you something to eat, okay? Stay put," you chirped, certain he'd do nothing other than obey. You hummed a soft little tune and tiptoed out of the room and into another, the one that only you had the key to.
Upon opening the door, you were greeted by the one place you'd been hoarding secrets since school. From then on until now. A huge board hung in the centre, detailing all of the things you knew of one subject: Joshua.
At the very centre was an enormous picture of his face, surrounded by information carefully pasted up in an organized manner.
You had hacked and pieced together all the bits of information. School records proved that Joshua was the same age as you. Work information explained the whereabouts of his company, including current collaborators. His current whereabouts and connections—every detail you had gathered and put onto your Joshua wall.
You gently ran a finger over his image on the board.
"I finally have you," you whispered to yourself, grinning.
Joshua was, however, no longer bound to the chair. He calmly untangled the ropes holding his hands together, and padded silently towards your room. Peeping through the crack of the door and seeing what you were so occupied with, his eyes twinkled with amusement as a wide, knowing smile lit up his face.
Seems you are more interested in him than he'd originally planned for.
When he first spotted you struggling up the stairs, it was love at first sight. All the telltale signs of a first-year, struggling with too many boxes and refusing to ask for help. You were determined and adorable. You looked so adorably stubborn that he had to impress you with an audacious lie: he claimed to be a second-year student, even though he was in your year.
What began as a silly white lie escalated into an obsessive stalking session. He delved into your class schedules and your calendar, your favorite haunts and meeting spots, just to be closer. His objective: placing himself in strategic positions within your life. From casually loitering near your usual table in the university cafeteria to predicting the exact moment your lectures would end, Joshua ensured his presence was a constant, almost inevitable part of your life.
Your chance encounter at the ice cream shop that one afternoon was a massive, unforeseen screw-up on his part. He had assumed you would be lost in your business studies, just as he had been in the past. You weren't supposed to be there, and he certainly hadn't prepared for a close, direct eye contact moment like that. He'd promised himself never to let that happen again; that he would always strive for perfection.
His life became dedicated to tracking your company and learning every detail about it, to the point of secretly developing the knowledge of your company, to one day approach you. After graduation, he became the CEO of his parents' business, bought a house, and set up a giant board in one of his rooms. Your face was pasted at the center, surrounded by meticulously organized files, dates, and other information he'd collected and memorized, just so he could remain in your periphery.
Joshua would conveniently schedule meetings in cafes you patronized. He'd plan his schedule in proximity to yours just to maintain a proximity to you. He had been watching you one afternoon, how you checked your phone, typed a message, and then stood up.
You were so cute when you stood up.
He'd smirked at your innocent beauty and turned his attention back to his client, the one he had been facing at the time.
And about your assistant… well Joshua had orchestrated a plan to keep her away from your side, so he was able to step into your office with a beaming smile. He even had a perfectly written text on his phone, sending to your assistant for you to appear to work.
"I was just informed your assistant couldn't make it today. I happen to be available; can I fill in for her?"
And then he slid right into your office, closer to you than he had ever been.
He didn't try to resist when he caught your plot. He'd been waiting for the time when you'd go to extreme measures just to bring him down. He was actually thrilled by it. He'd anticipated your reach for him.
And as you offered him the water bottle and to his driver, he gracefully accepted it without question. He had lifted the bottle to his lips for an apparent sip and had fallen to the floor as you'd hoped. He hadn't protested. As he slid into the car, he had pretended to be asleep but watched you in the rearview mirror with a soft smirk plastered on his face.
You had looked like a goddess, so serene and determined.
He'd quickly closed his eyes once he noticed you glancing back at him. He let you tie him up and his heart had been racing at each tug of the rope; finally, you were in his possession. And he was eager to see how things would unfold next.
Standing in front of the meticulously assembled board—a monument to years of devotion, research, and unvoiced longing—you suddenly heard approaching footsteps behind you. There was no need to turn around; you knew instantly it was him. Joshua wrapped his arms around your waist and rested his chin on your shoulder, his eyes taking in the visual representation of your obsession, the obsession he had always felt so alone in.
"So it wasn't just me." he murmured, a hint of wonder and disbelief in his tone.
You turned to face him, your eyes meeting his, both pair reflecting a mirrored truth that neither of you had dared to voice. His hands moved up to cup your cheeks as you clutched the fabric of his shirt.
"I thought I was going insane thinking about you all the time." you whispered.
"Then we are both insane," Joshua said with a faint smile before he leaned in.
You met him halfway, and the kiss that followed was soft yet electrically charged, a fusion of not just desire but of countless years of stolen glances, meticulously planned encounters, and silent, unspoken dreams.
There, amidst the strings and photos that chronicled your obsession, you two kissed, a kiss of desperate understanding and reluctant release. Finally, two hearts, twisted around each other from afar, were intertwined, neither willing to let go. Your foreheads touching, eyes heavy-lidded in the quiet aftermath, both spoke in perfect unison, "We are both equally and mutually obsessed with each other."
EN-Komect Heights 🌼 SVT-Raitere Lofts 🌼 Otherworld Plaza 🌼 Verdant Springs 🌼 Pinned Post 🌼 taglist :
Summary : A class is moved to an island under a new government regime without reason chosen to fight amongst themselves until only one of them survive to be compensated to have their whole future.
💮 troop: classmates
🥀 sci-fi: dystopian, major characters deaths, mentioned of blood, usage of weapons to kill: shuriken used, arrows shot, collar detonator
non-idol, sci-fi & angst au 🌼 sunoo x female reader 🌼 16+ SFW 🌼 5,890 words
🌸originally posted: 19/01/2026
EN-Komect Heights 🌼 SVT-Raitere Lofts 🌼 Otherworld Plaza 🌼 Verdant Springs 🌼 Pinned Post 🌼 taglist
APRIL 1986
The bell at exactly 8:00 a.m was sharp, metallic, and unapologetic. It was the sound of a blade splitting glass, and it silenced any conversations in an instant.
The students had learned long ago that silence at the sound of the bell wasn't an option, it was a reflex. The forty desks were uniformly beige, perfectly spaced and bolted to the floor, polished so bright you could almost see yourself. Sunlight cut long bars of light across unfamiliar faces through windows covered by grimy wire mesh.
It was the first day of the school year, but it was the same as any other day; nobody knew anyone else's true name. No real names, nicknames only was the first rule, no last names. No clues as to who you were prior to arrival.
The government called it neutralization. The students called it normal, as there had been no difference since they were children at Elementary.
The classroom door slid open without ceremony and she walked in. She wore a blue suit that seemed designed to cut and her hair was drawn so tightly into a knot it threatened to pull her face with it. Her hands held only a small metal case. She stopped at the podium and looked at them. The room seemed to hold its breath.
"My designation is Instructor Sato." She said in a flat, emotionless voice that contained no welcoming warmth, no hint of anything remotely resembling emotion. Her eyes, which seemed to contain nothing but function, swept across them, not lingering on any student for more than a second. "This room has been selected."
A wave of confusion rolled through the class. Selected for what?
Sato didn't elaborate. She didn't give them an opportunity to ask, or notice their growing apprehension.
"A new rule has been implemented," She announced in the same monotone. "it has been issued by the national government."
She placed the metal case on the podium and it sprang open to reveal an white respirator and a black box with a single red button on its surface. She picked up the respirator and without a moment's notice slipped it over her nose and mouth. The elastic snaps back.
The room froze.
"What-" A student known as Tower began.
Sato pushed the red button.
A television set at the back of the room, bolted to the wall and the ceiling flickered and warped momentarily then sharpened. The screen hissed static for a second, then was clear.
A man appeared. His crisp uniform and unnaturally bright eyes made you want to rub salt into them. Behind him was a flag no one had ever seen reason to question.
"Good morning, students," He said with an offensively bright grin. "congratulations on being chosen."
The word chosen did not fit.
"This is a school built for the future of our nation by our government." The man continued, pacing slightly in front of the camera. "This year, we have implemented a new educational program for you all."
On the screen next to him a diagram appeared of a small island, surrounded by a vast ocean.
"For three days," He went on, still smiling, "you will be transported to a remote location. An island, uninhabited, where you will take part in a survival training exercise."
The word exercise seemed obscenely inadequate for the expression it provoked.
"The rules are very simple," He said, holding up his hands as if admonishing children. "you will eliminate one another."
The man smiled broadly. "When only one student remains alive, the exercise will be over. Those who fail to participate will face immediate penalties."
A series of quick, stark images flashed across the screen: bodies convulsing as something tightened around their necks; something else hit the floor. Then the screen returned to the man's grinning face and abruptly clicked off.
There was a moment of shocked silence, followed by a faint hiss as thin, white gas began to pour from vents along the ceiling, drifting down in slow wisps. Students shrieked, sprang from their seats, overturned their desks. The gas, sweet and cloying, burned the back of your throat and clawed at your lungs.
One by one they collapsed, vision failing, bodies going limp.
Many of them fall unconscious watching Instructor Sato standing by the podium, her face hidden by a mask that fogged slightly with each unhurried breath, while their classmates dissolved around them in a flurry of frantic, fading sounds.
She watched the room until it fell silent, noting how slowly the last body slumped to the floor. After a brief glance at her watch, Sato turned and walked out of the room.
The bell rang again.
Sound was the first thing back. An incessant low electric buzz, followed by the creak of metal somewhere above. The floor was coarse, concrete that scratched at skin and smelled of rust and damp dust, not antiseptic.
Slowly, one by one, all forty students stirred, eyes fluttered open to a different classroom—or what had been one. Cracks webbed the walls, long yellow strips of paint peeled back. Half the windows were broken, the rest shuttered. The desks, all odd sizes and scraped, had been dragged in from various rooms, some marked with student names long since gone.
Standing at the front was Instructor Sato, arms folded, her posture immaculate, and she was wearing no mask this time. A soft groan was pulled from the center row.
Sweetheart's eyes snapped open with a gasp, their hand flying instinctively to their throat. Something was there. Cold, solid, and tight. Their fingertips brushed smooth metal. A collar, cinched snugly around the curve of their throat.
Sweetheart's heart thumped. They tugged at it, but it wouldn't move. With painstaking care, they looked around, and noticed that every other student wore one. Metal neckties cinched around their throats, a small speaker embedded near their jawlines, etched with faint serial numbers. Tears streamed down some faces, others tugged fruitlessly at their collars, breathing too quickly and loudly.
Princess, two seats away, stared with wide eyes, her hands trembling as she traced the rim of hers.
"What… what is this…?" Someone whispered.
Sato unfolded her arms.
"Stand down," She said, her voice slicing through the panic with a surgeon's precision. "eyes front. All of you."
The fear wavered, then yielded. Forty pairs of eyes snapped to her face.
"You are on an island," Sato began. "and this school is its focal point. The distance from this building to the furthest point on the island is ten kilometers."
She made a single gesture toward the cracked blackboard behind her. A crude map had been sketched there, an island enclosed by a red ring, with an X marking the school.
"You may eliminate each other by any means you deem necessary." She continued. "Weapons, traps, alliances, betrayal. Your creativity is encouraged."
Some of the students stiffened.
"But," Sato added, her tone infuriatingly calm. "stupidity is not."
She tapped a device clipped to her belt. "These collars monitor your heart rate, your position, your behavioral anomalies. If you attempt to damage the collar, to leave the island, to disrupt the program in any unacceptable manner…"
She paused. "…I will press a button."
Her finger hovered over the device.
"The collar will detonate." She said.
"Not yours," A wave of confusion rippled through the group.
"instead," She elaborated, "a random participant's collar will detonate. You will be responsible for their demise."
A quiet sob broke out somewhere in the room.
Sweetheart swallowed hard. The collar tightened around their throat, as if in response.
"If more than one student remains after three days," Sato continued. "all the collars will detonate simultaneously."
She let the information hang in the air.
"For demonstration purposes."
Sato pressed a button, and a sharp beep cut through the room, followed by one collar began to flash rapidly.
Princess's.
Beep.
Beep. Beep.
Every head turned toward her.
"No-" Princess choked, shrinking away. "No, wait, I didn't-"
The beeping accelerated, and panic exploded before the collar did. The chairs scraped back, students shoved and clawed to get away, their backs colliding with the walls. Someone yelled for Princess to move, another yelled for her to stay put.
Princess's eyes darted wildly, her breath catching.
"Please-" She wailed. "Please, help me!"
The beep morphed into a continuous tone. Then-
BOOM. The explosion was sharp, localized, brutal. A flash of red, a shockwave that sent a tremor through the windows, and Princess dropped to the floor where she had been standing. Smoke rose from her body. Silence fell like a guillotine. No one moved. A second later, the speaker embedded in the charred remnants of her collar crackled to life.
"Kim Soojong is eliminated. Thirty-nine participants remain."
Some students stared at the ground, others focused on the body. One student was quietly vomiting into a corner.
Sweetheart couldn't hear their own breathing; all they heard was the steady cadence of that calm, mechanical voice. Sato ignored the corpse, turning her gaze back to the group.
"Each of you will receive a bag." She said. "Inside you'll find: limited water and bread, a compass, a map, a flashlight, clues to randomly assigned students' real identities, and one randomly assigned weapon. If you manage to eliminate a student, you can seize their bags."
Her gaze swept over them. "You will use the weapon to eliminate other students when the game commences."
She folded her arms again. "Any questions?"
There was a long, agonizing pause before a hand tentatively rose.
"W… why…" The student choked out, tears running down their face. "Why us…?"
Sato answered without hesitation. "Random selection."
Another hand, trembling.
"If… if I survive…" The student whispered, tears carving clean paths down their dirty face, "will I… go home…?"
"Yes," Sato replied evenly. "you will go home. You will be guaranteed a position of your choice. Your parents were informed of your transfer prior to your arrival."
The silence in the room deepened.
"If there are no further questions…" Sato snapped her fingers, and the back doors swung open. Soldiers marched in, their heavy boots crunching on concrete, faces obscured by helmets. They brought in metal trolleys laden with identical black bags.
"…when I call your nickname," Sato said, her voice flat, "step forward and claim your bag."
She looked down at them, her gaze sweeping over the group.
"Sunny," She called.
The game had begun. The horizon was dense forest, so packed the canopies knitted the sky into a fractured mosaic of blue. The air was thick with salt, damp earth, and a hint of rot. Behind them, the derelict school loomed like a hollowed-out skeleton. The students were released one by one. When Kiwo stepped forward (the fifteenth in line) they felt the weight of the bag dig into their shoulder.
A soldier gave them a gentle but firm push.
"Move."
Kiwo didn't look back. The moment their sneakers touched the island's soft soil, the collar's speaker buzzed. Kiwo bolted downhill. There was no thought, just instinct, a wild sprint, branches lashing at their arms, lungs burning as adrenaline drowned out reason.
After a few minutes, Kiwo slowed, diving into a thicket of tall grass beside a jumble of rocks. Their legs trembled as they sank to their knees, then lay back, staring up at the swaying green canopy.
"Kiwo…?"
A weak voice.
Kiwo scrambled upright.
A classmate, tears streaming down their face, hands empty and shaking, stumbled out from between the trees.
"What… what should I do, Kiwo…?" They sobbed.
Kiwo opened their mouth to speak. "What-"
The word died in their throat as a sharp thunk split the air. The student's body twitched once, then collapsed. An arrow protruded cleanly from their neck. No dramatic spurt of blood, just stillness. Then, the collar speaker crackled to life.
"Park Jeongmi is eliminated. Thirty-eight participants remain."
Kiwo's heart hammered against their ribs.
The shooter emerged from the trees, a student Kiwo barely recognized, their knuckles white around the crossbow, their eyes wide and wild.
Kiwo hissed. "Shit!"
As the bolt whizzed past their head, burying itself in the dirt with a soft thud. Kiwo rolled and sprang to a crouch, but stopped short.
"Move!"
Kiwo screamed, and another shot flew. Grabbing Sweetheart's wrist, Kiwo tugged them down and pulled them through the grass while the arrow whizzed over their heads and embedded itself into the trunk of a nearby tree.
The chase continued until the terrain suddenly dropped off, not stopping until they came to a steep slope on the side of the valley and tumbled down into it.
"Wow, that was close!"
Kiwo gasped for breath as they brushed leaves out of their hair.
"Are you ok?"
Sweetheart looked back up the slope where they had come from. The person with the crossbow had fallen over and was sprawled in the grass. The weapon had skidded across the grass to a student standing a few meters away. It was Mini.
"Hey," The girl asked, her voice a little shakey. "Dooie… is that yours?"
Dooie scrambling up from the grass with a terrified expression on his face. "No! Don't touch that!"
He shrieked. The girl flinched and accidentally pulled the trigger of the crossbow, firing the bolt at him as she panicked. He crumpled to the ground instantly.
"Kim Jungdo is eliminated. Thirty-seven participants remain."
A calm, chipper voice informed them.
Kiwo and Sweetheart didn't wait to see what else happened and they scrambled up from the slope and began running again deeper into the forest, their hearts pounding. The sounds of a scream from somewhere across the island filtered through the trees, and Sweetheart didn't realise they were shaking until Kiwo squeezed their hands tighter.
"Hey, you're okay. You're still breathing."
Kiwo's voice was tight, but there was a reassurance there that Sweetheart clung onto. They had known Kiwo long before this island, before they became Number Seven and Number Sixteen, before their real identities became a target. They had loved Kiwo from the small glances in the classroom, the whispers shared between lessons.
"We should check our bags to see if we have anything useful, but maybe we should split up. In case someone sees us together."
Sweetheart nodded, even though the mere thought of being separated from Kiwo filled them with a dread they hadn't experienced since the doors had closed and the countdown had begun.
"I'll just go a little further to find a hiding spot then." Kiwo hesitated for a moment before nodding. "Don't be too long. If you hear anything, just run back here."
Sweetheart stood slowly, their legs trembling.
They walked into a clump of ferns, where the ground was a little uneven and there was plenty of cover. They knelt and unzipped the bag at their side. Inside were the usual supplies: water, a compass, a map, a flashlight and an envelope.
Their fingers shook as they pulled the paper from the bag and unfolded it. It was a list of nicknames and the corresponding real names. Sweetheart's eyes flew across the page, their pulse drumming in their ears.
"Queen Kim Soojong… Patch Lee Minjae… Tower Han Seungwoo…" Their own nickname sat at the top of the page, with their real name printed underneath.
Sweetheart quickly refolded the paper and tucked it back into the bag. Just as they were closing the zip a shadow fell over them.
"Found you," Someone said, and Sweetheart spun around. A boy they knew from class stood there, a wide, unnatural smile plastered on his face.
In his hand he held a metal baton, glinting in the dappled sunlight. His eyes fell on Sweetheart's bag.
"Hand over the envelope." He said, "I don't want to hurt you."
Sweetheart's fingers slipped into the bag again, their touch searching the cold, metallic surface of their ninja stars.
They pulled out three.
"W-wait-" the boy started, but Sweetheart threw. The first one hit his shoulder, the second embedded itself in his thigh.
The third he somehow deflected before charging forward again, baton held high. Sweetheart rushed towards him rather than away. They slammed into him, sending his baton clattering to the ground, and thrust the final ninja star into the side of his neck. Sweetheart staggered back, watching as the boy's knees buckled. Blood soaked into the grass around his fallen form and their collar let out a crackle.
"Choi Hyunsoo is eliminated. Thirty-six participants remain."
Sweetheart collapsed to their knees, a hollow silence settling in where their fear had been. They wiped their bloody fingers on their jeans, got up, and began to run back towards where they'd left Kiwo. They hadn't even realised they were crying until Kiwo's arms went around them.
"Sweetheart." Kiwo's voice was rough, his eyes wide with concern. "What happened?"
Sweetheart tried to speak but their jaw had seized shut. Their hands were shaking so violently that the collar at their neck began to beep a warning. Kiwo didn't ask again, he simply pulled them into a tight hug, and Sweetheart buried their face in his chest, clinging on like they might be swept away by the next breeze.
"It's okay," Kiwo murmured, his voice low and steady against their ear. "you're here, you're breathing… that's enough."
After a moment he loosened his hold. "Stay here, don't move."
He turned and sprinted back into the trees. Sweetheart hugged their arms around themselves, trying not to remember the feel of the boy's blood on their hands, the chirpy sound of the collar eliminating someone.
A few minutes later Kiwo returned, out of breath and carrying another bag. He sat down opposite Sweetheart, unzipped it, and revealed another envelope.
He pulled it out, and his brow furrowed as he scanned the contents.
"None…" He muttered, then turned it around for Sweetheart to see. Another list, but none of the names on it belonged to either of them. Somewhere out there, other students now knew who they really were.
"So we're still anonymous…" Sweetheart whispered, their throat tight. "for now."
Kiwo nodded.
Sweetheart stood up slowly, their legs weak, and raised a pinky finger between them.
"Promise?" They said quietly. "Promise we won't kill each other?"
Kiwo looked at their finger for a long moment, then hooked his pinky around Sweetheart's.
"I promise." He said, pulling Sweetheart closer until their chests were almost touching. "After all…" His voice softened, and a shyness Sweetheart had never seen before entered it, "I like you."
A smile tugged at Sweetheart's lips for the first time since the collar had tightened around their neck. Kiwo cleared his throat and gestured towards the bags.
"We should…sort through this. We may need to share."
Sweetheart nodded and they opened the boy's bag, a mixture of stale bread and water greeted them. Kiwo handed Sweetheart one bottle without a second thought, then stopped. They frowned and reached back into the bag.
"No," Kiwo said quietly. They shoved another bottle into Sweetheart's bag, then the bread.
Sweetheart blinked. "Kiwo-"
"You're shaking," Kiwo said, not meeting Sweetheart's eyes. "You need it more."
"I'm fine."
"You're not," Kiwo replied firmly. "and you won't be if you don't eat."
Sweetheart's mouth wanted to form an argument, wanted to demand fairness but instead they closed the bag with a quiet snap. "... Thank you."
They stood together, shouldered their backpacks, and set off.
The forest immediately consumed them. Light dripped through the leaves in uneven patches, the ground soft beneath their boots with moss and pine needles. Every direction seemed identical. A repetitive pattern of trees stretching out before and behind them, scarred and weathered trunks telling tales they couldn't decipher.
Sweetheart checked their map.
"It says there's a stream somewhere to the east." Sweetheart murmured.
Kiwo squinted into the dimming light. "Everything's to the east if you keep walking long enough."
They tried anyway. They walked until their muscles burned and their feet were sore, stopping periodically to listen for the tell-tale snap of a twig, the echo of footsteps behind them. The birds took flight in a scattered panic, the air vibrated with the hum of unseen insects.
This island was simply pretending to be peaceful, that's all.
"Don't you feel like we're not actually going anywhere?" Sweetheart said finally. Kiwo stopped and turned slowly, looking back. The trees behind them looked exactly like the trees ahead.
"... Yeah," Kiwo admitted, a chill prickling their skin. "it's like the island's looping us."
Sweetheart hugged their arms tight around their chest.
The thought of getting lost, of the light failing completely while they stumbled aimlessly, sent another sharp spike of fear through them.
"We need to get to some higher ground," Kiwo said, their voice steady but tinged with urgency. "at least we'll know where we are then."
They veered uphill, their boots crunching on gnarled roots and loose stones, Kiwo leaving small, deliberate scratches with a shard of metal they carried—almost imperceptible markings to mark their path, visible only to them.
Still, the forest remained an unyielding tapestry of green and brown. No recognizable features, no clearing or shelter in sight. The sun began to sink low in the sky, painting the leaves above with warmer, longer hues of light. Sweetheart's eyes lifted, scanning the canopy.
"... It's going to be dark soon." Kiwo tightened their grip on the strap of their backpack. Then, the darkness descended without warning.
One moment the forest was dappled and dim; the next, it was plunged into an oppressive, absolute blackness. The air grew cold, heavy, and damp, every sound amplified and distorted. Sweetheart's steps faltered, their eyes struggling to discern anything beyond the shifting, inky shapes ahead.
And then they saw it. A still, unnatural shape lying on the ground. Sweetheart stopped breathing.
"No..." They whispered, their voice cracking before they broke into a frantic run.
"Sweetheart-!" Kiwo called out, but it was already too late.
Sweetheart fell to their knees beside the form. It was their friend. Uniform ripped, collar intact, eyes wide and staring blankly into the gloom, reflecting only the faint moonlight seeping through the dense canopy. The gentle rise and fall of a chest was absent, no warmth emanated from the body.
Sweetheart let out a sharp, ragged gasp and grabbed their friend's shoulders.
"Hey- hey, wake up." They sobbed, gently at first, then with increasing desperation, shaking the unmoving figure. "Please... Please wake up. We're supposed to stick together, remember? You promised-"
The body remained unresponsive.
Sweetheart's fingers slid down, slick with a drying warmth that wasn't their own, and their breaths collapsed into guttural, broken sobs. Behind them, Kiwo stopped. Something inside them cracked, not loudly, not enough to be noticeable, but deeply. Kiwo knelt beside Sweetheart, their hand finding a shoulder, steady and warm.
"It's okay," Kiwo murmured, even though they knew it wasn't. They rubbed small, slow circles, a silent anchor in the overwhelming darkness. "I'm here."
Sweetheart's cries intensified. Their body shook violently with each choked sob, grief spilling forth in a raw torrent, unleashed by the shroud of night. Kiwo remained, not hurrying or trying to pull them away.
They simply stayed.
Minutes stretched, blurred, became meaningless, then Sweetheart suddenly lurched forward and clung to Kiwo, burying their face in their chest as if terrified the very ground might vanish beneath them. Kiwo immediately wrapped their arms around them, resting their chin on Sweetheart's hair. Their hand pat their back with a slow, rhythmic motion, a grounding, solid pressure.
Each touch whispered: you're here, you're not alone, breathe.
Sweetheart's cries were muffled against Kiwo's shirt, thick and ragged, but Kiwo held them. In the heart of the island, under a sky that paid no mind, Kiwo was all that remained. The raw, choked cries eventually thinned into shuddering breaths. Sweetheart's grip on Kiwo slackened slightly, their forehead still pressed against their chest, their shoulders rising and falling unevenly.
Kiwo held them tight, counting each breath, matching their rhythm.
Crunch.
A soft rustle behind Kiwo, and their body stiffened.
Another sound—ragged, gasping breaths, too fast, too close.
Kiwo swallowed hard, their head turning slowly. Standing a few feet away was one of their classmates. Moonlight illuminated their face just enough to reveal wide, bloodshot eyes and a jaw clenched so tight it trembled. Their chest heaved, their hands twitching at their sides, already miming the motions of striking. There was no trace of fear on their face, only a primal hunger.
Kiwo knew that look.
Whatever semblance of humanity they'd once possessed—that face they'd seen in classrooms, that person who'd answered to a name—was gone, eaten away by fear, by blood, by the insidious whisper of the island that violence was the only path to survival.
Kiwo's heart hammered against their ribs. Slowly and deliberately, they leaned down, their voice barely a breath in Sweetheart's hair.
"Hey," Kiwo murmured. "stay right here by your friend, and don't look up."
Sweetheart nodded weakly, face buried in Kiwo's shirt, oblivious to the predator hovering just behind Kiwo's shoulder. Kiwo straightened, their hand slipping into their pocket. The cold, familiar weight of brass pressed against their knuckles as they withdrew the knuckle duster, slipping it onto their hand.
It felt perfect, as if it had been molded to their grasp, waiting. Kiwo stepped forward, placing their body squarely between Sweetheart and their assailant. The forest held its breath.
"Back off," Kiwo said quietly.
The classmate didn't respond, instead lunging. Kiwo raised their fists, and a glint of metal caught the light. It was a knife. Kiwo barely had time to register the threat before they were reacting, twisting their body, stumbling back as the blade grazed their ribs.
A sharp rip of fabric, a sting, thankfully not deep, but close.
"Damn it-" Kiwo hissed, jumping back as another slash aimed for their arm. The classmate fought with a wild, clumsy ferocity born of panic and a chilling bloodlust rather than skill, but a knife was a knife. Kiwo's forearm burned, their shoulder ached, thin lines of pain stacking one atop the other.
Their lungs felt tight, their legs heavy. Kiwo glanced down at their fist, the dull metal of the knuckle duster glinted. They'd never boxed or trained for a fight, but this wasn't a ring. The rules had been thrown away long ago. The classmate lunged again, but this time, Kiwo didn't retreat. They stepped forward, throwing a punch.
The impact was sickeningly solid.
Crack.
Kiwo felt it through their bones, heard it resonate through the night. The classmate let out a guttural scream, hands flying to their face as they staggered backward.
But Kiwo didn't stop. With another swipe, harder this time, they pushed their classmate away, creating space as they stumbled and collapsed with a gurgling choke. They were writhing, grabbing their jaw with wide, pained eyes.
Kiwo stood above them, chest heaving.
This is it, their mind screamed. Do it, finish it now, or-
Sweetheart's face flashed behind their eyelids, eyes shining with tears, body shaking, trusting them. Kiwo clenched their jaw so tight their teeth ached.
"I can't…" They whispered.
Killing this classmate here would be safer, infinitely so, but Kiwo didn't have the stomach for it. They raised their fist again and slammed it down on the classmate's ankle, then the other. There was a sharp, wet crack, followed by a raw, animalistic shriek as the classmate doubled over and writhed on the ground, unable to rise or give chase.
Kiwo immediately turned and ran back toward Sweetheart.
"Run," Kiwo said, grabbing their wrist. "Don't look back, ever."
Sweetheart didn't question them, their eyes wide and bright, yet they ran with Kiwo, toward the dense woods, their clothes catching on the rough underbrush as darkness swallowed them. They ran until their legs finally began to protest, until their chests were burning. Kiwo stumbled first, crashing against the trunk of a tree before sliding down onto a patch of cool grass. Sweetheart followed suit, falling beside them as their knees hit the earth before they tilted onto their back.
Silence stretched, filled with the ragged sound of their labored breathing and the blood roaring in their ears. The world reduced to the sweet scent of grass and the cool press of it against their skin. Above them, a low moon peeked between drifting clouds, its light pale and unobtrusive.
Sweetheart rolled onto their side, their voice faint as they gasped. "I... I thought I was going to die back there."
A shaky exhale that might have been a laugh escaped Kiwo. "Me too."
The silence returned, more relaxed this time. The hum of insects, cautious but curious, surrounded them. The island, for the first time, wasn't screaming.
Sweetheart wrapped their arms around their chest. "You got hurt."
Kiwo glanced down at the numerous scratches on their arm, their torn fabric damp with drying blood. "Just scratches... I'll live."
Sweetheart propped themselves up on one elbow and leaned in, their fingers hovering just shy of Kiwo's scratched arm, inspecting.
"... Thank you," Sweetheart whispered, their gaze meeting Kiwo's. "For not leaving me... For coming back."
Kiwo looked at them, the moonlight catching the remnants of tears in Sweetheart's still red eyes, but they were shining with life.
"I wasn't going to leave…" Kiwo said softly. "Not you."
Sweetheart swallowed, their voice a small thread of sound. "Even if... It makes things harder?"
Kiwo didn't answer immediately. Their pinky finger brushed Sweetheart's by accident, then purposefully nudged their way between their fingers.
"It already was hard," Kiwo said, a hint of warmth returning to their voice. "yet you just make it worth it."
Sweetheart's breath caught. They stared up at the sky again, but their fingers tightened around Kiwo's. A moment passed, and Kiwo let out another sigh, rolling onto their side.
"Okay," Kiwo said, their voice gaining strength. "We can't sleep out in the open. We need shelter, high ground or a building or something."
Sweetheart nodded, squeezing Kiwo's hand once before letting go.
"Let's go," They said, pushing themselves up, their legs still wobbly but their footing more secure.
They found it by chance, a crumbling school annex, half-consumed by the island's verdant sprawl, but still standing firm against the ages. A section had collapsed inward, forming a makeshift ramp of debris that sloped upward. Kiwo tested it first, pressing their weight into the loose concrete cautiously.
"It'll hold," They said after a moment. "I think."
Slowly, muscles aching, fingers scraping against rough surfaces, they climbed until they reached the top. Kiwo rolled onto the rooftop and turned back, offering their hand.
"Okay, step where I step."
Sweetheart took their hand and began to climb, inch by painful inch, until their fingers burned and their legs shook with exertion, and finally, they tumbled onto the rooftop together. For a moment, they simply lay there, gasping for air, the expanse of dark forest stretching below, broken only by pockets of fleeting motion, shadows chasing shadows.
A distant scream, then another.
Kiwo's stomach churned. They could see them, tiny dots in the distance, running, fighting, collapsing.
Sweetheart nudged closer, their shoulder brushing against Kiwo's as their hand gripped Kiwo's shirt.
"We will be safe here for the night, right?" They whispered, their voice almost lost to the wind.
Kiwo's gaze remained fixed on the distant terror. "Hopefully."
Sweetheart squeezed Kiwo's arm. "Come here."
Before Kiwo could react, Sweetheart tugged them toward the center of the rooftop and settled down, pulling them gently to rest beside them. They stared up at the uneven scatter of stars, clouds drifting aimlessly above what was clearly designed as a place of death.
Sweetheart broke the silence again. "If this rule didn't exist, what do you think you'd be doing right now?"
Kiwo thought for a beat. "Probably complaining about homework, or faking that I'd actually studied."
Sweetheart let out a small, wistful smile. "I'd be annoyed about the nickname rule. I've always wanted to hear you say my real name."
Kiwo turned their head to look at them. "I still want to."
A blush warmed Sweetheart's cheeks even in the cool night air.
"Maybe," They said, their eyes still on the sky, "we'd be walking home together. Stopping at that convenience store outside the gate."
"Buying something we don't need," Kiwo added.
"And talking about nothing in particular," Sweetheart finished.
They lapsed into silence, the sounds of the island growing more distant and muted. Kiwo shifted slightly, their hand grazing Sweetheart's again. Neither pulled away.
The rooftop remained still and silent beneath them.
As exhaustion began to claim Sweetheart, their breathing deepened and smoothed. Kiwo stayed awake a little longer, watching the stars and listening for threats. Eventually, their eyes fluttered closed, the stars continuing their silent vigil above, Day One finally coming to a close.
Light, harsh and blinding.
Sweetheart groaned and lifted their arm, shielding their eyes as their vision swam back into place. The concrete beneath them was warm now, sunlight soaking into it.
Morning... Morning...?
Their heart jumped.
"Kiwo-" They breathed, turning their head instinctively, but they screamed.
An arrow was buried deep in Kiwo's chest. Their body lay beside Sweetheart exactly where Kiwo had fallen asleep. Eyes open, mouth slightly parted, like they'd been about to say something and never got the chance. Blood had dried dark against their uniform, the arrow's shaft jutting out at a cruel angle.
Sweetheart's hands shook violently as they scrambled toward him.
"Ki-Kiwo, wake up- please-"
"You're awake, Y/F/N."
The voice froze you in place. You looked up and saw a classmate stood a few meters away, bow raised, an arrow already nocked and aimed straight at your chest. His shadow stretched long across the rooftop.
Patch, No- You remembered now.
Lee Minjae.
"Minjae, wait- hold on- please-" You tried, voice breaking as you lifted your hands slowly, buying time that didn't exist.
But Minjae didn't lower the bow. He glanced at Kiwo's body, then back at you, a crooked smile tugging at his lips. You shivered. Seeing Kiwo like that, lifeless and silent, made Minjae chuckle softly.
"Sunoo is dead, you know," Minjae said casually. "His real name is Kim Sunoo."
A sob tore out of you before you could stop it, tears blurring everything as Minjae pulled the string back farther, the bow creaking under tension. The arrowhead glinted in the sun.
"Any last words?" Minjae asked.
You couldn't speak. Your chest hurt too much. Your throat closed around the weight of everything you never said, everything Sunoo never got to hear. He didn't even hear your real name.
Minjae sighed theatrically.
"Well," He said, tilting his head, "Sunoo woke up before you, so I did the same thing. Asked him for his last words."
Your breath hitched.
"He said," Minjae continued, smiling wider now. "that he likes you. Said you're his crush, said he knows you like him too."
Your world shattered. Before you could even cry out, the string snapped forward, the arrow struck you squarely. Pain exploded through your chest as you fell backward, the sky spinning wildly above you. The sound of the island faded, replaced by ringing silence.
Your eyes drifted to the side, Sunoo was still there. You reached out weakly, fingers brushing his sleeve as darkness closed in.
At least, you weren't alone.
"Y/F/N is elminated. Nineteen left."
EN-Komect Heights 🌼 SVT-Raitere Lofts 🌼 Otherworld Plaza 🌼 Verdant Springs 🌼 Pinned Post 🌼 taglist :
Summary : In the guise of a precious, gifted new chance, Sunghoon could again have the fight of a lifetime for the only one he ever truly cared about... Until he’d come to understand that fate never collected its own account.
💮 troop: lovers to ???
💮 fantasy: final destination style, mentioned of murdered and hypothermia, major character death
non-idol, romance, fantasy & angst au 🌼 sunghoon x female reader 🌼 16+ SFW 🌼 6,853 words
🌸originally posted: 05/05/2025
EN-Komect Heights 🌼 SVT-Raitere Lofts 🌼 Otherworld Plaza 🌼 Verdant Springs 🌼 Pinned Post 🌼 taglist
The world is black. No stars, no moon, only endless black sky that hangs heavy over the desolate street on which you tread, teeth chattering, beneath streetlamps that buzz like trapped insects. Your cardigan, a meager barrier, offers no protection against the wind's icy grip, which seems to knife its way into your skin.
You should have worn a coat. You should have kept your damn mouth shut. You clasp your arms about your own chest, trying to recall the genesis of this quarrel, the point where it escalated, where you glared up at Park Sunghoon, his profile stark against the night, and snarled.
"Stop the car, I can't stand to breathe the same air as you."
He did, he slammed on the brakes. And oh god, you hate yourself for those words, for their venomous sincerity, for the fact that he heeded them.
The car door opened and shut with the decisive finality of a grave. Your shoes clacked against the asphalt, and he didn't glance back, didn't say a word as the engine rumbled to life and the car sped away, disappearing into the suffocating darkness as though the very thought of you sickened him.
Was he angry? Was he pitying you? But he wouldn't abandon you, would he?
And he hasn't come back, so you walk.
For hours you trudge through the unblinking blackness, uncertain of your location, uncertain why the sting behind your eyes refuses to dissipate. Your feet ache, a dull, thrumming pain that vibrates up your legs. The cold seeps into your bones, chilling you from the inside out. All that fire and defiance that had fueled you earlier now weighs you down like lead.
You're not ready to shoulder all of it, you know. He wasn't exactly gentle. His words had been barbs and daggers, and his silence was deafening. Somewhere between the shouting, somewhere along this lost stretch of night, you had stopped being a unit, stopped being "us."
What is he doing right now? Is he stewing in regret? Is he as cold, as lonely, as broken as you?
You don't know, but you know what you want. You want to go home, you want to apologize, you want to sit in that warm, cramped apartment with him and talk, truly talk, not just shout.
You want to try again, not perfectly, perhaps. Not flawlessly, but honestly, matures. Together. Because right now, out here, this abyss between you is unbearable.
Your steps are slower now, heavier, the blacktop eventually giving way to rougher, unlit ground. The familiar glow of the city's periphery recedes, swallowed by encroaching shadows. You realize you've walked further than you ever intended. Further than you can possibly comprehend.
Branches scratch at your arms, sharp and unexpected as you turn into what feels like a barely perceptible path, a tear in the urban fabric. The pavement has vanished, replaced by soft, yielding earth, cold beneath the thin soles of your shoes. You look up, and the trees seem to lean in, pressing down, their branches like skeletal fingers reaching out to claw at the starless sky.
You're in the woods.
A gust of wind whispers through the leaves, a mocking, mournful sound. Your legs shake; every muscle screams with exhaustion. Your hands are numb.
You try to retrace your steps, but the darkness is a solid wall, impenetrable.
There are no lights here, no signs, only you and the sickening knowledge that your pride has led you astray, lost and foolish.
Your foot catches on something unseen. You stumble, then fall, skidding down a shallow incline, your knees scraping against rough stone and cold mud. Your hands grasp for purchase, finding nothing but dead leaves and damp soil. The breath is driven from your lungs in a violent, ragged gasp.
You lie there, on the cold earth, your heart thundering in your chest, your lungs struggling for air, the sleeve of your torn cardigan flapping around your raw skin.
And then it happens. A sob rips through you, unbidden, ragged, the culmination of the tight knot that has been forming in your throat since that moment you slammed the car door behind you.
You cry for the fight. For your harsh, cutting words. For his. You cry because you miss him, because even in your anger, your desperate, childish rage, a fundamental part of you never stopped needing him. Because a sliver of hope, tiny but persistent, had clung to you, waiting for him to follow, to come back for you. So you lie there, trembling, tears coursing down your cheeks, your lips quivering as you whisper into the oppressive darkness:
"Sunghoon… please…"
The words are barely audible, not intended for anyone, perhaps not even for yourself. They are a raw plea flung into the void.
But at this moment, the pretense ends. You're not strong, you're not fine, you just want him, his warmth, his light. The only thing capable of piercing this consuming darkness, your steadfast knight in a world plunged into despair.
Because right now, surrounded by nothing but shadows and the sound of your own breaking heart… you've never felt more profoundly, terrifyingly alone.
Click.
The front door swung shut behind him and the silence was the next one to smash him like a truck. Sunghoon carelessly pulled off his shoes, heart still banging stupidly in his chest from the car. His knuckles were still white and clenched on the steering wheel from minutes after he stopped the car. He looked up at the digital clock.
12:07 AM.
His breath hitches.
That's hours. It had been hours since you had ordered him out to get you out of the car. He'd assumed you'd be home by now, curled up on the couch looking at him with that stubborn scowl and refused to speak until he apologized, and then held you and told you how much he loved you.
What he couldn't bring himself to say in the car, to promise never to do anything like that again, to you.
But you weren't there. His hand, shaking, fumbled for his phone. Once, twice he dialed your number. A dial tone answered and mocked him with its hollow ringing.
"Come on," He muttered through gritted teeth and dialed again, voice shaking now. "pick up, please."
Nothing.
He runs his hand through his hair with a frustrated groan and then catches sight of the passenger seat.
Your phone, slid between the center console and seat, screen down and silent. His chest aches. It's not that you left out of anger, you left out of fear. You didn't have any way of contacting him. You were out there somewhere alone in the dark.
Panic seized him.
The keys are in the ignition, wheels squeal out of the driveway as he drives the exact way he did this evening, lights cutting through the empty road. He stops at the place where you had left, peering through the darkness for any shape or shadow.
There is nothing.
He parks the car, opens the door.
"Y/N!" His voice echoes through the night, reaching the trees. "Where are you?"
Silence.
He screams again, louder this time, until his throat feels like it will rip.
Only the wind answers with a soft hushing rustle through the leaves as if to say there is nobody here but you and me and the cold and the dark. Still, he stands there for a minute more, expecting to see your silhouette step out from the darkness arms folded and scowl ready on your lips.
It does not happen.
Sunghoon reluctantly climbs back into the car and rests his forehead on the steering wheel. He can barely feel the chill on his skin from fear, guilt and the sheer weight of the fact that he may have fucked up and if he did it was worse than he could ever imagine.
He tilts his head up and looks at the trees across the street.
Just woods. Dark, deep woods that made his chest feel tight and his eyes ache.
"I will call you the second that morning light breaks." He says softly, jaw clenched. "If you don't call me first."
He isn't angry with you, he's angry with himself, because no matter how loud the fight had been, how stubborn either of them became, he should've gone back. He shouldn't have left you out here in the dark.
The sun was already up when Sunghoon woke and light streamed into the bedroom but didn't bring him any warmth. He sat up in bed, phone in his hand and thumb resting over his contacts.
He hadn't slept at all, or if he had he'd only had an hour, maximum. The memory of you slamming the car door in his face flashed through his vision constantly.
He takes a shaky breath and taps on your best friend's number first.
"Hey," He says through the phone, forcing himself to sound casual. "sorry to wake you up."
"Oh, it's alright. What's up?"
Sunghoon hesitates for a beat before answering, "Just wondering if you heard from Y/N last night. Maybe you two had plans, I don't know. I sort of... Lost track."
A little chuckle comes through the phone. "No, she didn't spend the night at my place. She didn't really mention going out anywhere, though."
Sunghoon forced a chuckle.
"Yeah, okay. Well, I'll try a few others, then." They say more things, but he barely registers the words before quickly ending the call with a mumbled excuse. He immediately dials another number.
Then another.
The same responses. Nobody saw you, nobody heard from you, and none of them had a clue about the argument he had with you last night.
He takes a long breath and runs his hand over his face, guilt pressing harder into his chest, and time is running out.
The drive back into the forest in daylight feels ten times as long as it did the night before, with every second pressing on him like a lead weight. His knuckles turn white from gripping the steering wheel, the voices of your friends still echoing in his ears like phantoms of their innocent judgments: Clingy couple. Always make up before the day's end.
They didn't know, though. They didn't see you step out of the car in your thin cardigan, shivering in the chilly night air. They didn't see him leave you there.
As he turns onto the familiar dirt road by the forest, his breath catches. Red and blue flashing lights paint the trees, yellow caution tape stretched between trunks like warnings.
Police cars. An ambulance. Stern-faced officers and paramedics.
Sunghoon's world stops spinning.
No. No, no, no.
His shaking hands pull the car to a stop and he gets out, his legs unsteady beneath him. Two uniformed officers turn and step towards him, one blocking his path.
"I'm sorry, sir," The officer says, his voice somber. "this area is currently off-limits. We're investigating a scene."
Sunghoon's mouth is dry.
"W-What happened?"
The officer sizes him up and then lets out a weary sigh. "We found a body early this morning. Female, early 30s maybe younger. Looks like she spent the night outdoors and died of hypothermia. However, there were signs of struggle, and she was wearing a ring on her finger. Married, we believe."
Sunghoon's lips part.
"Can I... See her?"
The officer looks at him, eyes narrowed. "Are you a family member of the victim?"
His voice cracks when he speaks, trembling. "I... I just need to be sure."
There's a long pause before the officer reluctantly nods. "Alright, follow me. Just don't touch anything."
Sunghoon walks past the tape, his ears ringing, his steps becoming heavier with every one.
He looks ahead, blurring vision, to where a small clearing has been made. A white sheet is spread out over a figure. All he can see is a head, lying face down in the grass.
That face... Pale and still, framed by dishevelled, dewy hair. Lips parted slightly as if to grasp one last breath. Sunghoon's lungs stop. His knees buckle and he drops, unable to bear the sight.
"No..." His voice is a strangled sob, cracking with pain. "No, no, no... Y/N!"
He tries to scramble towards the body, to touch your hair, to lift your head, anything, but strong arms lock around his shoulders.
"Sir, please, you can't, this is a crime scene."
The officer's voice is distant. Sunghoon doesn't hear him, can't hear anything but his own broken cries. His heart hammers against his ribs and his guilt beats a relentless rhythm.
He left you… he left you, and now you are gone.
They sat him on a bench, offered a blanket he didn't even register, and started their questions. "When did you last see her?" "Were you and your fiance arguing recently?" "Do you have any idea if she was meeting anyone?" "Did she mention anything about coming this way?"
Sunghoon answerer them all. Emotionless, robotic, flat. As if a piece of him had died along with you.
"Yes." "We argued in the car." "I told her to stop and I did." "She got out and walked away. I just drove off." "I figured she'd just come back."
They scribbled on papers, recorded his tone, examined his eyes for signs of guilt, but he didn't need to find any guilt. It had already taken residence, and it was eating him alive.
After some time, they sent him home, saying they'd be in contact. But not before taking his phone, not before handing him his car keys, like it even mattered, like he even had a home to go to anymore.
He sat in the driver's seat for what felt like hours, empty and staring blankly ahead. His knuckles were resting on the steering wheel, and he hadn't moved an inch. The keys hadn't been turned on.
What was the point of returning to a home that was silent and empty, where his laughter wouldn't echo, where your shoes would never be in the same place again? Where your toothbrush would never be used?
Instead, he started to wander. He ended up at a 24/7 store, the bright lights buzzing overhead like flies over something dead. He picked up the first thing he could find—two cans of beer—and paid for them without saying a word. Then he went outside and sat on a wobbly plastic chair, taking a long, slow sip.
The beer was cool against his palm, but it was nothing compared to the hollowness in his chest.
He watched couples walk hand-in-hand, fathers with their kids on their shoulders, girls laughing into their phones. They all looked happy. So excruciatingly, blindingly happy.
Sunghoon blinked once, twice, then lowered his head again. The can in his hand still, tears tracking silently down his face, wetting his shirt.
No sobs, no wails. Just... Grief.
He had a wedding preparation,he had words, had plans. Plans that would now remain unfulfilled, plans that would never see the light of day.
No altar, no "I do", no future with you. Just a can of cold beer and a man broken into a thousand pieces. The beer had made him sleepy enough to fall into a light sleep, his head against the cool wall of the convenience store, his fingers still loosely holding his empty beer can.
There were no dreams, just shadows and your laughter playing at the edges of his memory.
A firm hand on his shoulder shook him awake. His vision was blurry, as if he was more hungover with grief than alcohol. But as his eyes cleared, he saw her, your mother. Her eyes were red and puffy, her face pale and quivering slightly as her hand remained on his shoulder. Your father stood behind her, impassive but the storm raging behind his eyes was unmistakable. Next to him was your sister, arms wrapped tightly around her body, as if she was holding herself together. Her gaze fell upon Sunghoon, soft and full of pain.
He blinked, his throat tightening, his lips trembling as he attempted to stand.
"I...I shouldn't..." He couldn't finish the sentence before your mother reached out and pulled him into her arms.
And that's when the dam burst.
His knees weakened as he collapsed into her hug, burying his face in her shoulder.
"It's okay..." She whispered, her voice shaking. "It's okay, Sunghoon..."
It wasn't, but she held him, like a son who had lost everything, like the love of his life.
His fingers dug into the back of her coat as his shoulders shook. He had no words, no strength, nothing but his broken heart. He couldn't remember getting into their car, couldn't remember who touched him, or who buckled his seatbelt. All he knew was the hum of the engine and the empty seat next to him where you always rested your head, hummed softly to the radio, and intertwined your fingers with his.
The car ride to his apartment was silent, suffocating. He stared at the building, his feet heavy on the ground. The front door felt like a portal to a life that no longer acknowledged his existence.
Your father held the door for him, while your mother waited. As he stepped inside, his breath caught. The familiar slippers by the door. The subtle scent of your perfume in the air, it was like walking into a memory, every inch of the place screaming your name. And you weren't there.
He stood still until your sister gently pushed him further in, his body moved as if on autopilot. They sat him at the table, placed warm food in front of him, and told him he needed to eat, that you would want him to. He nodded numbly, picked up a spoon, took a bite.
Nothing, just the texture of air, the taste of grief.
He was told to shower, to clean up. He obeyed like a child being led. The warm water hit his back, and he flinched, not at the temperature, but at the ghost of your voice from outside the bathroom door, making him laugh. He dressed in fresh clothes, his hair still damp, and walked back into the living room.
The house was quiet, the lights soft, but he shivered uncontrollably.
This wasn't home anymore, not without you. Just walls and a roof, an empty space. Sunghoon sat on the couch, his eyes blank, his body present but his soul lost.
He didn't know how the day had passed.
He had been lying on his bed since morning, without his phone, without food, without television. Just the ceiling and the phantom of your presence.
Your pillow remained smooth, unrumpled. He couldn't bring himself to so much as shift it, he wanted to preserve that exact indentation your head had made. Maybe, if he stared long enough, he could imagine you were in the bathroom, or off getting milk from the corner shop.
The silence felt almost brutal, a tangible thing thrumming in his chest with the absence of your laughter, your hum, the gentle rustle of your movements. His phone chirped, then vibrated against the bedside table. Likely the office, or his mates, he let it sleep.
The hours bled into one another. The bright sky bled to dusky gray, then bled to black. It was only with tear tracks hot and streaming, his lids feeling like lead, that the dark oblivion slowly beckoned, dragging him down. Just a blackness where you didn't exist either.
Unconsciousness.
Sweet, short-lived absence.
That's how Sunghoon navigated the hours. By not doing, by sinking into the gaping maw where you used to be.
The coming day felt an impossible mountain to scale, and all he knew for certain was that he had to get through it. You wouldn't be there either.
His cheek was poked by something soft.
He winced at first, dazed, not even aware he was drifting off. Heavy, his eyes would not focus. This felt familiar, but then there was that poke again. A gentle tap-tap-tap, then a light voice laced with honey called.
"Good morning, Hoonie."
His eyelids slowly slid open, crusty and dry as if unused to the world, and after a few blurry blinks, there you were, beside him, on the same bed, smiling, and poking him with your index finger.
His breath hitched. Heart in his chest stuttered, stopped-and began racing anew.
You.
Your eyes, smile, warmth—You are real. You are here.
This had to be a cruel illusion conjured by grief.
"Why are you looking at me like that?" You asked, chuckling lightly and stroking his jaw with your thumb.
Trembling, his hand snaked out, fingers grazing your cheek as though contact would make you dissipate. But you leaned in, and the world tilted. Sunghoon surged forward, kissing you fiercely, desperate. His tears soaking your face as his arms wrapped around you, clinging.
Every second, every breath, the taste, the touch, the racing heartbeat under your breastbone—all of it screaming, You're here, and you're real.
"Hoonie~ Brush your teeth first, seriously!" You squeaked against his lips, laughing breathlessly. But he held you closer, his face buried in your neck.
"No," He croaked, voice rough with emotion, "don't go. Don't leave me. I missed you… I missed you so much."
You tilted your head, your smile fading slightly.
"Sunghoon…?"
He simply held you. His arms were wrapped so tightly around your frame, as if a release would send you back into the darkness he knew too well. And then you understood.
You thought that maybe had dreamed somekind of a nightmare that involves with you leaving his warmth. But as your heartbeat pulsed against his, he allowed himself the intoxicating delusion that you were with him.
You were safe. He would never let you go again.
You'd brushed it off at first. Sunghoon appearing around your house more rather than go to work, cooking breakfast without complaint, surprising you with your favorite coffee shop treats. The odd little stays seemed to stem from a new, intense attentiveness. He was just... everywhere.
You'd joked. "Should I get you a golden retriever collar, Hoonie? You're really sticking to me like one."
He just smiled, nuzzling his chin against your shoulder as his arms circled your waist from behind.
"Only if you buy it for me. I'll wear it with pride."
The work emails went unanswered.
He'd taken a long-term leave from the office, and the alert flashing on your laptop's screen exposed the truth. When confronted, he'd just chuckled, gently tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear. "I want time to be with you, plan with you, love you properly, Y/N."
And he did.
Picnics under the open sky, star-lit hikes, cozy candlelit dinners. He followed you like a devoted shadow, a whisper in the background, never impeding, always there.
"You're acting a little too clingy, even for me." You'd tease. "Did something hit your head while I was taking my nap?"
He never did answer, he simply held you closer. He'd proven that even after eight years, his devotion hadn't waned. His grip remained firm, his gaze lost in yours.
The promise of forever suddenly felt less like a fairytale, more like a tangible reality. Still, there was one thing that irked you.
"Hoonie," You'd asked one evening as he massaged your feet while your favorite movie played on the TV, "why did you talk to my parents the other day?"
He didn't meet your eyes, simply smiling faintly as he kissed the curve of your ankle.
"Don't worry about it."
Your brow furrowed. "No, really, what was it?"
He leaned forward then, kissing the top of your head before murmuring, "Just stay pretty while I figure everything out, okay?"
Despite the prickle of unease, the look in his eyes was so gentle, so achingly fragile, as if he held a secret he wasn't ready to share, that you let it go.
Sunghoon eventually accepted the reality. That he had woken up with your breath on his cheek, your playful prods at his arm on what felt like the day after your death, a reality that clung to him like a persistent fog.
He tried, he truly did.
At first, he convinced himself it was all a nightmare. His mind, perhaps warped by a profound sense of guilt from their argument, had cooked up the ultimate horror: the loss of you. His shouts echoing unanswered in the woods, the chilling stillness of your body beneath the white blanket of snow—a chilling finality he could not shake.
So, he held on tighter.
Every outing he planned was deliberate, almost frantic. He tracked the days, trying to engrave the feeling of your hand in his, the cadence of your laughter, the spark in your eyes, fearing that a single oversight would make it all fade. Contacting your family had been his only means to an end: to confirm you were still there. He'd presented it as a joke, feigning vulnerability.
"I had the scariest dream last night about Y/N." He'd confessed. "It felt so real."
They'd all laughed. Your mother waved him off, calling him a "drama king." Your sister teased, "Did you eat spicy food before bed or something?"
No one had heard from you, no tragic accidents, no mournful goodbyes. He'd laughed along, but an emptiness gnawed at him.
This hadn't felt like a figment of his imagination; it felt like a visceral, soul-wrenching loss.
He never told you, couldn't bring himself to reveal his torment. Instead, he doubled down. He loved you harder. He held you longer. If this was real, he wouldn't waste another moment. If this was his second chance, he'd guard it with everything he had.
Everything was, in fact, going perfectly fine. You were breathtaking.
Whether in your sleep—waking glow, dressed up for a special occasion—or caught in a burst of laughter, you lit up Sunghoon's world in a way he'd almost forgotten. Now, he noticed it all. A stray glance from you sent his attention racing.
A sigh from you brought his arms rushing to comfort, and a smile from you was a treasure he burned into memory.
Sunghoon was clingy. If anything you could have argued it was excessive but you never complained, if anything you thought it was cute. You'd even said it, that he was your "extra limb" because he never moved further than a few feet away but the little smile and hum he'd given in reply didn't seem like he thought of it as a joke.
He needed to be close, to see you.
And when the topic of marriage came up for the fifth time, this time not laced with tension and regret, but with a warmth and a love you felt seep through the room he latched on to the idea like a life raft. You had the venue, of course but he had gone to visit it on his own no less than three times before deciding on it. The designated flower was of delicate night: blooming jasmine.
"They remind me of my late-night walks and they always bring me so much calm." He'd smiled in agreement but, in the back of his head, they were the same type as those surrounding your gravestone.
Of course he hadn't mentioned it.
You chose the color scheme of lavender, Sunghoon immediately purchased an entire new set of clothes to accommodate this decision. Night after night, he sat beside you and went through the plans, the guest lists, the seating arrangements, the song for the first dance, your hands entwined in his at all times.
And slowly, all your and all his families came together for what had started as your, now their, wedding. Your mother had to fight back tears as she tried on wedding dresses with you, your father had made a speech about how he was finally giving away his little girl over dinner one night, even sunghoon's stoic father had offered to help organise the seating and insisted he would be paying for the city's most renowned caterers.
Everything was just building up to the wedding. The perfect day, the celebration everyone would always be talking about for years to come. But for sunghoon it wasn't about that, it was about making you remember, to make you remember him, and to make you remember this day.
This wedding, this laughter, this love. He still felt… not completely real, somewhere deep down in the back of his head and something in the back of his brain could still feel himself standing by your still, lifeless body on the floor in your blood, and he felt that you would slip through his fingers, like smoke and never return.
Sunghoon had been quiet all day afte the wedding ceremony. His shadow followed you all around the house and rested his chin on your shoulder when you were getting dressed, watching in silent awe as you put your hair up, your makeup on, and chose your clothes.
His hands lingered longer at your waist and his lips grazed your temple a bit too much more often than they did.
"Hoonie, what has gotten into you today?" You asked with a small chuckle as you met his gaze in the mirror.
He didn't reply right away, only pulling you tighter around you waist.
"Nothing," He muttered. "just… don't feel like letting you go tonight."
You pulled away from his embrace, your eyebrows drawn slightly together in curiosity. "You're always clingy, Hoon, but this is different."
He stared at your eyes for a while, hestitant to utter his words. Ever since he woke up this morning, he'd been feeling off. A weird, creeping dread has settle in his chest, and refused to move, but he didn't want to scare you, or ruin your night.
"Can I just be a little selfish today?"
You softened. Your fingers moved up to smooth the crease that formed between his eyebrows.
"You can be selfish every day," You said with a gentle smile, "but just for tonight, can I have a little fun with the girls? It's been a while."
He didn't want to say yes, but his resolve always gave out with your bright smile and warm assurances.
"Promise me," He finally said, grudgingly.
"Promise what?"
"Promise that you'll message me every hour on the dot, and I'm gonna be really mad if you're five minutes late."
You laughed. "Fine. Every hour."
You extended your pinky finger to his.
"Pinky promise."
"Promise."
He pulled you back in for a tight embrace, savoring the last moments of warmth he felt, before finally letting you leave. The last thing he heard you say before you left him standing at the door, a lump forming in his throat, was a cheerful "See you soon!"
Sunghoon found himself pacing around the house restlessly. He tried watching tv, but it didn't catch his attention. He tried reading, then scrolling through social media, then tidying the already pristine kitchen. None of them helped as his mindkept drifting back to you, to the nightmares he'd been having weeks ago.
A ping from his phone jolted him, and his heart sped.
It was you. A picture of your face smiled brightly back at him, illuminated by fairy lights, a cocktail in your hand and your best friends blurred out of focus behind you.
He let out a sigh of relief and managed a weak, "She's so cute," as he saved it to his gallery without thinking.
An hour passed, and another photo of you appeared on his screen. Group photos this time. A video clip of you laughing uncontrollably at something your friend said. He let out a shaky breath.
"You're alright." He whispered to himself, his eyes softening. But as the clock struck 11:57, and then 12:03, 12:05, 12:07… Sunghoon's blood ran cold.
At 12:07 am, precisely the time his nightmares always started, his heart had sunk in his chest. He frantically called you, the sound of the dial tone drilling into his ears, but you didn't pick up. He called again, and again, and again.
On the tenth ring, someone finally answered, but it was one of your friends, her voice cracked and choked with tears.
"Sunghoon… Sunghoon I… I don't know what to do… I'm so… I'm so sorry…"
"What happened?" He demanded, scrambling to find his shoes and coat. "Where is she?"
Her shaky voice managed to paint a clear enough picture of the terror you two had faced. You and your friend had lost a game and were tasked to buy snacks for a pillow fight. A simple, innocent chore, but on your way back, you'd encountered a thief with a knife, and in a selfless act, you had positioned yourself between you and your friend, who was three months pregnant.
You'd taken the knife for her.
The hospital was a whirlwind of hushed whispers, panicked nurses, and the sterile scent of antiseptic.
ICU, surgery, critical, blood loss.
Sunghoon remembered nothing but running down the hospital halls, hands shaking and his chest collapsing in on itself. He didn't remember how long he'd stood by the operating room doors, he didn't know how many desperate prayers he'd whispered, how many times he'd repeated your name like a desperate chant, but he knew the time on the clock was past 12:07 am and his nightmare was unfolding in reality.
The cold bench in front of the emergency operating room felt as hard as his own hardening heart. His eyes never strayed from the swinging double doors. The rhythmic ticking of the hallway clock felt like a taunting hammer. Your friend's sobs still echoed in his mind, and he could still see the stain on the floor where they had brought you in, a grim reminder of the reality he was living.
He forced himself not to think the worst. You were a fighter. That was you—brave, kind, selfless. You always were. You would be okay... you had to be.
"You promised me," He whispered to the doors, his voice rough. "every hour. You promised you'd message me every hour…"
His shoulders started to shake and he covered his face with his hands. The pressure in his chest was becoming unbearable. He saw the last picture you sent him, your smile bright and alive under the fairy lights. You'd looked so happy.
Suddenly the doors swung open, and a surgeon with a weary, flushed face emerged. Sunghoon bolted to his feet, nearly tripping on the discarded chair.
"Doctor," He croaked, his throat tightening, "please… tell me she's okay."
The surgeon looked from the patient's file to him, before slowly lowering the mask from his face. "She lost a tremendous amount of blood. Multiple stab wounds. We had to bring her back to life on the operating table twice."
Sunghoon's knees buckled, and he stumbled back against the wall, the room starting to blur.
"But…" The surgeon's voice trembled. "your wife… she didn't make it."
The words slammed into him like a tidal wave, drowning everything else. You, wearing the white dress on your wedding day just a month prior. You dancing with him under the stars, your laughter like music to his ears. You whispering that forever wasn't long enough.
And now… it was all gone.
"No," He said, shaking his head slowly, his mind refusing to accept it. "no, we just… we just got married. She was fine, she was smiling today. She sent me photos. She said she'd be back soon…"
"There was severe internal damage from the wound, and a massive blood loss. Her heart… it stopped for a third time during the procedure."
The wedding band on his finger felt like it was burning through his skin. His breath hitched, the walls of the hospital hallway seemed to shrink inwards.
"She protected her friend… she was pregnant," He whispered, his gaze falling to the worn-out hospital bench, his body slumping like a discarded puppet. "Why did she… why her…"
He pulled his phone from his pocket with shaking fingers. Your last message, a photo of your smiling face with your signature peace sign, stared back at him. Hours ago, you had been so full of life. Now… that smile would never return.
The promises made, the honeymoon tickets in his suitcase, the toothbrush sitting in your bathroom, the wedding dress still hanging in the closet waiting to be preserved as a memento, the vows echoing in his head—it all dissolved into nothingness in an instant.
You were gone, his wife was gone.
The sky was grey, and it wept with him.
The funeral was so, so quiet, that screamed in Sunghoon's ears until it was the only thing he heard. People moved past him—friends, family, loved ones draped in black—but their forms were a blur.
His eyes never lifted from the framed photograph of you, smiling. That smile you gave him when you'd whispered you'd grow old with him, that same smile he'd looked for in the morning. You were at peace now, nestled forever within that pristine white box.
And, as his desperate, broken, pathetic plea, you were adorned in the wedding gown he'd seen you wear less than a month ago, glowing, radiant, divine. The gown he'd seen you pull from its packaging.
He clenched his fists so tight his knuckles ached.
This wasn't right.
As he stood before your coffin, unable to move, lost in the crushing weight of it all, a presence flickered into being beside him. Not anyone he knew. A man in a suit far too polished for the occasion, his features blank, his eyes disturbingly observant.
"You must be Sunghoon," The man said, his voice eerily calm.
Sunghoon remained motionless. Words were trapped in his throat.
"Death," The man continued, his gaze drifting to your casket before returning to Sunghoon, "is… an inevitability. It is your time. A cosmic balance, if you will. Surely you understood that."
"… Who are you?" Sunghoon finally rasped, his voice strained.
"One who offers… perspectives, glances, warnings." The man tilted his head. "That nightmare you experienced? It was not a mere dream, it was not a vision of the future. It was a… reminder."
He paused.
"A subtle prompt that an ending was drawing near. You were given something exceedingly rare: second chance. You were granted the privilege to hold her once more, to laugh with her again, to marry her as was your greatest desire."
Sunghoon swallowed hard, his knees beginning to buckle.
"But humans," The man's voice took on a colder tone. "they're always hungry for more. You craved forever. You yearned to build a future, you even debated names for your children, did you not?"
Sunghoon's mouth fell open, but no sound escaped.
"God shows mercy, not foolishness. He provides second chances as tokens of gratitude. Third chances, however, are a luxury rarely afforded. This was her fate, a truth buried in the deepest corners of your heart, and you must accept it."
Sunghoon felt his spirit splinter into a thousand pieces. "Then… why… why let me feel all this? Why show me hope, just to snatch it away?"
"To allow you to say goodbye." The man answered, his gaze locking with Sunghoon's. "To allow you to remember her for what she was to you, your greatest love, and not by how she left you."
With that, the man turned and disappeared into the somber crowd, leaving Sunghoon alone again, standing before the coffin adorned in a gown that had only known your joyous touch. And in that moment, he understood; his searing pain, this crushing grief, it was the price for loving so intensely. The cost of a miracle given and then reclaimed.
He would not forget. How could he?
For even if he'd been granted a second chance… it had been enough to prove that he had loved you right deeply. And that love, he knew, would never, ever fade.
Sunghoon never quite got over it, not in the way others expected, but he learned to live with the emptiness. Not by forgetting you, but by holding you in the clearest of lights. In the way your laughter echoed when you teased him, in the curve of your hand in his. In the breathtaking beauty of you walking towards him on your wedding day, draped in that impossibly white gown.
He rarely visited the graveyard, for why should he?
You were present everywhere. In the scent of brewing coffee, in the faded photographs tucked away, in the familiar cadence of your favorite song drifting from the kitchen. And when he dreamt now, it wasn't of the finality of your passing, but of that magical day, of your smiling eyes. For even when life took away everything, the love you shared remained. A quiet promise, living in the beat of his heart, carrying your name for eternity.
And that… was all he needed.
EN-Komect Heights 🌼 SVT-Raitere Lofts 🌼 Otherworld Plaza 🌼 Verdant Springs 🌼 Pinned Post 🌼 taglist :
Summary : It's not that you don't believe in soulmates. After all, you found yours and knew your story ended there, but your neighbor changed that.
An easy friendship begins a steep descent into complicated, threatening the one true love you'd found, and pulling the one thing you didn't know existed: a polyamorous lifestyle, into the path of your relationship with Vernon.
Was one soulmate all it took to complete the tale, or just to start a new one?
💮 troop: strangers to lovers
💮 fantasy: soulmate, polyamorous relationship, vernon and y/n are quite... less spoken
non-idol fantasy & romance au 🌼 vernon x seungkwan x female reader🌼 13+ SFW🌼 5,173 words
EN-Komect Heights 🌼 SVT-Raitere Lofts 🌼 Otherworld Plaza 🌼 Verdant Springs 🌼 Pinned Post 🌼 taglist
"Baby, what do you think about poly relationships?" Vernon casually asks you while his hand busy tangling itself with your hair, not minding the slowly tangled messily hair already locking to his fingers.
"Poly relationships? All of the sudden?" You never look up from your phone, busy scrolling through social media.
"I mean, we have a tattoo and a birthmark to represent our soulmate. So maybe poly relationship exists between three soulmates?"
You think about it, but didn't really consider much.
"Nah, I think it just fix to one and only soulmate, so just dont trouble your brain about it. We are getting ourselves a soulmate tattoo next month."
"Okay then."
It was such a small conversation, so small that neither of you thought it would matter.
It has been for the whole wide world to know that whoever shares the same birthmark and soulmate tattoo are soulmates.
A birthmark appears right after you are born, something permanent, something you don't get to question. And soulmate tattoo appears right when you hit twenty, like the world finally confirming what was already written for you.
Usually, if your birthmark matches the other person, your soulmate tattoo will match the same design, but there are rare cases where the designs are completely different, people who have more than one soulmate. No one knows why it happens, no one knows how it works, people just admire them, call them lucky. But they never talk about what comes after.
You and Hansol Vernon Chwe have been dating for five years, and a year ago, both of you moved in together into a rather spacious studio. It wasn't anything overly fancy, but it was enough. Enough space, enough comfort, and enough for the both of you to exist without getting in each other's way.
Both of you match each other's birthmark. Something you only noticed a year after dating, laughing it off like it wasn't a big deal, because it wasn't, not to both of you.
You are nonchalant, so is Vernon, and somehow, that makes everything work. You can't think of anyone that fits you better than him. That is why, you curse yourself for not thinking much about soulmate tattoos back then.
Because recently, a new neighbour moved in right beside your shared studio. At first, nothing felt different, just a short introduction. A simple "hi", a name exchange, and then both of you went back to your own lives like it didn't matter.
Boo Seungkwan.
You didn't mind him. Why would you? He's not loud, not annoying, not nosy, just a normal neighbour, until that one moment.
It happened when he helped you take out your garbage. It's just a small act of help, and then your fingers touched. Both of you flinch at the exact same time as a sudden shiver running down your spine, sharp and unmistakable. At that moment, it answers everything. Answers like why your soulmate tattoo never matched Vernon's, why something always felt slightly… off, even when everything else was perfect.
You are one of the rare ones, the ones with more than one soulmate. And you frown, not at Seungkwan. Because you can tell, he's a good person. Even with the little interactions you've had, it's obvious that he's not the kind of neighbour that causes trouble, not the type to pry into other people's lives, just someone who quietly exists in his own space.
So no, you can't bring yourself to frown at him.
But you can frown at the system, because you know yourself; you know your limits, you can't even handle taxes sometimes. There are days when life pushes you down so badly that Vernon has to step in and do things for you, like it's the most natural thing in the world.
And that's what makes your relationship work. It's not always 50/50, sometimes it's 80/20, sometimes it's 30/70. But it works because it's the two of you.
And adding someone else into that balance? That's not something you're sure you can handle. Because what if, you drop one of them while trying to hold the other? That thought alone is enough, so you run.
And just like that, two days passed, two days since you found out, two days since you realised that Boo Seungkwan is your soulmate, your second soulmate. The one that matches your tattoo, and somehow, also shares the same birthmark as Vernon.
You told Vernon that night.
"I think," You start, sitting at the edge of the bed, fingers absentmindedly tracing the lines of your tattoo. "I think I know why our tattoos don't match."
Vernon doesn't interrupt you.
"He's my soulmate too," A pause. "Seungkwan."
Silence lingers for a moment.
"…Oh."
That's all he says.
"I didn't mean for it to happen," You add quickly, even though you know how ridiculous that sounds. "We just- our hands touched and-"
"It's alright."
He cuts you off gently, then the bed dips slightly beside you. Vernon sits down, close enough that your shoulders almost touch, but not quite.
"You need time." He says simply.
You finally look at him. "… Yeah."
He nods once. "Okay."
And that's it. No pressure, no questions, no "what are we going to do?"
That night, Vernon stays. Not like he ever leaves, but this time, it's different. He doesn't bring it up again, doesn't mention Seungkwan, doesn't ask what you're thinking, he just stays beside you.
The next day, he doesn't go out. He sits with you while you eat, lets the silence sit comfortably between the both of you. And when you leave for work, he walks you to the door like usual.
"Text me when you arrive," he says.
"Mm."
And then you're gone.
The moment the door clicks shut, the apartment feels different. Vernon stands there for a few seconds, thinking. Then, he turns, and walks out.
The hallway is still too early for most people to be awake. He stops in front of the unit next door, raises his hand, and knocks. A few seconds passed. Shuffling, a thud, another shuffle, then the door opens.
Seungkwan stands there, clearly just woken up. Messy bed hair sticking out in every direction. Loose, wrinkled pyjamas hanging off him like he got dressed in the dark. Eyes barely open, he pouts slightly, still half-asleep, before giving a small bow.
"… Good morning."
Muttered, soft, automatic, and Vernon hums, taking in the sight in front of him. Then, without thinking much, he lifts his hand, and places it on top of Seungkwan's head, and both flinch.
It's immediate, sharp, unmistakable.
Vernon pulls his hand back just as quickly. His expression doesn't change much, but the confirmation settles quietly in his eyes. He shoves both hands into his pockets like nothing just happened.
"Morning."
And just like that, he turns, walks back, opens his door, closes it behind him, leaving Seungkwan frozen at his doorstep.
"… Wha-"
He blinks once, and twice, but his brain struggling to catch up with what just happened. Because that, that feeling, there's no mistaking it. His gaze slowly drops to his own hand, then to the closed door next to his.
"… Did he just…"
A long and heavy pause. "… get a confirmation that…"
Another pause.
"… I have two soulmates?"
And then it hits him. "… that are a couple?"
Seungkwan doesn't close his door immediately. He just stands there, frozen. Staring at the spot where Vernon disappeared like if he stares long enough, the door will open again and explain everything for him.
"… No."
He lets out a small, disbelieving laugh.
"No, no, no-" The door shuts, locks, and then, chaos.
Seungkwan paces around his apartment, hands in his hair, steps uneven like his thoughts can't keep up with each other.
"Why would he- why would he just TOUCH me like that?!" He stops, turns, and paces again. "Did he know??"
Another turn.
"Of course he knows- he FELT it too- " He groans, dragging both hands down his face.
"Wait- does that mean she knows?!"
Silence.
"…No, no, no- there's no way he would just- " He pauses mid-step, eyes widening. "… or did she tell him?!"
He spins again, pacing faster now. Thoughts stacking over thoughts, questions over questions, none of them answered.
"Why is he so calm about it?!"
"Why did he just say 'morning' and LEAVE?!"
"WHAT DOES THAT EVEN MEAN?!"
By noon, he hasn't eaten.
By afternoon, he's replayed the moment at least fifty times.
By evening, he's convinced himself of at least ten different scenarios, and none of them make sense.
Meanwhile, inside the studio, Vernon sits in front of his laptop, quietly working, like nothing unusual happened that morning. Because to him, it didn't. He just needed confirmation, and he got it, that's all. His fingers move across the keyboard, steady and unbothered, but somewhere in the back of his mind, he can feel it.
Seungkwan's panic. Loud, messy, spinning in circles.
Vernon hums softly.
And beneath that, there's you. Your emotions are different. Heavier, quieter, more controlled, serious.
He leans back slightly in his chair, eyes flicking away from the screen for a moment, then he returns to his work.
At the same time, you're at work, trying to focus. You really are, but it's hard, because you can feel it. That overwhelming, restless panic that doesn't belong to you. Your pen pauses mid-sentence, you press your lips together, brows furrowing slightly.
"… Why is he panicking so much…" You mumble under your breath.
It's distracting, too loud, too… everywhere. You try to ignore it, you really do, but it keeps coming in waves. You close your eyes for a second, exhaling slowly.
"I get it, okay…" You whisper quietly, barely audible. "I'm panicking too."
You press your fingers lightly against your temple, trying to ground yourself, trying to separate your own thoughts from his. Because right now, it's too much.
"… Please calm down…" You mutter under your breath. You mean it, because you're at work, and if this keeps going, you might start panicking too.
Your break time comes like a quiet escape. You grab a tray, dragging it lightly along the counter as you move down the line, absentmindedly picking food. Setting the tray in front of you, you stare at it for a second. Then, like a routine, you take a picture, sending it to Vernon. His reply comes almost immediately.
"Eat well."
A small, normal message, something that should feel grounding. And then, another one.
"I touched him."
You don't choke, but you stop. Your spoon hovers mid-air, your eyes lock onto the screen.
"… Oh."
"I see you found your ideal appearance type." Vernon typed it out so casually.
"I chose you for a reason, nonver."
You meant it, you still do. Because yes, Boo Seungkwan fits your ideal appearance exactly, almost annoyingly so. But Vernon fits you too.
Your grip on the spoon loosens slightly before you place it down, pick up your phone and continue typing.
"And what did you do after touching him?"
You stare at the screen, watch the typing bubble appear and disappear, them appear again. Then-
"Nothing, I went back in."
You hum softly.
So that's why, that overwhelming panic you've been feeling all day, it's not Vernon, because he doesn't panic like that. It's Seungkwan.
You sigh quietly, before quietly go through the rest of the days.
You wake up without your alarm for the first time in a while, and yet you sigh.
The other side of the bed is already empty. Vernon had mentioned it last night that he needed to be at the office today, so he left early, which leaves you alone.
You stare at the ceiling for a moment longer before finally dragging yourself out of bed.
"…I should eat something."
Cooking. Between you and Vernon, there's an unspoken agreement.: One of you cooks, and it's definitely not him. So you move around the kitchen, grabbing ingredients, keeping it simple, until, you pause. Your hand hovers over the ingredients, your thoughts drifting somewhere else.
Seungkwan.
Does he even cook?
You remember Vernon mentioning it casually before last night.
"He buys takeaway a lot."
You bite your lip slightly.
Then, you quietly reach for more ingredients for another portion. You don't think too much about it. You just do it. Soon, there are two servings instead of one. You plate them, stand there for a second, looking at it.
"… Now what."
This is the difficult part. You imagine Vernon doing it. Knocking, waiting. Door opens, hand the food over with no explanation, turn around, walk back. Simple.
You exhale.
"… I can do that."
Maybe not exactly like him, but close enough.
You step out of the studio, walk to the door next to yours, raise your hand and knock, then you wait. A few seconds later, shuffling inside, something dropping, a quiet curse, the the door opens. Boo Seungkwan stands there, halfway dressed, necktie slightly askew, fingers that can't even try to fix it for once, his hair still is slightly mussed, and his face is a mixture of complete bafflement.
"… Hi?"
You don't dwell. You just extend your hand out, holding the plate forward.
"Breakfast."
No more, no less. Simple, complete, done.
He looks at your hand holding the plate, then at your face, then back at the plate. For just a second he's frozen. Then, slow as molasses, he takes the plate from you. The look of shock on his face is really very amusing, you think. His confusion is all but etched on his features. Still, you don't offer any further explanation. You simply take a small step back, turn on your heel, and walk back inside your apartment studio, closing the door behind you.
You did better than Vernon, at least you explained a little. He deserved that, right?
Meanwhile, Seungkwan stands on the sidewalk outside of your door, the plate clutched tightly in his hand, his mind is a complete and utter blank. The click of your door finally snapping shut rings in his ears.
"… Wha…" Very slowly, almost tentatively, Seungkwan closes his own door. He turns around and walks toward the table in the living area, places the food down and just… stares at it. A pregnant pause descends.
"… Wha…" His mind races to catch up with the sheer weirdness of the situation. "… WHAT-"
He runs both hands through his already messy hair and paces in a small circle once before stopping in front of the table again.
"WHAT IS WRONG WITH THESE COUPLE-" He gestures wildly at the wall separating their units. "-SOULMATES THAT I HAVE?!"
Inside his unit, Seungkwan is losing his mind.
At your studio, arms crossed against your body, you stare at the blank spot where a second plate used to be.
"Okay." You nod to yourself. "That wasn't too bad."
You didn't run away, you didn't panic, you didn't make it awkward. You gave a simple explanation, short and concise. That counts as progress, you guess. You grab your phone and quickly send a message to the only person in this universe that would understand.
Vernon.
"I gave him breakfast."
A few moments pass. You stare at your phone.
"Good."
Typical Vernon. No fluff, no emotional displays, just information received and processed.
You hum softly as you lock your phone. Somewhere out there, Seungkwan is sitting at his table, staring down at the half-eaten plate in front of him.
"Okay." He takes another bite slowly and methodically. "Okay, this is actually really good."
He pauses. "… Wait, that's not the point-"
But the food is too good to stop eating it, so he keeps eating.
All the confusion in his head takes a backseat to the flavor on his tongue, and so by the time the last scrap is gone, he stares down at the clean, empty plate.
"… So…" He muses, looking at the plate again. "Does this mean… I get fed from now on?"
A moment later, he winces.
"… NO, THAT'S NOT-" He groans and grabs the plate, taking it to the sink. "Focus, Seungkwan. Focus."
He washes the plate carefully, as if trying to wash away all his thoughts and feelings, until his eyes dart toward his desk. The small piece of paper that had appeared under his door some days ago. Just a phone number, no name, no note, no explanation. It was so bizarre he had been too scared to even save it, because who even does that? But then he thinks about this morning, your brief encounter, the touch of your hand, your calmly spoken words, your boyfriend's weird non-verbal actions.
"… There's no way…" He bites his lip and thinks hard.
Grabbing his keys and bag, he rushes out to work, his mind racing, and later that day, sitting at his desk, he finally saves the number, leaving the name blank.
"Hi, this is Seungkwan."
He types slowly.
"If you're not busy, you can come by and get the plate, I've left it by the sink."
He hesitates.
"… He works from home, right?"
Send. Done.
Meanwhile, your phone buzzes in your pocket; a message from Vernon.
"He texted."
"Go get the plate."
You blink at the message, and before you can even reply, another appears. "Spare key is under the potted plant outside his door."
You stare at the screen.
"… You're serious?"
There is no reply. You sigh softly, slipping your phone back into your pocket.
"Alright."
A few minutes later, you are standing outside Seungkwan's door. This time, no knock. You crouch down and lift the small, green potted plant next to his door, and there it is, the key.
"… He actually did hide it here…"
You unlock the door, push it open, and step inside, and the door closes with a soft click.
The air inside is quiet, still. You pause, letting your eyes adjust. His apartment is neat, orderly, not too decorated, but far from sterile. A comfortable, livable space. Your eyes scan the room slowly, taking in the familiar shapes of furniture, the small details that paint a quiet picture of the person who lives here.
"… Huh."
It feels like… him. Simple and functional, yet with enough little touches to show that a life happens here. You take another step inside, and for a moment, you forget why you even came here. You really don't mean to linger, not this long, not like this. Your feet carry you forward on their own accord.
The living area is simple and unpretentious, cushions arranged casually but neatly on the sofa. There's a clean, faintly floral scent lingering in the air. You pass the couch and your gaze falls on the folded blanket at the side. It's not tossed haphazardly, but neither is it perfectly aligned. Your steps slow, and your eyes catch more small details—a single mug by the sink, a pair of shoes tucked beside the door, the slightly crumpled tie thrown over the back of a chair. You almost smile.
"…Clumsy."
It feels… normal. So, so normal. That's the most disarming part of all this. There's no dramatic shift, no sudden overwhelming feeling, just… him.
You exhale softly, the air escaping your lungs in a gentle sigh, remembering the reason for your visit.
The plate.
You move into the small kitchen area, spotting the clean, dry plate placed carefully beside the basin, exactly where Seungkwan said it would be.
"… At least he washed it," You say, picking it up.
Days blur together, marked by silent acknowledgements and brief, pleasant exchanges. And somehow, without you even realizing it, romance begins to bloom between you two. It happens quite unexpectedly, on a day when plans go awry.
Your car is at the mechanic. Vernon, bless his heart, doesn't own a driver's license. So, naturally, you're forced to take the bus.
You're standing at the bus stop, arms crossed loosely across your chest, the sky a bruised canvas as relentless rain pours down. It's the kind of heavy, soaking rain that seeps into everything, chilling you to the bone. You sigh as the bus is even later than usual. You shift, trying in vain to shield yourself from the deluge, but it's no use; your sleeves are already damp, your hair clinging to your forehead, and a shiver is starting to snake its way down your spine.
Suddenly, a car slows down, pulling up directly in front of you. You barely notice at first, dismissing it as another driver waiting for traffic. But the car stops, the window slowly rolls down.
"… Get in,"
You blink, and it takes a moment to process who it is.
Seungkwan.
"you're gonna get sick this way." He adds, his left hand on the steering wheel and the right gesturing towards the passenger seat. You don't think about it twice, you give a single nod and open the door, you slip inside.
The immediate warmth envelops you like a hug.
Seungkwan pulls out of the bus stop lane smoothly and merges back into traffic, while you take out a napkin from your pocket and quietly dab your hair, your sleeves, your hands.
"... Thank you." You say.
"Yeah, no problem- honestly, it was really clear before, wasn't it? And then it just started pouring, and it gets so awful in traffic when it rains, I swear everyone's brain just shuts down-"
You blink, and he keeps going.
"-and the buses are always delayed whenever it rains, I don't even get why they can't schedule around it, it's ridiculous- and I almost didn't see you. Honestly, I was looking down at the road and then I thought, is that- oh, well, obviously it's you-"
You hum softly.
"Mm."
He peeks at you for a moment. and he just keeps going. You don't stop him, you don't interrupt him, you just listen to how his words just spill out, to the way he naturally fills the silence, to how much life is in his voice. You look out the window, and your eyes naturally drift towards him and his hands on the steering wheel.
The faint furrow in his brow when he's talking about traffic. The rapid movement of his lips. And then, you see it. He's... cute, from this angle.
The thought pops into your head and just stays.
You just continue listening, nodding at the right points.
The ride feels way too short, too soon the car pulls up to your apartment building's parking lot. He parks, and the engine cuts out, leaving a brief silence punctuated by his final sentence.
"... Ah- sorry, I ramble a lot." You give a tiny shake of your head.
"It's okay."
The two of you step out. The rain has eased to a light drizzle, but the air is still heavy with moisture. You walk to the elevator side-by-side. It's quiet now, but not in an uncomfortable way. It's... A different kind of quiet. The elevator doors ding, and you both step out onto your floor, walking down the hall towards your apartment. You stop at your door, turn to face him, and then, for the first time, you smile.
"Thank you for the enjoyable ride."
With that, you turn and slip into your apartment, closing the door with a soft click.
Seungkwan stands there, stunned. "... Enjoyable?"
He feels his cheeks burn as a flustered groan escapes him. He can't believe he just blushed. You thought it was just a ride, but to him, that moment felt like everything.
Over the next couple of days, something feels a little lighter.
"He's talkative." You mention casually, leaning back into the couch.
Vernon looks up from his phone, a brow raised.
"Seungkwan?"
"Mm," You nod. "very."
A beat passes, and Vernon hums, then looks back at his phone, leaving your statement hanging in the air.
Talkative. In his head, the interpretation is simple: extrovert.
The following day, during one of his routine afternoon walks, Vernon spots him alone. Not surrounded by his usual boisterous friends, just sitting at a small outdoor cafe table, nursing a coffee with a book open before him. He looks perfectly still, the rain having softened considerably but the atmosphere still humid.
Vernon slows his pace a fraction, taking him in. Seungkwan's posture is relaxed; one hand idly turns a page while the other rests near his cup.
"... Huh." Vernon murmurs, the hum low in his throat.
This is not what he'd pictured. No wild gestures, no loud laughter, no vibrant energy bouncing off of him. Just... Calm. He watches for another moment, then looks away, resuming his walk. He doesn't approach or try to strike up a conversation.
"... He likes being alone too." He muses softly to himself, hands sinking into his pockets as he walks away, a subtle understanding settling between them without a word exchanged.
Days later, you and Vernon fall back into your comfortable routine- a home date. Except that your typical home date has just taken an unexpected turn: both of you decided to invite Seungkwan to the home movie date.
That evening, a knock sounds at your door. You and Vernon both glance towards it simultaneously.
"He's here," You murmur.
Vernon gets up, moving to the door and opening it without hesitation. Standing there is Seungkwan, looking a bit stiff, a bit out of his element, holding a paper bag.
"Hi."
"Come in." Vernon says simply, stepping aside. Seungkwan enters, treading carefully as if he's stepping into foreign territory.
"... I-uh- brought snacks." He says, holding up the bag a little. "I felt bad just... barging into your home date."
You glance at the bag, then at Seungkwan. "You didn't have to."
"I know, but-"
"It's fine." You cut in gently, a soft smile on your face. He pauses, you tilting your head slightly. "We're still having a home date."
Seungkwan blinks, his expression a mixture of confusion and surprise.
"Huh?"
You gesture to the living area.
"Just… with you here, too." A beat, and you say, more conversationally. "We want to get to know you."
Seungkwan stills.
"... Oh." The edges of his ears bloom red again. "... Okay."
Soon enough, the three of you find yourselves settling in. Snacks are laid out, the movie is playing, the lights are dimmed just so, it begins ordinarily or approximately ten minutes, and then-
"What do you read, generally?"
Seungkwan jumps.
"... What?"
You don't look away from the screen. "You read in cafes."
"... You saw that?"
"Mm."
A pause.
"... Just normal things." He mumbles, uncertainty in his voice.
"... Genre?"
"... Mostly essays, occasionally novels."
You hum.
Silence again for another five minutes. Then-
"You always talk so much."
"... WHAT?"
Seungkwan nearly chokes on the chip he'd just bitten.
You glance at him.
"In the car."
"... Oh." He deflates. "... I thought it was a bit awkward."
"It wasn't."
"... Oh."
He's quiet, face flushed a soft pink.
The movie continues. And then-
"You like being alone." Vernon speaks.
Seungkwan blinks.
"... Yeah."
"Why?"
"... Why?" He looks from one of you to the other. "...I don't know, I just like quiet sometimes?"
You nod. "Same."
Seungkwan stares at you for a beat. "... You both are very strange."
The movie finishes without ceremony, and you stretch subtly. Seungkwan shifts and checks his phone for the time.
Vernon's voice follows, just as steady and straightforward. "Next date."
Seungkwan blinks, a little lost. "... You mean-"
"Like this," You gesture vaguely around the room. "if you want."
You add the last part softly, not pushy, not expecting, just offering.
Seungkwan stares at both of you. This isn't what he envisioned when he agreed to this when he walked in. Even midway through the movie, he couldn't have imagined this, but now-
"... Okay." He nods, the movement small but definite. "... I'll come."
The following morning, soft sunlight streams into the kitchen, catching the dust motes and painting a warm gold on the counters. You're in the middle of flipping eggs, toast popping from the machine, when Vernon leans against the opposite counter, watching you with an amused gaze.
"Are you okay with the poly relationship now?" He asks, his voice as casual as if he were inquiring about the weather rather than the tumultuous state of your heart.
You turn around, offering him a plate laden with breakfast.
"Yeah," You say, a small smile tugging at your lips.
"He is… cute." You cast a brief glance out the window, then back at Vernon. "I want to try it out."
Vernon nods, picking up his fork, he takes a bite. "Good then."
You lean back, chewing thoughtfully.
"But," You continue, "it has to be at his pace. Because you know me and… well, you. We don't say anything until we absolutely have to, so this time, it should be him confessing. If we confess, it feels like he doesn't have a choice."
Vernon chews thoughtfully for a moment, then swallows. He hums, his gaze meeting yours.
"Okay then," He says eventually. "we'll wait for his confession."
There's a quiet, unspoken understanding between the two of you, and in that moment, it feels like true romance isn't about rushing, but about waiting, about letting the other person reach their own conclusion in their own time.
For now, you have Vernon, and Seungkwan will find his way into this little world you're building together, in his own time.
A few days later, the evening settles around the apartment complex like a gentle blanket. You stand in the parking lot, arms crossed loosely, heart beating a little faster. The sky is awash in a blend of warm amber and rose—the kind of light that seems to pause the world.
You wait for Seungkwan to finish his workday. Then, you see it, his familiar car pulls into a spot.
The engine dies, then he gets out, keys in hand, and locks the door. His eyes, finally, find yours.
"Y/n?"
You take a deep breath and offer a soft smile.
"Hi… erm, so, I'm just here to tell you that since we are soulmates, you, Vernon and I, both decided that we want to try out a poly relationship. But obviously, at your own pace, too. So… if you'd like to go on a date, reach out to us."
He freezes, eyes widening slightly, eyebrows lifting.
"... Wow. I think this is the longest you've ever spoken at once."
You let out a light, airy giggle, and just the sound of it, a mere wisp of joy, sends a tremor of something warm and confusing through his chest.
You shrug playfully, grinning. "Be thankful it's not Vernon talking to you right now."
Seungkwan laughs, a shaky, nervous sound, his face heating up, his heart pounding.
You tilt your head, observing him. The air between you feels lighter now, because even without words, without guarantees, without knowing precisely what tomorrow will bring, you know it feels good. And somehow… it feels like it's just the beginning.
The three of you, a quiet, strange, and beautiful beginning.
EN-Komect Heights 🌼 SVT-Raitere Lofts 🌼 Otherworld Plaza 🌼 Verdant Springs 🌼 Pinned Post 🌼 taglist : @redemptions
Summary : Ever since he can remember, Jaemin has carried around an antique camera, the one his late father had used before him. But his father's old camera carries a dark secret: once you shoot a total of 100 pictures with the camera, you are destined to die. As Jaemin finds love and is settling down to a life with the person he cherishes most, the camera documents their story from their first dates, their wedding, the joys and sorrows to their everyday lives.
In "Photographic Times", a story questions you: how many shots would you need to take to capture your forever and be willing to leave forever after?
💮 troop: lovers
💮 fantasy: magic, mentioned of infertility, two major character deaths
non-idol, adult romance, fantasy & angst au 🌼 nct jaemin x female reader 🌼 13+ SFW 🌼 3,866 words
🌸originally posted: 14/03/2025
EN-Komect Heights 🌼 SVT-Raitere Lofts 🌼 Otherworld Plaza 🌼 Verdant Springs 🌼 Pinned Post 🌼 taglist
Click.
The shutter's gentle clicking seemed to boom in the dead silence of the room, as he watched the image bloom on the camera's tiny screen. A girl captured in the fading golden light of a setting sun, a serene, everlasting smile plastered on her face.
He studied the photograph, his lips twisting in a faint, sorrowful curve.
She looked stunning, as always, but a dull ache was spreading in his chest, a sorrow he couldn't quite pinpoint.
"Why do you look so glum?" His girlfriend chirped, her head tilted in curiosity. "Don't I look pretty in the picture?"
"You look perfect." He whispered, tracing the worn leather of the camera with his thumb.
One out of one hundred photos, he had just taken another step toward his fate. His memories were blurry, indistinct-like the faded edges of a beloved photograph.
He was a boy, perhaps no older than five, when he first heard the words whispered.
"This camera…it's been passed down in our family for generations." His father had said, his fingers resting on the ebony surface of the old vintage camera, the metal accents dulled with years of use and the imprint of numerous hands.
The boy, too young to understand, had simply nodded.
"One day, it will be yours."
Years later, he had stood by his father's deathbed, watching life ebb from the old man's weary body. The camera rested on his father's chest, a relic seemingly as worn and fragile as he.
"I've taken my last photo." His father breathed, his gaze fixated on the camera's screen, which showed '100'.
At the time, the boy had just seen an old man preparing to die. Then, he was gone. The camera had been placed into his hands soon after., but he didn't know that yet. He carried the camera everywhere, an extension of himself, taking countless photos over the years—of friends, ephemeral loves, fleeting moments that seemed significant. He'd taken hundreds, perhaps thousands, yet nothing felt… lasting.
It wasn't until he began studying the camera's intricate settings, its peculiar internal mechanisms, that he discovered a peculiar quirk. There were still one hundred polaroids locked inside, fixed. Attempts to reset the counter failed, it always returned to 100.
"I took my last photo."
The words reverberated in the father's head. A chilling echo, but he'd dismissed them. And now, here he was, with the woman who grounded his chaotic world, the one he desperately wished to etch into eternity.
He lifted the camera, the dying sunlight casting her in a soft golden glow.
Click.
The last second photo.
A cold dread began to creep into his gut, despite the smile he gave the captured image.
"Why do you look so glum?" She asked, her voice tinged with amusement as she moved closer. "Don't I look pretty in the picture?"
He blinked, snapping out of a trance, shaking his head.
"You look perfect."
His voice was low, but his eyes held a faraway glaze, as if he were seeing beyond her, beyond this moment, into a future he couldn't describe. She watched him, a slight frown furrowing her brow, as she traced the contours of his perpetual, quiet sadness.
He seemed to carry an unexplainable grief that permeated him, a weight that she could never lighten, but that softened when he looked at her. He seemed to regard her as his anchor.
"You really love that camera, don't you?" She chuckled, lightly tapping the worn leather on the device.
"It's a family thing." He said, a rare smile flickering across his lips. She'd heard the phrase before, never truly grasping the depth of it, but for him, it was a lifeforce, tethering him to people he barely remembered.
Click.
"Oh? So are you going to give it to our son?"
The instant the shutter clicked shut, something inside him fractured.
A cascade of images flooded his mind, a rush of memories from lives he had never lived, yet felt intimately his. Faces blurred and re-formed, moments flickered like candle flames, hands gripped the same worn camera, the same desperate clicking motion. And then, it was crystal clear. His father, on his deathbed, the camera resting on his chest.
The screen: 100.
The last picture on it was his mother's face, peaceful and full of love, caught in a warm home light.
"I took my last photo." He recoiled, the camera feeling like a heavy, suffocating burden.
"Hey… are you alright?" His wife asked, her brow etched with concern.
He stared at her, the woman he loved, the woman he wanted for all time. But forever wasn't an option, was it?
You and Jaemin had met during university. A slow burn type of relationship, that was somehow inevitable as if the universe was nudging the two of you together. He isn't the most outspoken, the loudest in the room, the type to demand your attention, rather, there is something that is quietly magnetic to him.
Maybe it was the self assurance in the way he carried himself, the thoughtful gaze as he observed the world through the eyes of a painter. Or maybe it was that old vintage camera that he carried everywhere as if it was a third limb.
You often playfully teased him for that.
"Why do you still carry that old film camera around? Digital is so much more convenient." You said, once while watching him carefully wind film into the device.
He merely smiled, running a thumb over the smooth, worn leather.
"It's family tradition." He'd explained simply, as if that accounted for all things.
And you believed him, for a very long time. Until the moment you decided to snap your first real photograph together.
Click.
Your eyes met, and his face paled as though he'd just witnessed something ghastly. He flinched, and his grip on the camera tightened as he looked at you with an expression you'd never seen before. It was laced with... Dread? He took in a shaky breath, his eyes darting elsewhere for a moment, lost in a world you couldn't even begin to comprehend.
"Jaemin?" You asked, a concerned frown etching itself onto your brow as you reached for his hand.
He jolted as though waking from a particularly terrifying dream and stared at you, his eyes glistening with something that felt eerily close to pain.
You shook your head internally. Maybe he didn't want to talk about whatever had caused that flicker of despair in his eyes, or maybe he didn't even know what to say. You would give him the space he needed to talk if he wanted to.
"Do I at least look good in the picture?" You blurted out, your playful pout returning to your lips as you nudged his arm.
That seemed to pull him back to the present, and the look on his face softened as his eyes returned to meet yours, a small, familiar smile gracing his lips. "Of course, you do."
He angled the camera to show you the screen. You saw a picture of yourself, bathed in the dying golden hues of the sunset, a soft smile etched onto your face in a moment of quiet joy. The image was warm, intimate, almost too perfect. The swell of adoration in your chest was overwhelming.
"Thank you." You whispered, wrapping your arms around his torso, pressing yourself against his warmth as the steady rise and fall of his breathing resonated through you. "It's a truly beautiful photograph."
He tensed for a beat, then his arms tightened around you in response.
"I'm glad you like it." His voice was soft, perhaps a little wistful.
When you finally pulled away, you found yourself instinctively reaching for his hand, your fingers intertwining with his as you resumed your stroll. His warm hand clasped in yours was a grounding comfort. The crisp evening air was filled with the scent of nascent blooming flowers as you walked together, long shadows stretching out ahead of you under the fading twilight. Time seemed to suspend itself, and everything felt perfectly aligned.
"So," You started, swinging your joined hands playfully. "where shall we head next?"
He hummed contemplatively, as if mulling over a major life decision. "Dinner? Or perhaps dessert first?"
You laughed. "Are you seriously suggesting dessert before the main meal?"
"Why not?" He grinned. "Life's short, might as well eat all the sweet stuff before we regret it."
There was something about his phrase 'life's short' that made a sliver of unease tighten in your chest, but you quickly pushed the thought away. You didn't want to dwell on his odd behavior earlier; you just wanted to enjoy this peaceful moment with him.
"Alright," You said, feigning disappointment. "but only if you promise me an extra dollop of whipped cream."
He let out a soft chuckle, giving your hand a gentle squeeze. "Deal."
You found yourselves at a cozy café nestled between two ancient bookstores, its interiors bathed in a soft, inviting glow, filled with the comforting aroma of freshly brewed coffee. You opted for a slice of strawberry shortcake, a decadent indulgence. Jaemin, true to his nature, ordered eight-shots-in-one-cup iced espresso.
"You and your eight shots bitter brew." You teased, taking a delicate bite of your cake as you settled into the window seat.
He smirked, leaning his chin against the heel of his hand. "And you and your over-sweetened desserts."
"Balance," You stated, your mouth full of sugary goodness. "and that's what makes us work so well."
He let out a quiet laugh, but the indefinable depth behind his eyes remained unreadable. He tilted his vintage camera slightly. "Mind if I snap another?"
"Go ahead." You replied with a warm smile, posing.
Click.
The second picture.
After finishing your dessert, you ambled back to your shared apartment. The city had embraced the night. One by one, the streetlights flickered on, their glow reflecting on the asphalt. Distant car horns and the low hum of late-night conversations punctuated the air.
His hand was still wrapped warmly around yours, creating a protective bubble, making the world outside feel a little smaller, a lot quieter, like it was just the two of you.
As soon as you arrived at the door, you kicked off your shoes, stretching your arms above your head with a tired sigh.
"Ugh… tomorrow's going to be a nightmare with all the deadlines." You groaned, already feeling the weight of the upcoming work.
Jaemin chuckled, carefully placing his camera on the kitchen counter. "At least we'll be suffering together."
You shot him a mock glare.
"Easy for you to say. You're in a different department, you don't have to sit through my team's never-ending meetings."
He smirked. "True, but I do have to deal with my boss constantly looming over my shoulder."
You rolled your eyes and opened the refrigerator, pulling out two bottles of water, tossing one towards him.
"At least we can have lunch together." He caught it effortlessly and twisted off the cap, taking a refreshing sip. "That's the only thing getting me through the day."
The comfortable rhythm of your shared life settled back into its familiar groove. You tapped away on your laptop, responding to emails while Jaemin pressed his shirt for the next day. Words weren't always necessary; you moved around the apartment in perfect harmony, as you always did.
It was simple.
Yet, your eyes kept straying back to him, to the quiet intensity on his face, the subtle tension in his shoulders as he neatly folded the freshly ironed sleeves of his shirt. Something felt… off tonight.
When the next day arrived after both of you reached home after work, you watched Jaemin move in the kitchen, and your thoughts drift toward the old, vintage camera that he treasures so dearly. It was always safely kept inside your room, stored away with the same care he gave anything precious.
Now that you think about it, woudln't it be nice to have a picture of him right now? A simple memory for the two of you to look back on, years from now, laughing about your younger selves as you grew old together.
Smiling to yourself, you slowly get off the couch, making sure Jaemin was completely occupied with his cooking. You tiptoed into the bedroom and gently opened the drawer where he always kept the camera, and it was right where you expected it. Carefully, you lift it into your hands, once again surprised by the reassuring weight of it. Holding your breath, you quietly make your way back into the living room.
Jaemin still hadn't noticed. He was humming a soft tune under his breath as he stirred the pan, lost in his task. You positioned yourself at the perfect angle. The warm kitchen light fell on him beautifully, catching every tiny detail you had grown to love. The slight furrow between his brows when he was concentrating, the gentle curve of his lips, the fluid movements of his hands.
He was… perfect.
You slowly raised the camera, tries to adjusted the focus, steady your breathing.
Click.
The soft echo of the shutter sound reverberated in the apartment.
Jaemin froze for a split second, then slowly turned towards you with a look that was somewhere between amusement and surprise.
"…Did you just-" A triumphant grin spread across your face as you lowered the camera.
"Caught you in your element."
He let out a low laugh, shaking his head. "You sneaky little thing."
You walked over to him and smiled, looking at the photo, and it was perfect.
There he was, in the kitchen, in his favorite apron, making dinner just as he always did, effortlessly handsome without even trying.
You held the photograph out for him to see.
"See?" Your smile grew even wider. "Now we'll have something to look back on when we're old."
The second the words left your lips, Jaemin went quiet. His eyes remained fixed on the photograph, his expression unreadable for a moment. Then, slowly, he smiled. It wasn't the playful smirk he always wore around you. It was gentler, softer, almost, melancholy.
And just like that, the third photograph was used.
As the years go by, the camera becomes much more than Jaemin's favorite object. Somewhere along the line, it became a part of your story.
Every date.
Every holiday.
Every ordinary, mundane moment that felt nothing short of magical simply because it was shared between the two of you.
You and Jaemin began to take turns behind the lens.
A lazy evening curled up together on the couch, sharing a bowl of popcorn while watching a favorite movie. Click.
A movie premiere where Jaemin couldn't stop laughing, tears forming at the corners of his eyes. Click.
A candlelit dinner where his gaze settled upon you as though he couldn't see anyone else in the world. Click.
Stolen kisses mid-conversation. Foreheads touching. Soft smiles exchanged when words became too much. Click.
Click. Click. Each photograph was another precious fragment of your life, forever etched in delicate Polaroid squares.
Your laughter.
Your quiet evenings.
Your ordinary days. Your love.
And then there was that photograph. The one that changed everything. One morning, Jaemin was different, he was restless, his fingers incessantly fumbling inside his pocket as you walked through the park where you had confessed your love all those years ago.
Jeno was trailing behind you, mumbling that he just wanted to spend the day together. You didn't think anything of it until Jaemin stopped walking abruptly. You turned back towards him, confusion coloring your face.
"Jaemin?"
He took a slow, deliberate breath, then another. Before you could ask what was wrong, he dropped to one knee, and your world seemed to stop. Your breath caught in your throat. Your heart hammered against your ribs, a frantic rhythm drowning out all other sound. From behind you, somewhere unseen, Jeno quietly lifted Jaemin's cherished camera.
Click.
The shutter captured the exact moment Jaemin's gaze met yours, brimming with unwavering love. A small velvet box sat nestled within his trembling hands. Your hands instinctively flew to your mouth as tears blurred your vision, blurring the world before you into a wash of emotion. Time itself seemed to hold its breath.
"Marry me."
His voice was calm, filled with a love that only ever intensified as the years went by.
"Let's grow old together."
Your tears spill out quicker now, and you can't stop smiling. You can't stop crying, through all the overwhelming emotions that overflow through your chest, you nod with tears.
"Yes!"
Another click echoes through the quiet park.
Your proposal photo has been snapped.
Not long after that, wedding bells replaces the anxious beats of your heart. Even though you've hired a professional photographer to document the wedding for you, Jaemin refused to let his vintage camera go. Anytime he gets, he takes another photo, and you can't help but to chuckle.
"Jaemin," You nudged him slightly at the arm. "just enjoy the ceremony."
He smiles, and he brings up the camera again.
"Although beauty can't really be capture in photographs," His eyes stay trained on your face. "at least the old version of me will be able to see that I married the most beautiful…" His smile brightened.
"…most fairytale-like queen..." His voice lowered to a hush. "…an angel in a wedding dress." Your chest glows with warmth. Click.
He captures your exact moment of stun to a shy smile. Click.
Your first steps down the aisle, your dress billowed behind you while your eyes were fixed on Jaemin the entire way down. Click by Jeno.
The moment you finally reached Jaemin, your nervous smiles, his loving gazes. Click by Jeno.
Your hands intertwined with each other, your new wedding bands rested beneath the light of the sun. Click by Jeno.
Your first kiss as husband and wife. A memory Jaemin refused to let time take away. At one point, you just couldn't hold your laughter back.
"Jeno…" you gently pull at his sleeve as he raises his camera to take another photo.
"Come on, let your camera rest for a moment and have some fun! Get some ladies for yourself, get drunk!" He chuckles then shakes his head no.
"Nope." His reply was immediate. "I was tasked to take every photos for memories."
And somehow, he does. By the end of the day, your love story wasn't kept in the confines of your heart. It was stored in dozens of tiny pictures, silently screaming out the two of you chose each other, over and over again.
And years fly by, yet one particular conversation remained stuck in your mind though.
Children.
Jaemin never once mentioned the thought, though you never quite understood why. Every time the topic arose, he would just smile. "I have everything that I need already." His fingers automatically found yours. "You being here is more than enough for me."
But the dream in your mind had always been slightly different. You had always imagined tiny footsteps pattering through your home, small hands reaching out for yours. A child who carry both pieces of you into the next generation. Despite the hesitation in his heart, Jaemin never dismissed your feelings.
Instead, he promised you something else.
"If this is really what you want," He gently squeezed your hand. "then I will be right there with you, no matter what."
And you believed him, you always did. Until one rainy afternoon, things began to change.
The room in the doctor's office felt like a block of ice. You tightened your grip around Jaemin's hands so much that it felt like it might bruise. The doctor's words echoed through your head.
Infertility.
No matter how hard you tried, no matter how much you hoped, you would never be able to carry a child.
The world you knew crumbled around you.
The days that followed became a blur. You stopped looking at yourself in the mirror, you steered clear of the children's stores and any families passing by. Even your own smile started to feel foreign. The sadness that clouded you had become too immense that you barely recognized yourself anymore.
But through every single rough day, Jaemin never left, not even once. He fed you when you didn't feel like eating. He silently sat by your side through sleepless nights. Whenever you'd crumble in his arms in sobs, he would hold you that much tighter. Even when you pushed him away, he'd find his way back.
Little by little, he coaxed you into breathing again.
One moment you were running under the night sky with your hands held tight, bursting into laughter, the next your hair turned silver, your hands were wrinkled, your legs too weak to walk so you needed a chair to take you further.
But somehow, not a thing that mattered to you had change, you are still together, always together.
On one particular afternoon, you rested your head comfortably on Jaemin's shoulders and together you slowly flipped through photos dating decades back. Every photograph represented a chapter of your life, another memory, another version of yourself. A small smile appeared as you pointed at a faded Polaroid.
"Look," You chuckled. "We spent the entire afternoon blowing bubbles into the bathtub and tossing them at each other."
The laughter preserved inside the picture seemed almost alive still. Jaemin chuckled next to you. His aged hands wrapped around yours, holding the same warmth they'd held throughout your entire life.
"Do you know what today is, dear?" You asked as you closed your eyes, a contented smile blooming on your face.
"Of course. It's White Day, the day you always give me flowers every year."
His head rested on yours as he whispered. "Y/N…"
You could feel it, the exhaustion that had settled deep within your bones. Your breaths grew shallower with each passing second, but you wanted one more memory… just one.
"How many Polaroids do you have left?" You asked softly, almost afraid the words might evaporate into the air.
He glanced down at the camera he held in his lap.
"One." A soft smile etched itself onto his lips. "Why?"
"I want one last photograph." Your eyes still closed, squeezed his hand. "Take a beautiful picture of us… while I still can remember."
A flicker of emotion crossing his features before he nodded softly.
"Okay."
His weathered hands slowly lifted the camera. They trembled, aged, but he stabilized them. He then turned to smile at you.
"Dear… look over here."
You remained silent.
He waited another beat, his smile beginning to falter.
"… Dear?"
Silence.
His eyes widened in realization.
With a heart brimming with decades of love, he slowly and deliberately clicked the shutter.
Click.
The final photograph.
Slowly, he lowered the camera, resting his head against yours one last time and whispered in the most tender voice he'd ever possessed.
"Good night, Y/N."
A moment later, his hand relaxed, and the vintage camera slipped from his fingers. With that, the last photograph was taken. Two lovers, from start to the end, forever one, together in one last frame.
Rest now. Na Jaemin and Y/N.
EN-Komect Heights 🌼 SVT-Raitere Lofts 🌼 Otherworld Plaza 🌼 Verdant Springs 🌼 Pinned Post 🌼 taglist :
Summary : Where an insufferable CEO finds peace in his senior, a beloved CEO’s daughter whose presence begins with their soulmate bell ringing for the two.
💮 troop: strangers to lovers
💮 age gap(10 years), fantasy: soulmate, mentioned of kids, married, food, cologne and watch brand names, sugar daddy! Seungcheol if you squint
non idol, adult romance & fantasy au 🌼 s.coups x female reader 🌼 13+ SFW 🌼 12,985 words
🌸originally posted: 20/06/2025
EN-Komect Heights 🌼 SVT-Raitere Lofts 🌼 Otherworld Plaza 🌼 Verdant Springs 🌼 Pinned Post 🌼 taglist
At 8:00 AM the office came alive. A world of polished chrome, high-speed elevator ascensions, the percussive clack of keyboards, and the faint smell of espresso hovering near the kitchenette. Floors are lined with sheer glass partitions, and employees' steps are filled with a quiet urgency, keenly aware of the clock behind every deadline.
On the top floor, behind an obsidian black door embellished with silver letters, resides the corner office of Choi Seungcheol, the very architect of the company he helms. He's more than just the CEO, he's a presence. Charismatic, brilliant, and immaculately composed, Seungcheol is known for walking into a room and altering the air pressure with a single glance. It's rumored he can read a financial report faster than some can skim a menu, and no one leaves a meeting with him without either a promotion, a plan, or a panic attack.
But beneath the tailored suits and the impenetrable gaze lies a man with a past no one dares to probe, a reputation carried like an unassailable armor.
Today, as sunlight floods through the vast windows of his office, Seungcheol stands facing the cityscape, a cup of coffee cradled in his hand, utterly oblivious to the seismic shift that will take place over the course of the day, irrevocably upsetting the control he fiercely maintains.
Barely at the age of 30, Choi Seungcheol has scaled the highest peak of corporate ambition that most only dream of. It's almost impossible to fathom that he began his journey as a humble, low-level assistant at just twenty. No inherited wealth, no well-connected patrons, no shortcuts. Just an indomitable work ethic and a visionary blaze burning behind his piercing gaze. His ascent wasn't facilitated by a silver spoon; every rung of the ladder was hard-won through sheer tenacity and sleepless nights.
Now in his second year as CEO, his leadership is unassailable within the company walls. Success isn't about age; it's about results, and under Seungcheol's guidance, every project is launched with flawless execution, consistently shattering expectations and redefining industry standards. His name resonates through boardrooms across the city: the young prodigy, the game-changer, the man who doesn't merely play by the rules, but writes them.
Perhaps the most admirable, or intimidating-aspect of Seungcheol's persona is his unflappable demeanor amidst chaos. He doesn't simply make decisions; he makes the right ones, at lightning speed. He observes, he listens, he rarely interrupts, and when he does speak, the room hangs on his every word.
Turning from the window now, he places his coffee on the desk just as his secretary's double tap echoes on the door.
"Come in," he states coolly, buttoning his suit jacket.
In a world where soulmates are an established fact of existence, love is less an exploration and more of a certainty. The rule is quite simple. Once you meet your soulmate, a mere glance into their eyes and wedding bells will sound. Not metaphorically, mind you, but literally, chiming in your ears like a secret celebration just for the two of you. And after that, everything seems to align effortlessly, as though the universe has bestowed upon you a perfectly wrapped ending: the soulmates meet, fall in love, and live blissfully ever after.
Or, rather… everyone except Choi Seungcheol.
His friends, his inner circle are all married, knee-deep in wedding arrangements, or sending him chirpy photos of their toddlers with captions like, "Uncle Cheol, when is it your turn?". The world is marching forward at a breakneck pace, and for Seungcheol, who has always been a swift learner, this is the only race he seems incapable of winning.
He's not a solitary man by choice; he simply refuses to risk his emotions. After all, ex-partners and soulmates don't make for compatible unions.
What if he falls for someone who isn't the one? Or what if he heartbreaks someone, only to meet his destined match later, and everything crumbles? Thus, he avoids flirtations, avoids love, avoids anything that could disrupt the equilibrium of his carefully constructed life.
Yet, despite his best efforts, a creeping sense of anxiety lingers. His concern isn't rooted in the prospect of an overdue wedding; it's his parents that weigh heavily on his mind.
At twenty-seven, his mother had arranged a blind date with the daughter of a colleague. Seungcheol, in an act of familial obligation, attended the meeting, only to leave with a debilitating headache.
At twenty-eight, his father had taken to mailing out well-articulated resumes of his son to families with eligible daughters, essentially marketing him like a limited-edition luxury item.
By the age of twenty-nine, the charade had dropped, and an arranged marriage was openly discussed. "Just meet her," they urged, "see if the bells ring." They never did.
Now, at thirty, Seungcheol has no idea what scheme his parents are concocting, but he's certain it won't end well.
And what can he do?
Absolutely nothing.
So, as always, he defaults to the familiar, the reliable: wake up. Go to the office. Attend meetings. Review reports. Sign documents. Go home. Sleep.
It's safe. It's predictable. It's efficient.
It's just another Monday. The familiar rhythm of incoming emails and the distant hum of ringing phones fills the air when Seungcheol's secretary taps twice before entering, her arms laden with stacked files. She places them on his desk without a word initially, as he scans the final few pages of a document. But then, a rare announcement breaks the silence.
"Mr. Shin from Jeonghwa Group has sent an invitation. It's for a masquerade party," she states, her voice laced with professional respect.
"His wife is hosting. They are requesting your presence."
The name elicits a surprised pause from Seungcheol, his gaze lifting from the page. "…Mr. Shin?"
She nods. "Yes. He personally extended the invitation to you."
Choi Seungcheol's eyes widen briefly before he leans back in his chair. Mr. Shin isn't merely an acquaintance; he's a seasoned veteran of the business world, one of the few individuals Seungcheol admired when he first stepped foot into the corporate jungle at twenty.
Sharp, composed, yet possessing a warmth that radiated outwards, Mr. Shin had once told him over lunch. "Success is vital, but it's relationships that will ultimately propel you further than any numbers can."
Unfortunately, the latter had never truly resonated with Seungcheol. He's never been one for social gatherings. In his mind, they disrupt efficiency, forcing him into hours of tedious small talk, standing under ornate chandeliers while sipping on drinks he doesn't particularly enjoy. He doesn't dislike people; he simply prefers order.
But this invitation is an exception. Coming from Mr. Shin, it cannot be dismissed. Refusal would convey an unwelcome message, and disappointing both Mr. Shin and his wife is simply out of the question.
A faint sigh escapes his lips.
"…Inform them that I will attend." He says, a subtle frown etching itself between his brows. "Clear the schedule for that night. If there are any scheduling conflicts, reschedule them. And arrange for some shopping time. Something formal, like a masked attire."
"Understood." His secretary replies with a small smile, already making notes on her tablet as she turns to depart.
The door clicks shut behind her, and the office falls back into silence. Seungcheol remains seated for a moment longer, his gaze unfocused on the documents before him. Slowly, he removes his glasses, pinching the bridge of his nose with a weary sigh.
"A masquerade party, hmm…" He muses.
The night of the masquerade arrived, stars sowed across a velvet sky with the city glittering beneath them like a scattered hoard of precious stones. A black car belonging to Seungcheol slid to a stop at the foot of an imposing mansion on the edge of town, the Shin family's place, renowned for only opening its doors to those who mattered.
From the moment Seungcheol stepped through the grand doors, he felt transported into another world.
The grand entrance hall with its high arched ceilings gilded with fine filigree and sparkling crystal chandeliers that illuminated the polished marble floors seemed to stretch for miles. Beautiful flower arrangements that scented the air with delicate orchids and lilies were arranged in glass vases along the walls, and elegantly uniformed staff glided silently by with trays of champagne and wine, offering glasses that winked like those of the guests.
The guests themselves, masked in elaborate creations and draped in sophisticated suits and flowing evening gowns, laughed and mingled in the softly lit hall, the polite murmur of their conversation punctuated by the clink of glasses. Everywhere he looked, movement and elegance danced beneath the golden glow.
An orchestra at the far end of the ballroom played a waltz so soft and enchanting, it felt like it flowed through the evening like silk. The gentle harmonies of the violins intertwined with the lower notes of the cellos as couples twirled and swayed on the dance floor, their shadows long and elegant.
Seungcheol lingered at the entrance for a beat, absorbing the opulent scene. He wore a deep charcoal tuxedo, a simple, sleek brushed silver mask that perfectly fit his face. Much like him. He smoothed the cuffs of his jacket with precise fingers and let out a quiet sigh.
He made his way through the great hall, the light shuffle of his dress shoes muffled by the music and lively chatter. His eyes scanned the crowd, seeking out the one figure he had come to see. Near the center of the room, he saw Mr. Shin, his distinguished navy suit highlighted by silver embroidery along the collar. By his side, equally resplendent, stood Mrs. Shin, her mask festooned with pearls that sparkled with every turn of her head.
Adjusting his mask slightly, Seungcheol approached them, bowing his head with quiet respect.
"Mr. Shin, Mrs. Shin," he began smoothly. "Thank you for the gracious invitation."
Mr. Shin turned, a delighted smile crinkling at the corners of his mask. "Seungcheol! I was starting to think you wouldn't make it. I'm very glad you're here."
Mrs. Shin gave a warm nod. "You look exceptionally handsome tonight, dear. As always."
"I couldn't possibly miss such an event, especially when extended by you both." He replied with a light, formal smile. "The venue is… remarkable."
They exchanged pleasantries, polite jokes and wry comments passing under the shimmering chandeliers. Seungcheol smiled and nodded, accepting a glass of champagne, but a subtle stiffness remained in his posture. And, as was inevitable, the conversation soon shifted back to what he knew best.
"Actually," He began, "just before we arrived here, we finalized the third branch's distribution proposal with-" he caught himself mid-sentence, but Mr. And Mrs. Shin simply exchanged a knowing look.
Mrs. Shin chuckled softly, tilting her head. "Oh, Seungcheol. You can talk about work all you wish if it makes you feel more at home. Masks are not required for that topic."
Her words, meant kindly, cut through his reserve with a sudden warmth. He let out a soft breath he hadn't realized he was holding. And he began to speak.
About the company, the numbers, the employees, the challenges.
Mr. Shin listened intently, offering sage advice, and Mrs. Shin's eyes glowed with a familiar, nurturing warmth. The air around them lightened, the laughter grew more genuine, and the knot of anxiety in Seungcheol's chest gradually began to unwind.
Mr. Shin placed a hand on Seungcheol's shoulder with a proud smile. "Seungcheol, there's someone I want you to meet. My daughter has just returned from her studies abroad. I think you and she will get on very well."
Seungcheol turned, and his eyes fell upon her. You stood a few feet away, draped in a gown the color of pale lavender mist, your silver mask edged with delicate lace and tipped with tiny feathers. You moved with the quiet elegance of someone used to hushed conversations and a world of privilege, your gaze scanning the room until it met his.
In that instant, the hum of conversation and music faded away, replaced by the crystal clear peal of wedding bells. The sound seemed to ring solely in his ears, the universe announcing that it had just struck the first note of a song that would change everything. They stared at each other for a breath too long, the question hanging unspoken between them.
He saw the subtle, knowing smile on Mrs. Shin's face.
The faint echo of bells lingered in his ears even as the normal symphony of the ballroom resumed. But for Seungcheol, time itself seemed to have warped, to have slowed. His soulmate.
He had finally found you.
The relief, the joy that should have flooded him… was there, but it was tempered by something else entirely. Fate, it seemed, was playing its own cruel game. You were twenty. Fresh, naive, just beginning to navigate the world.
Ten years his junior.
And you were the daughter of Mr. Shin, the man who had been a guiding light in his professional life for over a decade. The entire situation felt impossibly unreal, somehow forbidden. This couldn't be right.
Could it?
Just as he was forcing himself to focus, his gaze still locked on yours, Mr. Shin's voice cut through his thoughts, calm and composed. He reached out and gently touched your head as he spoke to you with an expression of fatherly affection.
"I'm looking to retire soon, of course, but before I do, I need to make sure she's ready for the challenges ahead."
He then turned to Seungcheol, his smile unwavering but his eyes sharp and determined. "I need someone to help guide her, Seungcheol. Someone with experience, someone I can trust implicitly within this industry, to… show her the ropes." He clapped a hand on Seungcheol's shoulder.
"Before I step down, Seungcheol… would you be willing to take her on? Perhaps for mentorship, or some hands-on training? No one learns better than through experience, after all."
The room suddenly felt stifling. Seungcheol's fingers tightened on his champagne glass, the smooth surface cool against his suddenly clammy skin. Not only had he just met his soulmate, he was now being asked to personally induct her into the very industry that had consumed ten years of his life, into the same cutthroat environment he had only recently learned to survive.
And she would be in his life every single day.
His soulmate, his mentor's daughter, his future trainee. His knees nearly buckled, but he offered a weak, polite smile and nodded, because what other choice did he have?
"... Of course, sir," He said, voice steady despite the quiet chaos behind it. "I'd be honored."
But in his mind, there was only one thought: this is going to be a problem.
As if sensing the moment had grown too full, Mr. And Mrs. Shin politely excused themselves to greet other guests, leaving Seungcheol standing face-to-face with the person who had just unknowingly disrupted the stability he had clung to for years, you.
He watched you for a second longer, trying to find the right words, or any words at all. You looked up at him too, unsure yet calm. Composed, despite the thunderous sound that only the two of you had heard. And then, gently, your voice slipped out from behind your mask.
"So... I guess we heard it." You said quietly, referring to the wedding bells.
Seungcheol let out a short breath, a dry chuckle escaping him. "Yeah. We did."
A pause hung between you. Heavy, but not uncomfortable, more like the silence that comes when something profound has settled in the space.
"I'm Choi Seungcheol," he said, dipping his head politely. "But I assume you already knew that."
You gave a polite little curtsy, unable to suppress a small smile. "And I'm Shin Y/N." You tilted your head a bit. That earned a faint, genuine smile from him.
The orchestra shifted to a softer tune, one that made the chandeliers shimmer with each drawn note. Around you, the world moved on. Guests swayed on the dance floor, laughter floated in waves-but between you and Seungcheol, the air remained still.
"I didn't expect this," he admitted. "Tonight, or... You."
You let out a small laugh. "You mean you didn't expect your soulmate to be twenty years old?"
His eyes widened a little, surprised by your boldness, before he shook his head slowly with the ghost of amusement on his face. "Was I that obvious?"
"Just a little," you teased. "But it's alright. I didn't expect my soulmate to be someone my parents literally worship either. So I think we're even."
He looked at you, really looked, and saw more than just his senior's daughter. He saw someone with her own mind, her own spark. Not just someone being pushed into his world, but someone who could make space in it.
"If this gets overwhelming," He said suddenly, voice a little softer, a little more real, "just say so. I won't rush into anything. I know this is... A lot."
You raised a brow, your gaze gentle. "Why do you sound like you're the one overwhelmed?"
He paused, as if your words peeled away a layer of him.
"... Because I've spent years building a life I could control." He said quietly.
You smiled behind your mask. "Then maybe I'm here to teach you how to let go. Just a little."
That caught him off guard. A breath of silence passed... And then, he laughed, low and genuine, maybe for the first time all week.
"...I think you might be." he murmured. And just like that, under the soft music, crystal chandeliers, and masks that hid just enough but revealed just as much. The world had quietly started to change for Choi Seungcheol.
The next day arrived with polished shoes, pressed suits, and a strangely quickened heartbeat that Seungcheol couldn't quite explain, not until his office door was knocked on, sharp and polite.
His secretary peeked in with a gentle smile, then stepped aside. "Young Miss Shin has arrived, sir." And then you stepped in behind her.
For a moment, just a moment, Choi Seungcheol forgot how to breathe.
At the masquerade, your mask had hidden part of your face, letting only your voice and eyes do the talking. But now, standing there in the light of his office, dressed professionally yet effortlessly graceful, you looked nothing short of a princess sent straight from a fairytale.
Your features were delicate, your posture refined, and your smile-
God, that smile.
You bowed deeply, a full 90-degree gesture of respect. "It's an honor to work under you, Mr. Choi."
That broke something in him, just for a second. He almost gulped, throat tightening as he tried to suppress the warmth crawling up his neck. His jaw clenched lightly, keeping his face composed as always, but his eyes... His eyes betrayed him for a heartbeat too long.
His soulmate was bowing to him like a subordinate, like he wasn't losing his grip on the damn air in the room.
"Thank you," He managed, his voice still firm but quieter than usual. "you may begin today."
He cleared his throat and quickly looked away, standing up and adjusting his cufflinks just to buy time.
"You may return to your tasks." He told his secretary, who gave a small nod and closed the door behind her.
Now, it was just the two of you. The air shifted again. Quiet, but not cold, just full. You stepped forward softly, hands tucked behind your back, walking with a quiet elegance that echoed across the floor of his office. You stopped just short of his desk, leaned forward a little, and smiled.
"I wish for a happy time working with you, Mr. Choi."
His heart skipped a full beat. He blinked once, then twice. He internally cursed himself for how fast his chest reacted, how your presence so effortlessly chipped away at the steel mask he had worn for years.
"... Don't get too comfortable." He muttered under his breath, turning slightly away as he pretended to check something on his desk.
He picked up a pen, but forgot what document it was for. Clearing his throat again, he motioned for you to sit on the chair in front of his desk.
"Take out a pen and a notebook." He said briskly, avoiding your eyes. "If you want to be the next CEO of your father's company, you'll need to start by remembering a few things."
Still smiling, you sat down and pulled out your notebook obediently.
"Rule number one," He continued, finally looking at you again, but carefully now, like one wrong glance would unravel him. "no one cares about your title. Earn their respect with competence, not your last name."
You nodded, scribbling it down.
"Rule two," He said, watching the way your hair fell slightly as you wrote. "always know more than you speak. And listen more than you think."
You lifted your head just enough to meet his gaze and softly replied, "That sounds exactly like you, Mr. Choi."
His pen almost slipped from his hand. He coughed once more, this time trying to suppress the hint of a smile tugging at his lips.
"Rule three," He said sharply, eyes back on your notebook. "Stop charming your mentor. It's distracting."
You giggled, quiet, warm, and knowing.
He didn't say it out loud, but deep down, he already knew that this was going to be a long, dangerous, beautiful mentorship.
The first few hours of your mentorship under Choi Seungcheol moved swiftly, on the surface. He'd given his instructions to you precisely, his tone as professional as always as he guided you through the departments, introduced you to the key team members and showed you what made his company tick like a well-oiled machine. To the outside world, it was just another day of perfection from the CEO.
But those who worked under him, those sharp-eyed individuals who were perpetually silent but constantly observant, noticed the shift in their boss. It wasn't obvious. No forced smiles stretched to the limit of his features, no elaborate gestures were made. Instead, it was the almost unnoticeable lean of his body when he spoke to you. It was the minute drop in tone whenever he said your name. It was the linger of his gaze on you whenever he'd thought you weren't looking. And most obviously, the soft, unnervingly gentle expression in his eyes when he'd watched you jot down notes or cock your head.
To them, Choi Seungcheol was… different.
But in his own mind, he was anything but. He was just doing what he was supposed to do. What Mr. Shin had tasked him with. To guide you, to educate you, to show you the ropes. Then why did standing beside you feel like the only moment his lungs could breathe in air that wasn't suffocating him? Every time you walked with him and your arm brushed his, his chest would ache with a sense of release, as though the pressure he'd unknowingly been carrying for years was finally, infinitesimally lifting.
It must be the soulmate bond, he told himself, dismissing the sudden weightlessness that seemed to blossom in his chest. There was no other explanation. Still, even he couldn't explain the strange calm you exuded whenever the silence settled between them. Your presence was silent, yet it somehow grounded him, its quiet aura an alien but soothing balm to his constant anxiety.
For a man like Choi Seungcheol, someone who lived and breathed pressure, your calmness was entirely unfamiliar… and almost terrifying. Not in a threatening way, but in a foreign, "what is this emotion and how do I function with it?" way.
He was in the process of explaining the operational hierarchy of his company to you when his attention faltered as he saw you look up at him. Your eyes were unwavering, soft and laced with what seemed like unwavering respect and trust. He felt a blank come over his mind, a sudden loss of consciousness in regards to what he was trying to say.
"…And that department handles the…" He paused, staring at the company floorplan on the wall as though it had personally wronged him. "…um… the logistics team?" you finished, tilting your head questioningly.
He cleared his throat, nodding once. "Right. The logistics team."
His voice, though returning to its usual cadence, was tinged with the panic screaming inside him.
Thankfully, a knock on his office door saved him. His secretary, Eunhee, peeked her head around the corner.
"Sir, your meeting starts in fifteen minutes."
A lifesaver.
"Right. Thank you." He quickly replied, straightening his posture. He turned to you, his voice crisp but not unkind. "I need to prepare. Eunhee will show you the rest of the office when she gets back."
You nodded politely.
"Of course, Mr. Choi."
He walked out, perhaps a tad too quickly, and closed his office door, locking it as he entered. A deep exhale escaped him as he slumped against his desk, raking a hand through his hair before glaring at a spot on the wall and muttering to himself.
"…Wake up, Choi Seungcheol."
He then glanced at his reflection in the dark computer screen, grimacing before opening his meeting files.
The meeting room was quiet and impeccably furnished, filled with executives from all department heads seated around a long, polished conference table. A finance officer stood at the head of the room, presenting their quarterly projections. Charts and graphs flashed on a large screen at the back.
From the outside, Choi Seungcheol appeared completely himself, dressed in a tailored suit, eyes sharp and gaze steady, a calm demeanor at the front of the room.
However, his hand revealed a telltale sign.
It tapped rhythmically on the tabletop before settling into a silent spin. His silver pen twirled continuously between his fingers, an unconscious habit as smooth and effortless as breathing. It was precise, yes, but it wasn't a reflection of his focus. His eyes remained fixed on the projected slides, but his mind was miles away from the sterile room and the droning financial reports.
It was stuck in a hallway. A hallway filled with your soft footsteps, your voice resonating in his memory as you had tilted your head with that innocent smile and said, "I wish for a happy time working with you, Mr. Choi."
His heart rate quickened again.
He discreetly loosened the top button of his shirt, feeling an unnecessary warmth creep up his neck. Get a grip, Seungcheol. Someone directed a question his way, and he answered automatically, his response professionally brief and to the point, only a fraction of a second too slow to warrant suspicion. The pen began to spin again, faster this time.
Why was this happening to him?
He had dealt with crises, negotiated multi-million-dollar deals, and turned around entire struggling companies. He'd faced entire boardrooms filled with foreign investors and even hostile government officials. Yet here he was, playing with a pen like a naive intern, utterly preoccupied with the memory of a girl with eyes like calm waters and a presence that somehow quieted the relentless buzz of his life. Not in a vacant way, but in a peaceful way. And Seungcheol was unfamiliar with this feeling… it was almost terrifying.
"Mr. Choi?"
A voice called out, snapping him back to reality.
"Yes?"
He replied, blinking as his gaze returned to the room. All eyes turned towards him. He cleared his throat and nodded slowly. "I agree with the previous point. Let's move forward with scenario B, but include a contingency plan for any potential client-side delays. I will review the schedule proposal by Friday."
The department heads nodded in agreement. The meeting continued, but the pen in Choi Seungcheol's hand continued to spin, and under the table, his leg bounced imperceptibly. He didn't even realize the faint smile that touched his lips.
The meeting concluded without any apparent incident. Executives began to file out, discussing the next steps. Choi Seungcheol lingered for a few moments longer than usual, pretending to examine the printed schedule but his eyes glossing over the lines. When he finally rose, he adjusted his suit jacket, offered a perfunctory nod to his assistant, and walked back to his office.
The corridor remained as it had always been, then he opened his office door, and you were sitting in the guest chair opposite his desk, notebook on your lap, looking up with that disarming smile that had single handedly derailed his focus for the last two hours.
"Oh," You said softly, "Welcome back, Mr. Choi."
He hesitated for a mere fraction of a second before walking in and closing the door.
"Did Eunhee bring you here?"
"She did." You answered, standing as a gesture of politeness. "I didn't want to be in your office without you."
Choi Seungcheol's jaw tightened minutely.
Without me, huh?
He ambled around the desk before sitting down in his own chair, acting as though he hadn't even noticed how your presence seemed to somehow alter the room. He put down the stack of notes, never looking at them. You remained standing at the edge of the desk still holding your notebook, waiting patiently-as always-and in complete control.
God, he hated how that made him so uncomfortable.
"Did you find the rest of the office tour informative?" he finally looked up, his eyes finally finding yours. You nodded, and once again you approached his desk smoothly and calmly. "Yes, everyone was nice, but..."
You paused for a breath before cocking your head with a smirk. "It was a little dull without you."
His pen bounced once across the surface of his desk when his fingers spasmed, his hand flying to them instinctively. You added hastily, "I mean you explain things better, of course. That's all."
"...Right." He breathed, clearing his throat, his gaze flicking sideways once more before fixing back on your face.
"Shall we resume from where we left off? Take a seat."
You sat down readily, a slight smile playing at your lips as you reopened your notebook.
Seungcheol fought himself, to not let himself look up; to not pay attention to the way your nose crinkled slightly when you considered an idea, not to the soft floral scent of your perfume that somehow made its way between the pages of your notebook, and not to your utterly innocent expression.
His words, however, couldn't hide anything as he explained corporate hierarchy and strategic positioning to you with a softer, lighter tone. He wasn't sure when it had started. He only knew that it's never sounded like that until now.
The sun was setting lower, the light of the sun painting streaks of gold across the tall buildings outside of his office. As time drew to an end for the day, his colleagues began to file out, flicking off lights one by one before wishing each other a good night. He was tidying up the last few remaining pieces on his desk when you called out his name.
"Mr. Choi?" You stood there, bag already slung across your shoulder. "I think my driver forgot to come for me. I tried calling but… nothing."
He instantly looked up from what he was doing, his brows furrowing together in concern.
"Did your father not send someone for you?"
you shook your head, looking slightly more bothered now than before. "Both of my parents are working extra today, and so is the housekeeper. I can just wait; it's alright. I'll figure something out."
He stared at you for a second more before the instinct kicked in, and he reached for his phone. Dialing Mr. Shin with a practised speed, he spoke.
"Mr. Shin," His voice was professional as always. "this is Seungcheol. I was just calling to ask whether I should arrange one of my drivers to drop Y/N-"
"Why aren't you bringing my daughter home?" Mr. Shin's voice boomed over the phone, amused. "You know my place; I'm sure my daughter trusts you."
His brain short-circuited.
"I- uh…" He stammered, his voice cracking a little.
"Yes, Mr. Shin. Of course. If that's what you prefer."
"You'll be fine." Mr. Shin chirped. "Good luck!"
And with that, he promptly hung up.
The silence that descended upon his office was suddenly, jarringly deafening. Seungcheol lowered his phone slowly, blinking at the black screen as if it had just betrayed him.
"So?" Your voice chimed in again, a light touch on the doorway this time. "What did he say?"
Seungcheol let out a sigh, head tilting back for a moment towards the ceiling as a soft groan of defeat escaped his lips. He looked at you, one brow lifted.
"Pack up your things," He grumbled, already reaching for his jacket. "we're leaving. I'll drive you home."
A delighted hum filled the air as you scurried to keep pace, your bag swinging as he flicked off the office light. They stepped into the elevator, the air still and peaceful but his heart racing just a little bit faster, and it wasn't with the burden of responsibility but because he was beside you again, heading towards the kind of quiet that wasn't so uncomfortable anymore.
This day was rapidly going off script, and they hadn't even gotten into the car yet.
The ride was a quiet, almost suffocating affair. You sat beside him, hands resting delicately in your lap, bag at your feet. He sat in the driver's seat, and he couldn't stop fiddling with the rearview mirror, not because it needed fixing, but just so he didn't have to look at you.
This was… new. His soulmate sitting next to him in his car, in his personal space, which had previously always been an area designated solely for contemplation or solitude. Now? It felt almost as if you were too close for comfort, too warm.
He gripped the steering wheel a little tighter when you finally spoke, your voice soft and playful.
"You don't talk a lot when you drive, do you?" His knuckles turned white.
"I'm focused."
"On not getting us killed, or on avoiding looking at me?"
You teased, and his jaw tightened. Your voice… It was light, melodic, like music that effortlessly settled into the rhythm of the quiet car, wrapping around him with a delicate pressure.
He prayed that the light ahead wouldn't stay red for too long; he could practically feel himself melting into the seat. And then, you added it. "Just so you know, I didn't get a chance to ask… is it okay that I'm here? In the front?"
He felt his throat tighten.
"It's fine," He managed, his gaze glued to the road. "you're my passenger."
But you were so much more than just his passenger, you were his soulmate, and you looked at him as if you could read his very thoughts. He was holding it all together by a thread, his grip on the steering wheel never eased, his heart hammering against his ribs in a dangerous rhythm.
He had no idea what expression graced your face, not until you touched him. It was just a gentle brush of your fingertips across his knuckles, perhaps intended to reassure him. But the electric current that shot through his entire arm? The warmth that seeped into his skin, soothing the wild chaos within him? It was too much. His heart stuttered, and he almost crashed.
"-Shit!"
He swore under his breath as the car drifted slightly to the left. A loud honk blared in their direction. Seungcheol reacted instantly, wrenching the steering wheel to the right, crossing momentarily into an empty lane before easing the car onto the side of the road, coming to a halt with a tremor.
He let out a heavy breath he hadn't realised he'd been holding. His hands still on the steering wheel, eyes wide, jaw clenched, and adrenaline surging through his veins. Beside him, you were laughing full out, unapologetic laughter that shook your shoulders.
"Y-You almost…!" You giggled between bursts of laughter, "… crashed because I touched your hand? Seriously?"
He should have been embarrassed, or even angry. Instead, a slow smile spread across his lips as he leaned back into his seat, the tension seeping from his muscles.
"You're dangerous," He murmured, half-exasperated, half-amused. "way too dangerous."
You wiped a tear from the corner of your eye, your chest still heaving slightly.
"I'm sorry! I really didn't expect that."
He tutted, a small chuckle finally escaping him. "Don't touch me while I'm driving, or you might not just 'almost' crash next time."
You playfully put a hand over your heart. "Understood, sir. No touching the CEO."
With one last lingering look and a sigh that hid a small smile, he turned the engine back on. The rest of the drive was quiet once again, but this silence was different; it was filled with a quiet warmth.
The next day, Choi Seungcheol showed up at the office ten minutes earlier than usual. Hair perfectly in place, tie neatly knotted, suit immaculately pressed. He had a plan already drawn up in his head.
Today, he told himself, would be different. No distractions. He would remain calm, professional, detached, even. He was a CEO, after all. Not a gawky college student with a crush on the lab assistant.
And then, you walked in. Just as tranquil as ever, a soft aura woven into your every movement. A polite bow, a genuine smile that crinkled your eyes, and then your gaze met his across the hallway.
Your smile widened, and he blinked once.
Not today, he reminded himself, adjusting his cuffs. Stay focused, Choi Seungcheol.
You followed him into his office, as you usually did. Placing your notebook on the desk with an audible snap of paper. "Good morning, Mr. Choi."
Your voice was still the same soothing honey you'd used yesterday. He suppressed a sudden, unwarranted jump in his pulse and gave a tight nod. "Morning, let's go over the schedule."
He promptly turned his back, eager to avoid the potential for getting caught looking. But you weren't done yet. You tilted your head, a playful curiosity in your eyes. "You sleep okay after yesterday's near-death experience?"
He froze.
Teasing, again. His jaw tightened and he let out a soft snort.
"It wasn't 'near-death'."
"It was close enough." You chirped, a soft chuckle escaping your lips. "I thought you were about to start writing your will in that parking lane."
He slowly closed his laptop, his eyes meeting yours again. "Are we done?"
You grinned, a spark in your gaze. "Maybe."
He clicked his pen twice. The rhythm, a frantic attempt to maintain composure and push away the lingering echo of your laughter from the day before.
"Right," He mumbled, clearing his throat. "let's move onto today's shadowing."
You, however, had your own agenda. You stayed nearby, not touching, not overtly suggestive, just present. You asked astute questions, tilted your head when listening, your gaze fixed on him with a gentle admiration he couldn't ignore.
Your voice… still that syrupy sweetness. Your tone… still respectfully deferential, but never dull. He felt himself slowly sinking, and he knew with absolute certainty you were aware of it. You were actively doing it.
He tried to keep distance, telling you to observe from the corner during a department meeting. You did, and afterward, you thanked him, calling his approach "insightful and clean-cut.". He asked you to grab him coffee, hoping you'd take a break and leave.
You returned ten minutes later, holding a second cup—his favorite, inexplicably.
He stared at you, dumbfounded.
"How did you know that's what I drink?"
You tilted your head, a tiny smile playing on your lips. "You mentioned it once. I remembered."
He said nothing, simply took the cup, the warmth spreading through his hand doing little to mask the fire in his chest.
By lunchtime, he was cornered, mentally and emotionally. You peeked into his office again after a brief team session, hands clasped behind your back like a child with a secret.
"I've organized the budget review files. Would you like me to bring them now, Mr. Choi?"
He managed a nod.
"Yes, please."
You entered, but instead of dropping them on his desk, you approached, slow and deliberate, setting the stack beside him, leaning just a bit closer.
Then, you whispered, your voice like silk. "You're doing really great, you know."
He turned his head so quickly he nearly wrenched his neck. You stepped back instantly, that same sweet expression plastered on your face.
"Just thought someone should let you know."
He gaped at you, utterly caught off guard. You offered another bright smile.
"I'll head back to my desk now."
With that, you turned and walked away, as if you hadn't just sent his heart ricocheting off his ribs. He leaned back in his chair, dragging a hand over his face, mumbling under his breath.
"…I'm doomed."
Per Mr. Shin's previous request, Seungcheol knew that in order to properly mentor you, you would need to start attending some internal meetings—the important ones. This meeting definitely qualified.
As soon as the conference room doors closed, the air was thick with anticipation.
You sat next to him, with his secretary a seat over, while on the other side of the long glass table, the team from the opposing company were impeccably dressed, utterly clueless, and woefully out of touch. The presentation was… passable, at first. Clean numbers and stable projections, but the moment they reached the slide titled "Strategic Timeline for Implementation", things took a turn.
Seungcheol's eyes narrowed.
The speaker blathered on, droning about outdated strategies and collaborations with partners Seungcheol had long since identified as liabilities. Slowly, deliberately, Seungcheol raised a hand.
"Hold it."
The speaker faltered, mid-sentence. Seungcheol gestured towards the screen. "This part. You need to rethink this strategy. We've already seen volatility in those markets. Associating with them puts the entire project at risk."
The man at the other end of the table offered a strained smile. "We appreciate your concern, Mr. Choi, but altering the current timeline could potentially strain our relationship with the local representatives. It could send the wrong signal."
Seungcheol's expression hardened. "I said it needs to change."
The tension in the room tightened perceptibly. His voice remained steady, but the undercurrent was a clear, unmistakable threat. Even his secretary lowered her eyes. You watched him, the veins in his hand bulging, his knuckles turning white against the glass table. His posture was rigid, his jaw set as he fought back the fury building within him.
You hesitated. You'd never seen him this serious before, this cold, so unyieldingly… himself. But something inside you… stirred.
He's your boss, and yes, you're a little scared, but you couldn't let him get consumed by the storm he was desperately containing. So, gently, almost imperceptibly to anyone else, you reached beneath the table and touched his clenched knuckles. The tension in his hand evaporated instantly.
He didn't flinch, didn't even glance your way, but he felt it, a small, anchoring anchor in the chaos. His eyes returned to the presenter, his shoulders dropped ever so slightly, and then, calm, steady, dangerous, he spoke again.
"I said what are the cons of not changing. If you are unwilling to change," He began, his voice measured and chilling. "I can already predict your company's failure, and by extension, your company dragging mine down with it."
The room fell silent.
"Therefore," He continued, folding his hands neatly in front of him. "I suggest you revise it. Or I cease collaborating with you."
He leaned forward, his voice dropping a fraction. "This is not a negotiation, this is a statement."
A beat of utter silence. The opposing speaker swallowed hard, nodded almost imperceptibly. "Understood… We will revise it."
Seungcheol gave a single, satisfied nod.
"Good."
The remainder of the meeting was a breezy procession of acquiescence. Everyone seemed to have magically agreed to everything.
As it concluded, participants rose slowly, gathering their documents and attempting to feign normalcy. You remained seated, stealing a glance at him.
The moment the last guest left the office building and the massive oak doors to the meeting room slammed shut behind them, Seungcheol slumped in his chair, releasing a slow, deep exhale. Only then did his gaze shift to you, the only one remaining. It wasn't harsh or menacing, merely… aware.
"Thanks." He grunted, his voice barely a whisper.
You blinked. "For what?"
He paused, offering a small, dry smile before answering. "For stopping me from tipping that table over."
A soft chuckle escaped your lips. "Glad I could avert a lawsuit."
He laughed under his breath, running a hand through his tousled hair. "You're a sneaky one, you know that?"
You tilted your head, an innocent query playing on your features.
"Me? I just touched your hand."
"Exactly," he murmured, his eyes lingering on yours. "That's the problem."
The heavy oak doors to the meeting room sealing the tension that had permeated the air moments before into the confines of the room. Silence settled around the two of you, a welcome respite. Seungcheol still sat at the head of the table, the rigidity in his shoulders beginning to soften, the set of his jaw relaxing, but he remained seated, not yet ready to break the quiet.
He turned his gaze toward you, then it dropped to your hands. They lay folded gently in your lap, fingers loosely curled, relaxed. The same hands that had steadied him just minutes prior with a simple touch. His eyes held on to them for a beat too long, and you noticed.
A light giggle bubbled up from your chest, making his head snap back toward you with a startled expression, though the look on your face was purely fond. You scooted closer to his side, and without hesitation or question, reached out and gently cupped his hands in both of yours. Your palms were warm, your hold not weak but firm and secure, as if you were anchoring him.
At first, he stiffened, unaccustomed to being held in such a way. But when he looked up and met your eyes, something in him seemed to thaw, like a small, crack in a dam. You smiled, a sweet, reassuring curve of your lips, and spoke with a calmness he'd rarely heard.
"Hold onto mine if you want. I'm always here beside you."
The words weren't shouted; they weren't dramatic. But they hit him like a ton of bricks. He felt a catch in his throat, a hesitation in his usually decisive fingers before they slowly, tentatively, curled around yours. The tight pressure in his chest eased, the jagged edges of his thoughts softened, replaced by the quiet warmth that seeped into his bloodstream, driving out the residual frustration and anger.
It felt dangerous, it felt addictive, but most of all, it felt right. He couldn't speak, his gaze locked on yours, mesmerized. You simply smiled back, as if time had stretched out before you, allowing you to patiently wait for him to catch his breath.
And eventually, he did.
"... You're trouble." He whispered, his lips barely moving. You laughed again, a soft, musical sound.
"You've told me that before."
He shook his head slowly. "Even more so now."
Still, he didn't let go.
The day had finally drawn to a close. One by one, the office lights blinked off, and employees filed out of the building, their voices dwindling as they departed.
Seungcheol grabbed his jacket and briefcase from his desk, preparing to head out, when his secretary intercepted him near the elevator.
"Mr. Choi," She announced with a small nod towards you, who stood near the main entrance, patiently waiting. "Ms. Y/N doesn't have a ride."
He blinked once, then again. His eyes flicked to you. You were engrossed in your phone, a soft, melodic hum accompanying your scrolling.
Just like yesterday… Suspicious.
Just then, you looked up, meeting his gaze with a cheerful smile. His suspicions immediately melted away into an exasperated sigh.
"... She's doing this on purpose." He muttered, loud enough for you to hear. Nonetheless, he gestured toward his car. "Let's go."
You fell in step beside him, your enthusiasm radiating even in the evening twilight. Once inside the car, you didn't miss a beat, making a beeline for the passenger seat and settling in as if it were your designated spot. Seungcheol got into the driver's seat and started the engine, pulling out onto the street.
The silence within the car returned, peaceful yet buzzing with a subtle energy. His focus was on the road, though he couldn't deny the distraction that was you.
Then your voice, soft and tinged with mischief, broke the quiet. "Do you want to get late supper?"
The car didn't swerve, but his grip on the steering wheel tightened. He glanced at you, his expression a mix of confusion and mild annoyance.
Late supper? That was not part of his rigidly structured itinerary. His day consisted of: work, shower, meticulously towel-dry his hair for exactly two minutes, collapse onto his bed, wake up, repeat. Spontaneous activities were not on the menu. And yet, here you were, blinking at him with an innocent expression.
At the next red light, he turned his head fully to face you.
"Late supper?" He repeated, as if the words themselves were foreign.
You nodded. "I know a few places still open that cater to people like me."
People like you? What did that even mean? Was he to assume you were a nocturnal wanderer, flitting from one food stall to another without a care in the world? The thought of such chaos, such a deviation from his meticulously planned existence, was alarming. But… tantalizingly so.
While his logical brain screamed about disruption, his heart was already halfway there. He stared at you, his gaze steady, and you stared back, your innocent demeanor either a stroke of genius or complete oblivion. He let out a long, defeated sigh, closing his eyes for a moment.
"Key in the address."
You beamed, happily typing the location into his GPS.
As he drove through the green light, a grimace of surrender on his face, he caught a flash of amusement in your eyes. And for the first time, the idea of change didn't feel entirely unwelcome. The city lights shimmered against the dark sky like fallen stars, and neon signs glowed in the distance, illuminating narrow streets and bustling night markets.
The GPS guided Seungcheol through a maze of twists and turns before bringing him to a halt beside a small collection of food stalls nestled between two buildings. The air hummed with the irresistible aromas of grilled meats, crispy batter, and fragrant broth. It was a stark contrast to the opulent dining establishments CEO Choi Seungcheol frequented, but he was here nonetheless.
You hopped out of the car with a bright grin, the sound of your shoes tapping against the pavement a soft punctuation to the urban symphony. You turned back to face him as he slowly closed the car door, taking in the unfamiliar surroundings with a curious gaze.
"First time?" You asked, your eyes sparkling under the streetlights.
"Yeah…" He admitted, smoothing the front of his jacket. "very first."
You giggled, pulling your arms around yourself. "Same, but I felt like exploring, and I figured... Food like this would probably taste better if you didn't have to worry about keeping your elbows off the table."
He raised an eyebrow, a hint of skepticism in his voice. "That's what everyone says before they get food poisoning."
You shoot him a mock glare. "You're such a corporate man."
"And you're reckless." He muttered, but followed you.
You led him toward a stall that served piping-hot tteokbokki, skewers shimmering alongside it. The ahjumma tending to the stall beamed at you, patting a nearby stool. The two of you sank onto its wobbly plastic legs, under a dangling light bulb and before a scarred wooden table. And yet, for some reason, it was unexpectedly…peaceful to Seungcheol.
You pushed a pair of chopsticks into his hand and smiled.
"Let's try to act like we just left a board meeting."
Seungcheol's gaze fell upon the bubbling bowl. There was no plated silver, no stemware; just steaming, red, spicy broth against the crisp night air. It was…warm, yet messy. He skewered a rice cake, gave it a brief, cooling blow and took a bite. His eyebrows arched subtly.
"…It's not bad."
You chuckled.
"Not bad? That's it? That's your formal critique?"
He nodded, his eyes already zeroed in on the next potential morsel.
"Spicy. A hint of sweet. Tender texture. Well-balanced."
You groaned theatrically. "God, you're reviewing this like you're Anthony Bourdain."
"I am a CEO. What else do you expect?"
Your laugh again lightened the tension in the night air. As you ate, the conversation gradually loosened up. You discussed small details: preferences in street food, unlikely bucket-list goals, silly anecdotes from high school.
Seungcheol found himself leaning in, laughing under his breath at your antics, even neglecting the persistent hum of his phone. He was so lost in conversation that he hadn't even noticed how relaxed he'd become. Tie slightly askew, sleeves pushed up, a fish cake skewer precariously balanced in his chopsticks. You offered him a tissue when he paused to dab at the corner of his mouth, cheeks slightly flushed from the spicy heat.
"Next time," you said between mouthfuls, "we could go for grilled skewers by the river. Apparently, they're open till 3AM."
His eyes snapped to yours.
Next time?
A knot of panic twisted in his chest. This was quickly becoming a pattern. But the other knot, the one warming in the center of his sternum, fluttered in response. It didn't mind.
By the time the last skewer had been demolished and the table was wiped clean, you were both back on your feet. As you fumbled in your bag for your wallet, already pulling out a handful of bills, Seungcheol's hand gently intercepted yours, pushing it aside with a decisive.
Before you could process his intent, he was paying the ahjumma with crisp cash, his fingers counting out the change with professional efficiency.
He gave her a brief nod, not looking at you as you stared in wide-eyed disbelief. Neither of you spoke as you climbed back into the car, the interior smelling comfortingly of leather, cedar, and coffee. As the engine rumbled to life, you turned your head, a spark of curiosity in your eyes.
"How did you have cash money in your pocket?"
He glanced at you, his free hand adjusting the air conditioning with a languid motion, and a slow, languid smile spread across his lips. "I'm not always a card guy, okay?"
You scoffed good-naturedly. "Right. A card and cash guy who doesn't know how to relax."
His laugh vibrated through you then, a low, rumbling sound that did unsettling things to your insides. It didn't stop there, though. He opened his mouth to say something else and noticed then, your seatbelt unbuckled. His gaze dropped from your eyes to the strap and back to you.
"Seatbelt." He murmured, his voice a mere whisper, but instead of waiting for you to secure it, he leaned across you, and you froze.
The air between you thinned to nothing. One of his arms brushed past your shoulder, his fingers expertly clicking the buckle into place. His cologne, expensive and warm, filled your senses, obscuring even your own breath. He wasn't aware of your sudden stillness. He didn't register the involuntary hitch in your inhale or the fluttering of your eyelashes like frantic butterflies trying to regain composure. It was merely a practical action.
To you? It was entirely too close, entirely too sudden.
He retracted his arm, leaned back in the driver's seat, and offered you a placid smile as his hands found the steering wheel.
"Ready to head back?" He asked, as if your heart hadn't just tried to escape your chest and take flight.
You met his gaze for a moment longer, lips parted, an incoherent jumble of "thank you" and "ahhhhh" caught somewhere between your tongue and the roof of your mouth. Finally, a shaky nod.
"Yeah…" You managed, your voice a quiet squeak. "Ready."
Sunlight streamed softly through the thin curtains in Seungcheol's penthouse, falling warm and gentle upon his impeccably organized walk-in closet. Racks of crisp white shirts, sharp tailored blazers, perfectly pressed trousers, and a tasteful collection of designer watches stood arranged on walls like a curated exhibit. He was currently standing before the full-length mirror in his room, dressed in a clean white button-down shirt, the charcoal grey blazer carelessly tossed over his arm.
His hair was still damp and slightly tousled from the shower, falling softly across his forehead.
And still, a frown etched itself across his face. Something was...off. On instinct, his hands reached for the blazer, pulling it off and replacing it with a navy counterpart. He buttoned the cuffs meticulously and stared at his reflection, tilting his head this way and that.
No, too stiff.
He tried again. Swapped the navy for a muted sand-coloured jacket, loosened his collar a fraction, and peered at himself.
Too soft.
A sigh escaped his lips.
"This is ridiculous." He muttered, running a hand through his already styled hair.
Today, there was no press conference, no grand company gala, no delegation from an international board flying in to address the executives. Just a normal day at the office.
But then again... You would be there. And that alone was enough to make his entire well-stocked wardrobe suddenly feel inadequate. He couldn't even pinpoint when this habit started, this growing compulsion to present himself a little bit better each morning, beginning today.
All he knew was that your eyes, always bright and alert, lingered for just a moment too long whenever you looked his way. And the way you smiled, a subtle, warm upturn of your lips as if he was someone deserving of such an expression... He wanted to live up to that.
He'd considered at least three different watches before settling on a Piaget Polo Date. He'd switched out his typically understated, slim-framed glasses for a bolder, more commanding pair. He'd applied a light spritz of Creed brand cologne. Then, he took a step back, giving his entire appearance a once-over.
The blazer was impeccably tailored, the tie just slightly unbuttoned for a touch of casual elegance, the hair perfectly artfully messy, and a hint of self-assured smirk present on his lips, just enough to not appear over the top. Still, he let out a low chuckle and shook his head.
Taking one final, critical look in the mirror and drawing a small breath to quell the flutter in his chest, he grabbed his keys and headed out.
The building's automatic doors glided open with a soft sigh of air as Seungcheol stepped into the lobby. Polished marble floors reflected the low morning light filtering through the floor-to-ceiling windows.
Staff members were gradually filtering in, exchanging pleasantries, and preparing for the day ahead.
And then, his eyes landed on you. You were standing near the entrance, engaged in a light conversation with the receptionist, a gentle smile playing on your lips that seemed to suspend time. You were simple yet radiant. Your hair neatly tied back, and your blouse tucked into a modest skirt. And to Seungcheol, you were utterly captivating.
Perhaps it was the angle of the light hitting your face, or the soft cadence of your voice, or maybe, it was just the magic of you being you. Regardless, as soon as your gaze lifted and met his, he was utterly captivated. You turned to him fully, a brief spark of surprise in your eyes that quickly melted into a warm curiosity as your eyes slowly scanned from his face down to his attire.
You blinked once, then twice, and then your lips curved upward in an knowing smile.
"Oh?" You questioned, raising an eyebrow slightly as you crossed your arms over your chest. "New look today, Mr.Choi?"
He tried his best to appear nonchalant, casually adjusting the strap of his watch as if it were an afterthought, as if he hadn't spent a good twenty minutes staring into his closet.
"Just picked out whatever was clean." He stated evenly.
A soft giggle escaped your lips as you took a step closer, your eyes never leaving him. "Well, whatever was clean looks really, really good today."
Seungcheol felt a momentary freeze, not outward, but deep within, a subtle hitch in his breath. You looked back up at his face, tilting your head again, clearly amused by the faint pink creeping up the sides of his ears.
"Are you blushing?"
"I'm not." He said, his voice as flat as he could make it.
"You are."
"Y/N…" He warned, his tone light but the corners of his mouth giving away the smile threatening to break free. You moved to stand beside him as he walked toward the elevator, your stride falling into step with his.
"You know," You said, your gaze drifting to him with a sidelong glance, "if getting dressed up makes you this charming in the morning, I might have to request it more often."
He let out a soft scoff.
"Don't get too used to it."
"But you did it for me, didn't you?" You teased, your voice a low, melodic murmur.
The elevator doors chimed open, and Seungcheol entered, not responding, you following close behind. The space inside suddenly felt smaller than it had before. He stood next to you, hands in his pockets, facing the doors, but you could feel his presence radiating.
You looked up at him with a soft smile. You already knew the answer, and when his reflection caught you in the elevator door, still watching him with quiet affection, you saw it: a small, hesitant smile bloom on his face.
The morning had been... Quiet, or as quiet as things could be when your mentor happened to be your CEO and, oh yeah, your soulmate. You were at your desk outside of Seungcheol's spacious office, dutifully highlighting the important parts of case studies he had assigned earlier, when your phone buzzed softly on the table next to your notebook.
A text message from your mother.
Mom: Your father and I were wondering if Seungcheol is free for lunch today. Just something casual, we'd love to see the two of you together. I've already made a reservation just in case.
You blinked in surprise.
Of course your mother wouldn't wait for your confirmation before booking something. After reading it again, and then again, you stood up, knocked lightly on Seungcheol's office door before pushing it open. He was standing by the floor-to-ceiling windows, his blazer resting on the back of his chair, sleeves rolled up, engrossed in a document. He glanced over his shoulder at your knock.
"Yes?"
You entered, holding out your phone for him to see. "My parents texted. They want to have lunch with you today, and they've already booked something."
He turned to face you, his eyebrows rising slightly in surprise.
"Today?"
You nodded and showed him the text message.
On the surface, he didn't show much of an reaction, but you knew he wasn't the type to take sudden, unexpected plans in stride. His expression remained composed, however, with only a flicker of hesitation before he walked back to his desk and pressed a button on his intercom.
"Cancel the team check-in scheduled for 1PM." He said in a clear, even tone. "And add a lunch appointment under the name Shin family."
"Understood." His secretary responded instantly.
He turned back to you, his gaze unreadable but his tone still level.
"They picked a location, I assume?"
You nodded. "They did, I'll send you the address."
He gave a slow blink, then looked down at the stack of documents on his desk, adjusting his mental calendar on the fly. You offered a faint smile, and he let out a quiet sigh, running a hand up the back of his neck.
"Are you nervous?" He asks softly, eyes softening as they linger on you for a moment.
You pause. "...Maybe a little."
"Why?"
"Because you're… you." You tell him truthfully. "And I know how much they respect you, just as you respect them."
He holds your gaze for another beat before his lips curve, just a little.
"You make it sound like I'm meeting them for the first time." He then clears his throat, and gestures towards his watch. "I'll pick you up from your desk at twelve-thirty."
You nod, and turn to leave, but not before throwing a cheeky smile over your shoulder. "You better dress handsomely again, Mr. Choi."
The only answer you receive is the click of a pen behind you, and a soft, amused exhale.
The restaurant is a hushed, elegantly appointed space; a sanctuary where the tinkle of cutlery is softened by velvet walls and the gentle strains of classical music. The hostess ushers you and Seungcheol to a private room, where your parents are already seated. Your mother is immaculate in pearls, and your father is the picture of refined dignity in a sharp navy suit.
"Seungcheol," Your father addresses him first, standing to offer a hand. Seungcheol gives a slight bow, respectful yet professional. "It's a pleasure to see you again, Mr Shin."
"Likewise. Please, sit."
You slip into the chair beside Seungcheol, across from your parents, your hands clasped demurely in your lap. The initial conversation is exactly as expected. Your father queries him about company expansion, potential partnerships, your training progression under his guidance.
You listen, enthralled, sneaking glances at your mentor as he answers each question with practiced calm and articulate precision.
Everything is proceeding perfectly. And then the food arrives, and with it, the direct hit.
"So," Your mother says casually, picking up her soup spoon. "How is my daughter in your company?"
Seungcheol dabs his lips with a napkin before replying. "She's attentive, observant, and quick to adapt. Not many would have the initiative she's shown in just a few days."
A warmth blooms in your chest at the compliment, and you sit up straighter. But your mother is far from finished.
"And how is she…" She muses, stirring her soup slowly, "…as your soulmate?"
The spoon Seungcheol had been lifting to his lips halts abruptly halfway to his mouth. Then, he chokes, a full, honking choke.
You nearly drop your own spoon, snatching Seungcheol's glass of water and thrusting it towards him with both hands. He takes it immediately, eyes watering, and begins gulping, fast, one, two.
"M-Mom!" You yelp, cheeks burning. "Seriously?!"
Across the table, your mother wears the picture of angelic innocence. "What? I'm just curious."
Your father slowly turns to her, eyebrows raised. "Soulmates?"
Your mother nods, taking a leisurely sip of her tea. "I saw it at the masquerade party. They were staring at each other far too long. I had a feeling something had transpired. So I made a few… connections."
You and Seungcheol freeze. Your mother's gaze flicks between the two of you. Seungcheol, still attempting to swallow his panic and catch his breath, and you, patting his back and staring at your mother as though she has just betrayed a state secret.
She tilts her head. "Am I wrong?"
Silence. You open your mouth, then close it again. You're too stunned to formulate a response. Beside you, Seungcheol lowers the glass with a soft clink, setting it slowly back onto the table, his eyes fixed resolutely on the tablecloth.
He doesn't look up. His fingers clench tightly in his lap. The sheer weight of the unspoken in the room is crushing. He can imagine your father's thoughts. Ten years her senior, the respected work partner… now somehow intrinsically linked to their daughter by destiny.
He's terrified of the judgment, the inevitable shift.
You see it in the tightening of his shoulders, in the unyielding stare directed at the linen. For one agonizingly long moment, the air remains suspended. Then, your father sets down his spoon with a quiet click and leans back in his chair.
"Choi Seungcheol," He states.
Seungcheol snaps to attention, his gaze still downcast. "Yes, sir."
Your father's voice is impossible to read. "Why didn't you say anything?"
Seungcheol hesitates. "Because I… I didn't want to complicate anything. With your daughter… or with you."
Your mother glances from one man to the other, her eyes narrowing slightly. You bite down on your bottom lip, and your father falls silent once more. Then, after a beat that stretches on forever, he speaks.
"You're an honorable man, Seungcheol."
Both you and Seungcheol flinch. Your father continues, his gaze fixed on Seungcheol's averted face. "I knew that from the moment you walked into my office. And that hasn't changed. But now…"
He meets Seungcheol's eyes, his tone deepening.
"That honor means something more. It means you'll protect her."
Seungcheol's head snaps up, his eyes wide with shock.
Your father gives a curt nod. "You didn't choose this, she didn't choose this. But if fate has tied you together, then all I ask is that you treat her with the respect she deserves. Not as your subordinate, not as your intern, but as your equal."
Your jaw drops, and beside you, you hear the shaky release of a breath that had been held for what felt like an eternity.
"I… I will," Seungcheol whispers, his voice hoarse but clear. "I promise you, sir. I will protect her."
Your father nods again, and picks up his soup, as though the weight of the universe hasn't just shifted. Your mother watches, a knowing smirk playing on her lips behind her teacup.
"Well," She chirps brightly. "now that that's out of the way, let's enjoy lunch properly."
The soft click of the car doors echoes in the still air, muted by the hushed enclosure surrounding you and Seungcheol. The engine remains off, unengaged. Seungcheol sits in the driver's seat, hands relaxed on the wheel, gaze fixed unseeingly on the windshield. He's not seeing the road; he's replaying the conversation, the unexpected blessing, the weight of his promise, the gentle assurance in your mother's smile.
He'd braced himself for disapproval, for the polite yet firm refusal. For a million reasons to back down. But what he received… was freedom. The freedom to love you, openly, unabashedly.
Treat her as your equal, his father had said. And god, he would. He'd treat you like precious, fragile royalty. He'd plan dates with meticulous detail, spoil you with a relentless, shamelessly joyful abandon. He'd buy you that charm bracelet you'd admired days ago, and for every anniversary you shared, he'd add a new charm, each one representing a cherished memory.
The pressure he'd been carrying, the careful restraint he'd been forced to maintain, melted away like snow under a spring sun. In its place bloomed something even more profound, and exhilarating: joy. He swallowed hard, feeling the words settle in his chest, carving out space just for you.
Without starting the engine, without breaking the potent silence, he turned his head and found you already watching him lovingly, softly.
Your gaze, as if it could trace the turmoil of emotions playing out in his chest.
You managed a soft, gentle twist of the corner of your mouth. "Hi~"
That one syllable, that one word was enough to make his head reel.
He laughs genuinely, not a strained CEO-laugh-in-a-meeting. A light, easy, breezy, free laugh. His teeth show, his eyes are crinkled, and you join him with a light chuckle as you get swept up in his elation. The laughter then dies into something deeper and quieter, something that sets the air between the two of you crackling with electricity.
His eyes slide down to your lips then to yours.
"May I do something," He asks slowly, voice husky, a little breathy, "that is standard for thirty-year-old me... But may be incredibly embarrassing for you?"
You blink once, your head tilts like a curiosity filled feline, but you nod. And Seungcheol leans in. One hand rises, his fingertips grazing through your hair to support the back of your head. It's a sure and steady hold, as if he has held back for too long. And Seungcheol kisses you, soft and warm and with his eyes closed, no hurried pressure. Just him finally letting all he has been containing for the past several days flood into this one silent kiss.
You instinctively press into him, your lips mirroring his, soft and slow and with intention. And with that kiss, Seungcheol thinks so this is how peace taste, so this is how fate feel.
Pulling back slowly, foreheads brushing, your breath mingles with his. You open your eyes with slow blinking, flushed cheeks, lips parted slightly. "I've been wanting to do that since the masquerade."
Conversation buzzed like static in the sprawling, sun-drenched private room at the city's most sought-after restaurant. The walls seemed to absorb laughter, wine glasses tinkled, and the scent of anticipated food was already wafting through the air, even some hadn't arrived yet.
The door gave a creak, and there he was, Seungcheol, impeccably dressed in a sharp black shirt, sleeves rolled up just enough to tease a glimpse of his watch and prominent veins.
Following him, you slipped into the room, a quiet entrance made all but obvious by the way your fingers were so subtly entwined with his. Heads turned, conversations halted, then-
"Woooooahhhh- what do we have here?!"
"Wait, is that her?!"
"Cheol brought someone?! Willingly?!"
A cacophony of delighted chaos washed over the room as Seungcheol's friends—his brothers, the ones he'd only ever introduced as that—descended on you with eager eyes and boisterous voices.
Mingyu's congratulatory clap on Seungcheol's back nearly sent him stumbling. Soonyoung bounced on the balls of his feet like a kid on Christmas. Seokmin's wide, welcoming grin seemed to outshine the sunlight itself.
They were a whirlwind, a riot, but somehow, they were also so warm.
Before you could even utter a breath, Jeonghan's arm had slung comfortably around your shoulders, as if you'd always belonged there.
"So you're the one who melted our stone-faced CEO, huh?" He said, a mischievous twinkle in his eyes. "God, we've been hearing about you without ever actually knowing your name. It's an honor, truly."
Seungcheol let out a soft, amused chuckle and rolled his eyes. The playful pandemonium continued as everyone eventually settled around the table. Even once the appetizers were cleared and the lively conversation had simmered down into punctuated giggles and wine sips, Jeonghan leaning forward with that familiar glint in his eye.
"You know what's crazy?" He said, gesturing languidly at Seungcheol. "This guy's been dating her for two years and still didn't bag her. Me? I dated my soulmate for three months. Three. Months. I couldn't wait. Already a father, remember those days?"
He proudly tapped the ring on his finger. Laughter rippled around the table; some shook their heads, others rolled their eyes at Jeonghan's flair, and even Seungcheol grinned wide. But he didn't say anything, not yet.
The best part was still to come. As the main courses were finished and desserts began making their appearance, with wine glasses half-empty and minds beginning to blur slightly, Seungcheol slowly rose from his seat, lifting his glass.
"I have two pieces of news." He announced, his voice steady, his smile gentle.
Silence fell over the table, eyes shifting to him. He met your gaze for a brief moment, then turned to the assembled faces.
"First, Y/N will be officially stepping in as CEO of her father's company beginning this year."
The room erupted into a frenzy of cheers, whistles, and applause.
"Yah! That's huge!"
"A power couple, oh my god."
"Don't forget us little people when you both own half the country!"
You ducked your head, cheeks flushing warmly, mouthing a quiet thank you as Seungcheol placed a reassuring hand on your back.
"And the second piece of news…" He continued, a deliberate pause hanging in the air. "…is that she said yes."
A moment of utter bewilderment flickered across everyone's faces. Then, the dam broke.
"Wait- wait- WAIT- WHAT?!"
"SAID YES TO WHAT?!"
"Oh my GOD!"
"You're LYING!"
The table exploded in a riot of stunned disbelief.
Mingyu jumped to his feet so quickly his chair wobbled precariously. Soonyoung's fork clattered to the floor. Jeonghan's jaw slackened in a look straight out of a melodrama.
Seungcheol merely smirked, then reached into his pocket, pulling out a small, velvet box. He didn't even bother to open it. The instant it appeared, the collective screaming escalated to new heights. You tentatively held up your hand, heart pounding, the sparkle of the ring on your finger catching the light, accompanied by a soft, beaming smile.
"I'm his fiance." You whispered, shy but utterly firm.
"No. Freaking. Way."
"Since WHEN?!"
"DID YOU DO IT AT WORK?! Was it a boardroom proposal?! TELL ME EVERYTHING!"
The chaos reignited, voices overlapping, hands reaching for the glittering proof, while Seungcheol casually reclaimed his seat beside you, taking a slow sip of his drink as if he hadn't just shattered the reality of every single person at that table. Then, cutting through the din of the celebratory mayhem, he leaned close, his voice a low rumble only you could hear: "You're mine now. Officially."
A flutter bloomed in your chest.
In this room filled with friends and roaring laughter and pure, unadulterated disbelief, you'd never felt more certain. About him, about yourself, about forever.
EN-Komect Heights 🌼 SVT-Raitere Lofts 🌼 Otherworld Plaza 🌼 Verdant Springs 🌼 Pinned Post 🌼 taglist :
Summary : The prince of the East Kingdom had to die very pitifully but it was an unresolved controversial fact so far to everyone. No one knew who the prince married to nor the reason for his death so it also got her interests on him. Until one day, she travelled to the past of 300 years ago and she seemed to have found the way to know who the prince married and why did he died.
💮 troop: strangers to lovers
💮 fantasy: time travel, falling off the cliff, sword fighting
non-idol, romance, historical, angst & fantasy au 🌼 the8 x reader 🌼 16+ SFW 🌼 14,730 words
🌸originally posted: 18/05/2025
EN-Komect Heights 🌼 SVT-Raitere Lofts 🌼 Otherworld Plaza 🌼 Verdant Springs 🌼 Pinned Post 🌼 taglist
The pen in your hand danced precariously over the very same line for what felt like the one millionth time. A long, deep sigh and you let the pen drop on your bed, collapsing back onto the surface of it. Your ancient history textbook remained open on your lap, the sentences you'd practically committed to memory laughing at you.
Ancient Civilizations II, huh?
It sounded really cool in theory, until you actually had to actually take this test. You glanced up at the clock. Two hours in and you're ready for a nap, your mind practically toast already. You lean forward, flip flip flipping pages more out of frustration than anything; The Mesopotamians passed, the western empires rise and fall... Something caught your eye in the corner of a page.
《Chapter 14: The Fall of the East Kingdom.》
You blinked. That was not one of the chapters your teacher had covered yet. You were pretty sure she said they'd skip it since it wasn't going to be in the midterms.
Still, the title tugged at your curiosity.
You paused, then flipped the page and began to skim. "Little is known about the final years of the East Kingdom. It is said that the last crowned prince died under tragic and mysterious circumstances. Historical records do not agree on who he married, or if he married at all.
His disappearance marked the beginning of the kingdom's collapse."
You frowned. The text was too vague. There were no names, no dates, just a string of conflicting accounts and rumors.
"Some documents claim the prince fell in love with a commoner, while others suggest he was cursed. No account has ever been proven. The truth behind his death remains unsolved to this day."
Goosebumps prickled your skin.
You turned the page, expecting more details, but it was blank. Frustrated, you ran your fingers over the edges of the paper, but something odd happened. A tingling sensation spread through your fingertips, like the faint hum of static electricity. Your fingers lingered over the page titled "The Fall of the East Kingdom."
The paper felt different, coarser than the others, like aged parchment tucked into a modern textbook.
You ran your thumb along the edge. It was warm, warmer than it should've been.
You blinked. The warmth deepened, then pulsed. Once, then again.
You froze.
Was it just an imagination?
A trick of exhaustion?
But as your palm flattened against the page, the warmth traveled up your arm like liquid fire, gentle but persistent.
The hairs on your neck stood on end.
"Little is known about the prince's final days," you whispered aloud, reading the line again. "His death remains one of the kingdom's most enduring mysteries."
The text shimmered just for a second, ike heat rising from asphalt on a summer day. You pulled your hand back, startled, but the pulsing didn't stop.
Suddenly, the air in your room thickened, heavy and dense. The buzzing in your ears grew louder, no longer a quiet hum but a deep vibration. Your lamp flickered. The textbook pages fluttered wildly, though there was no wind. The center of the page glowed faintly gold. And before you could move, the ground beneath you lurched.
As if the room had tilted, gravity twisting sideways. You gasped, reaching out to steady yourself, but your hand passed through the textbook like mist. A rush of wind roared in your ears. Your vision blurred, the colors of your surroundings bleeding together. The walls twisted and warped into streaks of light.
A tunnel-dark, spinning, endless-opened around you. You were falling, but not down. You were being pulled. Memories flashed behind your eyes—your room, your study desk, the clock—gone. Just wind that now echoing like a forgotten chant, and darkness.
Your body thumped softly against the ground.
You open your eyes to find yourself staring at a sky you didn't recognize. It was impossible in its clarity; orange and gold swirled above you in soft, painted strokes of cloud. The air felt strange, it tasted of soil and nature, unburdened by pollution or time.
You push yourself up to sitting. Before you, impossibly tall trees, gnarled and ancient, were adorned in what looked like swaths of cloth embroidered with unintelligible symbols. In the distance, you heard the peal of bellsthat sounds like the sweet resonance of a distant palace gong.
You look down at yourself and gasp.
Where are your pajamas?
You wear a silken hanfu, effortlessly elegant, in varying shades of lavender, fading to ivory at the hem, intricately embroidered and flowy. The soft fabric is new against your skin.
"A hanfu…"
No, no, no, no. This can't be right, it has to be a dream. But the grass scratching your skin? The breeze cooling your cheek? The bird calls you've never heard before? They were all too real.
You lift your sleeve and trail your fingers along the sewn-in patterns. So, this means… you actually traveled back in time? To the East Kingdom, or something?
Your head swam. This was insane.
Then, a more pressing thought arose.
If you're here… then who are you?
A peasant?
A noble?
A princess?
You examine the embroidered sleeve, searching for clues to your social status, but nothing. You know zero about ancient clothing hierarchy; you could be dressed like anything from a beggar to royalty and wouldn't know the difference.
For now, you brush it off, decide it can wait.
Priorities first: find out where and when you are… and how to lay low.
You pull yourself to standing, dusting off stray blades of grass and tiny specks of dirt clinging to the bottom of your hanfu. As you do, a tiny bell tied to your sash chimes a soft, delicate sound.
You glance around, searching desperately for any sign of civilization, but it's just an endless sea of grass waving like liquid green, bordered by ancient trees, silent and vigilant.
Just… a field? So where in the world did you land? You rotate in a slow circle, shielding your eyes. Sighing, you take a tentative step forward.
There's no path, nothing to guide you. Every rustle of grass, every brush of your soft silken hanfu against your legs is amplified in the eerie silence, punctuated only by the tiny jingle of your sash bell.
The sun, impossibly high and bright, doesn't move, frozen in place. And still, the grass stretches, unbroken.
Did you land too far from the capital? Maybe the East Kingdom wasn't quite as populated as they described in the books. You remain silent, terrified that even a spoken word might alert whoever… or whatever… was out here to your presence.
Suddenly, you're jolted by the distinct sound of hoofbeats, rapid and purposeful, approaching your position. Without thinking, your instincts kick in. You drop flat to the ground, heart pounding, and burrow yourself into the tall grass, which rustles around you, cool against your skin, concealing you perfectly.
You barely dare to breathe. Through a parted section of green, you catch a fleeting glimpse of movement: a rider on horseback, charging across the field, his mount strong and controlled. The rider is adorned in crimson, his dark hair tied back with a ribbon that dances in his wake. His eyes are narrowed in concentration, as though searching.
It doesn't look like he sees you. The horse slows to a trot, then a walk… and stops.
You dig your fingers into the grass, utterly still.
The man dismounts with silent grace. The thud of his boots on the ground vibrates through you, sending a shiver up your spine. He stands there for a moment, observing, listening. His hand rests casually on the pommel of an ornate, gleaming sword.
You remain frozen, your breaths shallow.
The wind picks up again, rustling the grass around you. You silently pray the little bell on your sash doesn't betray you.
He takes a step forward, then another closer. The hem of his crimson robe is almost brushing the ground.
"You're not very good at hiding if you're hiding from something, or someone," his calm, deep voice says, startling you.
You flinch as his sharp, dark, unblinking eyes find yours through the grass.
"Also," he says, a slight tilt to his head, "who are you?"
You scrambe to your feet, brushing grass off your hanfu, your face flushed with mortification.
"I wasn't… I mean, how did you find me?" you manage, your voice shaking slightly. You avert your gaze, focusing intently on the swaying grass.
He stands slowly, brushing a few stray specks of grass off his robe. "Your hanfu is quite bright. Hard to miss in a field of green."
You glance down at yourself.
Right… your lavender hanfu really stands out.
He takes a slow step toward you, his gaze sharpening. "So, I ask again… who are you?"
You opened your mouth, then you closed it.
Who are you?
The question screamed in your mind louder than it had any right to.
You have no idea.
Were you a peasant in this land?
A noble?
A stranger from a foreign country?
You didn't even have a name here, no identity. You didn't have any evidence to prove who you were, not even a rough idea of when you'd landed in this timeline.
"I…" you hesitated. "I don't know."
The brows of the young man sitting on the horse arched slightly in response.
"That's not a very convincing response," he said, his voice completely unreadable.
"It's the only truthful response," you replied, meeting his gaze.
After a long, almost suffocating moment, he let out a quiet breath, as if chuckling inwardly. "Alright, alright. You don't know who you are. This only makes you more suspicious."
You took a step backward.
He didn't raise any weapon, yet his mere presence radiated an intimidating sense of confidence. "And yet, you don't look particularly threatening. You just… seem strange."
Strange… yes, that felt about right. Here you stood in the past, wearing clothing you didn't recognize, with no knowledge of how to navigate this time and questioned by a potential royal, or the equivalent, that you'd only ever read about in history books.
He studied you for another moment, his eyes assessing, probing, as if he were carefully piecing together an unknown puzzle.
Suddenly, he turned away from you.
"Come with me."
"What?" You asked, bewildered.
He didn't look back at you as he began to walk toward his horse, the tall grass parting before his steps.
"I said come. Unless you'd rather be eaten by the wolves that come down from the forests at nightfall."
Wolves?
You glanced nervously at the vast expanse around you, the previously peaceful meadow suddenly feeling vulnerable.
"But… who are you?"
you called after him.
He paused beside his horse, then glanced over his shoulder. His face was expressionless, but his eyes held a fleeting hint of something unreadable. "And yet I found you here lying in the grass like some forlorn spirit. Had I intended you harm, I wouldn't be engaging in conversation."
You couldn't really argue with that. Hesitantly, you moved forward, carefully holding the hem of your hanfu to prevent it from catching on the blades of grass.
The wind blew again, this time feeling a little cooler on your face. When you reached him, he didn't offer assistance; he placed his foot in the stirrup and mounted with fluid grace. Then he looked down at you.
"Get on."
You faltered, gazing up at him uncertainly. He let out an audible sigh.
"If you fall behind, I'm not stopping."
He extended his hand to you. Your eyes locked with his for a split second. There was an unspoken communication, a certainty that this was not a man inclined to repetition or delays. You placed your hand in his. His grip was strong, steady, and with an effortless strength that surprised you, he pulled you onto the horse behind him. You let out a gasp, instinctively grabbing onto the back of his robes for support.
"Hold on," he muttered, nudging his horse forward with a subtle shift of his heel. The world blurred as you sped across the meadow, wind rushing past.
You didn't know where he was taking you, or who he was, but a sense of impending change settled deep in your chest. The journey was short, but with your hands clutched tightly behind you, trying to balance and refrain from saying something completely ridiculous, it felt like an eternity. The sun began to descend behind you as you galloped through dense forests, over elegant stone bridges, and along wide paths leading towards something larger… something more significant.
And then you saw it.
Soaring walls, brilliant red gates with intricate golden accents, it was a palace. You'd expected to be taken to some small town nearby, not this sprawling edifice, its towers reaching for the sky, stone lions guarding the entrance and colorful banners fluttering in the breeze.
As you drew closer, armed guards straightened and bowed deeply.
"Second Prince," one of them greeted. You tensed at the title. You turned to glance at the man before you.
He seemed unfazed, completely indifferent to the show of deference, and didn't look back at you. Your hands instinctively slid off his robes. As you reached the palace gates, they swung open, and he dismounted with casual elegance, gesturing for you to follow without another word. You scrambled off the horse, your hanfu trailing behind you as you hurried to keep pace.
The palace felt overwhelming, its vastness and grandeur almost crushing. You felt small and out of place.
Who was this man?
He didn't respond to your unasked questions, his brisk steps leading you down a magnificent hall lined with carved pillars and ornate lanterns.
Servants and guards bowed respectfully as he passed, no one daring to speak to him directly.
You followed blindly, your footsteps echoing softly behind his in the grand corridor. He halted before a large door, knocking once before pushing it open. Inside was a magnificent throne room, aglow with the warm hues of the setting sun. At the far end, a man sat on a golden throne. He radiated an aura of power and authority, a more severe version of the man who had brought you here.
"Brother," the second prince said casually, his gaze fixed on the figure on the throne.
Your eyes darted from the man beside you to the one on the throne, your mind reeling.
Brother?
You were standing next to the second prince of the East Kingdom.
And the man on the throne?
He had to be the crown prince, maybe even the king.
Your knees felt weak. The heavy doors swung shut behind you with a thud that resonated through the opulent room, trapping you between two royal figures while your thoughts struggled to keep up. Second Prince… Brother to the man on the throne… the palace… the guards bowing… the name "East Kingdom."
It clicked. You gasped, a chill spreading through you. You'd traveled through time.
You swallowed hard, your gaze flicking back to the man beside you-his stern profile, the crisp lines of his robes. It was him, you knew it. The illustration from your textbook, the chapter your teacher had skipped, the mystery that had captivated your imagination.
This man… this one with the unreadable eyes and steady voice, standing next to you… He was the Second Prince of the East Kingdom. The one history said died without a clear cause. The one it mourned without understanding. You were standing next to a man whose death history never truly comprehended.
For a second, the room went silent around you. No murmur of an older brother speaking in tired formality to his sibling, no gentle rustling of fabric or distant echo of footsteps down the hall, just the pounding of your own heart in your ears, a drumbeat of panic. This man beside you, his fate was already set in stone, according to the annals. And yet, here he was, breathing.
He turned slightly, sensing your stare, his gaze meeting yours for a fleeting moment. Though no words passed between you, a silent message was conveyed. He saw you. He saw the subtle stiffening of your back, the tension in your shoulders, the slight tightening of your fists at your sides. He noticed your sudden change in energy, yet he didn't inquire, not immediately. Straightening, you took a step closer to the throne, feigning composure and an understanding of what you were doing, though every cell in your body screamed that your world had irrevocably shifted.
The older man's voice sliced through your internal turmoil, sharp and resonant.
"You there."
You flinched, eyes snapping toward the throne, landing on the severe gaze of the Crown Prince.
"Why are you here?" he demanded, his expression cold, yet observant.
Your mouth opened, but no sound emerged.
What could you possibly say? That you'd stumbled through time? That you were fact-checking history by living it?
Even your own mind couldn't formulate a sensible explanation. In the tense silence that followed, before you could muster a half-baked lie, the man beside you spoke.
"I decided to bring her in, brother."
The Crown Prince's brow lifted, a flicker of interest replacing his impassive demeanor.
"Oh? Suddenly my younger brother develops a concern for the lives of women?" he scoffed, his tone laced with playful sarcasm.
The seconnd prince shifted slightly, his voice dropping to a low, steady register. "No-"
"You didn't even summon General Lin back when he nearly perished on the border," the Crown Prince interrupted, his amusement tinged with a hint of condescension. "And yet, you present us with this peculiar girl."
A chill seeped into the room, tightening your chest.
"You," the Crown Prince repeated, this time directing his attention solely at you, his gaze pinning you in place. "Do you wish to remain with my brother, Minghao?"
Your breath hitched.
Stay? With Minghao?
Your eyes flickered to your left, meeting his serene, unreadable stare.
He simply waited, his gaze unwavering.
Minghao… so that was his name.
But 'stay with him?'
Your mind raced, a whirlwind of unanswered questions and urgent priorities.
You had no idea how to get back to your own time, no understanding of your current location, and absolutely no resources—no money, no family, no contacts. Staying might grant you breathing room, a roof over your head, sustenance, and time to figure things out before finding a way home.
It wouldn't be ideal for Minghao, you conceded, a pang of guilt in your stomach, but it was perhaps the only logical choice for your immediate survival. Taking a fortifying breath, you finally spoke.
"…Yes."
The Crown Prince leaned back, a hint of a smile playing on his lips. "Very well. She will be housed in Minghao's quarters. I trust your newfound generosity will not come back to haunt you, little brother."
Minghao offered a subtle inclination of his head, acknowledging the Crown Prince's decree, then turned and gestured for you to follow. You did, stepping out of the grandeur of the throne room, your heart pounding, your mind a maelstrom of bewilderment. You had just agreed to share living quarters with the man destined for tragedy.
The corridors of the palace stretched before you, wide and hushed, the soft click of your slippers the only interruption to the profound silence. You clutched the sleeves of your hanfu, still half expecting to wake up from this bizarre, overwhelming experience.
Minghao remained silent until you reached a more secluded section of the palace, where a pair of servants opened the doors to a surprisingly spacious yet unornamented chamber. The décor spoke of wealth, yet remained understated, suggesting someone accustomed to comfort but not ostentation.
"This is where you will reside," Minghao stated, stepping aside to allow you to enter first.
You entered hesitantly, taking in the neatly made bed, the faint scent of sandalwood hanging in the air. When you turned back, he was still at the threshold, his eyes studying you with an intensity that belied his calm exterior.
"You must have many questions," he said.
"Too many," you admitted, nodding.
He closed the doors behind him and entered the room. "Then ask."
You swallowed, then voiced the question that burned most brightly. "Why did you bring me here?"
"You were alone, out of place," he explained, his gaze steady. "If the patrol had found you, you'd likely be treated as a spy, or worse."
"So… you rescued me?"
"If you wish to phrase it that way," he replied equably, pausing before adding, "It's not customary for me to bring outsiders to the palace, much less allow them to stay in my quarters."
"Then why me?"
He was silent for a moment, considering his words carefully.
"There was something about you," he finally said. "You looked around as though you didn't belong, as if you were lost beyond just geography."
You felt a prickle behind your eyes. He was right, you were lost in more ways than he could possibly imagine.
You lowered your gaze.
"Thank you," you mumbled. "For not handing me over."
A faint sound of amusement escaped him, though his expression remained unreadable. "Don't thank me yet. The Crown Prince is not a forgiving man. He tolerates your presence for now, but a single misstep could change his mind."
You swallowed hard. "I understand."
Minghao moved toward the window, bathed in the late afternoon sunlight. "If you intend to remain here, keep your head down, speak only when spoken to, and never lie to me."
That last instruction jolted you. You met his eyes. "What if I already am?"
His gaze sharpened, a flicker of something unreadable dancing within them. "Then you will need to become much better at it."
A beat of silence passed between you, heavy with unspoken things.
Then he turned, his voice softening slightly. "Rest. You will need your strength."
And he left. The quiet click of the door closing behind him was the only sound left in the room. You sat on the edge of the bedding, clutching your sleeves.
Stay quiet. Blend in. Find a way home. And, most importantly… don't get attached to Minghao.
But even now, your heart was whispering a truth you didn't want to hear. You knew how his story ended.
You look down at yourself, at the layers of the hanfu clinging to your skin, heavy and stiff, the fabric brushing against your ankles whenever you moved. You shift uncomfortably. There's no way you could sleep in this. Not with the ties pressing at your waist, and the high collar itching your neck.
You glance toward the door.
Would Minghao be nearby?
You shuffle forward quietly, easing the door open just a crack. The hallway is empty, lit only by a few dim lanterns flickering against the carved wood walls. You peek out a bit more, then take a hesitant step into the corridor. The floors are smooth beneath your feet, cool even through the fabric.
You look around, uncertainty gnawing at you. "... Minghao?"
you whisper.
"... Minghao?" You repeat, just slightly louder, even though some part of you knows how stupid it sounds.
Why whisper in a place this huge? But at the same time, you had no clue what the etiquette was.
Was it rude to shout in a palace? Were you even allowed to walk around alone?
You sigh at yourself. But just as you're about to turn back, a soft voice behind you makes your heart leap.
"Do you need anything?"
You flinch and spin around.
A young woman in simple but neat garments stands just a few feet away, her hands politely folded in front of her. Her voice was gentle, her presence unassuming, clearly one of the palace maids. She must've seen you wandering out of your room. You fidget on the spot, fingers clutching the front of your hanfu.
"I... Need a change?"
you say, unsure if you're even phrasing it correctly. To your surprise, the maid offers a small, reassuring smile. "Of course. Please return to your quarters. I'll prepare a bath and bring fresh garments for you."
You blink.
"Oh- thank you."
The maid bows slightly before walking off with practiced grace. You let out a long sigh, your body finally relaxing a little.
That could've gone worse.
Turning back, you step into your room once more.
The lanterns inside flicker softly, casting golden shadows across the wooden walls. You sit down on the edge of the bedding again, waiting as the faint sound of water and rustling fabric comes from beyond the partition, and a few moments to breathe. Maybe that's all you need, for now.
Steam gently curled in the air as you stepped into the bath chamber, a room adjacent to where you slept, partitioned by wooden screens. The scent of herbs, subtle lavender, lotus, and something unfamiliar yet calming, filled the air. A large wooden tub had already been filled with warm water, and flower petals floated lazily on the surface.
You stared at it for a moment, it felt surreal, and everything felt surreal.
A maid helped you carefully remove the outer layers of your hanfu, folding them with care and placing them aside. She respectfully averted her eyes and excused herself once you were ready, giving you some privacy.
You sank into the tub slowly, the warmth wrapping around your tired limbs. The heat seeped into your skin, loosening the tension from your shoulders and spine. You let out a quiet breath, finally allowing yourself to relax after what felt like a whirlwind of confusion, fear, and awe. Your fingers lightly traced the surface of the water.
"So this is real, huh..." you whispered to yourself.
You were in the East Kingdom. In a time that existed three centuries before your own. Somehow, you'd fallen into a page of history that your teacher hadn't even taught yet. And Minghao, he was the prince's younger brother, the one who brought you here… the one whose fate you knew would end in tragedy. The very reason you even paid attention to that chapter in the first place.
You leaned your head back, staring up at the carved wooden ceiling above you. You were inside history now, and you weren't just reading about it, you were living in it. But how long would you be stuck here? Could you go back? And more importantly... Did you want to?
A soft knock at the partition interrupted your thoughts.
"My lady, your change of clothes is ready," the maid said gently.
You answered with a soft "Thank you," then slowly rose from the bath, the petals brushing past your skin as you stepped out, wrapping the cloth towel around yourself. Soon, the maid returned with a fresh set of clothes, lighter this time. Less formal, and more breathable.
You slipped into them with her help, thankful that at least you didn't have to wrestle the layers alone. Once dressed, you sat again on the edge of your bed, hair slightly damp, the night calm. The palace felt quiet now. Silent in a way that made everything feel suspended in time.
A knock came at the door just as you were drying your damp hair with a cloth. You flinched slightly before calling out, "Come in.". The door slid open, and Minghao stepped inside. He wasn't wearing his usual formal robes this time, instead, he was dressed in something far more relaxed. The fabric was still elegant, but looser, softer in tone. He looked more like a young man winding down for the night rather than a royal. His eyes moved from your face down to your newly changed outfit, then back up again.
He nodded.
"Good. At least you listened to the maids I assigned to you and changed into something more appropriate," he said flatly. You raised an eyebrow.
"What does that mean?"
He folded his arms.
"I mean, since you don't even know who you are, it was strange seeing you in a princess hanfu, and not just any kind, a formal one. Plus, a princess hanfu with dirt stains?" He shook his head. "Doesn't match. Also, anyone in this palace would know you can't walk around with your hair down. Everyone ties their hair here, doesn't matter how high or low the rank."
He rattled off the words so smoothly, without even stopping for breath, that it left you blinking.
"Also," he added, leaning slightly closer, "how did you get a princess hanfu in the first place?"
You opened your mouth, but nothing came out at first, then you gave a nervous, awkward laugh. "Mind if I say something that you definitely won't believe?"
He dragged a nearby chair and set it down in front of you. Sitting across from you, he crossed one leg over the other and rested an arm on the back of the chair. "Depends."
You dropped your gaze, fingers fidgeting with the cloth string tied around your waist.
"I came from the future," you said quietly, glancing up at him with timid eyes, bracing yourself.
His expression didn't change. No wide-eyed disbelief, no laughter, nothing. After a heavy pause, he let out a quiet sigh, stood up, and pushed the chair back to where it came from.
"I think you're tired," he said simply. "Go to sleep."
"I'm really from the future!" Panic spiked in you and you quickly got to your feet and grabbed the edge of his sleeve. "I'm telling the truth!"
You voice snapped in the air like a fraying thread that was being pulled and held by a desperate hand.
Minghao stopped just before his fingers brushed against the wooden door that opened to the hallway.
"Then do you have any thing to ensure me that you came from the future?" His words were calm, so calm, yet they struck you a blow that sent your senses spiraling: Proof. He wants proof, but you had no idea how to provide it.
Your hand let go of his sleeve and you lowered yourself slowly to the floor, bending at the knees and tucking them up into you chest as you laid your chin to your folded arms.
"I am really from the future…" you mumbled out so low that the words barely moved the air. Even to your ears, the sound of your voice was ridiculously small.
You hated how weak you sounded, but it was the truth. For a moment there was a silent… then, "By how many years?"
Your eyes widened. Minghao was looking at you and there wasn't any hint of mock in his expression, only a curious glance.
You blinked.
"Three… three… three centuries…" You stammered, not knowing how long Minghao's gaze could be held captive, yet you locked your eyes with his until you both stopped, not breathing the slightest bit.
It seemed as though Minghao didn't mind the proximity between your lips as his hands flew from your forearms with a soft ease. His voice was smooth and low.
"What's your name?"
You were out of your stupor now. You straightened your clothes automatically and answered him."Xu Y/N."
Minghao's eyes flew wide and popped.
"Xu? You're surname is Xu?"
You slowly nodded.
"Yes…?"
"And you said you came from the future?"
He repeated and his mouth opened just enough to reveal an innocent smile.
"Uh-huh…"
Minghao stopped, his hands fell limply to his sides. A rare flicker of shock, confusion, then fluster passed over his typically calm features.
"So… if you're from the future…" he muttered to himself, "..that means I'm your ancestor…?"
Your head reeled.
Wait… His surname was Xu too?
The textbook… The tragic story of the East Kingdom and the early death of its Prince, Minghao. That meant… your heart leaped in your chest as a cold realization dawned on you.
Minghao wasn't your ancestor, his older brother, the Crown Prince was.
"No…" you gasped, hand covering your mouth with pure horror.
Minghao cocked his head in confusion as your face contorted with what appeared to be fear.
"What? What is it?"
"Well…" you hesitated, not wanting to burst his bubble, but also wondering if telling him will change anything
"… You're surname is Xu too. It means you're my relative." you mumbled weakly.
Minghao looked slightly dumbfounded.
"But if you're from the future, that means you're my…" He stammered. "No way, no way… that can't be true… maybe you and my older brother can be distantly related too." he trailed off uncertainly and his eyes searched for confirmation on your face.
Minghao bit his lip for a few seconds. "Do you know what happens to me then?"
he asked in a small voice.
"You-"
"Wait, hold on. It's better I don't know. Let me find out myself." And he turned to leave but this time he wasn't moving at his usual rapid speed. As soon as he left, you stood in place for a minute before you slid down on to the edge of the bed.
The words of the textbook returned in your head.
'Some believe that Prince Minghao fell in love with a commoner, others believe he was cursed. Yet, neither can be proven. The truth of his untimely death remains unsolved to this day'.
"Prince Minghao falls in love with a commoner…" you mumbled, looking down at your robes. The fact that he called your name and that you were a commoner… If the book wasn't filled with lies then you were the cause of Minghao's demise.
"No… no, that can't happen," you whispered.
But the idea lingered. Minghao... He was good, and inquisitive, and weirdly open minded, not calling your nonsensical story outlandish. He asked questions, even tried to pick your made-up narrative apart. And when he had you in the first place, he'd never just let you go immediately. Your heart started to beat uncomfortably against your ribs.
If this actually was the past, and if this really was the tragic prince that dies, was getting closer to him inviting that fate? Or was the real possibility you fall for him bringing yourself along with it to participate in the cyclical, repeating cycle?
You pressed your hands to your eyes. You hadn't been transported here to participate in this kingdom's saga. You were here to find a way home, but by the hand of fate, you were at the prince's side. And perhaps he's the reason you came in the first place.
The morning sun streamed in through the paper-covered windows, bathing the room in soft, golden light. You stirred slowly, the faint scent of sandalwood-from the incense the maid lit last night-still lingering in the air. For a brief moment, you forgot where you were, until your gaze landed on the detailed carvings that covered the ceiling, and the silk that weighed down your legs.
Hanfu.
Right… still here. A soft rap at your door broke the silence.
"Miss," a gentle voice floated in from the other side. "His Highness wishes for you to join him in the garden."
Your heart gave a little flutter.
Minghao?
Already?
You scrambled to your feet, and the maids quickly helped you dress. This time, they styled your hair in a simpler but still elegant updo, and chose a lighter hanfu, making it easier to move in. Within minutes, you were escorted through winding hallways and fragrant courtyards, and finally arrived at a secluded garden.
Weeping willows provided shade, their branches reaching toward a calm pond dotted with lotus blossoms. Beneath a tall cherry blossom tree stood Minghao, dressed in cream-colored robes with touches of soft blue. His hands clasped behind his back, he was gazing out at the pond, petals drifting down around him like a quiet tribute to the morning's peace. He turned as he heard your footsteps.
"You came."
You gave a slight nod, feeling a bit uncertain.
"You sent for me."
A small smile touched his lips. "I thought the fresh air might be preferable to being stuck in your room."
You chuckled. "I was starting to feel a little cooped up."
He gestured to a stone bench. "Would you like to walk?"
You fell into step beside him as you moved through the peaceful garden.
"I was thinking quite a bit about what you told me last night," Minghao said after a moment of silence. "About being from the future."
You swallowed. You had no idea where this was going.
"I've read… histories, ancient texts, tales of stars falling and people arriving from other realms." He met your eyes. "If you truly are from the future… perhaps this hasn't happened before."
You looked at him, speechless.
"You… believe me?"
"I want to," he answered honestly.
"But wanting is not the same as knowing. Which is why I want to know you more." You tilted your head.
"Know me?"
He looked ahead again, his tone calm.
"If time deemed it right that you be sent here… it couldn't have been a mistake." A strange stirring began in your chest. But just as you opened your mouth to reply, a distant voice carried through the air.
A royal guard, somewhere beyond the garden walls. "His Majesty the Crown Prince requests the presence of Prince Minghao in the Hall of Records." Minghao let out a soft breath.
"Looks like we were cut short." He turned back to you, a slight smile returning to his lips. "Stay in the garden if you'd like. There's a pavilion just up ahead where they'll have tea ready. I'll be back."
You watched him turn and disappear through the archway, your fingers instinctively clenching slightly.
Why did every second with him feel so important?
You wandered further into the garden, the petal-strewn path crunching softly beneath your feet. The air was cool and smelled of earth and the blossoming trees. Up ahead, the pavilion appeared-a delicate structure with dark wooden beams and gently sloping roofs, perched beside the pond where koi leisurely glided just below the water's surface.
A maid was already there, setting up a pot of warm tea and two fine porcelain cups on the table. She bowed as you approached.
"Please, Lady."
Lady.
You still hadn't quite gotten used to the title. You sat and watched her retreat back the way you came, leaving you alone with the gentle rustling of leaves. The tea smelled faintly of jasmine, and as you poured yourself a cup, tendrils of steam danced into the morning light, like nascent thoughts.
You let out a sigh.
Minghao… he actually listened. He believed you… or at least he didn't dismiss you, more than you'd hoped.
Your fingers tightened around the warm cup, and you leaned forward, resting your elbows on the table. Your eyes drifted to the pond. Beneath the lilies, a dragonfly skittered across the water, and the air chimed with the distant song of wind bells from the pavilion's eaves.
What now?
Stay here?
Try to go back?
Or… The words of your textbook flashed in your mind again. "Some historical accounts claim the prince eventually fell deeply in love with a commoner…" Your chest tightened.
Fear?
Guilt?
A mixture of everything?
"Minghao… does that mean…?"
No. That was silly, you'd only just met him.
You shook your head and took another sip of tea, just as a shadow fell across the pavilion. Looking up, you saw a man standing near the trees. It wasn't Minghao. This man was taller, with sharp features and eyes that held an almost unnerving curiosity. He stood perfectly still, as if taking you in, measuring you from a distance.
"…You're the one who came with the prince yesterday," he said, stepping closer. "The one with no name or record."
Your grip on the teacup tightened. "…And you are?"
You asked, your voice cautious. He gave a slight bow, his gaze unwavering.
"Wang Lin. Royal historian and advisor to the Crown Prince." His eyes flickered to your cup. "May I join you?"
After a beat, you nodded slowly. He sat across from you and continued to study your face, his intensity unnerving.
"There is something quite peculiar about you," he observed, his voice calm but deliberate. "Your demeanor, your eyes. You speak our tongue with an almost foreign inflection, and your presence is… unlike anything I have encountered before. As if you have stepped directly from the pages of a legend."
You were unable to answer, your mind racing to discern his motives. He leaned forward a fraction of an inch. "Tell me, Lady. Where exactly did you come from?"
Your entire body seemed to prickle with an awareness that something was very wrong. Wang Lin's words were polite, his expression composed, but an unnerving stillness permeated his presence. It was too smooth, too… rehearsed. A shiver traced its way down your spine as he leaned forward slightly, his sharp eyes gleaming beneath his calm facade. Before you could form a reply-anything to deflect him-a voice, clean and resonant, cut through the air.
Minghao's voice.
Relief surged through you like a tidal wave when he was coming.
"Your Highness," Lin said, rising smoothly and offering a low bow. Minghao stopped by your side, inclining his head politely.
"May I take her now?"
"Of course."
Lin stepped back, a knowing smile on his lips. "She was a most… enlightening conversationalist."
His back was all you saw as he stalked away, your stomach a pit of pure dread. He wasn't well. You didn't know what was wrong with him, but your gut knew.
When he'd disappeared behind the tall hedges, Minghao tapped your arm to draw your attention back to him. "You okay?"
You'd looked at him, at the concern etched onto his forehead.
"... Yeah," You'd managed to choke out, with a small nod. But you weren't okay, and you suspected that Wang Lin was far from finished with you.
Minghao walked with you for a long moment in comfortable silence. His hands were tucked behind his back and the only sound you could hear was the crunching of gravel beneath your boots. Palace gardens spread wide in front of you, glistening with the morning dew. Sunlight shimmered between the vines that crisscrossed the arched wooden pathway that you were walking along.
He never rushed you but eventually, without turning around, he said: "So…what do I need to know about you, and the world that you came from?"
You blinked. He seemed genuinely curious about what you'd been saying and that was a welcome change. He was looking forward without the least bit of judgment.
You picked out the edge of a flowers brushing your hand and sighed, touching the ribbon on your sleeve. "Well, I come from a world where people didn't really ride horses except for recreational purposes. We travelled by machine and some machines could even travel by air. We called our transportation machines cars and trains and airplanes..."
You couldn't help but peek at him but he didn't even flinch at what you said. "And did people in your world live in giant buildings that touched the sky?"
You laughed. "Yeah, people in my world called those skyscraper and they were made from glass and steel."
He hummed softly, his steps slowing down. "Your world seemed so loud and busy. Everyone rushing for the sake of it, I guess, but I can't imagine it ever being silent."
Minghao's eyes finally met yours as he spoke, "But you decided to stay, for the time being."
You gave a small nod of your head.
"I don't know how to go back home. Besides," You looked away, a hint of pink staining your cheeks. "your brother had asked if I'd like to stay."
Minghao's brow quirked slightly.
"It's all my fault, then, I guess…" He chuckled as you gave him a returning smile, "But, honestly, it doesn't feel like a mistake."
The silence in between you was filled with the scent of blooming osmanthus and peonies as you ventured deeper into the maze of greenery. You couldn't help but wonder what he would share of his own world if he was willing to hear about yours.
The sweet scent of osmanthus and peonies tickled your nose as you and Minghao walked deeper into the palace gardens. Minghao's tone was light and curious, as he turned his head to glance at you, a teasing smile tugging at his lips.
"So... Do you know anything about my world? Or, about the Xu family? Have you parents ever read you bedtime stories about us?"
You press your lips together tight, not sure if you should lie and say that you'd heard stories about the Xu Dynasty or tell the truth and that you only read about his brother's tragic death in a history book.
"Who is my wife? I wonder what she's like." Minghao mused, his eyes twinkling with amusement. "I wonder if she is vivacious, perhaps spirited and witty? Maybe she hates poetry."
You stop walking, stunned by his innocent assumption that there was a "her" and that there would be a marriage. He continued, completely oblivious, his steps slowing until he realized that you were no longer beside him. He turned, sunlight spilling from between the trees onto him, making his features shine.
A fragment from a history text flashed in your mind. Some accounts of Prince Xu's demise say he fell in love with a commoner; others say he was the victim of a curse. However, none have been substantiated. The circumstances surrounding his death remain unresolved.
You stared at him, his smile a touch lonely, his eyes holding a mirth that would never get to see its full bloom. How could you stand here, laughing with him, when you knew that his life was to be cut short? Will your presence here change his fate, or were you just another factor contributing to the past that you so desperately wanted to avoid altering? You couldn't shake the suffocating feeling of pressure against your chest.
"Are you alright?"
Minghao's concerned voice cut through your thoughts as he stepped closer, his hair blowing in the wind. The light caught his face, illuminating his innocent expression in a halo.
He looked like an angel that was too pure for this sinful world. His eyes twinkled, filled with sincerity and kindness. You heart thumped erratically in your chest.
Did you like him? Could you do so after what you'd read?
He raised a curious eyebrow. "Did I frighten you?"
"No! I..." You stuttered, flushing slightly as you averted your gaze. "You just… surprised me, that's all."
He chuckled, the sound warming you even as it sent a jolt of pain through you. What if this was a destiny you weren't supposed to fight? What if, this was an ending you were supposed to write?
The sun peeked through the canopy of leaves above as you watched Minghao stand there. His hair glowing like a halo of gold around his perfectly sculpted face. His death, though only mentioned in text for you, was now an unavoidable, heart-aching reality. He had the kindness of a saint and the heart of a king, but the world around him, and those responsible for his protection, had failed him. Yet here you were, in his world, in his presence, the fate of the universe not even a distant worry compared to the very immediate danger he was in.
A determined resolve filled you. Perhaps it was fate that had sent you here, or perhaps it was fate that wanted you to change his tragic end. If you were to become the pen with which his story would be rewritten, then you would have to be strong enough to ensure he didn't suffer the fate that had befallen him in your timeline.
Taking a deep breath, you met his bewildered gaze and declared with conviction, "I want to learn how to use a sword."
Minghao's eyes widened in shock. "What? Sword fighting?"
"Yes, sword fighting. Teach me," you insisted, your tone firm.
"But… you are a woman?" he stammered, a flicker of confusion in his expression.
You clicked your tongue and rolled your eyes playfully. "Well, didn't Mulan save her father and lead the army by dressing up as a man? I can do that too," you argued, remembering the Disney movie.
"Mulan? Who's Mulan?" he asked, a look of bewilderment on his face.
"Never mind," you waved him away. "Just teach me how to wield a sword."
Minghao stared at you, dumbfounded, before managing a bewildered question. "Are you really serious about this?"
You met his gaze, your own eyes shining with determination. "As serious as anyone who… has everything to protect."
A beat of silence follows. Something lights up his eyes—a flash of interest, perhaps something more tender—and then a slow exhale. "Alright then. But if you want to blame anyone when your arms feel like they might actually detach in ten minutes, that someone's youself."
You grin, a lightness blooming in your chest.
"Deal."
The sun had risen a touch more, painting the training grounds in a warmer light. You stepped forward, your new clothing feeling simultaneously strange and freeing.
The billowing layers of your hanfu were replaced by something more form-fitting, more functional, a two-piece set in muted tones, the ends cinched tight around your wrists and ankles.
A leather belt held a wooden training sword by your side. You spotted Minghao already in conversation with another man. A broad-shouldered, older gentleman with a thin scar that bisected his jaw, giving him an imposing aura of discipline. They were engaged in a quiet chat until you stepped into the training grounds, and both heads turned. Minghao's gaze swept from your feet to the tight bun on your head. For a moment, his expression was unreadable, then something gentler softened it.
"Is it… fine on me?"
you asked, your voice laced with nervous energy. He gave a tight smile.
"You look comfortable."
You giggled, nodding in relief.
Minghao then addressed the man beside him.
"Treat her well now. She is, of course, a woman, not one of the men you are accustomed to training." The man scoffed, a playful hint in the sound.
"Don't fret, Minghao. I still know the difference between the two." Minghao let out a soft chuckle, his attention drifting back to you, settling on you for a fraction longer.
"Rest when you must," he said, his voice soft, tinged with a concern that made your stomach flip in a way you were rapidly beginning to despise.
You swallowed it down, offering a salute, your spirits light.
"Aye, sir."
A breathy laugh escaped him, and he turned away, leaving you to your task. The man turned to you, clapping his hands together once.
"Alright, aspiring sword saint, let's see how we do."
You took up your stance, fingers closing around the wood of your practice sword. This was the start of rewriting history.
You tightened the grip on your sword, sweat clinging to your brow as the afternoon sun rose higher. It thudded sharply each time it met Lee Zhixun's, and your arms were already aching from repeated stance, block, parry repetition. He was pulling no punches despite Minghao's request but it didn't bother you.
The sting was your proof you were trying.
"Break," he finally called, stepping back with a nod. You exhale heavily, dropping onto a bench. He tossed you a cloth, and you fumbled catching it, using it to wipe the sweat off your face as you took shaky breaths. The wind had died down, and the silence on the training grounds was surprisingly peaceful.
"You held up alright," he said, taking a sip of water from his flask before passing it to you. "Didn't expect you to last this long, on your first day either. Good endurance."
You caught it with both hands, pausing, and a small, dry chuckle escaped you as you looked down.
Endurance… You remembered all the late-night cramming, the weight of your textbooks, the tears you'd held back when finals didn't make any sense to you but you still pushed on. A long sigh escaped you, and the past suddenly felt impossibly far and yet incredibly near.
Still, you offered him a shrug and a smile.
"I guess I'm just used to it." He tilted his head in question, but said nothing else. After a moment he asked, "So… why would a girl like you want to train with swords? That's not really something you see every day."
You hesitated, carefully considering what to say.
You could tell him because you knew Minghao would die… but that was way too risky and might make him doubt you. Lying outright was too uncomfortable.
"I want to protect someone," You whispered, fiddling with the strap of the practice sword resting beside you.
Zhixun studied you intently for a moment, before giving a single, approving nod.
"Good reason," he stated simply. "That's enough."
He didn't press you further.
For some reason, the following silence felt comfortable. The sun peeked through the trees once again, and you clutched the sword beside you tighter. The sun began to dip towards the horizon, casting warm golden rays over the palace gardens. You strolled back to your room, your muscles nicely sore, but your spirit unusually light.
Training had somehow unearthed a buried fire within you.
Back in your room, you stripped off your practice clothes and peeled the layers of the humid palace air away with the soothing heat of a jasmine-scented bath, dotted with rose petals. You settled into the warm water, letting it chase away the lingering tension. Steam curled around you as you leaned back and closed your eyes briefly.
Though the palace felt alien, the heat of the water grounded you. It reminded you of where you were now-and where you needed to be. No worries about tests or deadlines, just the gentle rhythm of the water lapping against the tub.
You let your thoughts wander freely to what tomorrow might hold.
A quiet, tentative hope flickered within you. After shedding the practice outfit, you carefully changed into comfortable light clothing. The palace halls had grown quieter with the descent of night. Without conscious thought, a soft, familiar whistle rose from your lips, its tune strangely out of place here.
You walked down the corridor with hands behind your back, your footfalls soft on the polished floors.
Ahead, a figure emerged from the dim light, walking in your direction.
Minghao!
He saw you immediately, a smile blooming on his face, and slowed his steps. He stopped a short distance from you, tilting his head.
"How do you know how to whistle?" He asked, surprised.
"You don't?"
"Never taught," he admitted sheepishly.
"Will you teach me someday?"
A soft giggle escaped you.
"Of course."
He looked at you for another moment, the corner of his lips lifting further.
His gaze seemed to soften each time you looked at him, somehow so familiar. You walked together, your whistles falling silent. You weren't quite sure when it started, but being around Minghao was becoming rather… enjoyable.
As you reached your door, he continued to walk beside you, his hands in the same place, his pace unhurried. The oil lamps lining the hall cast a soft, golden glow, making long, dramatic shadows dance on the walls. It was an incredibly peaceful atmosphere, perhaps a little too peaceful.
You stopped in front of your room, and with a soft sigh, turned the handle.
You stepped inside, one foot inside, then stopped, your hand still on the edge of the door. You looked back. Minghao was still there, just outside the doorframe, a sweet smile on his face.
"Goodnight?"
You asked, your voice quiet, almost timid.
"Goodnight," He replied, just as softly.
But… you didn't close the door. He didn't step back to go to his own room. You both just stood there, caught in an invisible web of unspoken words and unspoken feelings. Eyes locked, expressions still, breaths held tight. Your heart gave another flutter in your chest, far too loud to be ignored.
Suddenly, a clear voice from down the hall shattered the fragile peace.
"Minghao?"
In an instant, the spell broke. Minghao's eyes flickered towards the voice, and instinctively you dipped your head slightly towards the approaching figure of the Crown Prince. Minghao looked at you once more, his sweet smile now edged with a touch of apologetic regret.
You offered him a faint smile in return, and slowly, softly, closed the door, the quiet click resonating within you. You pressed your back against the cool wood the moment it shut, your hand instinctively coming to your chest. Your heart pounded, rapidly and relentlessly, all for Minghao. Your eyes widened as the realization hit you like a lightning bolt.
Was it really because of him?
His gentle smile flashed in your memory, along with that lingered gaze, calm and tender, yet somehow stirring a deep, unfamiliar sensation in your soul. You threw both palms up over your face, a squeal of delighted embarrassment escaping your lips.
A muffled squeak vibrated through your fingertips. Unable to stay still, you launched yourself onto your bed, face first. Your legs kicked the air, then the mattress, again and again, while giggles bubbled from your chest like a secret shared between two. You rolled over, half your face pressed into the warm blanket, cheeks burning with embarrassment.
"Pull it together," you told yourself in a choked whisper between shyness and excitement. But the frantic hammering in your chest had other ideas.
Tonight, it was the start of something. You just knew it.
The next morning, the early sun painted golden stripes across the paper windows, warming your face and slowly waking you. You stretched, letting out a soft groan, the ache of yesterday's training still resonating in your limbs, but your mind... It was surprisingly clear. Sitting up, the image of Minghao the previous night surfaced in your mind, and a small smile bloomed on your face.
The lingering stare, his soft "goodnight," the way your heart had refused to settle—it hadn't faded with sleep.
After a quick shower and a change into fresh hanfu suitable for the day, you ventured out, wandering through the stone path of the garden where dewdrops still clung to the leaves like tiny diamonds. You reached the small training courtyard sooner than usual, to find Minghao already there, practicing slow, fluid movements with his sword. The morning sun bathed him in a gentle, almost ethereal light, transforming him into something more than human.
You stood there silently for a moment, simply watching him, absorbing the way he focused, the control he exerted with every movement. He looked like a painting come to life. Noticing your presence, he glanced over, his lips curving into a slight smile.
"You're early."
"Could say the same for you," You replied, taking a step forward.
"I couldn't sleep well," He explained, sheathing his sword. "Too much on my mind."
You cocked your head. "Want to talk about it?"
He hesitated, then let out a soft chuckle. "Maybe later. For now... I want to see how much you remember from yesterday."
You faked an annoyed sigh. "Ugh, really? So early for practice?"
Minghao stepped closer, extending a hand to help you assume your position. "You're the one who begged me to teach you sword fighting, remember?"
You took his hand with a smirk. "Fine… but you better go easy on me this time."
As the sun rose higher, the soft clink of wooden swords against wood filled the courtyard, punctuated by occasional laughter and quick, stolen glances, both of you playing ignorant to the subtle changes budding between your hearts. Your playful duel with wooden swords went on, the rhythmic clashes echoing gently in the morning air.
At first, you were attentive, meticulously repeating Minghao's instructions, trying to synchronize with his movements. But soon, you discovered you couldn't concentrate. Something kept derailing your focus, it was him.
Because every time his hand grazed yours to adjust your grip, or he moved closer to guide your posture, a faint jolt ran through you, not of fear, but a nervous fluttering in your chest.
He was a distraction, and you were noticing entirely too much: the warmth of his hands, the pleasant resonance of his voice when he complimented your form, the adorable crinkle in the corners of his eyes when he laughed.
"You're too tense," Minghao chuckled, taking a step closer.
"Relax your shoulders."
You nodded, but as he stepped in to demonstrate again, your foot caught on a small crevice in the stone path.
A soft gasp escaped your lips as you lost your balance, falling backwards. "Y/N!"
Minghao's hand shot out, grabbing your arm instinctively. He caught your weight, but the force of your fall pulled him down too. You landed with a soft thud, a moment of breathlessness, then the undeniable weight of Minghao on top of you.
Time seemed to freeze. He held himself up on his hands on either side of your head, careful not to press you completely flat. His dark hair fell around his face, strands dancing lightly, and his eyes, wide with concern, locked with yours.
You could feel your heart pounding against your ribs, your chest rising and falling rapidly beneath him. You weren't sure if the fall or his sheer proximity was the cause of your shallow breath.
"I-I'm sorry. Are you hurt?" Minghao asked, his voice barely a whisper.
"N-No, I'm fine," you stammered, a fiery blush crawling up your neck.
You both remained frozen for a beat, the air between you taut and fragile. Then, with a blink, Minghao seemed to finally register the absurdity of the situation, quickly pushing himself up and helping you to sit.
"S-Sorry, I didn't mean to fall on you like that-"
"It's okay!"
You blurted, flapping your hands in front of your face, still red. "It was my fault! I tripped!"
A beat of silence followed, and then you both burst into awkward, slightly panicked laughter. Though you resumed your practice after that, the mood was decidedly different. The swords no longer clashed with the same intensity. Something unspoken hung in the air, carried in every exchanged glance, every accidental touch. Neither of you could deny it any longer.
The two of you eventually let your wooden swords fall to the side, breathless from more laughter than sword fighting.
Minghao offered you a lopsided, teasing smile before nodding towards the edge of the courtyard.
"Let's take a break before you trip again." He said with a light chuckle, and you rolled your eyes good, nudging his arm.
"I didn't see that rock, okay?" You retorted.
You settled onto a shaded wooden bench under a blossoming tree, taking deep, refreshing gulps from your water flasks. The cool liquid soothed your flushed cheeks and the tension in your shoulders. For a few minutes, words weren't needed. You leaned back, eyes fixed on the pale blue sky dappled with soft clouds, the rustle of the wind through the leaves and the sweet scent of flowers filling the air.
It was a moment of quiet bliss.
"I always liked this spot," Minghao said softly, his gaze still lost in the sky. "it's peaceful. Most people don't come here unless they're looking to get away."
"It's nice," You agreed, clutching your cool flask. "like a secret sanctuary in your palace that nature decided to build for itself."
Minghao let out another low chuckle and turned his head to look at you. "Maybe you were meant to find it, meant to find me here."
The words lingered between you.
You turned your head to meet his gaze; there was no teasing light in his eyes this time, just a quiet thoughtfulness. You quickly looked away, your voice soft.
"Or maybe I was meant to change things."
He didn't press.
You sat side-by-side, listening to the breeze, the distant birdsong, and the gentle, hesitant, yet steadily harmonizing beat of your hearts.
You emerged from your shower, hair still slightly damp, crisp new robes feeling good against your skin. Humming a tuneless melody, you walked down the hallway and froze. There stood Minghao outside your door, already dressed in clean new robes, an oddly intense expression on his face as he held something in his hand. You squinted.
A book?
Your eyes widened. Of all the books in the world, of all the objects you could have touched that threw you in this time, it had to be that history book. Your history textbook.
You gasped sharply. Minghao, who'd been leisurely looking out the window, looked up with surprise, his lips turning into a soft, curious smile when he spotted you. Your own expression was unreadable as your eyes remained fixed on the ancient looking book held tightly in his hands. Without a second thought, you darted forward and snatched it from him.
Your heart pounded like a trapped bird in your chest. Please, please, don't let him have seen the page. Please, don't let him know.
"I found it outside your door," Minghao said softly, his gaze unwavering on your suddenly flustered demeanor. "An unusual book. Your year... has colours?"
You blinked, catching sight of the book's cover. An illustration with vibrant, printed hues and bold lettering, worlds away from anything the scholars in this era would produce. You forced a nervous chuckle, trying to play it cool despite the icy tendrils of fear curling in your gut. "I… yes. It's… quite normal, where I come from."
"What kind of book is this?" He inquired, genuine interest lighting up his eyes.
Your gaze flickered to the cover again before you met his eyes. "Just… something from home."
He nodded slowly, still observing you. "I saw words like 'East Kingdom' on a contents page."
Only the contents page. You exhaled a quiet, almost silent sigh of relief. Thank goodness, he hadn't had a chance to read about the doom he was apparently heading towards.
You quickly plastered a smile on your face. "Well, I'm going to have a read. I'll come find you when it's time for lunch, okay?"
He gave a nod, his eyes still lingering on the book as he turned and left the room. The moment the door clicked shut behind him, your legs took over, carrying you swiftly to your bed. You collapsed onto the mattress and fumbled through the unfamiliar pages of the history book, fingers clumsy but desperate. East Kingdom, history, rulers… until you stumbled upon it.
Your breath hitched in your throat as your trembling fingers traced the stark, brutal sentence:
"The Youngest Prince's Mysterious Death."
There were no accounts of the actual cause of death. No witnesses. No culprits. Just the chilling statement, seared into your mind, "His body was later recovered at the base of the Lotus Cliff."
At the base of a cliff?
Your mind reeled. It meant… he fell.
Or, God forbid, he was pushed.
And one name instantly leaped into the forefront of your mind: Wang Lin, the Royal Historian and advisor to the Crown Prince. There was a coldness in his gaze, a sinister politeness in his tone. He always looked at Minghao as if he were an insect beneath his boot, an obstacle to be removed. The moment you had set foot in this era, a sense of foreboding had prickled at the back of your neck whenever Wang Lin was in proximity.
You had no proof, nothing concrete, just the raw, unadulterated screaming of your intuition. Now, that intuition felt like an all out alarm. You slammed the book shut, your knuckles white against the worn cover.
If Wang Lin had had something to do with this… but why?
It didn't matter. You weren't going to let it happen, not now though.
You stood, your resolve hardening into something akin to a shield. You would shadow him, become a constant presence. You'd be there when he left the palace gates, when he walked through the gardens, when he trained in the courtyards.
Every second that the threads of destiny could be altered-you'd be there.
You wouldn't let history repeat its cruel narrative, you were going to rewrite it.
You do what you told yourself by followed Minghao where he went. Be it for walks every morning, meetings where he and strategists strategized and discussed how best to defeat their enemy, or walks to simply stroll around in the garden. He seemed as if he had a million questions that would surely pop out of his lips, but then your eyes would be back to scanning his surrounding.
Then weeks passed when you heard a knock on your door. As you open it, Minghao stands there.
"You changed since you got your book, why do you act differently?" You stood frozen at his word. You felt a surge to lie, to brush it off with a simple excuse, but then you heard. "Do you remember your promise from when you first set foot in here? No lies."
You stiffened. You completely forgot about it and Minghao actually remembering that is quite rare for him. However, by the look on his eyes, he knew whether or not you were lying.
If he is this intelligent that he knows when you are lying, then why should you keep it all to yourself?
You dragged him inside your room and closed it softly then directed him to sit down and then put the history book on his lap and then sat beside him.
"This, is a history book from my world. It contains pretty much everything, including wars, and events in this timeline and your kingdom and your year. You read the chapter for the East Kingdom and everything about its history, it glory, the people of this kingdom... And then... It includes how and when you will die." You flip to the corresponding chapter.
"It describes what will happen to you weeks, months, and even years later including your death."
His fingers touch the paper.
"I died?" His voice a soft and wavering tone.
You look down, unable to meet his gaze and slowly nodded. "Yes".
"No reason... No explanation?"
"Maybe because someone in your time did not want the truth to pass on to the future and chose to keep it secret."
He leans back his brow creased. "How is that possible? I am the Crown Prince's younger brother. When I die, the entire kingdom will be mourning for my loss."
You nodded slightly "That's what makes it more terrifying, because there's no explanation."
He look at the book placed on his lap and traces the text with his finger.
"So that's it?" he muttered under his breath. "I will be just a footnote with no reason or explanation?"
You look down and nod slowly. "That's all the information I found".
He exhale a long and shaky breath. "No names, no reasons, no justice."
"That's why I couldn't stay idle when I first saw that it was you," you say and his eyes finally meet yours. "When I realized it was you, I decided to keep close by and find a way to change your fate."
He closed the book gently and rested both his hands on the cover "So you think I was murdered?"
"Yes" You say in a quiet voice. "I have the suspicion it was someone powerful that has the power to completely wipe out the truth of the murder of someone."
He paused for a long while and then met your eyes. "Wang Lin?"
"What?"
"I had the same suspicions about him as well," he says, his expression hardened. "There's just something about him, the royal advisor. He seems to be always hovering near decision that is not of his concern, he seems to watch every move people make, like a calculated predator."
Your breath hitches. "So it's not just me then."
"No," he says. "It's not just you."
He stands up slowly and puts the book in your hand "I don't know how or why you were sent here or how you even had this book in the first place. But if this is truly my fate, I will defy it and I want you to be with me."
He pauses.
"... Not because I want you to protect me."
Your heart skipped a beat.
"But because I want you to be here with me."
"I will stay," You say firmly and clutch the book tight to your chest. "No matter what happens."
From that day on, there was an atmosphere of tense calm in the world around you. You woke up before dawn every morning and appeared at the training grounds, blade gleaming in the first rays of light, movements honed to perfection. Lee Zhixun took notice of your progress, nodding in approval and even awarding you the occasional compliment.
"You're quite adept," He commented one afternoon, tossing you a towel after a grueling endurance exercise. "Seems you're driven by purpose, am I right?"
You offered a simple smile, knowing the explanation would be far too complicated for words.
After your training, you'd find Minghao waiting for you, his expression soft as always. The two of you would meander through the palace gardens, or sneak off to the nearby lotus ponds, sharing soft laughter as fish darted near your feet.
"You've certainly changed," Minghao remarked one day, as you both sat perched on the palace wall. "But I must say, it suits you."
You turned your head to him. "Good change or bad change?"
He gave you a playful, crooked grin. "Protective change. And somewhat bossy change."
You playfully nudged him. "You'd be bossy too if you were watching someone walking to their death."
His hearty laughter echoed in the air, a beautiful sound that temporarily dispelled the grim shadow hanging over you.
From a distance, you could occasionally spot Wang Lin observing the two of you with unreadable eyes, a calculating glint never leaving them. But you no longer faltered under his gaze.
Your days were dedicated to sharpening both your body and your mind, becoming an ever more attentive observer of the palace's intricate workings. Yet, you always found time for Minghao. You'd engage in chess matches in the library, spend quiet nights stargazing in the outer courtyard, or simply walk together, letting the gentle breeze carry spring petals around you.
The clock was ticking, but you wouldn't let fear dictate your actions. You would use every remaining moment to protect Minghao, and also, to cherish him. For the undeniable truth was, your feelings had transcended fate and blossomed into love.
It happened after yet another sword practice had you both panting, your faces flushed and heated in the orange glow of the setting sun. The others had already dispersed from the training grounds, leaving just you and Minghao, tucked away beneath a sprawling tree, water flasks dangling in each hand.
The air was hushed and heavy. Minghao's eyes found yours, his gaze softer than you'd ever seen them.
"You've been… protecting me," he started, his voice a low rumble. "More than I could have ever imagined."
You blinked up at him, surprise flickering in your chest. He cut you off before you could form a response.
"I may not… know everything," He continued. "but I can feel it. The way you watch me when you think I'm not looking. The way you flinch whenever Wang Lin shows his face. The way you train so damn hard every day."
You dropped your eyes to your lap, your heart pounding against your ribs.
"I don't know what's coming," Minghao said, turning so that his body was facing you, "but before anything happens, I need you to know that… I like you."
Your breath hitched in your throat.
"For a while now, actually," Minghao said, a tiny smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "And I want to know how you feel too. But… only after I've survived. After I've changed what was always supposed to be."
You blinked, stunned as warmth bloomed against your skin, spreading from your chest.
"So you're not actually confessing right now?" You asked, a little breathless.
"I am," He chuckled. "but I'm not asking for your heart yet. Not until I've earned my own."
You smiled, soft and bright, a little of hope in its curves. "Then I'll wait."
And you did.
Days seemed to melt together into an endless haze, yet whenever you had a spare moment, you found yourself picturing it. The two of you walking hand in hand down a quiet path on the edge of the palace, sharing pastries bought from a street vendor, the sound of your laughter mingled as he clumsily tried to learn how to whistle once again. You pictured Minghao in your world, and if he would find cafs appealing or get irrationally annoyed by traffic. You pictured dates in both realms, your hearts bridged across time.
You waited, but you also fought. For him, for a future where those images could possibly bloom into reality.
You woke as the sun peeked through the cracks in the drapes, a strange heaviness in your chest. Nothing felt right. You sat up in bed quickly, brushing off sleep, and threw on your outer robe. The first thought on your mind was finding Minghao.
Where would he be at this early hour?
The training grounds?
The gardens?
The palace halls?
Nowhere. Your heart began to pound like a drum against your ribs. You spotted a passing maid.
"Where is Minghao?" you managed to ask, your voice quaking.
"His Highness departed this morning at dawn," the maid replied with surprise in her voice. "He has been instructed to carry out duties on the other side of the kingdom."
Your stomach clenched.
Alone?
He went alone.
Images flashed through your mind: the textbook, the blank pages, the unknown reason for his demise.
This was it. Not a moment to lose, you dashed towards the royal chambers, rushing towards the Crown Prince. You dropped into a low bow, breath coming short and quick.
"I need to go to him." you said, your voice urgent. "Please, give me a horse. I can go myself."
The Crown Prince looked at you, his expression stunned. "You- he's just on an errand. There's no need for this level of urgency-"
"Please," you begged. "This is all I ask of you."
A strained silence hung in the air before he finally relented with a sigh. "Fine. Take one of the guards' horses. But be cautious, and keep this quiet."
"Thank you," you replied, bowing low before spinning on your heel and fleeing.
You were hardly a seasoned rider, but sheer terror overcame any sense of self-preservation. You leapt onto the horse and gripped the reins tightly, pushing it forward into a thundering gallop. Wind screamed past your ears as you flew along dirt paths, the thunder of the hooves dwarcing the beat of your own heart. The Crown Prince had given clear directions: toward the river village past the lotus cliff.
As you approached the lotus cliff, heart pounding like it was going to burst, your blood ran cold at the sight before you: Minghao and Wang Lin, engaged in a desperate fight. Panic surged, a potent cocktail of fear and instinct. You dismounted the horse, leaving your treasured textbook on the ground. Your hand shot out.
"Xu Minghao!" you screamed with all your might.
You sprinted with everything you had, the track-and-field skills of your school days rushing back in a torrent. You ran straight into Wang Lin, shoving him hard to the side and planting yourself in front of Minghao, shielding him with your own body.
Wang Lin stumbled back but turned to you with a snarl, his eyes blazing with fury as he drew his sword and charged.
You didn't have a sword of your own, but Minghao's was at his hip. Without a second thought, you snatched it from his grasp and drew it just in time to parry Wang Lin's fatal thrust.
"Minghao, run!" you shouted, fighting desperately to keep Wang Lin's sword at bay.
He hesitated, his eyes darting between you and your horse, then turned to go. But he didn't mount. Instead, he spotted your textbook and scooped it up, clutching it to his chest like a life raft.
Your sole focus was defense, but Wang Lin was a skilled and ruthless swordsman. You were tiring quickly, the strength draining from your limbs with every clanging parry and thrust. This wasn't the controlled practice sessions of your textbooks, this was real, and terrifyingly deadly.
Minghao's eyes widened in horror as your strength faltered. One powerful blow sent you reeling back, and you stumbled, falling onto the sword you held. The sharp edge sliced deep.
"Xu Y/N!" Minghao screamed, the name torn from his throat.
Your grip loosened. Your battered body teetered, then fell backward towards the cliff's edge.
In that exact moment, Minghao threw your textbook at you with a final, desperate cry, and snatched your sword to intercept Wang Lin's next attack.
"Please, Y/N!" he gritted out, deflecting the blow. "Go back to your world! Go back where you belong!"
The wind roared in your ears as you fell.
"You'll see my name," He yelled, his voice a desperate plea lost in the gale. "In your book! I'll live! I'll die of old age! Not like this!"
And then, the world dissolved into a chaotic blur of sky, wind, and flying paper, and you were gone.
You clutched the textbook tightly against your chest as you plunged through the air, wind screaming in your ears, your heart a frantic, terrified bird trapped in your ribcage. All you could see was the endless sky and the blurry, approaching ground far, far below. Tears streamed down your face as you closed your eyes tight.
"Goodbye forever, Minghao…" you whispered, your voice cracking and breaking.
You tensed, bracing for impact. You expected pain, darkness. Instead, your body landed on something soft. Confused, you knitted your brows. You felt plush fabric covering you, entirely whole. No agonizing pain of broken bones or the sting of blood, just warmth.
Your eyelashes fluttered open. The ceiling, not the grey skies of the East Kingdom, not the somber clouds hanging over the cliff. It was your ceiling, your room. You blinked rapidly, your breath caught in your throat. Slowly, you sat up, your hands still gripping the textbook—now closed, its cover faintly glowing before its light dimmed.
You were in your pajamas. Your bedroom, filled with the comforting scent of your sheets and illuminated by your bedside lamp. The city's low hum drifted in through the window.
Home.
Back in your world. Back… without him. Your fingers tightened around the book, and you drew a ragged breath. Tears sprang to your eyes, no longer of fear, but of the sharp pang of loss.
He threw you the book. He made sure you'd get back. He saved you… but he stayed. And you had no idea if he'd survived, if he'd live the life he promised, if the next edition of this history book would still feature that cliff, that mystery.
Your gaze fell to the book's cover. Perhaps it was time to turn the page again. Trembling, you flipped through the textbook's brittle pages, your heart hammering.
You reached the chapter: The History of the East Kingdom.
Your eyes darted over the familiar paragraphs, skimming until they landed on lines that hadn't been there before. Your chest tightened.
"Wang Lin, the esteemed royal historian and trusted advisor to the prince, died on this date, having attempted to assassinate Prince Xu Minghao. The prince's heroic defenses ensured his own survival. The prince's motivations for abstaining from further political involvement are not fully recorded but were reportedly due to profound political dissension."
You swallowed hard and continued reading.
"Following the events of the royal assassination attempt, Prince Xu Minghao publicly disclosed the truth of his parentage to the court, thus withdrawing from all political pursuits. He continued to dedicate himself to the service of his people in ways that did not directly engage with the court, offering wise counsel and maintaining the kingdom's peace."
As the next paragraph came into view, your eyes blurred with tears.
"He spoke often of a girl whom he met, though her origins and name were never revealed to the court. She was described as someone who irrevocably changed his life. The prince never remarried, passing away many years later of natural causes, well respected by all."
Your vision blurred further as you stared at the words. He did it, he kept his promise… he lived. He died of old age. But… he was alone.
Your lower lip trembled, your fingers tracing the printed words as if you could somehow reach back through time to offer him comfort.
"He actually did it…" You choked out. "He survived…"
But the tears wouldn't stop. Because you weren't there to witness his smile again, to share in his days as the seasons turned, as his hair silvered and he laughed heartily. You weren't there when he gazed up at the stars, perhaps thinking of you.
You missed all of it, you missed him. And, worst of all, you never got to give him your answer.
With a broken sob, you pulled the textbook against your chest, hugging it as tightly as possible as if its weight could replace his arms. Your body shook with an overwhelming wave of grief.
"I miss you…" You cried, your voice muffled against the worn cover.
"I miss you so much… You said you'd wait for my answer, but I wasn't there to give it. I never got to tell you that I…" You trailed off, words caught in your throat, tears still streaming down your face. You wished, with every fiber of your being, that the book in your arms was him, warm and alive and looking at you with those gentle eyes. That time wasn't such a cruel mistress, all you had were words, history, and a love that could transcend centuries but never defy time.
Months bled into seasons, a gentle whisper, and though the world moved on, a memory lived on within you, one you alone clung to. Life hadn't been kind, yet somehow, you pressed on. The ache a constant companion. Exams and late nights fuelled by endless cups of coffee followed, until finally the envelope arrived, containing not words but your entire future.
University.
On your first day, standing at the imposing entrance to your new chapter, a breath hitched in your chest. The sun warmed your face, the sky stretched, a canvas of blue. Within reach, it seemed, your whole life finally beckoned.
Shuffling your backpack, you stepped forward.
Towering, sleek structures, a stark contrast to the hallowed halls and flickering lanterns of your Eastern kingdom. Even as your feet found this new pavement, your heart still echoed the old rhythm.
Then-
Tap, a soft touch on your shoulder. You turned, almost lazily, until a jolt shot through you, stealing your breath.
Xu Minghao.
Or at least, his exact double. No, it was him. Smartly dressed, a lanyard around his neck, hair just a little unruly, and those familiar gentle eyes.
"Erm, hey," He managed, a shy grin crinkling his face. "do you happen to know where the Design Building is?"
Your heart gave a painful throb. He didn't recognize you, he's not the one he'd seen under a canopy of stars, the one who'd risked life for his safety, the one to whom he'd pledged his love.
Frozen for a heartbeat, memories flooding your senses like a tidal wave, a fragile smile spread across your lips, tinged with bitterness, yet softened by a whisper of warmth. Because perhaps, just perhaps, this was a second chance. A quiet beginning. Free of threats, precipitous drops, and vast temporal gulfs between you.
"I'm heading that way too," You said softly. "I can show you."
His grin widened. "That would be awesome, thanks. I'm a terrible navigator."
You began to walk, side-by-side.
New surroundings, new era. And maybe, just maybe… a new opportunity.
EN-Komect Heights 🌼 SVT-Raitere Lofts 🌼 Otherworld Plaza 🌼 Verdant Springs 🌼 Pinned Post 🌼 taglist :
YOUR TOMORROW IS NEVER GUARANTEED, especially when a disease starts spreading like wildfire and kills the Earth as you know it. Resources are scarce and to combat the Earth from dying even more, mankind has divided itself into factions, each responsible for a natural element both to protect and to wield it. When it was discovered that the Establishment has been abusing this way of living, the remaining survivors face a choice: fight back or fall victim to a scheme. Whatever they choose, they will never look at their world or each other the same ever again.
collab rules & guidelines:
*rules can be tweaked/ added onto whilst the collab is ongoing*
☣ you must be at least 18 years of age to participate
☣ your story may be posted in multiple parts, but you should have your first part ready for the posting period for this collab
☣ stories may be SFW or NSFW, but must not include any of the following: non-con/dub-con, incest/stepcest, abuse of any kind, beastiality, extreme kinks, and/or self-harm. please contact the admins if you would like to discuss or have any questions
☣ the admins and moderators have set some basic worldbuilding for this collaboration and while you are free to write any storyline, all fics in this universe will all be canon to the world so you will need to follow the basic worldbuilding that we have set [all worldbuilding notes will be in the collab server!]
☣ all deadlines are strict deadlines except the posting one! while we would love for all the fics to be in by the deadline, the admins and moderators all understand that life gets in the way sometimes and/or it can't be helped! if you do not think you can complete the fic by the deadline, please let either admin know! similarly, if you anticipate that you are going to drop out of the collab, please let the admins know as soon as possible so that we can find someone to fill your spot!
deadlines:
☣ application period: 6th july to 24th july
⚠︎ dropout deadline: 1st september
☣ banners and summaries due: 15th october
☣ posting period: 31st october to 30th november
disclaimer: the admins will do their best to give you your first or second choice but we're also human, so please be willing to write for your third member chosen as well
APPLY HERE!
brought to you by: @orbitondgtl & @livmarauder
featuring: @jakedustry, @cherrymayz, @luvrung & @gentleisa
Far across the confines of her home a distant kingdom was where Princess Y/N resided, but that all ceased to matter when she was determined to escape the tedious and routine life that had been thrown into her plate from birth. After a while of pretending to be a lowly common boy, however, life unexpectedly led to her meeting her match Huening Kai. With the lies becoming revelations, secrets unraveled and facts uncovered, the paths of these two became set on the route they could never imagine; Marriage.
After all, would they have ever predicted a love story blooming after a chaotic start with the result of marriage?
The Queen's Marriage (SFW ; Soobin)
In a realm of submissive queens and kings who get what they want, a woman dares to ask how far she'll go to break the chains she was given. Once the loving wife, now neglected, the woman quickly remembers when a king takes a mistress in her age.
In hopes to feel a spark of freedom she steps past her palace gates... directly into the view of a rival king, Choi Soobin. What started as a treacherous encounter quickly leads to a tempting deal, one that breaks everything she was told, and everything she knew to be true.
Dairy Switch! (SFW ; Beomgyu & Taehyun ; SMAU)
Dear Taehyun's Diary, so Beomgyu and I both have crushes on these two girls who are best friends. Now here's the catch, we swapped our diaries!! Mine ended up with Girl B and Beomgyu's is with Girl A! HELP!
NCT
Photographic Times (SFW ; Jaemin)
Ever since he can remember, Jaemin has carried around an antique camera, the one his late father had used before him. But his father's old camera carries a dark secret: once you shoot a total of 100 pictures with the camera, you are destined to die. As Jaemin finds love and is settling down to a life with the person he cherishes most, the camera documents their story from their first dates, their wedding, the joys and sorrows to their everyday lives.
In "Photographic Times", a story questions you: how many shots would you need to take to capture your forever and be willing to leave forever after?
A mafia academy, seven boys. More missions, more scars.
Blutreinheit Academy isn't for just anyone, it has the most exclusive education for future mafia leaders. It takes not just skill to survive, but the willingness to do whatever it takes to succeed. Follow seven boys as they go from strangers to teammates to much, much more.
This is how their story starts... and how seven boys earn their spots in the mafia world.
Your Name (Sunoo ; dystopian)
A class is moved to an island under a new government regime without reason chosen to fight amongst themselves until only one of them survive to be compensated to have their whole future.
NCT
Red Riding Hood (Jeno ; werewolf)
Deep in a moonlit wood, Y/N ventures where shadowed trails meet unknown threats, where an impossible white wolf, whose fur shimmers like silver and whose eyes gleam red as blood, stands to watch.
SEVENTEEN
The Hunger Game: Midnight Melody (Dino ; dystopian)
404: Soul Not Found (96-line ; horror gore)
A game where four friends have no idea one of them has been secretly designated as the killer, who only wins if they all die. But this survival can only be found only through dying and going insane.
Mutually Obsessed (Joshua ; yandere)
Fueled by hidden passions, bound by unexpressed desires, two determined souls discover they were born to belong together.
Wedding Days (Jeonghan & Joshua ; psychological drama, psychological thriller & dark romance)
SEVENTEEN (series ; whole group ; mix)
TXT
Silence (Yeonjun ; mystery murder)
Ready for a feel good story about getting well again, love, and finding who you really are?
Follow the story of Choi Yeonjun, a regular 26-year-old office worker as he tries to get back the memories he has lost. His kind parents, understanding officers and the loving family of his late girlfriend help him understand that even though memories can be forgotten love is everlasting. A mystery that encourages your spirit, and one where the kindness of others always finds a way back home.
Because after all... the people who love you most could never hurt you... right?
Lost with the operation that wiped away her memory, she begins a new journey of finding her career while moving on. Starting her new life as an agency secretary in a company, she meets the stranger Lee Heeseung who somehow knows much more about her than she could even imagine. But as feelings she doesn't understand bloom in her heart, truth unravels. A lost memory, a daughter who remembers her, and a love story that had a sad ending that Heeseung just never got over.
This time, Heeseung swears he'll never make the same mistakes again, even if he has to bury their past deep.
Jay Park Jongsung
Lucky Charm (SFW)
Crystallight (SFW)
At the Altar Ceremony was the turning point when you, a princess whispered by rumors and rumors you yourself started change—and for first time was the oddity in the midst of crowd.
Jake Sim Jaeyun
Park Sunghoon
In Another Lifetime (SFW)
In the guise of a precious, gifted new chance, Sunghoon could again have the fight of a lifetime for the only one he ever truly cared about... Until he’d come to understand that fate never collected its own account.
