YOU AND I UNDER THE MOONLIGHT; WE BLOOM AT NIGHT

abby - 04' liner - enha blog - writer indefinite writing hiatus

[enhastolemyheart]

ㅤㅤ ＥＮＨＡＳＴＯＬＥＭＹＨＥＡＲＴ

ㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤ welcome *♡∞:｡.｡ ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤ

ㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤㅤ ㅤ 0:00 ───|────── 2:40

♯ about | carrd

♯ main mlist | latest work

♯ rules | taglist | anons

♯ my most popular fic: after effect - lhs ㅤㅤㅤ ♯ kinktober

♯ networks: @hyfenet @k-films @kflixnet

© ENHASTOLEMYHEART ON TUMBLR, 2023

[taexual]

. . . d e l i r i u m | 9

in the midst of the crowds, in the shapes in the clouds, i don’t see nobody but you /// dhruv, double take

pairing: yeonjun x fem!reader

summary: sometimes love and hate exist on opposite ends of the map. other times, on separate floors of the same building.

genre: ex!yeonjun / enemies to lovers au / neighbour au

warnings: slow burn, mutual pining that is genuinely so intense i’m going to personally lock them both up, strong language, jealous!jjun, fluff, flirting & teasing & being idiots in love, maybe mild angst? all communication done sideways lol

words: 10.4k

[ ! ] this is a sequel to equilibrium

masterlist / read from the beginning

✦ • ─── SEPTEMBER 10, 2026. 3:30 PM

You’d spent most of Thursday in Professor Lee’s office, reviewing your students’ presentations until the PowerPoints blurred into one another.

Sungjae, the student who’d been raising his hand since the first lecture you’d taught (very rarely did it include a question), had come in last and insisted on taking you through every slide, every transition, every font choice, and every graph. You couldn’t tell blue apart from green by the end of it.

He was still explaining the philosophical implications of his contents slide, of all things, by the time you shut Professor Lee’s office door behind you.

“I feel like, visually, it creates an epistemological hierarchy,” he said, falling into step beside you as you crossed the lobby, “before the audience has even consciously registered it.”

You made a polite noise.

Sungjae had seemingly discovered the joy of over-intellectualising and decided that every sentence needed seasoning with words like paradigmatic and phenomenological. He reminded you a lot of someone.

You’d barely stepped out of the building when a car horn split through the air. A flock of pigeons launched off the roof. Heads turned across the quad.

You looked up.

When you’d agreed to attend one of the races Yeonjun was working, you hadn’t realised that also meant he intended to pick you up from university.

Now he was leaning halfway out of the driver’s window of his Mercedes in the parking lot across the quad, one hand planted on the steering wheel while the other waved high enough to change the direction of the wind. Then, because he clearly hadn’t yet drawn quite enough attention, he pressed the horn again.

Your shoulders dropped.

Beside you, Sungjae raised his eyebrows. “For you, I assume.”

You lifted an almost pleading hand towards Yeonjun, hoping he would understand the signal for please stop embarrassing me.

“For me,” you admitted.

“Boyfriend?”

You looked at Sungjae, momentarily thrown by how casually he’d asked this, before glancing back towards the Mercedes.

Yeonjun had already climbed out. Arms folded, he watched the two of you from beside the hood. Even from here, you could see him debating whether another blast of the horn would be excessive. Knowing him, he probably thought it wouldn’t be.

“Have a nice day, Sungjae,” you said instead of answering, already making your way down the stone steps. “Your presentation’s good. Just don’t spend longer explaining your design choices than your research.”

A faint blush appeared on his cheeks. “I wasn’t—”

“I’ll see you next week in class.” You crossed the quad before he could think to ask another question.

The grass shimmered beneath the late afternoon sun, freshly cut and fragrant in the breeze. Students lounged beneath the trees with their shoes and notebooks abandoned beside them, enjoying the last of the warmth. You had to veer sharply left as a cyclist swept past, offering you an amused apology that sounded more like laughter.

By the time you reached the Mercedes, Yeonjun had pushed himself off the hood. His gaze flicked past you towards the Law building.

“Who was that?” he asked.

You gave him a pointed look. “Hi.”

“Hi,” he said. “Who was that?”

You let your backpack slide from your shoulder. “My student.”

His attention returned to the boy, who, honest to God, looked like a primary school kid. He was pretending to check his phone while glancing up at you and Yeonjun every few seconds.

“Persistent bloke, isn’t he?” Yeonjun murmured. “What’s his name?”

“Why’s it matter?”

Yeonjun looked back at you then, properly.

“I enjoy meeting new people,” he said simply.

“Mhmm.”

“Should I go over, then, introduce myself?”

You ran your tongue over your teeth. “If you want to never see me again, sure.”

He clicked his lips. “Right. Another time, then.”

You didn’t dignify that with a response and slid your staff lanyard off your neck before tucking it into your backpack.

Yeonjun pulled the passenger door open. “Come on, then.”

The leather seats of his Mercedes had been baking in the sun, and the warmth seeped pleasantly through your jacket as you sat down, dropping your backpack between your feet. The scent of cedarwood lingered in the cabin, familiar enough by now that your lips curved automatically.

Yeonjun shut your door and rounded the hood. The car woke the moment he slid behind the wheel and turned the key, emitting a low sound that swallowed the rest of the campus noise.

He slipped his seatbelt on and shot you a glance. “Work okay?”

You exhaled, fumbling with your own seatbelt until it clicked into place.

“Yeah,” you said. “Shouldn’t you have been at work already, though?”

“Not for another half an hour.” He pulled away from the kerb with an easy turn of the wheel. “Figured I’d save you the trip home and pick you up from here. We can grab your student, too, if you’d like.”

You rolled your eyes as the car drove past the Law building. Sungjae still stood by the door.

“M’s sure he’ll find his way home,” you said.

"Mhmm." Yeonjun watched him until he disappeared from his field of vision.

“Thanks for coming,” you said, pulling his attention back to you as you tugged the seatbelt where it had begun sawing into the side of your neck. “D’you think Violet will be alright at mine?”

The Mercedes rolled through the narrow cobbled streets. The plush seats absorbed every uneven stone.

“Probably,” Yeonjun said. “I genuinely don’t think she even notices we’re gone, s’long as it’s still light outside.”

Your expression eased.

“Alright.” You settled back. “Tell me what to expect at the race, then.”

“Okay. So—”

“How many women will be there?”

“I—” His eyes flicked towards you before returning to the road. The queue at the main junction leading out of campus had already coagulated into a procession of brake lights. “I’m actually not sure. Why?”

“Trying to work out how quickly I’ll get bored if there aren’t any women to keep me company.”

Yeonjun understood the sentiment, but he didn’t much care for the idea of someone else providing that particular service for you.

“I’ll keep you company,” he said.

You turned to him. “You’re not a woman.”

He considered that.

“Okay. That’s true.” He gave a slow nod. His left hand rested loosely at the top of the steering wheel, his wrist bent at a careful angle. “But I am still your friend. Right?”

“Right.”

“So I still count.”

“You’ll be working.”

“I can still—”

“With other men,” you added.

That made him smile.

“Ah,” he said. “So their manliness will contaminate me, s’that it?”

You gave him a flat look. “It might.”

He chuckled. The traffic crawled forward another car length.

Watching the billboards on the side of the road, he found himself thinking about the conversations he’d overheard around the paddock. Half of them had been about engines, the other half about places with flashing lights and overpriced drinks.

Before taking the job, he’d had no idea there were this many strip clubs in the city. Now he was convinced that most of them were financed solely by his drivers. Admittedly, that was quite comforting. The only good his drivers were for was keeping local businesses afloat.

All in all, Yeonjun decided, you were making a solid point.

“I’ll try not to stand too close to them,” he said finally, “and hopefully they won’t infect me.”

You snorted. The traffic moved, and he was finally able to merge onto the main street.

“You’ll be busy anyway,” you said. “How will you have time to keep me company?”

A faint crease appeared between his brows. “I always have time for you.”

Your fingers found the edge of your jacket. The stitching by the zipper felt fascinating—considerably more fascinating, in fact, than the memory of the first time he’d brought you to his race in grad school, and then skipped it altogether to walk around the woods with you instead.

“So,” you inhaled sharply, “no women, then?”

Yeonjun exhaled as the traffic lights turned red.

Resting one elbow on the open window, he drummed his fingers absently against the door while cyclists threaded between the standing cars.

“I don’t know,” he admitted. “Couple of teams have women around the garages, but I couldn’t tell you whether they’re engineers, mechanics, partners, or—I don’t know.” He lifted one shoulder. “Never asked. Bit awkward to go, hi, s’nice meeting you, d’you work here?”

You smiled. “Okay, fair, yeah.”

“Yeah. So I genuinely don’t know who’ll be there.”

“That’s fine, then.”

The lights flicked to green.

Yeonjun pulled forward, easing past a hesitant black BMW before its driver had registered that the traffic was moving again. Then he glanced across at you, his teeth catching briefly on his lower lip.

“Not particularly excited about this, then?” he asked.

You met his eyes for a moment before his attention returned to the road. The Mercedes turned onto a narrow lane flanked by warehouses whose corrugated walls shimmered in the sun, throwing ripples of reflected light across the windscreen.

“I am,” you said. The road felt older here, patched so many times that it looked like a black quilt. “Just nervous, I suppose. Crowds of people. You know.”

Yeonjun nodded.

To be honest, midweek races rarely drew much of a crowd. The only people who came were devoted regulars (all staggering ten of them), a handful of university students skipping lectures, relatives of the drivers, and the occasional curious passer-by who’d wandered over after seeing a social media post. Hardly the roaring masses you seemed to be imagining.

“I’ll be with you whenever I can,” he said. “Promise.”

The asphalt gave way to gravel. Loose stones crunched beneath the tyres, kicking pale dust into the air behind you.

“Thank you,” you said. “Don’t let me interfere with your work, though. I’ll survive.”

He shrugged. “My work will survive, too.”

You looked across to him. “You’re alright getting fired because you spent your shift babysitting me?”

“I am.” He caught your eye, his grin unbearably smug. “Problem?”

You looked away before he could enjoy your reaction for too long, folding your hands together in your lap.

“Well, not a problem for me,” you said. “But you quite obviously need professional help.”

“Mhmm. Think I’ve heard that before.”

“Might be worth considering.”

He laughed. Distracted by the sound, you didn’t notice the clouds sliding over the sun until the car around you dimmed.

Another ten minutes later, a broad metal gate appeared between shipping containers ahead, practically invisible until you were nearly on top of it. Little showed behind it, only flashes of colour and the occasional plume of smoke drifting into the sky.

The smell of hot rubber and petrol drifted through the open window. You could almost feel it in your throat.

“We’re here,” Yeonjun said, stopping just outside the gate and killing the engine. “Bit underwhelming from this side, I know, but hang on for me.”

You unclipped your seatbelt and looked across the uneven dirt parking lot. Cars had been abandoned wherever there’d been room, some leaning with one wheel sunk into the soft ground.

The dirt was vibrating as you stepped out of the car, deep enough to reverberate through the soles of your trainers.

It took you back to university at once. You almost expected to look up and find Beomgyu’s beaten-down Audi parked beside Taehyun’s unreasonably orange Corvette.

Yeonjun let you through the gate, which swung from a single tired hook that looked like it wouldn’t even keep pigeons out, let alone people. The smell of fuel seemed to sink into your clothes almost immediately. Yeonjun’s dark leather jacket, on the other hand, continued to smell of his cologne. Perhaps he’d grown immune to the scents here.

“Alright,” he said, extending his hands. “Welcome.”

The paddock was lively. It set you on edge at first, the loud noises, but about ten minutes of weaving through garages and trailers later, you had to admit that this wasn’t so bad after all.

There was a cosiness to the chaos around you: mechanics borrowed tools from each other without asking, drivers traded insults one minute, and shared energy drinks the next. Even the people dressed in casual clothes greeted the staff with enthusiastic high-fives. Everyone seemed to know everyone here.

It reminded you, absurdly, of your village.

You were surprised, then, once the two of you walked straight out of the paddock.

Before you could ask Yeonjun where he was taking you, he reached for your hand. Feeling your skin tingle all of a sudden, you let him guide you around the grandstands, between coils of electrical cable and past more fencing. He then turned up towards a grassy slope at the edge of the circuit.

“Why,” you asked, already out of breath as your trainers slipped against a tree root, “are we climbing a hill? Surely they aren’t racing uphill?”

Yeonjun tightened his grip to steady you. “Of course not.”

“So, what’s the—”

“You’ll see.” He stepped over another exposed root and paused to draw you around it. “Trust me.”

You brushed a loose strand of hair away from your face. “M’not a fan of surprises, you know.”

Yeonjun grinned. Instead of replying, he reached back again and gave your hand a gentle tug up the steepest stretch of the slope. The wind was stronger here, carrying the smell of damp grass. With every step, the paddock noise fell further away.

You understood why he’d brought you here the moment you reached the top.

The entire circuit unfolded beneath you: two long straights carved through the greenery before feeding into a string of quick chicanes. From up here, the tarmac looked almost painted onto the landscape, a dark ribbon between fields that ran on towards the horizon. Beyond them, the trees—some of them already golden—swayed under the steadily thickening clouds. The grandstands had shrunk to rows of silver benches, speckled with tiny, moving dots.

“Wow,” you breathed.

Yeonjun smiled and, for the first time that afternoon, looked oddly unsure of himself.

“Yeah?” He let go of your hand, a little awkwardly, and slid both of his into his pockets. “This is my favourite spot to work. At least until someone calls me back down.”

Your gaze drifted across the track. “I can see why. Got the best view here.”

“Yeah.” He nodded towards the nearest grandstand. “Not too bad over there either, if you sit near the top. Front row’s got the better soundtrack, though.”

You laughed softly. “I can imagine.”

He smiled to himself. Almost without thinking, he drew his right hand back out of his pocket and found his left wrist, rubbing his thumb over the skin.

You caught the movement out of the corner of your eye.

“Bothering you?” you asked without turning. “Your wrist.”

He looked down.

“A bit.” He flexed it experimentally. The joint answered with the same dull ache that had followed him all day. “Shouldn’t have fucked with the brace while it was on. My own fault.” His thumb kept working slowly over the bone. “I’ve also realised it gets worse whenever it’s about to rain, so m’thinking of starting a weather forecasting business.”

You snorted, eyes returning to the horizon. The leaves on the trees around the hill had begun shivering.

“It does smell like rain,” you said. “Your wrist’s probably right.”

He took a slow breath through his nose and lifted his head towards the sky.

It always seemed to darken here first. The circuit sat low enough that the storms found it before the rest of the city had even noticed the clouds.

“Hmm.” He narrowed his eyes at the western horizon. “Could be a wet race.”

“Those are usually fun,” you said.

“Well,” he gave a short laugh, “they’re fun until the team wants updated analyses every three minutes because the grip’s changing every lap. First wet race I worked, I finished convinced I’d be handing in my resignation the next morning.”

“Shit. Yeah?” You looked from the clouds back to him. “Excellent day to bring me here.”

He grinned.

“No, it is an excellent day,” he said. “You’ll be my reason not to quit.”

Your eyebrows lifted. Catching the amusement in your eyes, he gestured vaguely towards the paddock below.

“Meant that in a friendly way,” he explained. “Got to prove I’m incredibly cool and completely calm under pressure.”

You scoffed. “Of course, yes. All very important qualities. Couldn’t possibly be friends with you otherwise.”

“I’d think so,” he said, “considering Reina became Assistant Director, what—six months after joining her nonprofit?”

You smiled before you could help yourself. If promotions had been awarded by public vote, you were convinced Reina would’ve been running the organisation by now.

She’d get there eventually, you were sure.

“Well,” you said. “She’s built different. We can’t all be her.”

“And Nara and Beomgyu are about to start their own conglomerate.”

You frowned. “Are they? M’still not convinced whatever they’re doing is legal.”

He laughed. The wind caught the sound and scattered it down the hillside. Your eyes followed it move through the grass.

“Yeah, s’true, I actually don’t know either,” he said. “Point is, you’re surrounded by very ambitious people. I’ve got to fit in.”

The determination in his tone made you pause.

“They—but just happened to be like that, though,” you said, looking up at him again. “But we’re friends because they’re good people. It’s not—not because they’ve got impressive dreams or careers. If Reina quit tomorrow and became a groupie for some rock band, I’d follow them on tour with her.”

Yeonjun smiled at the image, but didn’t answer right away, his gaze settling on the grandstands.

He hadn’t considered that, although he should’ve known that you’d never cared much about being impressed.

He wanted to impress you anyway.

The wind shifted across the hillside, stirring the grass around his ankles.

“Do you think I’m a good person, then?” he found himself asking.

You turned to him. The breeze tugged at the open flaps of your jacket as you searched his face, trying to work out whether he was joking or simply fishing for compliments the way he usually did.

The relentless focus in his eyes, however, made it difficult for you to keep looking at him.

“I—I think you’re trying to be a good person,” you said, eyes dropping to the track. “Which is probably the most any of us can do.”

“Yeah?” Your careful wording pulled another small smile from him. “Would you have said that back in grad school?”

Below the hill, a marshal carried a stack of orange traffic cones under one arm, walking along the edge of the circuit.

“Definitely not,” you admitted. “But I wasn’t a good person back then, either.”

That surprised Yeonjun.

He turned fully towards you. “What makes you say that?”

“I was prejudiced and proud,” you said with a shrug. “Probably still am, if I’m honest. But now I’m at least trying not to stay that way.”

You glanced back at him, and Yeonjun found himself smiling again.

He liked hearing that being good wasn’t a destination you eventually arrived at, but something you kept moving towards. That sounded promising.

“Hm.” He folded his arms against the breeze. “I always thought it was more permanent. Like—”

“Choi Yeonjun!”

You both flinched.

Instinctively, you looked downhill. Below, one of the race officials stood outside a portable office, one hand planted on top of his bald head as though holding it on against the wind.

“Yeah?” Yeonjun shouted back.

“Come down here for a sec, would you?” the official bellowed. “The bloody computers have all frozen again. Sorry!”

Yeonjun sighed. “Yeah—coming!”

He looked sideways at you. There was an apology already settled into his face.

“Go on.” You nodded towards the increasingly distressed man below. “Didn’t realise you were IT, though.”

“Oh—” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “I’m everything here.”

You smiled. “Well, go ahead, then. Save the world.”

He held out his hand.

“Come with me,” he said, nodding towards the slope. “Let’s get you down first.”

You glanced downhill. From here, it didn’t look especially intimidating. Granted, the climb up had left your calves tense, but that’s typical for hills as you knew them. Always easier to get down.

“I can walk,” you said.

“I’m sure.” His smile deepened. “Let me help anyway. Since it’s on my way.”

Your eyes dropped to his outstretched hand.

You realised, with a faint hitch in your breath, that you couldn’t refuse him. Never had before, and still couldn’t.

“Fine.” You slipped your hand into his. His fingers were warm as they closed around yours. Your chest was, too. “Let’s go.”

His grip tightened for half a second. Then, without another word, he launched himself downhill at full speed.

You gasped, stomach lurching as you stumbled after him, your trainers skidding across flattened grass before you found your footing again. An involuntary laugh burst from your chest.

Yeonjun darted around a patch of mud without warning, tugging you after him so abruptly that your shoulder bumped hard against his.

“Yeonjun, for fuck’s—”

“Y’alright, love?”

You tightened your grip on his hand and swatted his shoulder without stopping. He laughed so hard that he missed the low-hanging tree branches. His jacket sleeve caught on them, yanking him half off balance.

Stumbling backwards, he instinctively caught you with his free hand, steadying you both.

“You’re such a—such a shithead,” you puffed, dropping his hand as the ground finally levelled under your feet. Your heart was still pounding. “Could’ve warned me.”

Yeonjun bent slightly to catch his breath. He was still laughing.

“For the record,” you added, shooting him a look, “I don’t think you’re a very good person right now.”

Naturally, that made him laugh even harder.

When he finally looked up and saw the grass clinging to the legs of your jeans, the loose strands of hair plastered across your face, and the reluctant smile you couldn’t smother, he almost wanted to drag you back up the hill just so he could race down it with you again.

“M’really sorry about this.” He didn’t mean the hill. “I’ll be right back soon, though. I swear.”

You planted your hands on your hips while your lungs tried to accept a proper breath.

“Take your time.” You inhaled slowly. “I’ll be fine.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah. Not climbing any more hills.”

Already about to walk away, he suddenly pulled back. His eyes were practically sparkling.

“What if it’s a smaller one, though?” he asked.

“No.”

“But what if I asked you to climb it with me really, really nicely?”

“No.”

“What if I gave you some sweets for it—”

You found yourself laughing again. “Go, Jun! Jesus. You’ve got work.”

Laughing and promising five minutes one last time, Yeonjun reached out to squeeze your arm and finally jogged across the gravel to find his team.

✦ • ─── SEPTEMBER 10, 2026. 5 PM

Yeonjun’s five minutes quickly became ten, then thirty.

Surprisingly, you found you didn’t mind it all that much.

After walking along the pit lane, you discovered the food stalls behind the grandstands. One battered caravan had a queue trailing halfway back towards the paddock. Its white paint was peeling, the faded stickers coated in a thin film of grease. It looked as though it had been parked here longer than you’d been alive.

You soon understood why the queue had been so long – the hot dogs were fantastic. The bread was warm enough to send up steam on the first bite, and the pickles actually had flavour to them. You made a mental note to tell Yeonjun this should be the first stop of his tour when he brought someone here for the first time.

The only draining part of being here on your own, predictably, turned out to be the men.

It started pleasantly enough: a middle-aged man asked if you’d been here before. He was friendly and genuinely welcoming about it; even complimented your choice in hot dogs.

The second man caught up to you by the toilets and began explaining Qualifying to you before you’d even worked out why he was talking to you in the first place.

By the third (and fourth and fifth) man, the conversations had turned to the classic, could I get your number?

You declined each time with a polite smile. They smiled back and asked again, usually with a come on, sometimes with a don’t be like that.

By the time one of them asked whether you lived nearby, your smile felt more like a grimace.

“Sorry,” you said at last. “I’ve got a boyfriend.”

That didn’t work, either; something about a goalpost having a goalkeeper.

You hadn’t realised women were goalposts now, but you were not above taking a penalty kick at the next man’s head.

Eventually, though, once you’d repeated the boyfriend spell three more times, they decided to leave you alone, mumbling under their breath about who they thought you were. You had half a mind to hold yourself back, mostly out of respect for Yeonjun, who’d have had to be the one to bail you out of jail.

You retreated to the grandstands overlooking the track. Halfway up, you could see almost everything and spot anyone approaching long before they reached you.

Below, the cars had taken their places on the grid. Mechanics still moved between them, wheeling toolboxes across the tarmac. To your surprise, Yeonjun was back, and already pounding up the grandstand steps on the left, taking three at a time.

By the time he reached you, a sheen of sweat clung to his forehead. He dropped onto the bench beside you with a heavy exhale.

“God, I’m so—” He sucked in a breath. “—so sorry. Wasn’t expecting that to take so fucking long.”

“Don’t worry about it,” you said, lifting the empty polystyrene tray balanced on your knees. “I’m fine here. The food’s great.”

Yeonjun looked down at the tray.

“You got a hot dog without me?” he asked.

“Yes.”

He heaved another exhale. “Wow. Don’t know if I can forgive that.”

“And it was great, too. The pickles were excellent.”

“Oh,” he attempted a scowl, “were they?”

You grinned. “Did you get everything sorted?”

He leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees. “Yeah, eventually.”

Nodding, you turned back towards the track. It was surprisingly warm here; you were considering losing your jacket.

“Uh,” Yeonjun said. You glanced at him again. “Actually, for the last twenty or so minutes, I’ve been in there,” he pointed over his shoulder towards one of the portable offices, “listening to my engineers discuss you.”

Your eyebrows shot up. “What?”

“Yes,” he said. “And your boyfriend. How—how’d that happen in the time that I was gone?”

You groaned, tipping your head back against the aluminium bench.

Yeonjun wasn’t sure what to make of the sound. You looked uncomfortable, which made something in his stomach tighten, almost painfully. He shouldn’t have been gone this long.

Then it suddenly occurred to him that, despite everything that had happened over the past few weeks, you might’ve actually been seeing someone. The kiss at Reina and Soobin’s engagement party hadn’t necessarily proved anything—people kissed people they shouldn’t all the time.

He thought it would’ve made sense. You were you, after all. Beautiful and smart and caring and kind and funny, and he’d sit here, staring at his shoes, all night if he kept going.

“I lied to get rid of the idiots you work with,” you said eventually, some of the irritation still clinging to your voice. “No one taught them how to take no for an answer, apparently. Obviously m’not actually dating anyone.”

Beside you, Yeonjun plucked a speck of lint from his trousers. “Why, um—why obviously?”

You turned to him, puzzled by his puzzlement.

“Why would I decide to be friends with you,” you said, “and then immediately go off and date someone else?”

A sharp current climbed Yeonjun’s spine. Every thought in his head scattered at once, like a startled murder of crows. Or pigeons. Or sparrows, those were fidgety—

And he was thinking about fucking birds now.

“Does that—” He abandoned the sentence and tried again. “W-what does that mean?”

You’d expected the question. The moment you said the words, you knew they’d sounded larger than you’d meant.

“I don’t know,” you said, returning your gaze to the track below. “Means exactly what I said.”

Beside you, Yeonjun shifted closer to the edge of the bench. He could only see your profile from here; the wind kept sweeping strands of hair across your cheek, then dropping them again.

Stupid.

He wouldn’t have dropped them.

“It sounded,” he said carefully, “like you were saying you’d date me, if you could date anyone.”

You lifted one shoulder. “Suppose it did.”

His stomach lurched so violently that he worried he was about to be sick. That would definitely impress you.

“Is—” His voice almost disappeared. “—is that what you meant?”

You met his eyes, and Yeonjun physically felt his throat dry.

“It is,” you said.

There was no promise in your words, only the simple truth of it: it is.

If choosing someone had been as simple as wanting them, you’d have chosen him.

Yeonjun looked away. His fingers began tapping against his knees without him noticing. Below, the engineers gathered their equipment and stepped away from the cars. Someone, he knew, would come looking for him soon.

He didn’t think about that.

Instead, he thought about every joke he’d ever made over the years. Thought about the bet. About every time he’d wrapped the truth in humour and games, because it felt safer that way.

If there’s no beginning, Soobin had once summarised it for him, there’s no end.

You were protecting yourself from that version of him now.

He realised he was protecting himself, too.

There could be a beginning now. And there could be an end.

And if there was an end, there would be no friendship left for the two of you to fall back on. There’d be nothing.

“Does—does this work, then, do you think?” he asked after a long minute. “Us being friends.”

The wind picked up around you, nearly stealing his words. Down the grid, the yellow flags fluttered, snapping softly against their poles.

“I don’t know,” you said. “Think we’re trying our best, all things considered.”

Yeonjun smiled.

He thought that sounded a bit like a journey as well, just like being a good person, and decided he quite liked that. Quite liked that there were things to consider, too.

“Alright.” He stretched his legs onto the row below and exhaled some of the heaviness in his chest. “So, since we’re trying our best, yeah? You should start telling me everything you tell Reina.”

You turned to him with a scoff, then looked away the moment he started laughing.

“I don’t tell anyone what I tell Reina.”

“Ah.” He slapped a palm dramatically against his thigh. “Well, then m’afraid we’ll never reach our full friendship potential.”

You turned sideways on the bench, tucking one leg under yourself. Your jeans lifted over your ankles.

“There’re layers to this, though,” you said. “Reina is Reina. No one else gets to be her.” You pointed at him. “You’re Yeonjun.”

His grin widened. “Oh, thanks for reminding me, love. Knew I shouldn’t have wandered so far from the psych ward agai—”

“Alright, tone it down.” You rolled your eyes, but he’d already caught the smile threatening your lips. “M’saying our friendship is naturally different.”

“Different how?”

“Well…” You tugged your white sock a little higher where it had slipped beneath the hem of your jeans. “Okay. Do you think Soobin and I are the same?”

He was already shaking his head before you’d even finished the question. “Definitely not.”

“Am I less of a friend to you, then?”

His gaze drifted towards the woods beyond the circuit.

You weren’t less, he thought, but you weren’t more, either. You just sort of were; an entire category of your own.

“Alright,” he conceded anyway. “You’re not.”

You spread your hands in humble triumph. “There you go, then.”

“Right.” He stared into the middle distance for another second. “There I go, then. Yeah. ‘Course.”

You dropped your hands back into your lap. “What now?”

A smile tugged at one corner of his lips as his gaze returned to the cars below.

“Nothing,” he said. “Was just thinking how offended you looked when you said you obviously wouldn’t date anyone else.”

He gave you a profoundly meaningful look—just to get you to roll your eyes. To his immense pleasure, you did.

“If you’re planning to keep bringing that up,” you said, “I might ask one of your drivers out purely out of spite.”

“No, but you couldn’t.” He leaned back against the bench, watching you from the corner of his eye. “Why would you turn me down and then date someone else?”

You clicked your tongue and let your gaze follow the last of the rain clouds as they slowly broke apart above the circuit.

You should’ve expected this, really. It was the chocolate syrup all over again.

“M’questioning my life choices every day with you,” you mumbled.

His laughter rang out across the rows of benches. “You should be.”

You refused to look back at him, despite the weight of his gaze pressing against the side of your face.

Below, the pit lane quieted for just a second. The mechanics hurried back into the garages. Drivers lowered their helmet visors. One by one, the engines roared into life until the vibration climbed up through the stands.

Beside you, Yeonjun drew a long breath.

“Duty calls?” you asked, nodding ahead.

His gaze shifted down towards the garages.

Maybe he should just quit. He was starting to have fun with this conversation and planned to bring up your magical apricots soon.

“It does.” There was reluctance in his voice as he stood, brushing a hand down his trousers. “Come with me?”

You finally looked up. “Where?”

He tipped his head towards the row of portable offices. “Inside.”

You followed his gaze. There were hardly any people in the pit lane now.

“Can I do that?” you asked.

“Have you lost your ability to walk?”

You stared at him. “I meant, am I allowed?”

He waved the question off before holding out his hand.

“I decide what’s allowed,” he said. “And I want you with me.”

Trying to control your pulse, you failed to control the smile on your lips. Your hand lifted to his, almost instinctive by now.

“So entitled,” you muttered, gathering your empty tray.

“Mhmm.” He pulled you to your feet. “You get special treatment when you’re here with me. Don’t forget that.”

“Oh, wouldn’t dream of it.” You matched his pace down the steps. “How will I ever express my overwhelming gratitude?”

He grinned at you over his shoulder. “You think about that, love.”

✦ • ─── SEPTEMBER 10, 2026. 8:30 PM

Yeonjun’s team didn’t do so bad in the end—they finished second-to-last, which, according to what the other engineers told you, counted as a respectable result for a team whose drivers had spent most of the race ‘eating shit.’

Very satisfied with the day he’d personally had, Yeonjun pulled you back to the Mercedes, insisting the two of you ate something proper. His original plan had been to stop at some place near the circuit, but the thought of Violet being alone for too long sent you back to the flats instead. You picked up takeaway on the way.

Violet, as it turned out, was still perfectly fine without you. Curled into a neat brown-and-white ball on the sofa, she barely acknowledged the creak of your front door. She only lifted her head to meow irritably at the volume of your voices—she’d been having a perfectly pleasant evening until the pair of you barged in.

“Sorry, little one,” you murmured, approaching her while Yeonjun balanced the stack of takeaway containers against one hip. “Ready to go home?”

The plan was to eat at his, so the cat would remember where home is. Your job was to transport said cat.

Chirping faintly, Violet allowed you to carry her downstairs and remained limp against your chest while Yeonjun fumbled for his keys with one hand. She weighed more than she looked, and you had to pause halfway down to adjust your arms around her.

“The one bloke on your team who just decided to brake halfway down the straight,” you continued, picking up the earlier topic, “is my Driver of the Day. Whatever’s his problem?”

Yeonjun snorted, holding the door open for you.

You stepped inside. Violet finally raised her head from your arms, blinking lazily at the dimness of his flat.

“Told you my team’s shit,” Yeonjun said, nudging the door shut behind him with his heel. “He told us he was setting up for the chicane. Was nowhere near the apex, but who are we to question his artistic interpretation.”

You snickered as you set Violet onto the floor. The instant her paws met the tile, she marched straight for her water bowl as though you’d left her parched for a week.

“His gearbox’s been fucked for weeks,” Yeonjun went on from the kitchen. “We finally fixed it, and now he’s braking for corners that aren’t anywhere near him.”

“Keeping you on your toes, then.”

“Always is, yeah.”

While he unpacked the takeaway across the kitchen island, you dropped your backpack to the floor and searched for a spot to leave your jacket. There still wasn’t anywhere. Without the mattresses occupying half the living room, the flat echoed around you again.

“You know,” you said, folding the jacket over your arm, “I remember how you’d filled the entire stairwell with boxes when you were moving in. Yet your flat’s empty.”

Yeonjun smiled to himself, setting down paper-wrapped chopsticks on the island. “That was mostly clothes. Some books. It’s all here.”

“Mhmm. Thoughts on furnishing this place properly as our next shared activity?”

Snorting, he relieved you of your jacket and draped it over the back of one of the stools.

“D’you reckon I need more pillows?” he asked.

“Sure. A few mattresses, to even out the number, too.”

He laughed at that.

To be fair, he didn’t think his flat was quite as empty as you insisted. It didn’t have much furniture, that was true, but it had you in it.

“Well, we could do that, but m’not in a rush.” He gestured ahead. “Already got everything I need anyway.”

You missed the look in his eyes as you glanced around again.

Everything he needed, you noted, seemed to be the twenty-odd mattresses stacked in the corridor outside his bedroom, a bed, a piano, several chairs, a kitchen, and a fern.

The large pink bear from the arcade sat propped against a carton of orange juice in the middle of the kitchen island, too, its arms splayed out. You pretended not to see it.

“Hmm. Least the fern’s doing alright.” You nodded towards the window. “Even in your cave.”

“Yes, I set an alarm on my phone to water it,” he said, peeling the lids off the food containers. “Due diligence.”

“Ah, very responsible of you.”

“I know, yes.”

Steam rose off the kitchen island as you helped lift the remaining lids, inhaling the rich scent of garlic and soy sauce. Your stomach immediately reminded you just how little the hot dog from earlier had accomplished.

Yeonjun turned back to the drawers for cutlery.

“Hasn’t improved the ambience much, though,” he muttered, gesturing at the fern with one of the spoons. “But the bear’s done miracles.”

“Well.” You continued to ignore the bear. “One plant can only do so much. And with those curtains—I mean, Batcave is ambience, too, technically, but, uh…”

Yeonjun laughed, setting the spoons and knives down on the island before unwrapping the chopsticks.

“Got a piano here, too.” He nodded towards his room. “This is an open, creative space.”

“Oh, s’right.” You looked over at the polished lid of the instrument, its edges catching the warm kitchen light. “I, uh—I heard you playing the other day, actually.”

That surprised him. Then he remembered how thin the walls between the flats were, and what surprised him instead was how self-conscious that made him feel.

“Yeah?” He turned to toss the packaging into the bin under the sink. “Sorry if it was—”

“I didn’t mind it,” you cut in. “Couldn’t work out what you were playing, though.”

“Chopin, I think.” He returned to the island. “Been thinking about him the past few days. Wanted to see if I still remembered the Raindrop Prelude.”

“Sounded like you did.”

His smile returned, quieter.

Together, you divided the dumplings between two plates and settled onto the stools at the island. The food was still far too hot, but that didn’t stop either of you.

You bit into a dumpling straight away and hissed through your teeth as the filling spread across your tongue. The meat was worth the suffering: spicy, rich with garlic and ginger, tender enough to fall apart as it burned the roof of your mouth.

“W-where’d it come from?” you managed, lifting a hand over your mouth while you tried to swallow. “The Chopin piece.”

“Oh.” He finished chewing first, breathing heavily through his nose. “I—shit, s’hot—I made Alain teach it to me after I heard it in the Halo 3 trailer.”

You looked up. “Halo—the video game?”

“Yes.”

You stared at him for another second before lowering your gaze back to your plate.

“Alright,” you said. “Can’t say that’s where I’d expect anyone to discover anything by Chopin, but if it works, it works.”

Grinning, Yeonjun reached for another dumpling. He blew on it a few times, which did nothing whatsoever, and stuffed it into his mouth.

Trying not to smile at his bulging cheeks, you blew thoughtfully onto your own dumpling and took a slow bite.

“So, then.” You reached for a paper napkin by the bear’s leg as you finished chewing. “You said you play when you’re in a good mood.”

Yeonjun met your eyes for less than a moment, wiping the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand.

“Yeah,” he said, picking up his chopsticks. “Usually.”

You nodded quietly.

It was comforting, for reasons you couldn’t explain to yourself, to know that the music drifting through your floorboards was proof he was happy.

“S’a little strange, I guess,” he said after a moment, turning his chopsticks slowly between his fingers. “Never thought I’d willingly touch the piano again. But recently, if I’ve had a decent day, I kept remembering pieces I learnt years ago. Then I end up sitting down just to see if I still remember them right.”

You looked back at the piano. It was easy to picture him there, on quiet evenings, playing fragments that refused to leave him alone.

“That’s still crazy to me,” you said, “that you know some of those pieces by heart.”

His smile softened.

“Just bits of them,” he said. “Not the whole thing. Usually my favourite parts.”

“I’d love to hear them.”

He looked up at you, half-convinced you were teasing.

“We—we’d be here all night,” he said.

You reached for your phone in the back pocket of your jeans, angling the screen towards yourself to check the time.

Across the island, Yeonjun forgot about the dumplings or the carton of noodles beside his plate.

“I’ve got lunch with Reina tomorrow,” you said, “but after that, I haven’t got anything important.”

“No class on Fridays?”

“I said nothing important.”

Yeonjun stared at you as you locked the screen and slipped the phone back into your pocket. Then a grin spread across his face, so bright that it seemed to light up the whole flat.

“You’d skip class for me?” he asked, voice climbing half an octave. He’d stopped bothering to care about his dignity.

“For the music,” you corrected. “Seeing as you’re the prodigy here.”

He placed one hand dramatically against his chest. “Oh, wow. We’ve come so far.”

You snorted and picked up your own carton of noodles. Steam still rose above it.

You wouldn’t argue. You had come far.

“I’ll play for you,” Yeonjun decided, pointing a chopstick at you, his eyes faintly narrowed. “But I’m expecting something in return.”

You lifted an eyebrow. “Oh, tit for tat, is that it?”

His grin returned. “Sure. Been doing all these favours for you, after all.”

“What favours?”

“Got to experience a professional race,” he said, “and now you’re in the presence of a highly skilled piano player.”

Scoffing, you scooped up a mouthful of noodles and chewed for a thoughtful second. They were thicker than you were used to, but pleasantly chewy.

“Alright.” You swallowed. “Appreciate all that you’ve done for me. Let’s negotiate.”

Yeonjun did his best to arrange his face into something reasonable.

“Help me get ready for my birthday,” he said.

You lowered the noodle carton onto the island. “What’d you need help with? Thought you said it’ll be casual.”

“Yeah, but...” He reached for his phone in his back pocket. “I booked that club, but it’s, uh—empty.”

After unlocking the screen, he opened his gallery and placed the phone between the takeaway containers. Photographs of the venue filled the screen: tall dark timber walls, grey concrete floors.

“Needs decorating?” you said.

“Yeah.” He pinched to zoom in on the decorative moulding running along one wall. “S’not bad as is, but needs—balloons? Or something that looks cool, but isn’t too over the top.”

You smiled. “Don’t want people to think you tried too hard, yeah?”

“Precisely, yes.”

He picked his noodle carton back up and slurped down another mouthful while you continued studying the photographs. He hoped you wouldn’t swipe too far and find the screenshots of the photos he’d saved from Reina and Soobin’s engagement party.

“Alright,” you said, pushing the phone back towards him. He reached out to lock it. “I can help with that.”

“Good,” he said and swallowed the noodles. “S’a deal, then.”

He extended one chopstick across the island. You regarded it for a second, then laughed under your breath and tapped your own against it.

Violet returned as the two of you resumed eating.

Yeonjun had mentioned on the drive home that she usually fled the kitchen whenever he made ramen—something about the scent of soy sauce that she found objectionable—but tonight curiosity seemed to outweigh her standards.

With one effortless leap, she landed on the island between you, her nose twitching. She wound her tail around the pink bear’s neck as she inspected the empty plate of dumplings, then his carton of noodles. Realising she did not have a designated plate here, she lifted her head to look directly at Yeonjun: explain yourself.

He slurped down the noodles.

“Already gave you enough today, love,” he mumbled, reaching out his free hand to scratch her neck. “You know there’s a limit to the treats.”

Violet lifted her chin just a little higher to guide his fingers to her favourite spot. She did not think there should’ve been a limit to the treats.

“Told my mum about her, by the way,” he added. Violet tipped her head, seemingly confirming it. “Earlier today.”

You looked up from your noodles. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. Wasn’t as bad as I expected, actually.” He rested the chopsticks across the edge of the carton. “She rang this morning, said she was working nearby and wanted to grab a coffee. I told her to come over instead, but warned her I’d got a cat.” He scratched absently at the side of his left wrist. “Thought she’d change her mind, but she actually came.”

“Oh, wow.”

“Yeah.” He snickered. “Got cat hair all over her coat, but only complained about it after I’d shut the door. Heard her out in the corridor, going, oh, for God’s sake.”

There was a smile pulling at his mouth that made you smile back, almost on reflex.

“She wasn’t a big fan of the building, either,” he continued. “Said she thought it’d been bulldozed years ago.”

You sucked your lips in. “Yeah, even my grandad’s not a fan of this building.”

Yeonjun laughed properly. Violet gave his chopsticks a cautious sniff.

“Hopefully she liked the coffee, at least,” you said.

He nodded. “Yeah, my dad actually texted me later, said Mum told him I make great cappuccinos. Apparently, that surprised her.”

Your smile returned. “Should’ve had her try one of your pies.”

A soft glimmer appeared in his eyes. “Shit—yeah. Maybe next time.”

“Mhmm.” You lowered your gaze to the cat. “M’sure Violet left a good impression in the meantime.”

Violet turned her blue eyes towards you at the sound of her name. You reached over to stroke the soft fur between her ears. She immediately leaned into your hand.

“Yeah.” Yeonjun watched her for a second. “Doubt Mum will be rushing to come back again, but, uh—no lectures about how unhygienic animals are, so I’ll take it.”

In the middle of allowing Violet to inspect your chopsticks, you realised you’d never once minded animals and their hygiene invading your personal space; not even when the chickens back at the farm—especially Eugenie and Camille—would sit down on your still-warm laptop out in the garden.

“Oh.” A quick laugh escaped you. “She’d hate my grandparents’ farm.”

Yeonjun snorted. He didn’t need to picture it; he knew that not a single Horseman of the Apocalypse could’ve persuaded his mother to set foot outside a big city.

When he’d been little, just driving past fields on the motorway had been enough. She’d spot cows through the window and physically lean away from the glass, as though they might somehow cross three lanes of traffic and contaminate her Maybach.

“She definitely would,” he said. “But she’s not the one going. Unless, uh—unless you’ve changed your mind about taking me?”

The laughter settled.

“Why would I?” you replied.

His eyes dropped to the countertop.

His uncertainty surprised him, too. He hadn’t realised, until the question had already slipped out, that some part of him feared that if he took your invitation for granted, the universe might notice it and take it back.

You recognised that particular tone of fear in his voice anyway; you’d heard it on the last night at his old house.

“I haven’t changed my mind,” you said after he didn’t speak.

He looked back up.

“Okay.” His shoulders loosened a touch. “Good.”

You traced a fingertip around the rim of your noodle carton.

“Was it nice, then?” you asked. “Having your mum over?”

Yeonjun leaned back against the stool, crossing one ankle over the other.

“Nice has never been the word I’d use about her,” he said, smiling despite himself. “But, uh—she did laugh when I told her about the mattresses.”

You smiled, too. “She did?”

“Yeah. Well, it’s Soobin’s fault I’ve got them anyway, and she’s always liked him.”

“That still sounds like progress.”

“Yeah, hope so.” He tapped his fingers lightly against the island. “She, uh—she asked about you as well, actually.”

He’d said the words softly, but your stomach tightened all the same. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” His gaze dropped to the takeaway containers between you. “Told her we’re friends, and that that’s new for us. She said she’d assumed we’d always been friends.”

You raised both eyebrows, then snorted before you could stop yourself.

“Oh, absolutely,” you deadpanned. “Close as siblings, us two.”

Yeonjun laughed. Violet’s ears flicked towards him. Abandoning your chopsticks, she padded back towards his side of the island instead.

“Right, yeah.” He shook his head, giving the cat a smile. “In any case, I didn’t tell her we’re neighbours, too.”

“Still don’t trust her?”

“Not yet.”

“Hmm.”

He offered Violet the back of his hand. She sniffed it, considered him for a second, then decided she had more pressing matters elsewhere and hopped gracefully down onto the floor.

“She looks like she’s trying,” Yeonjun said, watching the space Violet had just vacated, “but I don’t want to push my luck.”

“That’s, uh—” you searched for the word without looking at him, “—reasonable.”

Yeonjun sensed there was something uncomfortable in the kitchen with the two of you now, and it wasn’t Violet padding with solemn purpose towards the litter tray in the corridor.

He shifted on the stool, rubbing a thumb over the edge of the marble island. Perhaps he shouldn’t have mentioned his mother; she had a remarkable ability to sour a room without ever stepping into it.

“Um.” His hand wandered to the back of his neck. “That’s not to say that, uh—I don’t want it to sound like you’re some dirty little secret, or anything like that. I just figure this isn’t any of her business.”

You glanced up, suddenly amused by the phrasing.

“Shit.” You tilted your head. “Am I not your dirty little secret anymore?”

He pressed his lips together.

“No, no,” he said. “Those days are over. We’re public knowledge now.”

“Oh, wow.” You matched his exaggeratedly grave tone, though your pulse had quietly picked up. “Should I start expecting paparazzi outside my flat?”

“Please.” He waved the idea off. “S’over as well. We’ve become dull, haven’t you noticed?”

“No more tabloid headlines?”

He pretended to consider it. “Well, ‘Former Rivals Share Noodles’ sounds like a tiring read, I think.”

Your nose scrunched.

Yeonjun thought that looked incredibly endearing on you and wanted to suggest several more headlines to see you do it again.

“Because that’s awful,” you said. “Makes it sound like we’d been in a rap battle at some point before.”

“I’d have won that, too,” he said, “if we had been.”

“Too?” You folded your arms. “What else have you won?”

“Well, most things against you, really.” He shrugged, careless. “But the competition, admittedly, wasn’t fair, since I’m obviously naturally gifted at everything.”

You stared at him for a long second. Then you shook your head, more fondly than you’d intended to let show.

“I’d almost forgotten how arrogant you are,” you said.

“One of my finer qualities, I’ve heard.”

“Mhmm. How’re you so full of fine qualities and still single?”

He grinned, a challenge sparking in his eyes. “Want to play a game and see why?”

You scoffed. “Yeah? For two weeks?”

“Of course.”

You made a show of thinking about it, one finger tapping against your pursed lips.

“Eh.” Your wrist flicked dismissively through the air. “No, thanks.”

Yeonjun clicked his tongue.

“Okay, see—” He uncrossed his ankles. “—my dirty little secret never would’ve refused.”

“Your dirty little secret didn’t know any better.”

His smile widened automatically. Then, just as quickly, it faltered.

His thoughts returned to your balcony—to every question you’d asked him, every answer he’d given, and all the questions he hadn’t found the courage to ask in return.

Slowly, he met your eyes. “Do you regret it?”

“The bet?”

“Yeah.”

Your gaze fell to the marble countertop. Grey veins wandered through the stone, almost like rivers on a map. Without thinking, your fingertip began tracing one of them until it disappeared under the carton of noodles; then you found another one.

There had never, you realised, been a version of your life in which you wished you hadn’t met him. You’d wished for countless other things instead. That the bet hadn’t ended. That he’d trusted you. That he’d stayed.

“No,” you said.

The knot in Yeonjun’s chest let go, all at once. Only then did he notice how tightly his fingers had been laced together. He laid both palms flat against the warm stone of the island.

“No?” he repeated.

You lifted your eyes again. “No. Wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for the bet.”

The relief he felt was dangerous. It brought hope with it, along with the memory of the way you’d looked at him earlier, when you’d said you wouldn’t date anyone else.

“That, uh…” He swallowed. “That almost sounds like you’re glad we’re here.”

Your gaze dropped again.

Violet emerged from the corridor, wearing a contemplative expression. She sat down in the bedroom doorway with her back turned to you both.

“Well.” You nodded towards her. “Meeting Violet’s been the highlight of my year. Very happy she’s here.”

Yeonjun’s expression skipped straight past surprise and landed in theatrical outrage. He let out a generous scoff.

Your laughter bounced softly off the bare walls. He rolled his eyes at it, but quietly memorised the sound anyway—for the next evening he sat at the piano. And for every evening after that.

“Right.” He clicked his tongue, pointing vaguely between you and himself. “Let’s ignore the elephant in the room, then.”

“You’re the elephant, are you?”

“Obviously.” The wounded dignity in his voice set you off laughing again. “Are you not happy I’m here?”

You watched him for a long moment, your smile softening at the corners.

“I’m happy,” you said, “that you’re very resilient.”

“Thanks. That’s very—” He frowned. “How’d you mean?”

Your fingertip found the same grey line on the marbletop and followed its winding course once more.

“I, uh…” The marble felt warm under your finger. “I seem to have spent quite a lot of time pushing you away.” You glanced up. “Yet here we are.”

Yeonjun couldn’t remember the last time you’d looked at him like that: this openly, this warmly. Couldn’t remember the last time his chest had responded this way, either: with enough force to pull him forwards before he’d even realised he’d leaned over the island.

“Did you actually want me to leave you alone?” he asked.

“I think I did in the beginning,” you admitted. “Every time I snapped back at one of your stupid comments back in uni, I’d think to myself, right, that’ll do it. He’ll piss off now. But you wouldn’t. And you wouldn’t, and you wouldn’t.” Your thumb brushed idly across the edge of the stone. “And then, I think, uh—somewhere along the way, I stopped waiting for you to leave me alone. Started hoping you wouldn’t again.”

Yeonjun stopped moving altogether. Breathing struck him as unnecessary, too.

“That—” he started and realised he didn’t have enough air in his lungs to finish. He drew a hurried breath and tried again: “T-that’s terrible of you. Enjoying the chase as much as I was.”

He clicked his tongue in exaggerated disappointment.

Your laugh was warmer this time. “Mhmm. Doomed from the start.”

Outside, a gust of wind rattled the balcony doors. For a moment, it seemed intent on being let inside, on joining in. Then it hurried on.

“Don’t know if that even makes sense, actually,” you admitted.

Yeonjun looked almost offensively delighted. “I like that it doesn’t.”

You raised your eyebrows. “You like not making sense?”

“I like that you don’t know what it is about you that’s kept me around.” He propped his chin on his palms. “Means you’re still trying to work it out, and who knows how long that’ll take. I’m your longest-running research project.”

Despite yourself, you laughed again. “You’re my longest headache.”

Yeonjun accepted that with pride.

“D’you think we’d still have ended up in the same building,” he asked, “if there’d been no bet? No New York, no nothing?”

You glanced towards Violet, now asleep in the doorway of his bedroom. Then to the heavy curtains on his windows, no longer crooked, and finally to the lonely fern in the corner.

There was a chance, you had to admit, that if university had gone differently and your lives had never once tangled together, you would’ve still met on that Monday morning, when Yeonjun had been wrestling his window loudly enough to disturb at least three floors, yet somehow only bothering you.

“We might’ve,” you admitted.

“I think so, too,” he said. “Clearly, we’re destined to keep running into each other.”

You frowned. “This is the first time we’ve run into each other.”

He shook his head firmly. “No, starting uni counts, too. We’d both dropped out and ended up studying Sociology. How’s that not destiny?”

You rolled your eyes, yet the smile tugging at your lips refused to leave.

You’d never really believed in destiny, if you were honest. But you’d always wanted to.

“Right, yeah.” You leaned back on the stool. “All written in the stars, then, is it?”

He nodded again, with complete conviction. “Star-crossed enemies.”

You winced, and this time the scrunch of your nose nearly made him vault straight over the kitchen island.

“Christ,” you mumbled. “And you pull out the most embarrassing phrases out of nowhere. I’d forgotten that, too.”

Yeonjun laughed.

“Yes, I am multi-talented,” he said, running his tongue over his lips. “Remember to keep up, yeah, love?”

You looked at him for a long, defeated second.

You were remembering, he could tell.

Then you returned to your forgotten noodles.

For the rest of that Thursday evening, Yeonjun sat at the piano and played the pieces that he’d carried with him for years. Every now and then he’d strike the wrong note, mutter a quiet fuck under his breath, shake his head, and begin again, refusing to skip over the mistake.

You sat on the edge of his bed with Violet snoring softly across your lap, and listened to all of it: the music and the pauses and his confidence returning with each familiar chord. And as the notes drifted through the flat, you remembered, too – all of it. How to keep up with him, and how it had felt, the first time you’d heard him play, back in Taehyun’s theatre, after the conversation in your old flat about whether you believed he liked you.

You remembered the way his eyes had looked that night, with reflections of the streetlights and the night sky scattered against the dark brown. Remembered, too, the way you’d kissed him in the stairwell. The way you hadn’t wanted him to go once the night was over.

A year and five months had passed between that night and this one.

It felt like less than a heartbeat.

prev ○ next (coming soon)

taglist:

@eleni-cherie @enhastolemyheart @beestvng @tomorrowbytgt @insaniteez @sorikkunhwangpil @yaintpaint @ohsowoozi @di3t-w0ter @virgopotterhead @beomgyusluver @pagesoobinie @champagne1221 @jammerhammerbanger @reiofsuns2001 @belabobanana @hheerrmmiitt @myglogic @mountyuki @adoresjjk @hueningsgirl @gunsfave @nanilis @yjcam @human-misery @angelgraphica @sooberriesx @yystarz @4wkjun @xjunniee @littlemoasoobin @kkyubear @proudsolarpunk @hyukalife @grogwrites @tarahardcore @jaegerbombin @i4tzy @llvcyj @kookieterry @b9oms @starstrucktae @apriglw @mo0nstardust @koobiiiistar @unfiirt @yawnjjunnie @usuallyunlikelyfox @isakwon

thank you for reading!!♡♡

[inked-chaconne]

to the girl who is always the lesson but never the one

pairing: non-idol!jungwon x fem!reader

warnings: angst with happy ending, fluff, y/n is an overthinker and has lots of insecurities, heartbreak, jungwon somehow giving mixed signals, slow burn, did i miss anything?? hopefully not.

premise: y/n has always been the lesson, never the one. so when jungwon, the boy who is kind to everyone, begins caring for her in ways that feel a little too intentional to ignore, she convinces herself it’s just his nature. but as her feelings grow, she reminds herself how relationships always end. now, she must decide whether believing in him is worth the risk of being temporary again.

word count: 21,660

***

dear, y/n,

in this world, there are two types of people: the one and the lesson. sad to say, you're the latter.

​there is a specific kind of exhaustion that comes with being someone’s stepping stone.

you spend months, sometimes years smoothing out their rough edges, teaching them how to love properly, how to listen, and how to stay. and then, once they’ve finally learned the lesson, they leave to go be with someone else.

at this point, you've become an expert at the curriculum. but you were never the one who got to keep the degree.

the cafe was loud, a chaotic symphony of clinking ceramic cups and the low hum of afternoon chatter, but it all faded into white noise the moment the image loaded on your feed.

​it was a simple photo. a sunlit afternoon, two matching gold rings, and a caption that felt like a quiet slap to my face: soobin, your ex, his hands on another girl’s waist while he kisses her cheek.

thank you for teaching me how to love properly, the caption said.

​two years.

​you stared at the photo, my thumb hovering over the screen. he was with you for two years and he couldn’t say those words to you, even in your anniversary. the whole time in your relationship, he was reckless, emotionally distant, and entirely unpolished. you spent a year settling for what you had because you thought it was love.

but the day he sent you a text saying it was over, he told you he just wasn't ready for commitment. now you realize he was ready, he just needed two years of your patience to learn how to be the man a girl deserved.

then there was jaemin, a senior from high school, your first…you wouldn’t say boyfriend but a fling. it was simple, you liked him and he liked you back. but only because you liked him that he liked you back.

then when he met a girl from his club where he really, really liked, your fling was over.

and even before all of them, there was the ultimate what if: park jongseong.

he was your childhood friend, the boy who lived just doors down, whose laughter was the soundtrack to your earliest memories. you had loved him since you were six years old, a silly, innocent crush that somehow managed to grow up right alongside you. as the years bled into high school, that fondness turned into something heavy and terrifying. you spent months practicing confessions in front of your bedroom mirror, your heart hammering against your ribs, only to swallow the words every time you saw him smile at you. he was your safe haven. the risk of speaking up and ruining the one steady friendship you had was a price you couldn't bear to pay.

until, he took an interest in your cousin, karina. you watched frozen as he confessed to her in the school field during lunch. he told you that day that he would confess, breaking your illusion of anything happening between the both of you. what you didn’t expect was he fell for someone you also knew for years, let alone a family member.

then months later, he admitted that he liked you back. but you were still just children then. his definition of love was too small, too cautious to risk breaking the fragile, beautiful friendship you had built. he didn’t know how to hold a girl’s hand while holding her history at the same time. but thanks to you, he knew what real love was. you gave him a lesson he’d forever treasure.

just not with you.

the worst part, you never got to tell him how you felt. you just quietly stepped aside, becoming the supportive best friend who helped him figure out what to say to her.

​"y/n? hey, are you even listening to me?"

wonhee, ​your roommate snapped the thread of my thoughts. she was sitting across you, a half-eaten plate of pasta between us, looking at me with a mixture of concern and mild annoyance.

​you locked my phone, the screen going mercifully black, and forced a practiced smile onto my face. "yeah. sorry. just... an internship notification. what were you saying?”

"i was saying about the drama I just overheard by the counter while getting our drinks."

she leaned in closer across the small table, lowering her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "you know jisu from the department next to ours? apparently, she and sunghoon just made it official on their feeds. like, matching profile pictures, public couple status, the whole nine yards."

wonhee shook her head, taking a slow sip of her drink. "everyone is losing their minds because sunghoon used to be notorious for being completely uncatchable. he’d date a girl for a month, get bored, and leave them with enough character development to write a novel. but look at him now—completely whipped. i guess some girls are just born to be the final destination, while the rest of us are just the rest stops along the highway."

you gave wonhee a weak smile, “tell me about it.”

just when you were about to mope on your feelings, your boss from your internship messaged that you interns are needed tomorrow for an urgent shoot. luckily, you had no classes tomorrow so you have time while still catching up with some tasks for school.

tomorrow has finally arrived and you came to the building of the prestige building of véra, a magazine known for its sleek minimalism and its legendary ability to turn underground creators into overnight icons. it was a place where trends didn't just get covered—they were born.

"no, absolutely not. the lighting is completely flat, and the silk looks like cardboard under these gels. look at the monitor!"

"i’m tracking the ambient light, okay? but if you want that raw, overcast mood you specifically asked for in the mood board, we need to shift the reflectors. now."

the sharp, overlapping voices echoed across the massive concrete studio space the moment you pushed past the heavy double doors. the atmosphere inside was thick with tension, a frantic ballet of production assistants rushing past with garment bags, makeup artists adjusting their kits under blinding vanity lights, and the distant, rhythmic clack-clack-clack of a high-end camera shutter.

in the center of the chaos stood the creative director, kang jiah, pinching the bridge of her nose in sheer frustration, while the lead photographer, oh minseok adjusted a massive lens on his tripod.

as a makeup artist student, your brain automatically began calculating the fix before anyone even asked you to. you could see the problem from ten feet away: the model had a gorgeous, warm skin tone, but the current lighting was clashing with the undertone of her foundation, making the high-shine finish look chaotic instead of seamless.

you gripped the handles of your professional makeup train case a little tighter, swallowing down your nervousness. you were just a standby intern here to clean brushes, prep skin, or rush to the makeup artist’s bag for products they need, but the thick tension in the room made your heart hammer against your ribs.

“excuse me,” a calm, clear voice suddenly broke the thick tension in the room. "if i may offer a small suggestion? what if we change the polarization instead?"

from the shadows behind the main monitor setup, a boy who seemed to be around your age stepped forward. he was dressed simply in a loose black sweater and clean trousers, a professional light meter slung casually around his neck.

"if we drop a linear polarizer onto the lens and tilt the key light down by just five degrees, the camera should cut the greasy reflection from the strobe while keeping the model's natural skin texture completely intact. director kang gets her soft, glass-skin look on the monitor, and you won't lose your highlights, sir. It should take less than two minutes to adjust."

the studio went quiet for a beat. photographer oh peered over his shoulder, checking the math on the monitor, before a slow, appreciative nod broke across his face. he stepped up to his own rig, quickly adjusting the polarization filter to test the student's theory.

"he's right. the polarization math checks out," photographer oh announced to the room, looking thoroughly impressed. "good eye…what’s your name?”

“jungwon, sir. yang jungwon.”

“good eye, jungwon.” director kang told jungwon with her stern voice but the look of amusement on her face did not leave.

yang jungwon.

everyone at the university knew who he was. he wasn't just talented; he was the golden boy and a prodigy. he was the type of student who's friends with everyone, the student whose photography portfolios were already being archived by professors as future curriculum benchmarks.

he possessed a rare, effortless blend of sharp academic intelligence and raw artistic intuition. he was brilliant, celebrated, and completely out of reach.

a boy existing in a flawless, sunlit orbit that a guarded, cynical standby intern like you had no business crossing.

jungwon wiped a stray lock of hair from his forehead, offering a small, dimpled smile to a stressed-out production assistant who had just dropped a roll of gaffer tape near his feet. he bent down, picked it up, and handed it back to her with a gentle, "here you go. don't worry, we have plenty of time."

you swallowed hard, averting your eyes.

he was brilliant, he was elite, and he was universally kind. the ultimate hazard sign.

it would be a lie if you said you didn't find him cute the first time you saw him in the building.

​"y/n, go in and touch up the nose and jawline," the head makeup artist, hyeji called out, waving a hand toward the vanity. "matte it down just a bit so the polarization works properly."

​you blinked, snapping out of your thoughts, and quickly grabbed your powder puff and a translucent setting powder.

​walking onto a live set always felt like stepping into a spotlight. your heart did a nervous little flutter as you approached the model, consciously keeping your eyes glued to her face and away from the monitor station where jungwon was standing.

​"excuse me," you whispered politely to the model, stepping into her personal space.

​you raised your hand, your fingers stabilizing against her jaw as you gently tapped the powder puff onto her skin. this was your comfort zone. the familiar scent of cosmetics and the meticulous, rhythmic tapping usually calmed your nerves.

​until you felt a presence shift right behind you.

​"ah, wait a second please," a quiet voice murmured.

​you froze, your hand hovering inches from the model’s cheek. jungwon had stepped up right next to you, leaning in slightly to look at the model's face through the small space between you two. he was close enough that you could catch the subtle, clean scent of his fabric softener—like fresh laundry and cold winter air.

​he wasn't looking at you. his sharp, focused eyes were entirely on how the studio lights hit the model's skin finish. he raised a hand, using his thumb to gently mimic the angle of the key light.

​"if she tilts her chin up just a fraction when y/n finishes dusting the powder," jungwon said softly, addressing the photographer while subconsciously using your name, "the shadow under the jaw will clean up perfectly."

​your breath hitched in your throat. y/n. he didn't even know you, yet hearing your name leave his lips in that calm, casual tone felt like a sudden spike of electricity.

this feeling was familiar, you said.

​as soon as the thought crossed your mind, a cold wave of reality washed over you, dousing the spark before it could even catch fire. you quickly finished the last few taps of powder, stepped back, and offered a hurried, polite bow to the model and jungwon before retreating to the dark edges of the studio.

​your chest felt tight. you're doing it again, you scolded yourself, your fingers gripping the plastic handle of your powder compact so hard your knuckles turned white.

​you felt pathetic. you felt completely, utterly cursed.

​it was always like this. one soft glance, one polite gesture, a boy simply using your name and your heart was already trying to sprint ahead. you fell fast, hopelessly fast, like a script that had already been written for you a hundred times before. you were the girl who romanticized the bare minimum, the girl who mistook a photographer's technical focus for something personal.

​you closed your eyes for a brief second, forcing your breathing to steady.

​if you let yourself look at yang jungwon, you knew exactly how this story would end. he would smile, he would be kind, he would inadvertently teach you how to love a little deeper—and then he would hand his heart to someone else, leaving you behind with nothing but a notebook full of character development.

​you weren't going to be the rest stop on his highway. not this time.

​"y/n? can you clean the brushes from the morning prep?" the senior makeup artist's voice called out from the vanity room.

​"coming," you replied, your voice dropping back into its practiced, neutral tone. you pulled your shoulders back and walked away from the lit set, determined to keep yourself distracted from whatever feelings that are rising.

***

dear, y/n,

sometimes, old habits die hard. you recognized the electricity today, didn't you? it’s the exact same current that left you in the dark three times before. he is a walking hazard sign with a dimpled smile, and you are already stepping over the yellow tape. the truth is, you missed the way a single voice could make the room tilt, and for the first time in a very long time, it felt kind of beautiful to feel everything all at once again.

the train ride home was the worst part of the day. it gave you too much time to think, the rhythmic, metallic hum of the carriage matching the uneasy beat of your heart as the train rattled through the city.

​sitting crushed between tired commuters, you pulled out your phone. your thumbs moved on pure instinct, opening the app and typing his name into the search bar before your logical brain could even try to stop you.

​@jw_209

​you swallowed hard as his profile loaded. no private account lock. no gatekeeping. just a blue checkmark, a massive follower count, and a grid that looked exactly like a highly curated digital museum.

your eyes scanned his feed, and that familiar flutter settled deep in your chest.

he liked taking photos of landscapes with ethereal vibes. misty horizons, soft pastel sunrises over quiet shorelines, and ancient trees swallowed by a dreamlike haze. he captured the world in a way that made ordinary things look completely breathtaking.

​he was incredibly talented, yet his captions were entirely humble. just a single camera emoji or a word or phrases about the fleeting nature of everyday moments, or how softly a quiet afternoon can pass you by.

​then, you scrolled down a bit further and hit the real hazard zone: his tagged photos.

​there were countless pictures of him posted by other people. jungwon sitting at a university cafe surrounded by a huge group of friends, all of them leaning into him. jungwon smiling broadly, showing off those deep, clear dimples as he held up a peace sign next to girls from the dance club, the cheer squad, the student council. every single person in his tagged photos looked happy just to be standing near him.

​he was tagged in sweet birthday posts, late-night study group sessions, and celebratory dinner collages. he wasn't just liked. he was cherished by everyone who crossed his path.

though he doesn't post photos of people in his social media. you guessed he likes to keep the people in his life private or he just likes taking photos of landscapes than people.

on the way back home, you were pulled right out of your thoughts by the familiar chimes of the convenience store down the street from your dorm.

​the door swung open, and a boy stepped out into the humid night air, a small plastic bag dangling from his fingers. your footsteps completely faltered on the pavement.

​it was yang jungwon.

​he was dressed down even more than he had been at the studio, his hair slightly damp and a pair of simple slippers on his feet. he stopped under the warm, buzzing glow of the storefront sign, completely breaking the distant, untouchable image you had just been staring at on your phone. he was right here. in your neighborhood.

​before you could even think about hiding or turning around, he raised his head. his sharp eyes blinked in surprise, and then, those deep, familiar dimples cut into his cheeks as he caught sight of you.

​"oh? y/n, right?"

“j-jungwon!”

damn it, you really had to stutter and raise your voice.

“you just got home?”

​"yeah, the head artist wanted the foundation brushes sanitized tonight because the morning crew needs them fresh, and then i had to sort the sponge bins and double-check the inventory list for the next shoot since we won't even be there on friday, so it just took way longer than expected."

it felt like you couldn’t breathe after that. why did you have to overexplain? he had asked a simple four-word question, and you had handed him a full logistical breakdown of your internship duties like a nervous suspect under interrogation.

​jungwon blinked softly, taking in your breathless ramble. for a horrifying second, you thought he might find you completely weird—but then, his eyes crinkled at the corners, and that deep, gentle dimple appeared on his cheek.

​"ah, so that's why you're so late," he murmured, his voice incredibly soft in the quiet night air. "you worked really hard today.”

“t-thank you. it was just part of the job, really. i’m still just a standby intern, so i have to do my best not to get in anyone's way."

​jungwon tilted his head slightly, his gaze warm. "you didn't get in anyone's way. your skin prep made the polarization adjustment work perfectly."

the fact that he remembered that brought your heart into a sudden, breathless flutter, the erratic rhythm pounding so loud against your ribs you were terrified he could hear it in the midnight quiet. it was that exact same jolt of electricity from the studio, only this time, it felt twice as loud under the quiet streetlights. your heart was doing dangerous, hopeful flips, completely ignoring every single warning you had just given yourself.

​jungwon shifted his weight, his plastic bag rustling softly against his sweatpants. he looked down at the street for a second, a small, polite smile lingering on his lips before he looked back up at you.

​"well, it's getting pretty late," he said softly, gesturing slightly with his head toward the direction of the apartment blocks. "i should probably head back home before the ice cream i bought completely melts."

​you blinked, forcing your brain to kick back into gear. "oh! right, yeah. of course. go ahead."

​"get home safely, y/ni," he murmured, stepping past you with a gentle nod. "see you at the studio on friday."

​"goodnight," you whispered to his retreating back.

​you stood frozen on the pavement, watching his tall, relaxed figure disappear into the shadows of the street. the subtle scent of his fabric softener still lingered faintly in the humid night air, a cruel reminder that he had actually been standing right there.

​you let out a long, shaky exhale, finally allowing your shoulders to drop. you were supposed to be building walls. you were supposed to be guarding your heart against the ultimate hazard sign.

​but as you turned the key to your dorm room, your heart was still stubbornly replaying the exact way his dimples looked under the convenience store light.

the quiet hum of your desk lamp was the only sound in the room. you had been staring at your color theory assignment for the past hour, but the lines of text were starting to blur together. your brain was entirely fried.

​just a five-minute break, you promised yourself.

​it was a lie, and you knew it. your fingers moved on pure autopilot, unlocking your phone and opening the app before your conscience could stage an intervention. you had explicitly told yourself to stop looking. you had promised yourself on the train, and again at the door of your dorm, that you wouldn't feed the curse.

​but as you clicked on his profile, a little red circle illuminated his profile picture.

​new post • 2 min. ago

​your breath caught. you tapped it.

​it wasn't an ethereal landscape or a misty sunrise. it was a shot taken from a low angle, capturing the wet asphalt of the pavement reflecting the warm, buzzing neon glow of the convenience store sign down your street. in the distance, the blurry silhouette of the quiet neighborhood stretched into the dark, looking incredibly nostalgic and soft through his lens.

​it was the exact spot where you had been standing together just an hour ago.

​he had captured the ordinary street and turned it into something poetic. your heart did that dangerous, breathless stumble all over again as your eyes drifted down to the caption.

​he wrote: daylight.

***

dear y/n,

how are you supposed to know which signs are real and which ones are just the universe playing a cruel joke? when you spend your whole life guarding your heart against a curse, you start to see warnings everywhere. you read caution tape in a polite smile. you read danger in a dimple. but when a boy posts a picture of a midnight street and labels it daylight, what are you supposed to believe? is it a green light, or just another beautiful hazard sign?

​you and jungwon have the same elective of visual media color theory. though you never noticed him fully until yesterday’s studio shoot, you now vividly remember seeing his name printed right above yours on the attendance sheet every single week.

​today, you sat right in the middle of the classroom just to get a better view, since you could barely see the slides when you were seated at the sides of the room.

​what you didn't expect was looking up to see the dimpled boy sliding into the empty seat right next to you, greeting you with a soft smile.

​“hey, y/n.”

​“h-hi! jungwon.”

the syllable felt heavy on your tongue, entirely too loud for the quiet buzz of the classroom before the professor walked in. you quickly looked down at your desk, blindly organizing your highlighters just to keep your hands from shaking.

he set his laptop down on the wooden desk, the plastic convenience store bag from last night nowhere to be seen, replaced now by the clean, sharp scent of his usual cologne. out of the corner of your eye, you watched him lean back in his chair, his long legs stretching out comfortably under the desk.

"you usually sit by the windows, don't you?" he asked, his voice low and conversational as he adjusted his screen.

your hands froze on your pencil case. you turned your head to look at him, your chest tightening. "y-yes. how did you know?"

jungwon paused, his fingers hovering over his keyboard. he turned his head to meet your gaze, those deep dimples faintly tracing his cheeks as a soft, easy smile broke across his face. "i sit a few rows back. it's kind of hard not to notice when you're always dropping your pens under the chairs."

a mortified heat rushed straight to your face. you wanted the floor to open up and swallow you whole. all this time, you thought you were completely invisible, a nameless face in a hundred-person lecture hall. but he hadn't just seen you yesterday—he had been watching your clumsy morning routines for weeks.

"i don't drop them that often," you muttered defensively, though your voice lacked any real bite because your heart was currently trying to escape your ribs.

"hm, if you say so," he amusedly replied, his eyes crinkling at the corners. he leaned in just a fraction closer, his shoulder almost brushing against yours. "but since you moved to the middle today, i figured i'd move too. the view is better here anyway."

the professor finally walked into the room, clapping his hands to start the lecture, but your brain had already completely short-circuited.

the view is better here anyway.

you didn't say it out loud, but you completely, wholeheartedly agreed.

the view from the middle of the room really was so much better, especially when it included the sharp line of his jawline and the soft way his hair fell over his forehead as he looked back down at his laptop screen. you couldn't help the small, satisfied smile that tugged at your lips. you had originally just wanted to see the lesson clearly, but sitting right next to yang jungwon was an undeniable upgrade.

as the professor finally walked in and the slides changed to color wheel harmonies, you leaned back in your chair, feeling a warm, victorious rush of giddiness settling deep in your chest.

throughout the whole lecture, jungwon noticed how you were having a hard time catching up with the professor’s fast pacing. without a word, he simply slid his notebook toward the center of the desk, his clean, neat handwriting perfectly capturing everything you had missed.

you blinked, giving him a questioning look that clearly said, what about you?

he just leaned in slightly, a teasing glint in his eyes as he murmured, “it’s okay. i have photographic memory anyway.”

a quiet laugh escaped your lips before you could stop it, though you quickly clamped a hand over your mouth so the rest of the lecture hall wouldn't hear.

and when class ended, one of your elective mates came to jungwon and thanked him for lending him his notes from last week’s session.

you froze, your fingers tightening around your pen. a cold splash of reality hit you right in the face. you had almost fallen for it. you had almost convinced yourself jungwon only did that gesture for you.

but he was just like that with everyone else.

***

dear y/n,

sometimes, it would be easier to just pull back completely and build your walls so high that no dimpled smile can reach you. it is easy to tell yourself to keep your distance when you think you are just another face in his crowded room. you can convince your mind that his kindness is a warning sign, a trap designed to make you stumble.

but what are you supposed to do when the universe refuses to cooperate with your defenses? how do you run away when every detour somehow leads you straight back into his path? it feels like the world is intentionally shrinking, forcing your orbits to cross whether you are ready for it or not.

if every sudden encounter keeps pushing you closer, maybe the real danger isn't his casual charm. maybe the real hazard is how badly you want to stop running. you are standing on the edge of the hazard zone, and you are starting to realize you don't want to step back.

but the universe, it seemed, hadn't gotten the memo.

"y/n, thank goodness you're here early," the head stylist breathed, rushing past you with an armful of garment bags the moment you stepped into the studio. "the model for the second layout just called in sick, and the concept director is losing her mind. since you have the closest features to our model, could you maybe stand in for her today? don’t worry, i won’t make you add extra work. just be a model for today.”

your breath hitched, your fingers tightening around the strap of your makeup kit. "me? a model?"

"yes, please! the lighting is already set up for your skin profile anyway," she pleaded, gently nudging you toward the center of the dark studio before rushing off to coordinate with the wardrobe team.

even though you were nervous, you felt flattered by the sudden shift from being the one holding the brushes to being the one everyone was rushing to get ready.

seconds later, you were pressed into the leather chair, staring at your own reflection framed by bright, blinding vanity bulbs. as the senior makeup artist began sweeping a fluffy brush across your cheekbones, your eyes instinctively drifted to the mirror's reflection, scanning the dark background of the studio.

there he was.

jungwon was standing by the equipment table, a light meter slung around his neck as he manually adjusted a camera lens. but as you watched him through the glass, his hands suddenly slowed down. without turning his head, his gaze quietly shifted upward, his dark eyes locking onto your reflection in the mirror.

your heart did a violent, dangerous skip. for a split second, you were entirely breathless, caught in a silent, cross-room stare through a sheet of glass.

but then, jungwon blinked, casually turning away to say something to a lighting crew member as if nothing had happened.

you quickly looked down at your lap, your cheeks burning under the heavy layer of setting powder. you're tripping, you firmly told yourself, your fingers gripping the fabric of your skirt. you are completely hallucinating. he was a photographer; he was probably just looking at the vanity lights or checking the ambient glare in the room. he wasn't looking at you. he couldn't be.

"all done, sweetheart! step onto the backdrop for me," the artist said, giving your shoulder a reassuring pat.

your feet felt heavy, practically glued to the floorboards as you finally stepped onto the seamless backdrop. the harsh studio lights cut through the shadows, illuminating the space and making you feel incredibly exposed.

at the center of the set, jungwon was now waiting by the tripod. when you took your place, he slowly lowered the camera body from his face. the casual, easygoing expression he always wore vanished. he didn't smile, and he didn't drop a playful comment like he did in the classroom. he just stared, his dark eyes tracking you with that exact same quiet, unreadable intensity you thought you had imagined in the mirror.

you fixed your posture, forcing your face into a neutral, professional mask. you had to remember the lesson from yesterday. you weren't special.

“whenever you're ready, jungwon,” director kang said, her voice sharp but steady as she reviewed the digital monitor from the sidelines.

jungwon blinked, the director's voice hitting him like a sudden splash of cold water, snapping him out of his trance. his jaw tightened slightly as he quickly looked away from you, slowly raising the camera back to his eye to hide his face behind the lens.

"right," his voice came out a little rougher than usual, echoing slightly in the quiet studio. "let's... let's start with the profile shots. look slightly to the left, please."

you did as he asked, turning your chin toward the shadows and focusing your eyes on a random spot on the studio wall. at first, your limbs felt stiff, every muscle in your neck tight with the lingering anxiety of being just a temporary replacement. you were acutely aware of the lens pointed at you, and even more aware of the boy behind it.

click.

the flash illuminated the dark studio for a microsecond.

"good," jungwon’s voice drifted over from the tripod, lower now, carrying a calm, steady rhythm that instantly cut through your panic. "just like that. now drop your shoulders a bit, y/n. take a deep breath in... and let it out."

you followed his voice, exhaling slowly. as your shoulders relaxed, something shifted inside you. you looked down at the structured, high-fashion wardrobe they had styled you in, felt the perfect weight of the makeup on your skin, and realized something liberating: you weren't a mistake or a technical hitch. you were a cosmetology student who understood exactly how angles, textures, and lighting worked. you knew your face. you knew your undertones.

and suddenly, you didn't feel like a hiding substitute anymore. you felt powerful.

"perfect. keep that exact expression," jungwon murmured. click. "tilt your head up just a fraction. let the key light hit the high points of your cheekbones."

his guidance was effortless. he wasn't treating you like a standard, disposable model, nor was he acting like the casual classmate who shared notes. behind the camera, yang jungwon was a complete professional. he gave commands with a quiet, grounding confidence that made you feel completely safe to move, to experiment, to own the space under the lights.

click. click.

"bring your hands up toward your collarbone," he instructed softly, the lens tracking your movements. "soft fingers. look right into the lens this time."

you didn't hesitate. you turned your head back toward the center, lifting your chin, and looked directly down the barrel of his camera lens. you locked eyes with him through the glass, no longer trying to hide behind a neutral mask. you let your confidence show—letting him see that you were completely present, commanding the set just as much as he was.

from behind the camera, you heard the faint, sharp intake of jungwon's breath. but the camera didn't stutter.

"beautiful," he whispered, the word carrying a raw, genuine weight that sent a different kind of thrill straight down your spine. click. "stay right there. don't move."

beautiful.

he just said it so casually, so effortlessly, but the word felt entirely too heavy as it hung in the space between you. he didn't lower the lens, keeping his gaze locked onto yours through the camera glass as if he were trying to capture something far deeper than just a standard lighting test.

"and... cut!" director kang's voice suddenly cut through the air, breaking the spell. "excellent work, everyone. let's check the monitor."

the blinding studio lights dimmed slightly as the crew immediately swarmed around the main digital display. you stepped off the seamless backdrop, your knees feeling a little weak now that the adrenaline was fading. you tentatively walked over to the edge of the crowd, peeking over a stylist's shoulder to look at the screen.

a small gasp escaped your lips. the images looking back at you didn't look like a nervous, last-minute substitute at all. the lighting caught the crisp edges of your jawline, the makeup looked flawless under the exposure, and your eyes held a sharp, captivating confidence.

"wow, y/n, look at your facial symmetry," one of the senior stylists praised, clapping her hands together. "the textures are so clean. you look incredible!"

"honestly, you saved us today," director kang agreed, nodding dynamic approval as she scrolled through the burst shots. "the mood is exactly what we needed for the editorial pitch. you're a natural."

your chest swelled with a warm, triumphant rush of pride. all your hours studying skin prep and facial angles had paid off, and hearing the professional crew validate your work made you feel completely on top of the world.

"i'm completely satisfied with how these turned out," a quiet, familiar voice spoke up from behind you.

you turned around to find jungwon standing there, his camera now resting against his hip. he wasn't looking at the monitor anymore; his dark eyes were fixed directly on you, a soft, genuine smile touching his lips.

"the lighting and the textures hit perfectly," he added, his voice low and private amidst the loud chatter of the crew. "i'm really glad y/n stepped in today."

your heart gave a violent, unruly thud against your ribs.

the crew was still talking loudly around you, debating layout designs and background colors, but your selective hearing had already locked the world out. i'm really glad y/n stepped in today. his words replayed in a dizzying loop, sweet and terrifyingly sincere.

he might have sounded like a good coworker but as you looked at the faint trace of his dimples, you knew your defenses were in serious trouble.

after changing your outfit from the shoot, you stopped in your tracks when you saw jungwon clearing up the equipment by himself. the heavy studio lights were mostly shut off, leaving only the dim, warm overheads casting long shadows across the empty room. he looked completely different now. his jacket discarded, the sleeves of his shirt pushed up to his elbows as he reached up to untighten a massive softbox modifier from its stand.

you hesitated for a fraction of a second before setting your tote bag down on a nearby stool. you walked over, your sneakers squeaking quietly against the concrete floor.

"need a hand?" you asked, reaching out to stabilize the heavy metal base of the C-stand before it could tilt forward.

jungwon blinked, looking down at you from his height. a look of surprise crossed his face, followed quickly by that familiar, easy smile. "oh, y/n. you're still here? it's okay, i've got it. you should head home, it's getting late."

"i want to help," you replied, your voice steady despite the quiet thumping in your chest. you didn't let go of the metal stand. "besides, you're the one who did all the heavy lifting during the shoot. consider it payback for the notes."

jungwon let out a soft, breathy chuckle, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "alright. if you insist."

for the next twenty minutes, the studio was quiet except for the rustle of velcro, the clinking of metal stands, and the low, easy hum of casual conversation. you helped him coil the heavy black extension cords while he carefully packed his camera body and lenses into his padded backpack. without the pressure of the crew or the blinding lights, the stiff walls you had painstakingly built after yesterday's lecture began to feel entirely useless.

"all set," jungwon finally said, zipping his bag closed and swinging it over one shoulder. he turned off the remaining studio switch, plunging the room into darkness except for the green exit light by the door. "let's go?"

you nodded, walking out into the cool evening air together.

the walk to the transit station was surprisingly peaceful. the streets of the city were buzzing with the usual nighttime traffic, but between the two of you, there was a comfortable, easy rhythm. you talked about the concept director’s hectic energy, your favorite color theories, and how relieving it was to finally finish a long week of classes.

when you finally reached your stop, you turned to wave goodbye, but jungwon didn't stay on the platform. instead, he quietly stepped off the train right behind you.

"wait, jungwon," you blinked, looking around the familiar street corner near your neighborhood. "your place isn't around here, is it?"

jungwon adjusted the strap of his heavy camera bag, looking down at you under the warm, amber glow of the streetlamp. his dimples showed faintly as he smiled, his hands slipping into his pockets.

"it's not," he admitted casually, his voice low and incredibly grounding in the quiet night. "but it's dark out, and you worked hard today. i wanted to make sure you got home safe."

your breath hitched, your fingers tightly gripping the straps of your tote bag.

there it was again. that dangerous, dizzying rush of kilig slammed right into your chest, loud enough to drown out the distant hum of the evening traffic. i wanted to make sure you got home safe. the words hung in the space between you, illuminated by the warm, amber glow of the streetlamp.

for a terrifying second, you wanted to believe it. you wanted to believe that this detour, this long train ride out of his way, was for you.

but then the memory of the classroom flashed behind your eyes—the classmate thanking him for the notes, the realization that yang jungwon was just effortlessly, universally good. of course he was walking you home. you had stayed late to help him lift heavy equipment; he probably just felt standard, polite responsibility as a coworker to make sure you didn't walk the dark streets alone. he would have done the exact same thing for director kang, or the senior stylist, or anyone else.

he was just being a good guy. that was all.

"you really didn't have to, jungwon," you said, forcing a small, polite smile to your face as you stepped backward toward your gate, desperately trying to keep the distance between you. "but... thank you. for the walk. and for today."

jungwon didn't move, his hands still tucked into his pockets as he watched you step away. the easy smile on his lips faded into something quiet and slightly intense, his eyes tracking your defensive posture with an unreadable look.

"anytime, y/n," he murmured softly. "get some rest."

your breath hitched, your fingers tightly gripping the straps of your tote bag.

there it was again. that dangerous, dizzying rush of warmth slammed right into your chest, a sudden flutter so loud it threatened to drown out the distant hum of the evening traffic. i wanted to make sure you got home safe. the words hung in the space between you, illuminated by the warm, amber glow of the streetlamp.

for a terrifying second, you wanted to believe it. you wanted to believe that this detour, this long train ride out of his way, was for you.

but then the memory of the classroom flashed behind your eyes. the classmate thanking him for the notes, the realization that yang jungwon was just effortlessly, universally good. of course he was walking you home. you had stayed late to help him lift heavy equipment; he probably just felt standard, polite responsibility as a coworker to make sure you didn't walk the dark streets alone. he would have done the exact same thing for director kang, or the senior stylist, or anyone else.

he was just being a good guy. that was all.

"you really didn't have to, jungwon," you said, forcing a small, polite smile to your face as you stepped backward toward your gate, desperately trying to keep the distance between you. "but... thank you. for the walk. and for today."

jungwon didn't move, his hands still tucked into his pockets as he watched you step away. the easy smile on his lips faded into something quiet and slightly intense, his eyes tracking your defensive posture with an unreadable look.

"anytime, y/n," he murmured softly. "get some rest."

“thank you, jungwon.” you gave him one last polite nod, turning around to finally press the unlock button on your gate. your hands were shaking slightly, and you were desperate to get inside the safety of your house before your face completely gave you away.

“y/n?”

his voice called out, stopping you right in your tracks. your fingers froze against the cold iron of the latch. you took a quiet, steadying breath before slowly looking back over your shoulder.

“yes?”

jungwon was still standing under the amber streetlamp, his hands deeply embedded in his jacket pockets. he tilted his head slightly, his dark eyes fixed on you with an intensity that completely bypassed your professional walls. the softest, most genuine trace of a smile appeared on his lips, causing his dimples to faintly show in the shadows.

“you looked pretty today.”

***

dear y/n,

sometimes, the universe doesn’t just nudge you; it completely corners you. you try to write off his kindness as a collective luxury, a universal trait he hands out to anyone who asks, because believing you are special is a luxury you simply cannot afford. but how do you categorize a quiet detour under an amber streetlamp? how do you rationalize a parting line that wasn't meant for a coworker, a classmate, or a crowd, but uniquely, devastatingly, for you?

you couldn’t reply.

the moment the word left his lips, your brain completely short-circuited, leaving you entirely breathless under the dim streetlamp. you practically threw yourself through the gate, shutting the iron latch behind you with a loud, metallic clang that echoed through the quiet neighborhood. your heart was hammering violently against your ribs as you sprinted up the steps, not daring to look back to see if he was still standing there watching you run.

it was only when you were locked safely inside the dark sanctuary of your bedroom that you finally collapsed against the mattress, pulling a pillow over your face to smother a helpless, frustrated groan.

you looked pretty today.

the phrase replayed in a dizzying, echoing loop, vibrating straight down to your fingertips. you tightly closed your eyes, desperately trying to summon the cold reality check from the lecture hall. he is just nice. he is just a naturally attentive guy who knows how to make people feel comfortable on a set.

but as you turned over and stared at the dark ceiling, your fingers tracing the edges of your blanket, a quiet, terrifying truth settled in your chest. no matter how high you built your walls, yang jungwon didn't even have to try and scale them.

he was effortlessly dismantling them, brick by single brick, and you were completely running out of places to hide.

the next morning brought a blinding, unapologetic sunlight that did absolutely nothing to clear the fog in your head. you woke up with your limbs tangled in your sheets, your phone still clutched tightly in your palm as if you had been guarding it in your sleep.

when you dragged yourself out of bed and walked over to the bathroom sink, you actively avoided looking at your reflection for the first five minutes. you splashed ice-cold water onto your face, hoping the shock of it would finally scrub the lingering warmth out of your cheeks and snap you back into reality.

it was just studio adrenaline, you reasoned with yourself, aggressively rubbing a fluffy towel against your skin. people say fleeting things when they’re tired after a long shoot. he was probably just riding the high of a successful layout.

but the moment you sat down at your vanity to start your morning skincare routine, your hands froze.

you picked up your daily moisturizer, but your eyes involuntarily drifted to your own reflection in the glass. suddenly, you weren't looking at your bedroom walls anymore. you were seeing the dark studio mirror. you were seeing the way his dark eyes had pierced right through the reflection, tracking your every move while the makeup brush swept across your skin.

you looked down at your hands, your chest tightening. your fingertips automatically brushed against your collarbone, tracing the exact spot where he had told you to place your hands.

"beautiful," his whispered voice echoed in your ears, so clear it made you flinch.

you let out a shaky breath, forcing your hands down into your lap. it was terrifying how a single night could completely alter the space around you. your bedroom, your vanity, your own face—everything felt entirely compromised by him. you couldn't even apply your makeup without wondering if your features really did look the way he implied.

unable to handle the loud silence of your thoughts, you decided to escape your room. you spent the rest of the morning trying to drown out his voice with mundane tasks—cleaning your desk, organizing your elective binders, and making a mental checklist of your upcoming assignments.

by saturday afternoon, your eyes were heavy from lack of sleep, your mind completely exhausted from the non-stop mental gymnastics. you had finally managed to calm your heart rate down, sitting at your desk and staring blankly at a textbook.

ding.

the sharp vibration of your phone against the wooden desk made you flinch.

your hands shook slightly as you picked it up, your breath instantly catching when you saw his name illuminated on the lock screen.

jungwon: [1 file attached]

jungwon: finished compiling the raw layouts for director kang. thought i’d send you your edit first.

you swallowed hard, your thumb hovering over the glass. you tapped the file, waiting a few agonizing seconds for the high-resolution image to clear.

when the details finally rendered, the air left your lungs completely.

it wasn’t just a well-shot photo. he hadn't used the sharp, cool commercial lighting the director usually preferred for editorial pitches. instead, the coloring was incredibly soft, almost romantic, warming up your skin profile in a way that made you look like you were glowing from the inside out.

but it was the lighting on your eyes that made your chest completely constrict. he had meticulously adjusted the shadows so that the tiny, glittering reflection of the studio lights caught the exact center of your pupils. your gaze looked impossibly deep, intense, and vulnerable.

he had spent hours looking at your face in high-definition. he had zoomed in on your features, balanced your undertones, cleaned up the lines, and perfected the exposure.

you stared at the screen, your heart racing. a normal photographer would have just dropped the files into the shared studio google drive or handed them over on monday. but yang jungwon had edited yours personally, isolated it from the rest of the layout, and sent it directly to your private inbox on a saturday afternoon.

you slowly leaned back against your chair, the cold wood pressing into your spine as you stared at the beautiful, terrifying image of yourself.

you could try to convince yourself that he was just a gentleman under the streetlamp. you could pretend he was just being polite when he called you pretty. but looking at this photo, you realized something that terrified you to your core: through the lens of his camera, yang jungwon looked at you like you were the only thing on the set that mattered.

your phone buzzed again in your palm, making you jump.

jungwon: do you like them? y/n: i love them, jungwon! you did an amazing job with the lighting and the textures. it doesn't even look like me. jungwon: it looks exactly like you. i just captured what was already there.

your phone slipped an inch in your hand. you squeezed your eyes shut, a soft, helpless groan escaping your lips as you buried your face in your arms on the desk.

he was doing it again. he was effortlessly throwing lines that completely bypassed your defenses, speaking with a terrifying sincerity that left you absolutely no room to hide.

a week later, director kang officially approved the editorial pitch, and the official shoot layouts were finally uploaded to the department's public portfolio. you felt a quiet sense of relief, thinking the excitement from that chaotic friday had finally settled down.

until later that evening, when your phone notification panel lit up with a tag.

yang_jw tagged you in a post.

your thumb practically smashed against the screen to open the app.

it was a carousel post titled simply: bts 📸

the first slide was a moody shot of an overhead key light piercing through the dark studio. the second was a close-up of a heavy black camera cable coiled neatly over a metal stand. the third was the empty grey seamless backdrop.

and then, you swiped to the fourth slide.

the breath caught in your throat.

it was you.

it wasn’t one of the polished, perfectly posed files he had sent to director kang. it was a candid, behind-the-scenes frame captured right in the middle of the shoot. you were sitting in the leather vanity chair, the bright, blinding bulbs framing your silhouette, your chin turned slightly over your shoulder. your expression wasn't a professional mask; it was soft, slightly dazed, caught in the exact microsecond you had instinctively looked into the mirror to search for his reflection in the dark background.

he had captured the exact moment you were looking for him.

you swiped to the fifth and sixth slides: more inanimate props, a discarded lens cap, the digital monitor from a distance.

you swiped back to the fourth slide, your heart hammering against your ribs so violently it felt loud in the quiet of your room.

​you stared at the screen, your eyes tracing the soft edge of your own silhouette under the bright vanity bulbs. anyone else scrolling through his feed would just see a cool, atmospheric behind-the-scenes shot of a makeup student on set. they wouldn't notice the way the light caught the exact, vulnerable curve of your shoulder. they wouldn't know that the slight daze in your eyes was because you had been looking for him in the dark studio mirrors.

​but you knew. and more terrifyingly, jungwon knew too.

​your thumb hovered over the screen, paralyzed by the sheer weight of what this meant. you could rationalize notes. you could rationalize a long walk home in the dark as standard gentlemanly politeness. you could even convince yourself that a personal photo edit was just him being a meticulous, dedicated photographer.

​but this? breaking his own years-long aesthetic grid just to drop a candid frame of your face into the world?

​there were no olympic-level mental gymnastics left to save you. you couldn't hide behind the "good classmate" excuse anymore.

​with a trembling thumb, you tapped the little heart icon below the post, watching it turn red.

​almost instantly, a new notification slid down from the top of your screen, making you gasp softly in the quiet room.

​yang_jw: you're awake?

shit, shit, shit!

you scrambled backward against your headboard, nearly dropping the device straight onto your face. you had liked the post less than thirty seconds after he uploaded it. there was absolutely no playing the "i just happened to see it on my feed" card—you were actively lurking, and your lightning-fast double-tap had completely exposed you.

​your thumbs hovered over the keyboard, typing and deleting three different responses while your chest squeezed with a frantic, dizzying heat.

​y/n: yeah, just finishing up some reading.

​you pressed send, holding your breath as the single gray checkmark turned blue. almost immediately, the three typing dots appeared.

​yang_jw: reading? at 1 AM?

yang_jw: or were you just waiting for my post?

​you let out a helpless, strangled sound into the empty space of your bedroom, burying your burning face straight into your pillows. he was shameless. he was entirely, utterly shameless, and the worst part was that he was exactly right.

​before you could even think of a defensive lie to protect your dignity, your phone buzzed again in your palm.

​yang_jw: do you like the fourth slide?

​your breath hitched. he wasn't dancing around it. he knew exactly what he did when he put that candid photo of you in the middle of his grid, and he was deliberately forcing you to acknowledge it.

​you sat up, biting your lower lip until it turned white. you couldn't keep running. if he was going to be this bold, you had to find a way to stabilize your own footing before you completely dissolved under his pace.

​y/n: the lighting was nice. but i thought your feed was strictly landscapes.

​you stared at the screen, your heart hammering a chaotic rhythm against your ribs as you waited. seconds ticked by like hours until the screen lit up with his reply.

yang_jw: you keep tabs on my feed?

shit.

but ​before you could even think of a lie to salvage yourself, the next bubble popped up.

​yang_jw: but yes, it is. yang_jw: but you looked too pretty in that mirror to leave you in a hidden folder.

you completely froze in your spot.

the air left your lungs, leaving you staring blankly at the glowing screen as the world around you fell entirely silent. you couldn't move. you couldn't blink. your fingers remained locked stiffly around the edges of your phone, your eyes glued to the word pretty.

when you finally found the strength to move, it was only to let out a shaky, breathless exhale. then you rolled onto your bed, your stomach flat on the mattress, and let out a muffled scream into your pillow.

***

dear, y/n,

it is a completely strange but nice feeling to realize you aren't trying to pull away anymore. you are slowly getting used to the feeling again, realizing it's okay to just let someone in without making everything so complicated.

you find yourself looking forward to see and hear from him again, no longer finding the shield to protect your composure.

the next morning arrived. you walked onto campus with a lighter step, the lingering echo of jungwon’s late-night words crawling in your mind like he planned to occupy every single corner of your head.

you spotted him almost immediately near the entrance of the lecture hall, leaning against the hallway wall with his hands casually tucked into his pockets as he chatted with a few classmates. the exact moment you stepped into view, his eyes instinctively separated from the crowd, tracking your approach with that same soft, unwavering focus that had defined the studio mirrors.

as you drew closer, the conversation around him seemed to fade into a quiet blur, leaving just the steady ground between the two of you.

"morning, y/n," jungwon murmured, his voice dropping into a softer, private register meant only for you as a genuine, dimpled smile broke across his face.

your heart gave a familiar, dangerous thump, but instead of panicking, you found yourself returning his smile. "morning, jungwon."

he stepped away from the wall, naturally falling into step right beside you as you walked through the threshold of the lecture hall. the sudden shift from the chaotic, noisy hallway to the relative quiet of the classroom felt seamless with him next to you. without even asking, he guided you toward the middle row, pulling out the chair right next to the one where his laptop and notebook were already neatly set up.

he had saved you a seat.

"you look awake for someone who was reading at 1 AM," he teased quietly, sliding into his chair and leaning his chin in his hand as he looked over at you, his eyes glinting with a familiar, playful mischief.

you felt a sudden rush of warmth in your cheeks, but you managed to look right back at him. "i told you, i had things to finish."

"right," he hummed, the corners of his lips twitching as the professor walked up to the podium and the lecture hall began to quiet down. jungwon opened his notebook, but before he focused on the board, he leaned in just a fraction closer, his voice a low, comforting murmur against the background noise of opening laptops. "we're getting dinner after this, by the way. i found a really good place nearby."

it wasn't even a question. it was an inivitation that you would spend your evening with him, and the terrifying part was that you didn't even want to object.

by the time the late-afternoon elective finally wrapped up, the sun was already dipping below the horizon, casting long, amber shadows across the campus pathways. you followed jungwon through the bustling streets just outside the university gates, the humid evening air a stark contrast to the air-conditioned lecture hall.

he led you down a quieter alley, stopping in front of a small, cozy restaurant with warm, low-hanging yellow lights glowing behind a tinted glass pane. inside, the space was small and intimate, filled with the soft chatter of other students and the rich, savory aroma of hot food.

"two?" the server asked, and jungwon nodded, naturally guiding you toward a booth tucked away in the back corner, away from the main walkway.

as you slipped into the leather seat, the soft ambient lighting washed over his features, throwing the sharp angles of his jawline and the deep set of his eyes into beautiful, soft relief. it felt completely different from the high-stakes pressure of the studio or the crowded campus. here, stripped of cameras and portfolios, it was just the two of you.

"order whatever you want," jungwon said, sliding the menu across the dark wooden table toward you, his fingers brushing against yours for a fleeting second that left a trail of static on your skin. "my treat today. to celebrate your successful photoshoot."

you looked up from the menu, a small, genuine smile tugging at the corners of your lips. "you give me too much credit. you did good too, you know."

jungwon let out a low, amused huff, leaning back against the leather booth as he looked at you through the warm, dim lighting of the restaurant. "is that so? i guess we make a pretty good team then."

your cheeks burned, “i guess we do.”

and as the weeks bled into a comfortable rhythm, you realized you really did.

that quiet dinner quickly transformed from a one-time celebration into a regular part of your routine. it happened so gradually that you didn't even notice the shift at first. one day you were just elective mates, then interns working on a shoot, and the next, he was naturally weaving you into every single part of his day, making it easy for you to navigate the lively, chaotic orbit of his massive social circle.

because jungwon was the type of guy who belonged to everyone, hanging out with him meant automatically being pulled into his circle. you became a familiar face at the crowded university cafeteria tables, sharing loud, overlapping conversations with his friends who welcomed you without a single second of hesitation. you watched him handle the campus attention with an easy, effortless charm, throwing bright smiles to passing students and keeping everyone laughing.

but the real magic always happened when the noise of the crowd finally thinned out. no matter how many people were vying for his attention during the day, the late evenings always distilled down to just the two of you, sitting across from each other at that same dark wooden table under the warm, low-hanging yellow lights.

"you're staring," jungwon murmured one rainy tuesday evening, a soft, knowing smirk playing on his lips as he set his chopsticks down.

you blinked, tearing your gaze away from the sharp line of his jaw to look down at your half-empty bowl. "i am not. i was just thinking."

"about what?" he leaned forward, resting his forearms on the table, closing the physical distance between you just enough to make the ambient chatter of the restaurant fade into the background.

"just... how you manage to keep up with everyone," you admitted honestly, gesturing vaguely toward the window where a group of students from his department had just waved at him through the glass. "you're always surrounded by people."

jungwon looked out the window for a brief second, then turned his focus back to you, his dark eyes softening into that intense, private expression he only ever used when the two of you were alone. "it's easy to talk to everyone, y/n. but that doesn't mean i want to spend my quiet hours with just anyone."

before you could even process the sudden, breathless skip of your heart, a confident, unfamiliar voice interrupted the space between you.

"hey, jungwon, right? i thought that was you."

you blinked, turning your head toward the edge of the booth. yoonchae from your class was standing there, looking effortlessly chic in a cropped leather jacket, a bright, confident smile fixed entirely on jungwon. she didn't even glance your way, completely erasing your presence from the table.

"i saw your latest photography feature on the department page," she continued smoothly, leaning slightly against the wooden partition of your booth. "it was amazing. i was actually wondering if you had time to collaborate on a editorial project next month? can i get your instagram or phone number?"

your chest tightened instantly. your mind, always looking for a reason to retreat, immediately clouded over with that familiar, suffocating insecurity. here it is, a bitter voice whispered in your head. this is his actual world. this girl was confident, stylish, and fit perfectly into the creative orbit he ran in. you were just the girl he casually helped out, the lesson he learned along the way to becoming a better photographer. you were a placeholder in his quiet hours until someone who actually belonged in his grid stepped up.

you lowered your eyes to your lap, your fingers gripping the fabric of your skirt as you prepared for him to give his usual, friendly campus smile and type his number into her phone.

"sorry, i can't," jungwon said.

his voice wasn't just polite; it was incredibly flat, completely stripped of the warm, universal charm he usually gave out so freely.

the girl blinked, caught off guard. "oh? are you too busy with the elective portfolio?"

jungwon didn't hesitate for a single second. he casually shifted in his seat, his hand moving across the table until his knuckles lightly brushed against your arm, drawing a firm, undeniable boundary in front of the stranger.

"no," jungwon said softly, his eyes dropping to you for a brief, reassuring second before he looked back up at the girl. "my girlfriend is right here. i don't take private project numbers."

your lungs completely locked up.

for a single, terrifying second, your heart fluttered so violently against your ribs it felt deafening. girlfriend. hearing the word leave his lips, spoken with such heavy, calm authority in his low voice, sent a sudden, dizzying rush of heat straight to your face.

but almost as fast as the thrill arrived, the cold weight of reality crashed right back down, pulling the warmth straight out of your chest.

yoonchae mumbled a quick, embarrassed apology and quickly retreated, but your mind had already clouded over, spiraling back into that familiar, suffocating insecurity.

you were just a prop.

the thought settled heavy and bitter in your stomach. because a guy like yang jungwon: a universally loved, constantly surrounded by people, and utterly effortless doesn't do serious relationships. he didn't need to. he was just a naturally attentive, overly nice guy who treated everyone with a baseline level of casual intimacy. he was smooth because it was his default setting, not because he was trying to win you over.

he didn't mean the word girlfriend. he had just used you as a convenient, safe shield to get out of an awkward conversation because he knew you wouldn't make a scene.

"sorry about that," jungwon murmured, turning his full attention back to you, his expression softening as if he hadn't just completely shattered your internal world. "she can be a bit persistent."

you swallowed the lump in your throat, forcing a small, tight smile to your lips as your walls slammed shut with a heavy, definitive thud.

"t-tell me about it," you said, forcing a small, hollow laugh as you poked at your food. "good strategy though. i make a pretty believable prop, don't i?"

you tried to look up and give him a funny, conspiratorial wink—anything to bury the suffocating weight crashing down on your chest. but your smile didn't reach your eyes, and your voice cracked just a fraction too much on the last word.

and jungwon, being the observant person he was, didn't laugh.

the easy, playful expression completely melted off his face, replaced by a quiet, piercing focus that made you want to look away. he slowly set his glass down on the table, his dark eyes tracking the slight tremor in your fingers before locking onto yours.

“you okay, y/n?” he asked softly, bending down to look at your eyes. but you quickly avoided him.

“y-yeah. just got something in my eye is all. listen, i still have some projects to finish so i need to go.”

“let me take you home–”

"no!" you quickly interrupted, scrambling to grab your bag. "i mean, wouldn't want to overstep." and just like that, you ran out of the restaurant before he could even reach for the bill.

what you didn’t know was jungwon felt his own chest tighten.

***

dear, y/n,

this is exactly why you should’ve kept your walls up.

it is a painful, heavy thing to realize how quickly you can fall back into the habit of building walls. you are slowly getting used to the feeling again, realizing that the only way to keep your heart safe from someone who belongs to the world is to completely remove yourself from the equation.

you tell yourself it’s safer to just be distant again. it’s way easier to pretend you don't care than to risk believing you actually matter to someone like him.

a week has passed since that day.

today, the morning arrived with a gray, overcast sky that seemed to match the cold numbness settling back into your chest. you walked onto campus with a heavy, deliberate step, your eyes strictly fixed on the concrete pathways to avoid scanning the crowds for a familiar shock of dark hair. you had your oversized jacket pulled tightly around you like armor, determined to slip back into the quiet anonymity of being just another student in the department.

you managed to avoid the main lecture hall entrance entirely, slipping through the side doors and taking a seat in the very last row, tucked far away from the middle rows where you had spent the last few weeks.

"y/n."

your fingers froze on the zipper of your bag at the sound of his voice.

jungwon was standing at the end of the row, looking completely exhausted. the usual easy, universal charm was entirely missing from his face, his dark eyes shadowed with a quiet, desperate intensity as he looked down at you. he didn't care that a few passing classmates were glancing over at his unusually tense posture; his focus was entirely locked onto you.

"you didn't answer my texts," he said softly, his voice dropping into that private register, though this time it sounded raw, carrying a heavy weight that made your chest ache. "i kept calling you."

you swallowed the lump in your throat, forcing your expression to remain perfectly flat as you looked up at him, refusing to let him see how much you were hurting. "i told you, jungwon. i had projects to finish. you don't need to check up on me."

jungwon took a step closer into the row, his knuckles white as he gripped the back of the empty chair in front of you. "you’re not a prop. at the restaurant. i’m sorry i hurt you."

you looked down at your hands, refusing to meet his eyes because you knew your expression would crumble.

"it's fine, jungwon," you whispered, trying to force your voice to sound completely detached. "it was just a joke. you don't have to apologize for something petty."

"it wasn't a joke to me," he cut in, his voice dropping even lower, thick with a frustration you had never heard from him before. he slid into the empty seat right next to you, his presence suddenly overwhelming the small space in the back row. "i didn't say it just to make her leave, y/n. i said it because... because it didn't feel entirely like a lie to me."

your breath hitched, your eyes snapping up to look at him.

jungwon was leaning in close, his usual calm demeanor completely shattered. he looked vulnerable, almost fragile, his dark eyes searching your face for any sign of the warmth you used to give him so easily.

"there's actually someone i really like right now," he murmured, the confession slipping into the quiet space between you like a heavy secret. "and seeing her stand there, asking for my number...it just made me realize how much i only want to focus on one person."

he was looking at you with so much quiet intensity, his lips slightly parted as if he was waiting for you to understand, waiting for you to realize exactly who he was talking about.

but your brain, completely clouded by a week of suffocating insecurity, didn't see the love in his eyes. it only saw a devastating confirmation of your worst fear.

he likes someone else.

the words echoed like a physical blow inside your head. you were the practice run. the lesson.

"oh," you forced out, the word tasting like lead on your tongue. you managed to pull a tight, completely empty smile onto your face, even as your chest felt like it was physically breaking. "i... i didn't know. she's really lucky, jungwon. i hope it works out for you."

before he could even react to the sudden, freezing distance in your voice, you stood up, grabbing your bag and stepping past his frozen frame into the aisle, running away before the tears blinding your vision could finally fall.

“you.”

you didn't move. you couldn't breathe. for a second, you thought you were hallucinating.

slowly, you turned around.

jungwon was already standing up. his shoulders tense as he stared straight at you.

"it's you, y/n," he said, his voice cracking slightly on your name as he closed the small distance between you in two long steps, stopping just close enough that you could feel the sudden warmth radiating off him. "the girl i like. the only person i want to focus on. it's been you this entire time."

she would feel an absolute, dizzying rush of cognitive dissonance—like the ground had suddenly been pulled out from under her boots. after a whole week of meticulously convincing herself that she was completely invisible and just a temporary "lesson" in his life, his sudden confession completely short-circuits her brain.

her walls are still up, but they are cracking violently. she is caught between a desperate, fluttering spark of hope and the terrifying urge to protect herself from a cruel joke.

"it's you, y/n," he said, his voice cracking slightly on your name as he closed the small distance between you in two long steps, stopping just close enough that you could feel the sudden warmth radiating off him. "the girl i like. the only person i want to focus on. it's been you this entire time."

your brain completely short-circuited.

you stared at him, your chest heaving as you tried to find a catch, a punchline, anything to make reality align with your insecurities again. but jungwon’s face was completely raw, his lower lip slightly trembling as he waited for you to say something.

“w-what?” you breathed, your voice barely a whisper as you took a small, panicked step back. “when? why?”

the questions tumbled out of you in a frantic, unpolished rush, stripping away all the cold, distant armor you had tried so hard to build.

"what do you mean why?" jungwon asked, a breathless, incredulous laugh escaping his lips as he took a step forward to close the gap you had just made. he reached out, his fingers gently captured your wrist, his thumb resting right over your racing pulse.

he let out a low, shaky exhale, his thumb moving in a slow, comforting circle against your skin, trying to ground you through your panic.

"i fell for you on our very first day as interns," he murmured, his dark eyes softening completely as he brought you back to the beginning. "remember that chaotic first shoot? everyone was running around, but i couldn't take my eyes off you. you were so shy, yet you were completely locked in. i loved how focused you were, how much heart you put into every single task. you were radiant, y/n. in a room full of people trying to stand out, you stood out to me just by being you."

he took a small step closer, his voice dropping into that intense, private register that belonged only to you.

"i did everything because i wanted an excuse to be near you," he whispered. "it's been you since that exact day. how could you think it was anyone else?"

“i was…i was never the one,” you whispered. “i was never the one that people think i’m worth staying for.”

jungwon let out a sharp, ragged breath, his grip on your wrist tightening just enough to keep you anchored as your words physically pained him. the easy, polite campus favorite completely disappeared, replaced by a boy who looked entirely devastated that the girl he loved felt so invisible.

he didn't hesitate. he took that final step, closing the remaining distance between you until he was gently framing your face with his hands, his thumbs carefully wiping away the tears on your cheeks.

"i'm not going anywhere, y/n. i'm staying right here. with you."

***

dear, y/n,

it turns out that rewriting the script in your head is a slow, terrifying process.

for a long time, you were completely sure you were just the type of girl guys date before finding the one they actually want to settle down with. you really believed you were just a temporary phase. but now, jungwon is completely focused on you, and he isn't looking for anyone else.

you're still really anxious, though. every time your phone lights up, a part of you still expects him to text you saying he changed his mind or made a mistake. but he doesn't. instead, he just keeps showing up and proving you wrong.

nothing is official yet. you didn't suddenly become his girlfriend overnight. but even without a label, everything between you two feels completely different now.

on a tuesday morning, you didn't sit in the back row.

you had tried to, out of habit. your fingers pulling the strap of your oversized bag tight against your shoulder as you entered the side door. but jungwon was already there, sitting in the middle row right where you two used to be. the moment the door clicked, his head snapped up, his dark eyes instantly finding yours in the crowd.

he didn't wave or make a scene, but a small, private smile tugged at the corner of his lips. he casually lifted his laptop sleeve off the empty plastic chair beside him, claiming the space before anyone else could even think to take it.

your heart did that familiar, breathless flutter as you walked down the steps.

"hey," he murmured softly as you slid into the seat, his voice dropping into that private register that still made your face flush. he didn't slide his hand over yours or push your boundaries, but he reached into his jacket pocket and slid a small, familiar plastic bottle across the desk.

it was a fresh bottle of the exact soothing eye drops you always used when your eyes got tired from staring at editing screens.

"since you had something in your eye last week," jungwon said, his eyes crinkling slightly with a gentle, teasing warmth that completely lacked any judgment. "just in case."

you stared at the bottle, the lump in your throat returning, but this time it wasn't from sadness. "jungwon, you didn't have to—"

"i wanted to," he interrupted softly, leaning his elbow on the desk so he could look at you properly.

and then he did the one thing that always sent your heart into an absolute frenzy.

he leaned his elbow on the desk, tilting his head as he intentionally closed the distance between you. jungwon brought his face so close you could trace the sharp line of his jaw, the faint scent of his laundry detergent instantly filling your senses. his dark eyes locked onto yours, completely invading your personal space in that quiet, effortless way only he could pull off.

“j-jungwon?” you stammered, your voice coming out as a tiny, embarrassed squeak as you tried to press your back against the hard plastic of your chair to gain an inch of safety.

“mhm?” he murmured, not moving back even a fraction of a millimeter. instead, a tiny, knowing smirk began to pull at the corner of his lips, clearly enjoying how easily he could throw you off balance.

“y-you’re too close,” you whispered frantically, your hands gripping your desk as you looked around to see if anyone was watching. “mr. lee just entered the room.”

jungwon didn't panic. instead, his smirk widened just a fraction, his dark eyes brimming with amusement at your flustered reaction.

slowly, casually, he leaned back into his own space just as the professor set his briefcase on the podium. but right before he completely pulled away, jungwon leaned in one last inch, his voice dropping into a conspiratorial whisper right against your ear.

"mr. lee can wait," he murmured, his tone dripping with a quiet, playful confidence. "but fine. i'll let you focus on the lecture. for now."

he straightened up in his seat, opening his notebook with perfect poise as if he hadn't just completely set your nerve endings on fire. but as he picked up his pen, he deliberately shifted his notebook just an inch closer to yours, his shoulder lightly brushing against your arm—a constant, warm reminder that he wasn't going anywhere.

now that you and jungwon are now aware of feelings towards each other, he has become flirtier each day. but with boundaries. he still asks if it’s okay to hold your hand, place his arm around your shoulder when walking, always checking in with a quiet, questioning look before stepping an inch closer into your space.

and every time he notices you second guessing if you want something, he takes the initiative of doing it. so in days that you do want to hold his hand but too shy to ask, he gently places his hand under yours and locks your fingers. and of course, it sent your heart into overdrive.

on friday afternoon, as the campus was emptying out, jungwon slung his backpack over one shoulder and leaned against the edge of your desk.

"a few of my seniors are holding a small wrap-up gallery in the department studio tonight," he said, tilting his head to catch your eyes. "then we’ll have an after party. just some music, drinks, and looking over the final print layouts. i want you to come with me."

your fingers paused on your notebook. the familiar, anxious tightening returned to your chest, your mind instantly telling you that you didn't belong in a room full of talented, confident upperclassmen who already knew him so well.

“is it alright?” you whispered, looking up at him uncertainty. “i don't want to intrude.”

jungwon’s expression softened instantly. he didn't laugh or dismiss your worry. instead, he stepped closer, blocking out the rest of the noisy hallway so it was just the two of you.

"you're not intruding, y/n," he said softly, his voice steady and completely serious as he reached down to gently tap the back of your hand. "i'm the one asking you. i want you to be there. with me."

then the night of the gallery came.

the studio was packed, filled with the low hum of indie music, the clinking of plastic cups, and the bright, warm glow of track lighting illuminating the rows of framed photographs along the walls. jungwon had been caught by a group of design seniors the moment you walked through the door. you had gently nudged his shoulder, giving him a small smile to let him know you didn't mind, before slipping away into the crowd to look around on your own.

the talent in the room was undeniable, but as you wandered down the final row of the exhibition, your steps slowed to a complete halt in front of a small, dedicated corner panel.

your breath caught in your throat.

the first frame was a candid shot from your very first day as interns. it was the chaotic studio set, cluttered with stray wires and half-assembled lighting rigs, but the camera hadn’t focused on the set. it was focused entirely on you. you sat on a crate with your face angled away, completely locked into adjusting a camera lens.

the second frame was the campus lecture hall taken from a low angle. it captured the stark, geometric lines of the plastic desks, but the focus was trained on the middle rows where you two always used to sit. a soft, natural light filtered through the gray windows, hitting the exact spot where his notebook usually brushed against yours.

and the final photograph made your heart do a sudden, breathless flip.

it was the outside of the restaurant from a week ago, taken through the glass window under a heavy, overcast sky. the frame captured the exact table where everything had boiled over, the blurry reflection of the street lights casting a quiet, moody atmosphere over the empty chairs.

the photos were the places you had been with him.

beneath the triptych of photos was a small, white card printed with a simple title:

paying attention.

"i didn't put your face on blast, i promise," a soft voice murmured right behind your ear.

​you turned around to find jungwon right behind you, his hands in his pockets as he smiled down at you.

"i asked the professor if i could keep the subject anonymous on the final prints," he explained softly, stepping a little closer into your space. "i wanted to show you how i see you, but... is this okay? if it makes you uncomfortable, i can take them down right now. seriously."

"no," you whispered, a genuine smile finally breaking through the remnants of your anxiety. "don't take them down. they're... really beautiful."

without second guessing, you threw your arms around jungwon.

you felt a deep, grounding warmth expand in your chest—the realization that you were someone worth paying attention to.

after five hours, the after-party finally started. the room was alive with everyone cheering, laughing, and clinking their beer glasses together in celebration.

​“congrats to us!” jungwon's senior, lee chan, toasted, raising his glass high into the air.

after taking a sip, chan’s eyes flicked over to you, a warm smile breaking across his face. "and thanks for coming, y/n! jungwon was practically talking about it for days.”

​your face flushed a sudden crimson, your eyes darting over to jungwon.

​jungwon just let out a soft laugh, completely unbothered by his senior exposing him. he casually slung an arm around your shoulder, bringing you securely into the circle. "ignore him," he murmured down to you, his thumb lightly rubbing against your arm. "but he's not entirely wrong."

“jungwon, hey!”

yoonchae was there again. you remembered that she was probably only around because her brother was in the same department as jungwon, a detail he had mentioned to you weeks ago.

​“yoonchae, hi.”

​“so, i heard from my brother that you and y/n aren't actually dating," she started, pulling her phone out of her bag and extending it toward him with a hopeful smile. "so… i was thinking if i can maybe, you know? come on, it's not like you're taken, right?”

​“yoonchae, i've already told you before that i am interested in someone.” jungwon didn't hesitate for a single second. he reached down, deliberately capturing your hand and locking his fingers tightly with yours. “she's right here. dating or not, y/n is the only girl i like.”

yoonchae’s jaw dropped slightly. she stared at jungwon, entirely speechless at how effortlessly and publicly he had rejected her.

​she looked at you, then back at jungwon. without uttering another syllable, she gave a stiff, embarrassed nod and quickly slipped away into the crowd.

the night continued with you and jungwon completely melting into the crowd. almost everyone couldn't help but tease him, laughing at how he looked like a total lovesick puppy and constantly joking about how he had finally found his muse.

​eventually, the party wound down, and the two of you walked home together through the quiet streets. your hand was wrapped in his, his fingers locked firmly in yours.

​“wasn't that too harsh?” you asked softly, breaking the silence as you looked down at your joined hands.

​“not if she completely ignored your presence,” jungwon replied without a shred of regret, his grip on your hand tightening just a fraction.

​you bit your inner lip, your heart doing a small flutter as you built up the courage to ask the question that had been looping in your head. “but... were you serious? about what you said?”

​jungwon looked down at you with a slow, knowing smirk. he knew exactly what you meant, but he wanted to hear you say it. “which part?”

​your eyes grew wide, but you tried your absolute best to maintain your composure. “you know... the part where you said... you like me.” the last few words came out as a quiet mumble, your face burning.

​“what's that?” he teased, tilting his head closer to yours. “didn't quite catch that.”

​“jungwon,” you whined, pulling slightly on his hand.

​“what? come on, say it clearly,” he laughed.

​“jungwon!” you whined again, hiding your face slightly behind your free hand.

​but then, the teasing look in his eyes began to shift. his laughter quieted down, replaced by a soft, intense focus that made the breath hitch in your throat. the ambient hum of the streetlights overhead suddenly felt incredibly loud as he stopped walking, causing you to pause right along with him.

​“you are,” jungwon murmured, his voice dropping into a gentle, low register. he lifted your hand, his thumb softly tracing the knuckles before he let go of the tight grip to hold just your fingertips, his skin warm against yours. “i really like you, y/n.”

​the sheer sincerity in his dark eyes stripped away all of your remaining defense mechanisms. the anxiety that usually kept you trapped in your own head completely evaporated, leaving only the honest, racing beat of your heart.

​“i-i really like you too,” you whispered back, your voice small but steady.

​jungwon took a slow step closer, completely closing the distance between you. his free hand came up, his fingers brushing light as a feather against your jawline before his thumb settled right at the corner of your cheekbone, tilting your face up just a fraction. he didn't rush. he just stood there for a breathless second, his gaze flicking down to your lips before locking back onto your wide eyes, waiting patiently for you to adjust to how close he was.

​“can i kiss you?” he asked softly, his thumb giving your cheek a reassuring, tender stroke.

​“please,” you whispered, the word leaving your lips like a breathless plea.

​a soft smile broke across jungwon’s face at your response. he didn't wait another second. his hand slid from your cheek to the back of your neck, his fingers tangling into your hair as he leaned down and finally pressed his lips to yours, sweet and slow.

​it made your heart do a dizzying, breathless flip. his lips were incredibly soft, parting slightly as he pulled you just a fraction closer against his chest. your fingers instinctively gripped the fabric of his jacket, your whole body melting into the touch as a warm, electric flutter rushed from your chest straight down to your toes.

as both of you pulled away from the kiss, jungwon let his hands slide down to your waist, pulling you back in for a quick, tight hug. he buried his face in the crook of your neck for a second, letting out a soft hum of satisfaction that made your heart do another dizzying flip.

​“does this mean we're… boyfriend and girlfriend?” you asked shyly, your fingers lightly gripping the fabric of his jacket.

​jungwon let out a soft giggle against your skin, the vibration tickling your neck before he pulled back just enough to look at you, his eyes full of warmth. “yes. yes, i'd love that.”

***

​dear y/n,

​it is a beautiful thing indeed to be able to find someone. you are incredibly, genuinely happy, and your heart doesn't feel like it's constantly bracing for impact anymore.

​but being with jungwon has also taught you that a real relationship isn't all cupcakes and rainbows. there are still days when your old insecurities and tendencies to overthink flare up out of nowhere, making you quiet and distant.

​loving someone isn't a magical cure for anxiety. it doesn't fix the pieces of you that feel broken.

you and jungwon had a date today. it's been weeks since you have been girlfriend and boyfriend. and it was the happiest you've felt in a while.

a knock startled you out of your thoughts as you checked your outfit one more time. you had opted for a classic combination: a warm cream cardigan layered over a simple tee, paired with structured wide-leg trousers that made you feel completely put-together yet comfortable.

wonhee was grinning brightly at you, stepping right into the entryway the moment the door swung open. without a word, she reached forward to gently adjust the collar of your tee and smooth down the shoulder of your cream cardigan. "there. perfect. you look so effortlessly pretty today! are you ready for your date?”

​“a bit nervous,” you admitted, feeling a sudden jolt of nervous electricity running through your system.

“hey,” wonhee placed her hand kn your shoulder, “you got this. and if jungwon doesn't see how incredibly lucky he is to have you, just let me know. i will personally make sure every single senior in his department knows he’s an absolute fool, and his pristine reputation will be completely ruined by tomorrow morning.”

“wonhee,” you taunt.

“i'm just saying.” wonhee giggled, gently grabbing your shoulders and turning you toward the door. she gave you a playful nudge forward. "now stop stalling and go. he’s probably already waiting outside, and you shouldn't keep your boyfriend waiting."

boyfriend.

on cue, a knock came again, and this time, you answered it.

​when the door swung open, jungwon was standing there, looking effortlessly handsome in a simple jacket. the moment his eyes landed on you, his breath hitched slightly, his gaze sweeping over your cream cardigan and wide-leg trousers with a look of pure, unadulterated admiration.

​“hi,” you murmured, your heart doing a familiar flutter.

​“hi,” he replied softly, a warm smile breaking across his face as if he couldn't help himself. “you look beautiful.”

​“you ready?” he asked, his voice low and comforting.

​you nodded your head, the last of your nervous jitters completely melting away. jungwon offered his arm, and you gladly looped yours through it, stepping out into the hallway as he gently pressed your arm closer to his side, making you feel completely secure before you even left the building.

jungwon takes you out to a beautiful, open-air city square where the evening breeze carries the distant chatter of people and the soft glow of fairy lights tangled in the trees. walking arm-in-arm, he effortlessly shields you from the busier walkways, pointing out little shops or laughing at the synchronized fountains, making the wide, bright world feel incredibly small and private just for the two of you.

​you smiled, the warmth in your chest blooming beautifully. but as you stepped past a brightly lit clothing storefront, the air in your lungs suddenly turned to ice.

​“jungwon, is that actually you?”

​the soft, bright voice called out from the restaurant entrance. jungwon paused, turning his head, and you felt his entire posture straighten up in surprise. walking toward your table was a girl with an effortless, radiant smile and a polished grace that made the entire room feel a little brighter.

​“minji!” jungwon’s face lit up with immediate, genuine recognition as he stood up to greet her. “wow, it’s been so long. what are you doing back here?”

​“my family just moved back to the area,” she laughed, her voice carrying a familiar, easy warmth. jungwon immediately turned to you, his hand reaching for yours to introduce you.

“minji, this is y/n. my girlfriend.”

“omg, hi! finally, jungwon has gotten himself a girlfriend.”

​she was completely lovely. she didn't do a single thing wrong. but as she chatted with jungwon for a few minutes about their old neighborhood before waving goodbye, a suffocating wave of anxiety washed over you.

​she was stunning. her hair sat perfectly, her laugh was effortless, and she possessed a kind of glowing, unbothered confidence that you felt miles away from. sitting across from jungwon again, your cream cardigan suddenly felt suffocating, and your wide-leg trousers felt like a clumsy attempt at looking put-together. the food on your plate suddenly looked unappetizing as the old, familiar voice whispered that you were completely out of your league.

​“y/n? hey, you’re getting quiet on me,” jungwon murmured softly, leaning across the table, his dark eyes full of immediate concern. “what’s going on in that head of yours?”

​you stared down at your fingers, tracing the edge of the napkin to keep your voice steady. “she’s… really pretty, jungwon.”

​“she’s an old friend,” he replied instantly, a gentle, reassuring smile breaking across his face. “i promise that's all.”

​you swallowed past the lump in your throat, the overthinking brain refusing to let go of the bone. “did anything… ever happen between you two? back then?”

​“no, never,” jungwon said easily, shaking his head. “we were just kids who grew up on the same block. we played video games and rode bikes. that was literally it.”

​you looked up, your eyes searching his face, silent and unconvinced. jungwon sighed softly, a tiny, amused but fond smile tugging at his lips as he realized he couldn't hide anything from you. he reached across the table, covering your cold hand with his warm one.

​“okay, fine,” he gave in gently, his thumb rubbing soothing circles over your knuckles. “the only thing that ever happened was that our parents used to tease us. when we were around ten, our moms joked around a lot about how we’d probably end up getting married because we were inseparable. but it was just a silly parents' joke.”

​he meant it as a reassuring confession to show how ridiculous the history was, but inside your chest, the words landed with a heavy, deafening thud.

​married.

​“baby,” jungwon murmured, his hands coming up to gently hold your fingers. he looked down at you, his eyes completely honest. “i'm sorry. i shouldn't have brought that up so carelessly. when we were kids, maybe there was a silly, innocent part of me that had a crush on her back then. but i swear to you, those feelings are completely gone. they've been gone for years.”

​when you wouldn't look at him, your eyes still trained on the ground as you tried to process the heavy spiral in your chest, jungwon didn't get frustrated or tell you that you were overreacting.

​instead, he patiently guided your cold hands up, cupping them securely against his warm cheeks and leaning his face into your soft touch. he tilted his head just enough so that you were forced to see the absolute sincerity in his gaze.

​“our parents made jokes about the past, but i'm looking at my future right now,” he whispered, his thumb brushing over your wrist, his heartbeat steady and grounding beneath your palms. “it's only you, y/n. it's always just been you.”

“how sure are you about that?”

​“how sure are you about that?” you whispered, your voice cracking slightly under the weight of your own mind. you hated how small you sounded, hated that even with his face leaning so trustingly into your hands, the ugly, loud voice of your anxiety was still trying to convince you that you were a second choice.

​jungwon didn't blink. he didn't sigh in frustration, and he didn't let go of your hands. instead, he just closed his eyes for a brief second, absorbing the raw vulnerability of your question, before looking right back at you with a gaze so steady it felt like an anchor.

​“because when i was ten, i didn't know what loving someone actually meant,” he said softly, his voice incredibly quiet but unshakeable. “i thought it was just sharing toys and living on the same block. but with you? i know exactly what it is.”

​he kissed the palm of your right hand, his lips warm against your cold skin.

​“i'm sure because when something good happens, you're the first person i want to call. i'm sure because even when you get quiet and distant like this, i don't want to be anywhere else in the world except right here, waiting it out with you. minji is a part of a childhood scrapbook, y/n. but you are my real life. you are my today, and you're the only one i want for tomorrow.”

you let out a shaky breath you didn't realize you were holding, the heavy knot in your chest finally loosening under the steady, unshakeable warmth of his words. the ugly, loud whispers of your overthinking brain slowly faded into silence, replaced entirely by the sound of his heartbeat beneath your palms.

​he was right. she was the past, but you were his right now.

​“okay,” you whispered, a small, watery but genuine smile finally breaking across your lips. “i believe you.”

​jungwon smiled back, a look of pure relief crossing his handsome face. he kissed the palm of your hand one more time before lowering your hands, locking his fingers tightly with yours as the two of you began walking down the glowing, tree-lined street once again. the anxiety hadn't completely vanished from your system—it rarely ever did—but with his side pressed warmly against yours, the world felt safe again.

​but your worries did not disappear overnight.

months have passed since that evening of your first date, filled with shared laughter and a love that grew steadier with each passing day. jungwon had proven his words true over and over again, never letting you drift when the overthinking got too loud.

​yet, the mind is a stubborn thing.

jungwon was and is serious about you. every small gesture, every patient reassurance when you got quiet, and every look he gave you proved that you weren't just a passing chapter in his life. so, he decided that it was finally time for his parents to meet you. he wanted you to meet the people who mattered most to him, completely missing the way your stomach instantly dropped in panic.

“my son!”

as soon as the door opened to jungwon’s condo, his mom gave him a tight hug, immediately stepping past him to look at you with a wide, welcoming smile. jungwon laughed softly, wrapping an arm around his mom's shoulders before gently pulling you into the space alongside them.

“mom, let me breathe first,” he teased gently, though his eyes were bright with happiness as he looked between the two of you.

“but i miss my baby!”

this was the first time you can genuinely see jungwon embarrassed, but it was adorable. his cheeks flushed a faint, endearing pink as he cleared his throat, trying to regain his usual cool composure while his dad just chuckled behind them, carrying a small box of side dishes into the kitchen.

all was going well. the conversation flowed effortlessly over the sound of clinking chopsticks and quiet laughter.

“you know, y/n, jungwon has been smiling so much more lately,” his mom mentioned softly, reaching over to squeeze your wrist. “whenever we call him on the weekends, he’s always in a good mood because he’s either on his way to see you or just got back from a date. you’ve been such a wonderful influence on him.”

“thank you, mrs. yang,” you murmured softly, using the title she had warmly insisted on earlier. you felt a genuine sense of relief wash over you.

but that relief was cut short when his father set down his glass, looking between the two of you with a reflective nod. “it’s just so interesting seeing jungwon with someone so quiet and gentle,” his father noted with a thoughtful, friendly smile. “you know, his mother and i always assumed he’d end up with someone loud and full of energy, like minji. they grew up together, so we were just so used to that specific dynamic. but it’s good that he’s learning to appreciate a different kind of presence now.”

learning to appreciate.

your stomach completely dropped. they weren't trying to be mean at all. it was just a casual comment. but hearing his dad say that made your worst fear feel real. to them, minji was the standard: the girl who naturally fit into his life.

suddenly, that creeping feeling was crawling back into your system and into your head.

this option focuses on him noticing y/n's discomfort right away and stepping in to protect her peace.

jungwon, who had been watching you the entire time, saw the exact moment your face went rigid. without a second thought, his hand reached under the table, finding your ice-cold fingers and squeezing them tightly.

“that was a completely different time, dad,” jungwon cut in smoothly, his voice calm but incredibly firm as he looked directly at his father. “who i was when i was ten years old doesn't matter. y/n is my present, and she’s exactly who i like.”

his mother’s eyes widened slightly at jungwon's serious tone, her expression shifting into immediate regret. she looked at you, her face full of genuine worry.

“oh, dear, i’m so sorry,” his mom said softly, reaching across the table to gently touch your arm. “your father didn't mean it that way at all. we are so happy you’re here with him.”

“yes, please forgive an old man's clumsy words, y/n,” his dad added quickly, looking incredibly apologetic. “i only meant that we are glad to see how happy and grounded jungwon is with you. we really didn't mean to compare you.”

you managed to nod politely, offering his parents a tight, small smile. “it’s okay, mrs. yang. mr. yang, really. don’t worry about it.”

you forced yourself to get through the rest of the dinner. you chewed your food without tasting it, laughed at the right moments, and politely helped clear the plates. you didn't storm out, but your anxiety made you want to disappear.

the second the front door clicked shut and his parents finally left, the fake smile dropped from your face. your breath hitched, and the hot tears you had been holding back for the last hour finally slipped down your cheeks.

jungwon turned around immediately, his face full of pain as he stepped toward you. “y/n, baby, hey—”

“jungwon, please,” you whispered, stepping back, your hands trembling as you wrapped them around yourself. you couldn't take his comfort right now. the ugly thoughts were too loud. “i just… i think i need to go home.”

“y/n, look at me. you heard what i told them. she’s not like that to me. why are you pushing me away?”

“because they look at me and they see a lesson!” your voice finally broke, a sharp, painful sob escaping your throat. “they look at me and see someone who is helping you grow up, jungwon. what if that’s all i am to you? what if i’m just the person you’re with until you’re ready to go back to someone like her?”

jungwon flinched as if you had physically struck him. a heavy, painful silence fell over the apartment. he took a slow breath, his dark eyes brimming with a mix of deep hurt and sheer frustration that he couldn't seem to break through the walls of your anxiety.

“is that really all you think of me?” he asked, his voice dropping to a dangerously quiet, raw whisper. “after all these months, you still think i’m just using you as a placeholder?”

he stepped forward, refusing to let you shrink away this time, his hands gently but firmly capturing your trembling wrists.

“i am not your ex, i’m not your fling, and i’m not jongseong, y/n,” he said, his voice shaking slightly with emotion as he looked directly into your tear-filled eyes. “i don't need a lesson, and i don't need to practice how to love someone. i love you. i chose you, and i am pouring everything i have into us. it hurts so bad that you’re letting a careless comment throw away everything we’ve built.”

you stared at him through a blur of hot tears, his grip on your wrists feeling less like an anchor and more like a trap you desperately needed to escape. you heard his words. he loves youand he isn't your ex. but the chaotic noise inside your head was just too loud. you were completely emotionally exhausted.

“jungwon, please,” you choked out, pulling your wrists back out of his hold. you couldn't look him in the eye, unable to bear the heavy hurt radiating from him. “i can’t… i can’t do this right now. i just really need to go home.”

jungwon stood perfectly still, his hands hanging empty in the space between you. he looked at your trembling shoulders, realizing that no matter what he said right now, your mind was miles away, trapped in a past he hadn't created.

he let out a long, heavy breath, his head dropping for a second before he looked back up at you with soft, tired eyes.

“okay,” he whispered quietly, his voice thick with unvoiced exhaustion. he didn't fight you, and he didn't force you to stay. instead, he reached for his car keys on the counter. “i’ll drive you.”

“no,” you said quickly, stepping back toward the door before he could even take a step toward you. “no, jungwon, please don't.”

jungwon froze, his fingers tightening around his car keys. “y/n, it’s late. i’m not letting you go out there alone like this.”

“i’ll book a ride. i just… if i get in the car with you right now, i feel like i won't be able to breathe,” you confessed, your voice dropping to a desperate, raw whisper. you hated hurting him, but the walls of the apartment already felt like they were crashing down on you. “i need to be completely alone. please.”

the word please seemed to deflate whatever fight jungwon had left in him. he looked at you, seeing the genuine panic in your eyes, and realized that forcing himself to accompany you would only make your spiral worse. it broke his heart, but he put his car keys back down on the counter.

“okay,” he whispered softly, his voice heavy with defeat. “i won't force you. but let me book your ride. let me at least do that so i know you're in a safe car.”

you didn't have the energy to argue. you just stood by the door, hugging yourself tightly as jungwon quietly pulled out his phone, his hands trembling slightly as he booked a ride to your apartment.

when the app showed the driver was outside, he walked over and opened the door for you. he didn't try to hug you or touch you, completely respecting the distance you asked for.

“text me when you get inside your room,” jungwon said, his dark eyes brimming with so much quiet love and unspoken hurt as he watched you step out into the hallway. “even if you don't want to talk to me, just send a dot. please. just let me know you're safe.”

you nodded your head and closed the door. as you walked down the hallway and headed toward the car, you finally let your tears fall, not caring if the receptionist in the lobby or the driver saw you.

***

dear y/n,

you thought you were completely past this after all these months of quiet, steady happiness.

he is good to you, and he has done absolutely nothing wrong. your heart knows he isn't the one who hurt you, but the fear of history repeating itself is paralyzing. you ran away tonight because the walls were closing in, and you are so terrified of ruining something beautiful.

you are standing at a crossroads now, completely exhausted from fighting your own mind. you want to believe you deserve this love, but the urge to protect yourself is pulling you backward. the storm inside you is loud, but will you still find the strength to trust and give it a try?

you texted jungwon that you needed space. you told him you just needed to make sure history wasn't repeating itself.

it took a few long, agonizing minutes before your phone buzzed in your hand.

jungwon: i understand. take all the time you need, y/n. i’m not going anywhere, and i’m not letting go of us. please just rest well tonight.

staring at the glowing screen, a fresh wave of tears blurred your vision. he was giving you the exact reassurance you desperately needed, yet the heavy, unresolved space between you felt wider than ever.

days turned into weeks and the space between you only grew heavier. neither of you reached out, the silence lingering like an unspoken question that you were both too afraid to answer.

you had thought that having this time to yourself would help clear your head and make you feel safe again. instead, the endless quiet only proved that the ghost of your past wasn’t something he was creating—it was something you were still carrying all on your own. missing him had become a constant, dull ache in your chest, making you realize that the walls you built to protect yourself were only keeping you trapped in your own loneliness.

the realization hit you fully when you found yourself staring at an old photo of the two of you, his bright, genuine smile a stark contrast to the hollow ache currently sitting in your chest. you had spent so much time trying to make sure history wasn't repeating itself that you hadn't noticed you were the one sabotaging your own present. it was finally time to stop letting your fear dictate your future, even if your hands were still shaking at the thought of making things right.

but you were too scared. maybe you didn’t deserve that second chance when all he did was be so nice and gentle, giving you the love you had been searching for all along.

on cue, your phone lit up with an unexpected video call notification. you slid the button to answer, clearing your throat before speaking. “jongseong, hey!”

“hey, y/n,” jongseong replied, his face appearing on the screen. he gave you a small wave, looking totally relaxed but a bit curious. “i’m only calling because a few really sad heartbreak tweets popped up on my timeline today, and i noticed you liked one of them. it just felt a little out of character for you. are you doing okay? any problems between you and jungwon?”

you froze, the heavy silence of your room suddenly feeling magnified through the speaker. your throat felt completely tight, and your mind scrambled for a safe lie, a polite excuse, or any regular answer to cover up the mess inside your head. but looking at jongseong’s kind, expectant face on the screen, the wall you had built over the past few weeks finally crumbled.

you let out a shaky breath, looking down at your lap because you couldn't bear to hold his gaze anymore.

“do you know that there are two types of people in the world?” you murmured, your voice cracking slightly as the tears threatened to spill over again. “the lesson and the one. sadly, i’m the lesson.”

“okay…” he said slowly, rubbing the back of his neck as he leaned closer to the camera. “i’m not following. what do you mean by that, y/n?”

“i mean… some people only enter a person’s life to teach them how to love, how to grow, or how to be better for the next person,” you whispered, a single tear finally slipping down your cheek. “they’re just a temporary chapter. they're the lesson. and then there are the people who get to stay forever. they’re the one.”

you finally looked up at the screen, your eyes completely raw and vulnerable as you stared at him.

“his parents think i'm just a phase, jongseong. they think i'm just someone he's with until he's ready to go back to a blueprint that naturally fits his world. and the worst part is… i’m starting to think they’re right.”

you let out a tired, shaky sigh, pulling your knees up to your chest.

“you know my history, jongseong. you’ve seen firsthand how many times i’ve been left behind, and how much it took for me to piece myself back together,” you murmured, your voice dropping to a soft, exhausted whisper. “i already know exactly how it feels to be the lesson that helps a man grow up for someone else. i’ve been that girl my entire life, and i just… i don’t think i have the strength to go through that all over again with him.”

jongseong went completely quiet on the other end of the line, his expression softening as your words settled over him. he rubbed the back of his neck, looking down for a brief second as if carrying a quiet weight of his own before fixing his steady, grounded gaze back on you.

“y/n, look at me,” he said softly, his voice dropping into that deep, comforting tone. “i know your history. i know exactly how much you've been through, and i'm not going to sit here and tell you that your fears aren’t valid. but you are completely wrong about one thing.”

he leaned a little closer to the camera. “i don't know the guy personally, but i know you. and from everything you’ve ever told me about him, from the way your face lights up when you mention his name, he isn't the type to treat you like a phase. his parents don't get to decide who his 'one' is, y/n. he already chose you, so don't let their words choose his ending for him.”

you looked away from the screen, your bottom lip trembling as his words cut right through your defenses. you wanted so desperately to believe he was right, but the heavy weight in your chest made it so hard to breathe.

“but what if they’re right, jongseong?” you whispered, a fresh tear spilling over as you brought your knees closer to your chest. “it’s so easy to say he chose me now, but choosing someone gets a lot harder when the whole world is pulling you in the opposite direction. i'm just so tired of being the only one who ends up broken when the choice gets too heavy.”

“you told me once, he’s different. you said he was the first person who made you feel safe enough to lower your guard. don't take away his chance to be the one who stays just because everyone else before him left.”

you let out a shaky breath, wiping the dampness from your cheeks with the back of your hand. his words hit a little too close to home, reminding you of the girl who used to be so certain about the boy she loved.

“i did say that, didn't i?” you whispered, a small, incredibly tired smile touching your lips for a split second. you looked back up at the screen, trying to clear the thick emotion from your throat. “i'm sorry for dumping all of this on you out of nowhere. let's not talk about my mess anymore. how are things with you and karina?”

jongseong chuckled softly, the heavy atmosphere completely lifting as he leaned back in his desk chair. “speaking of the devil,” he murmured, just as the sound of a fridge door closing echoed through the speaker, followed by the soft padding of footsteps.

a second later, karina leaned into the frame, damp hair wrapped in a towel and a plate of sliced fruit in her hand. “tell her i say hi! and tell her you haven't washed the dishes from breakfast yet,” she teased, popping a piece of apple into her mouth before pressing a quick kiss to the top of his head and walking back to the living room.

jongseong rolled his eyes fondly, watching her leave before fixing his gaze back on you. “see? we’re surviving, even if we’re constantly stressed about finals and rent. our parents definitely had their doubts about us moving in together so early, but we just decided to figure it out as we go. it’s not perfect, but it’s real. you and jungwon can figure it out too, if you just give him the chance to try.”

“thanks, jongseong,” you murmured, the tight knot of anxiety in your chest finally unravelling into a sudden, desperate wave of clarity.

“anytime, buddy,” he replied with a warm, final nod.

and with that, you both ended the call.

before the fear could creep back in, you immediately grabbed a coat from the chair and shoved your feet into your crocs. you unlocked the deadbolt with trembling fingers and swung the door open, but what you didn’t expect was jungwon standing right there, catching his breath with his hair sweaty, probably from running all the way to you.

“h-hi.”

“hi.”

a breathless, fragile silence settled over the hallway. jungwon looked down, his gaze lingering on your feet tucked into your crocs, and then you looked at his messy, sweat-dampened hair. despite the heavy heartbreak that had been hovering over you both for weeks, a tiny, incredibly watery laugh slipped past your lips.

jungwon’s lips twitched into a faint, exhausted smile, though his eyes stayed completely soft and intense.

“where were you going in such a hurry?” he asked softly, his voice still a little breathless.

“i was… i was going to you,” you confessed, your voice cracking as the tears finally spilled over, blurring your vision.

jungwon’s eyes softened completely, his hand moving from your wrist to gently cup your cheek, his thumb catching the tear before it could fall. “to me? why?”

“because i’m so tired of being the girl who only exists to teach good men how to love someone else,” you choked out, your hands anchoring onto the fabric of his jacket because your knees felt weak. “i don’t want you to be my temporary chapter, jungwon. i don’t want this to be another heartbreaking lesson. i know you’re the one. i know it. and it terrifies me, but i was running to tell you that i don’t want to let you go.”

jungwon stared at you, completely frozen as his usual composure totally shattered. a glassy sheen quickly took over his sharp eyes, his bottom lip trembling just a fraction as the heavy unshed tears made him look incredibly vulnerable in the dim hallway light. he looked so profoundly undone by your confession that he couldn't even find his voice to speak.

seeing him look at you like that suddenly made a wave of intense self-consciousness rush over you.

you let out a wet, breathless laugh, instantly dropping your gaze to his chest as your cheeks flushed deep red. “oh god,” you muttered, your voice cracking as you weakly hid your face against his jacket. “i can’t believe i sound so silly saying that. it sounded so cringe, i'm sorry—”

jungwon wasted no time in closing the gap between the two of you and crashed his lips onto yours. compared to your first kiss, this one was full of pure yearning and a desperate, breathless relief that made your knees give out completely.

he kissed you until the lingering taste of your tears melted away, his hands moving up to cup your face so tightly, as if he were physically anchoring you to him. when he finally pulled back just a fraction, his forehead remained rested against yours, both of your breaths coming out in hot, uneven puffs in the quiet hallway.

“it’s not silly,” jungwon whispered fiercely, his voice raspy and thick with the tears he was trying not to spill. he blinked, a stray drop finally escaping and trailing down his flushed cheek as he looked deep into your eyes. “i ran all the way here because i felt like i was suffocating without you. i ran to tell you that i don't want to lose you. i'm not letting you go.”

you could only nod as a fresh wave of tears blurred your vision. your fingers gripping his shoulders so hard your knuckles turned white.

jungwon smiled weakly, his thumbs gently wiping away the new tears on your cheeks before leaning down to press a soft, lingering kiss to your forehead, right at your hairline. he kept his arms securely locked around you, anchoring you against his warm chest until your breathing finally synced up with his.

“i mean it, y/n,” he murmured into your hair, his voice steadier now but still filled with that fierce determination. “no more lessons. we're figuring this out together.”

***

dear, y/n,

in this world, there are two types of people: the one and the lesson. you were the latter. but right now, you’re the first.

you spent so much time convincing yourself that you were only built to be a temporary chapter, a stepping stone for someone else's perfect blueprint. but you don't have to stay broken just to teach a good man how to love. you can be the one who gets to stay, too. and you finally found your 'the one'—the boy who ran all the way to your door in the middle of the night just to prove he was never going to let you go.

three months later.

“jungwon, if you don't turn that stove down right now, we are going to set the fire alarm off for the third time this month,” you laughed, leaning against the counter of your apartment as you watched him frantically wave a kitchen towel in front of a smoking pan.

“i have it completely under control!” he insisted, though his cheeks were flushed a soft pink and his sharp eyes were wide with adorable panic. he quickly slid the pan off the burner, letting out a dramatic sigh of relief before turning around to face you. his hair was slightly messy, a soft contrast to the structured, neat look he usually wore around his family, and he was wearing an super oversized hoodie that you were pretty sure actually belonged to you.

you walked over, entirely unable to hide the fond smile on your face as you reached up to fix a stray strand of hair falling over his forehead. “you’re supposed to be the responsible college student, remember? what happened to the planner jungwon?”

“the plan got complicated,” jungwon murmured, his tone instantly softening the second your fingers brushed against his skin. without missing a beat, his hands found your waist, pulling you flush against him with that effortless, natural familiarity that had become your favorite part of every single day. “besides, i was distracted looking at you.”

“so cringe,” you teased, echoing the exact words from the night he ran to you, but your heart still did that familiar, happy flip against your ribs.

jungwon chuckled, a low, warm sound that vibrated against your chest as he leaned down, resting his forehead against yours. “i told you three months ago,” he whispered against your lips, his thumbs gently rubbing soothing circles through the fabric of your shirt. “it’s not cringe if it’s real. now kiss me before the smoke alarm actually goes off.”

you didn't miss a beat. you leaned up, capturing his lips in a slow, deep kiss that carried all the quiet certainty of the past three months. the heavy anxiety, the cruel comments from his parents, and the ghosts of your past heartbreaks were completely gone. there were no more lessons left to learn. there was only jungwon, holding you tight in a smoky kitchen, proving every single day that he was here to stay.

[enhastolemyheart]

and it all happened on a fucking tuesday....

#BRINGVALKOBACK

[applefishcake]

caleb and nonMC!reader in an loveless arranged marriage, where he's secretly in hopeless love with her

warnings. angst fest, eventual fluff, failing marriages, misunderstandings, suggestive content, jealousy, stalking/following, caleb getting rejected, reader in denial, feelings are hard preview. "Why wouldn't I be romantic? I'm your husband." He's been doing that lately--dropping lines like that out of nowhere, like they're nothing. Somehow always when you're least prepared for it, and always with a lopsided grin that tells you he's either completely oblivious or knows exactly what he's doing. You're willing to bet on the latter. wc. 7.4k

Your husband does not love you. He doesn’t love anyone except for one, and it is not you.

You used to like romance. You’d fantasize about who your beloved forever would be in your room, kicking your feet childishly at the thought of someone loving you so purely. So innocently. You wondered what kind of person they’d be, what kinds of foods they’d like, what their family is like. You wondered which holiday would be their favorite, whether they’d want children, whether they’d have a time-consuming job. But really, none of it mattered, because you only wanted someone by your side.

So when you were told you’d be put into an arranged marriage, you tried to be hopeful. An embarrassing, pathetic hope that maybe this man could love you the way men love in books and movies if you tried hard enough.

Caleb Xia is not a loving person. You realized this the moment he stepped into the room with cold, lifeless eyes that seemed to stare straight through you as if the wall was worth more than your presence. He’d smiled, but it felt stiff. Awkward. But you’re sure yours was the same.

Still, his eyes were beautiful. Your hope flickered like a small stubborn flame in your chest that you wanted to guard against the blizzard. The marriage was simple. You showed up to the courthouse in a knee-length white dress, constantly adjusting at the pearls around your neck anxiously while he signed the papers. Once he was done, he’d simply slid it over to you, evidently avoiding your eyes. 

“Are you sure?” you’d asked meekly, as if speaking any louder than a whisper would shatter your heart. You weren’t sure if you were asking him or yourself. Not that it mattered, much.

He spared you a soft smile. Pity, maybe, with how his eyes remained empty, but you took it anyway. 

A starved man does not beg for more. The flame remained.

The only reason he married you was because MC had gotten married to another childhood friend of theirs. When he mentioned it, you thought nothing of it at first. But when the only photo he’d put up throughout your entire house was one of him and her as children, while your awkwardly situated courthouse picture sat beside it, you knew. He didn’t stop to stare at your photo, ever. Not any of the photos. Only hers.

The final blow to the puny flame remaining in your heart was when you’d finally initiated physical contact. To perform the marital duty, he’d hovered above you in just his pants while you stared up at him in your thin pajamas that did little to hide what was beneath it. There was no setting the mood. The air was cold, the room dull because only your half had any semblance of effort that had gone into decorating it. When he kissed you, it felt more like his lips were simply touching yours gently. Almost tapping it. 

It felt like nothing.

This was not romantic at all.

“Are you okay? Is this okay?” he asked, pulling back with a furrow in his brows—probably because you were lying lifelessly while holding your breath. You wondered how he could ask something so softly when his eyes remained so muted. Maybe not softly. Maybe just quiet.

“It’s okay.” You wanted to curl up and go to sleep, but he was the only semblance of warmth in the freezing room.

But when his hand slid up your shirt, resting atop of your stomach, you stopped breathing again. He stopped as well. Your gazes met silently, and for a moment, the world seemed to stop. A dull, slow stop. And then suddenly, he was off you, clambering to pull his shirt back on as you sat up in confusion, eyes wide.

“I can’t,” he muttered. “I’m sorry.”

The flame went out.

Were you really so distasteful? So disgusting that he didn’t want to lay his hands on his own wife? Or was it that you were just too different from her? Should you be offended? Are you even offended? Relieved? Hurt? 

Does it even matter?

Once you were sure he’s gone, you cried yourself to sleep.

The next few years are a blur that you wish had somehow gone even faster. The days are a bore. He’s away for weeks—maybe even months—at a time. In those periods of time, the house feels like a maze not meant for only one person. At the same time, maybe it’s better he’s away.

Caleb Xia is not a mean person. On paper, he’s a decent husband. He cleans, cooks, and never complains if you ask him to do something. He smiles, nods, and goes on his way. Yet, it feels more like a vaguely close roommate than a husband. The two of you eat in silence, watch TV in silence, and even go to bed in different rooms. You suppose you can’t complain—it’s not like you put in much effort to get to know him well anyway.

The only thing he does that even comes close to romance is bringing you flowers. You’d told him once that you wished the house had space for a garden to plant them, and he’d brought you a bouquet later that week. Since then, he brings them every few weeks routinely. They appear in the vase beside the couch as if they’ve just magically appeared. 

They’re pretty, you think.

Resentment builds, slowly but surely, probably on both ends as in most marriages. This kind of life is killing you inside. This lonely, aimless life in a house that makes you feel like you’re the only person in the world, in a bed that feels too large. 

“I want to work,” you say one day, picking at your food blankly. “I have an interview tomorrow, so I won’t be here for most of the day from now on if I get it.”

A fork clatters from across the table. “What? Why?”

You don’t necessarily have to work given Caleb’s plentiful paycheck, but you want to anyway because you can’t stand being in that gigantic house all by yourself. But of course, how could you tell this to the man in front of you? The man you don’t even know the favorite color of?

“It’s a regular office job.”

“I didn’t ask what it was,” he blurts, eyes narrowing in concern. “I’m asking why? Do I not give you enough money? You know you have access to everything on the card, right?”

You shrug. “It’s not about the money…I just think I need something to do throughout the day.”

“What about picking up another hobby?”

“I’ve exhausted most of them.”

“Then traveling?”

“By myself?” you frown. “It’s not like you’re ever here.”

You’re not sure why the words slip through your teeth, but they do, and the disdain is apparent. He seems surprised at first, blinking, before his shoulder slump again and the corners of his lips twitch downward. For some reason, it makes you feel—good? Alive, more so. So you keep talking. “You’re always working. You even missed my friend’s wedding after I told her we’d be there.”

He shoots back immediately, brows tight. “That was a special case—it was an emergency.”

“That’s fine,” you chew slowly on your food. “But I don’t want to wait around all day for you to get back.”

“You shouldn’t work if you don’t have to. I make more than enough.”

“Again, not the point.”

His lips tighten, pursing. “What will your family think if they hear that I’m making you work after I told them that I’d take care of you?”

You snort. “Is this what you call ‘taking care of’?”

Immediately, you can tell that you’ve struck a nerve. And for some reason, it feels good again. Like you’re alive, again. Maybe you just like pissing him off. His expression shifts momentarily to something you can’t recognize before it settles disapprovingly and silence befalls the both of you. You like when he doesn’t have that stupid smile he always has. The fake, lifeless smile he’d given you when you first met. You’d rather he just be upset, just like this. He looks like he wants to say something, but then shuts his mouth, swallowing the lump in his throat. 

His phone rings, slicing the tension in the air like a knife. Caleb glances at the caller ID for a split second before he’s already on his feet, pacing to the sink to put his plates away in a hurry. “I’m sorry, I need to take this. Let me know how the interview goes..”

You stare at your plate, listening to his feet pad around in a hurry. “Is it MC?”

He whips his head around. “What?”

You stand from your seat to dump your food into the sink, ignoring the slight clench in your chest. He’s always been this way. Jumping at any opportunity to be useful to her, while he leaves everyone else in the dust. “Nevermind. Go.”

Once you hear the front door shut, you slump into the couch face first, hoping it swallows you whole before he comes back. This has to be some sort of humiliation ritual. Perhaps you committed a grave sin in your past life, because you’re not sure what you could’ve possibly done to warrant such a feeling. The sunset seeps through the window planes and hits half of your face, bathing you in a warmth that had been missing from the rest of the house. The heat makes you sleepy, and you soon find your eyelids drooping shut, gazing lazily at a photo of the two of you on the coffee table. You don’t remember when it was taken, but in it, you genuinely look like you’re almost enjoying yourself. You can’t tell with him, though. You can never really tell.

“Stupid Xia,” you mutter as you fall deep into slumber.

When you awake again, the sun has fully set. There’s a blanket draped over you and when you blink away the blots in your vision, you’re met face to face with a fresh vase of flowers on the coffee table. They smell nice.

Damn it. 

Sometimes, you wish he was just an asshole.

You learn about him through the photo albums he has stashed away in the attic. It’s not like you were looking for them. You’d only been cleaning when they managed to topple right into your hands, and since he always says whatever’s his is yours, you figure you might as well satisfy your curiosity. There’s less than you expected, unfortunately. Most photos are taken by him, but there’s a few in between where he’s the subject. Him at his birthday party, his graduation ceremony, him packing for college, and the day he left for the DAA. 

It’s odd. You forget he was a normal teenager at one point, and not a high ranking colonel.

The pictures are through his eyes. Before you can stop, you find yourself becoming engrossed in lacing the photos together into some semblance of a story in your head. You see his childhood home and the model planes he enjoys building. His outings with MC and his grandmother. His last minute halloween costumes. Him and his friends carrying out a prank on someone. His studies. His likes. His dislikes. 

Caleb Xia is a charming person. If you hadn’t met the way you did, you think you might’ve liked him a little more.

When you ask him a question regarding one of the photos at dinner, he nearly chokes on his food. You quirk a brow in response. “Was I not supposed to see them?”

“No, it’s fine if you look…” he mumbles, taking a sip of water to gather himself. You squint—are his ears pink? You didn’t know he was capable of doing something kinda adorable. “It’s just a little embarrassing.”

“Like the picture of your airplane swim trunks from when you were a kid–”

He coughs again, and you snicker.

You think he’s tolerable—just a bit.

Weeks pass. Life gets a little easier with your job and more to do—it might even be a bit fun. With your new friends at your workplace and a new sense of accomplishment, the less you stress about your loveless marriage and the more you appreciate what you have. Your interactions with Caleb become less forced. Not because you’ve somehow managed to miraculously understand how his brain functions, but because you put less weight on what you say. It’s hard to see someone as intimidating when you’ve seen a photo of them in a stupid halloween costume. He seems to notice the change too. 

[Caleb Xia]: I got us fried chicken for dinner. Don’t be too late so it doesn’t get cold :)

Your mouth waters. It’s nice, almost. Emphasis on the almost.

Outside, the evening chill hits your cheeks, sharp enough to wake you up and wrap your jacket tighter around yourself. The street is busy but not crowded, as the sun has just set. A couple laughs too loudly across the road. Somewhere, a bus exhales.

You start down your usual route.

At first, it’s nothing. Just footsteps. Not out of place. People exist. People walk. People go home.

But something’s off. Your gut insists on it, and it’s hard to ignore.

You slow slightly, just enough to be subtle. The footsteps slow too.

Your fingers tighten around your bag.

Coincidence, surely.

You don’t turn around, yet. Turning means you have to see something and acknowledge that it’s real. Instead, you adjust your pace again. Faster this time.

The footsteps quicken, dropping your heart to your stomach. 

Your eyes dart around you anxiously. It’s dark. Streetlamps are guiding your path home, and though the neighborhood is nice, it’s empty. Well, except for you and the footsteps that seemingly sound like they’re getting ever so closer every few seconds. You throat feels dry. 

Phone. You need to tell someone. Even if you’re wrong—even if it’s just a hunch.

[You]: Still there?

[Caleb Xia]: Yea. why?

[You]: I think there’s someone following me

Your message sends, and for a moment air doesn’t enter your lungs.

The typing bubble appears. Disappears. Appears again.

[Caleb Xia]: I’m coming.

You don’t know how he’s going to find you, but you don’t bother questioning it at the moment. You swallow, and your throat is dry enough that it hurts. The streetlamps cast long shadows across the pavement, and it’s hard to discern whether something is just a shadow or something else in the dark.

You don’t turn around.

Your legs carry you as fast as you can go without breaking into a sprint, and your grip tightens around your phone until your fingers ache. Hurry, you think. Hurry up, Caleb.

A car passes.

He’s closer now, whoever it is.

Your breath catches. Your shoulders tense, every instinct screaming at you to run, but your legs feel like they’ve forgotten how.

Suddenly, a car turns the corner too fast, tires kissing the curb before readjusting and you nearly jump out of your own skin. The tint on the car makes it too difficult to see inside, not that you’d be able to see much regardless due to the dark. It slows to a stop as it sees you, and you think if this isn’t who you’re expecting, it might actually be the end for you. 

The passenger door swings open.

“Get in.”

Relief floods your body when you hear his voice and you stumble to clamber in.

Relief?

This is Caleb Xia you’re talking about. Now that you think about it, you’re unsure why he was the first you contacted instead of the police. Your fingers had tapped on his profile faster than you could think. Was it just because he was at the top of your contacts? Was it because he was near? It must be, right? It had been instinctual. Your body had reacted—and it had somehow worked out. 

Regardless, you can’t possibly deny how relieved you feel right now.

You wonder if this is how MC always feels. It must be nice to know that someone so reliable is always at her beck and call, right? To come running at just a few words—maybe she wouldn’t have had to walk home in the first place. Maybe he would’ve driven her. You feel sick. This isn’t what you should be thinking about right now. Right now, you need to report it to the police and take a much needed nap. 

A part of you is envious of her.

“You should’ve called me earlier.”

The chicken doesn’t look as appetizing anymore even despite it sitting before you in all its crispy fried glory. The growling in your stomach from earlier is replaced by a slight pain, and it’s difficult to tell if you’ve only lost your appetite or if it’s a different kind of anxiousness. He watches you from across the table with a perplexed frown while you pick at the chicken aimlessly, nodding blankly.

“I’ll report it first thing in the morning,” Caleb sighs. “I should pick you up from work from now own. Or I’ll call you a taxi if I can’t.”

You nod again.

“Are you okay?”

Ah, he’s asking that again. You hate when he does.

You tilt your head. “I’m just sort of in shock, I think.”

“I know, but you should eat at least a bit. Here.” He holds a piece of chicken on a fork to your face and you scrunch your nose. He smirks. “Here comes the airplane?”

“I might vomit all over you.” A half lie.

He replies instantly. “Then I’ll clean it. Eat.”

For a reason that you just attribute to exhaustion, you don’t bother arguing. Instead, you pop it into your mouth, cheeks dusting pink at the intimacy of the act. He hums in approval and you try your best not to choke. Why was he feeding you—a grown woman? And why were you letting him? 

How bizarre. This whole day is bizarre.

At least you’re home—thanks to him.

“Thank you,” you mumble softly. “For getting there so fast.”

He looks almost offended, shaking his head. “Don’t thank me, it was a given. I’m just happy you thought to call me. I was worried you wouldn’t.”

Why did you call him? Well, you suppose he is your husband at the end of the day. One who has eyes for another, but your husband nonetheless. “Why wouldn’t I?”

He stops for a moment, as if in thought, and then smiles sheepishly. Not the annoying fake smile he puts on for show, but one that’s riddled with guilt. Shame. You want to know why. “Just assumed you wouldn’t.”

Strangely, the words make your chest tight.

Your eyes meet his usual striking violets, shoulders slumping as you look away once the eye contact feels too intense. “I’m glad I did.”

You barely catch the tips of his ears turning pink.

Caleb keeps his word for the months following the event. You never have reason to pass by that street again on foot, and although you continue to insist it’s not necessary, having him as your private driver of sorts does feel kind of nice. You think eventually, you’ve come to call him more than a stranger. He’s easier to talk to. Funnier than you thought, actually, when he’s not being annoying to tease you.

You’d never tell him that though, of course.

You blink warily, rubbing at your eyes with the back of your hand when a ray of sunlight escapes through the shades of your bedroom and hit your face. However, it’s not what awakes you. Rather, it’s the insistent buzzing of your phone on your bedside table, which you barely manage to snatch without falling off the edge of the bed. 

[Caleb (husband)]: morning sleepinghead, you awake?

[Caleb (husband)]: Come eat breakfast :> made apple juice too

[Caleb (husband)]: I better hear you shuffling around in your room in the next few minutes or i’ll have to come drag you out.. :)

Caleb Xia, you find, nags a lot.

“Sleep well?” he chuckles when you finally emerge, still half-awake despite being fully dressed. You scratch the back of your neck, yawning as you perch yourself on one of the chairs at the counter where he’s standing with an apron tied neatly behind him. If you were just a tad bit more awake, you’d have a field day making a snide comment about it.

“Mm.”

He laughs again, gently. Did he always sound so soft?

“You can always quit your job, y’know,” he shrugs, placing a plate of breakfast foods in front of you. It smells immaculate, as usual. “Offer’s always on the table.”

You shove a forkful of eggs into your mouth, squinting at him. “Why do you wanth me shoo be unemployed sho bad? My parentsh don’t care.”

“It’s not about your family…It just doesn’t seem necessary.”

“I like working. Just not waking up so early.”

“I only want you to avoid overextending yourself if you don’t have to,” he pops a tomato into his own mouth. “I make enough for you to get whatever you want, don’t I?”

“But I want my own money, too.”

“My money is your money. This is the least I can do.”

“Careful,” you snort. “You sound dangerously close to being romantic.”

He tilts his head. “Why wouldn’t I be romantic? I’m your husband.”

This time, you really choke on your food, coughing as he quickly hands you the apple juice. He’s been doing that lately—dropping lines like that out of nowhere, like they’re nothing. Somehow always when you’re least prepared for it, and always with a lopsided grin that tells you he’s either completely oblivious or knows exactly what he’s doing.

You’re willing to bet on the latter.

Caleb Xia, as you figure out in the time you spend with him in his car on the way to work, has terrible taste in films.

“That movie is awful. There’s no way that’s your favorite.”

He gasps dramatically and you don’t bother suppressing the urge to roll your eyes. “Hey, don’t judge before you try it.”

“I’d like it if I never had to try it, actually.”

The smile adorning your lips falls in an instant the car slows to a stop. You find yourself growing disappointed when you arrive at your workplace, because it means you’ll have to leave him. You want to scold yourself for thinking such preposterous thoughts. What are you? A teenager who’s hanging out with a boy for the first time?

You’re married, for god’s sake.

Then again, so what if his company isn’t so bad? What if you think he’s a bit more to you than tolerable? Isn’t that allowed? He’s your husband, after all. If it doesn’t feel so bad, maybe you could let yourself reprise and enjoy it while it lasts.

“Ah, right, I should tell you—I’ll be leaving this weekend for work.”

Ah, nevermind. Reality has a way of slapping you across the face when you least expect it.

“How long?”

“A few weeks at best,” he pauses, voice quieter. “Months, if I’m unlucky.”

You really despise the subtle aching in your chest.

You hate how easily it slips in. How, for a second, it makes the flame that’s gone out years ago flicker, as if these moments could mean more than they do. They don’t. You know they don’t. They aren’t yours to keep. None of it is.

The warmth, the ease, the way he looks at you like this—like you’re something he actually cares about—it’s all fake. Stolen. You’re just standing in the space where someone else is supposed to be.

You press your lips together, forcing the feeling down before it can spread any further. Get a grip.

His palm pats the top of your head, making your cheeks heat against your will. With a grin, he nods. But it’s stiff. The slight crinkle between his brows. Upset. Upset? “I’ll see you tonight.”

It’s like he knows what you’re thinking before you know yourself.

“Who said I want to?”

“You wound me.”

As soon as you enter the building, you feel your phone buzz in your pocket.

[Caleb (husband)]: I know you’re at work, but…

[Caleb (husband)]: Movie night tn ?? i can make us popcorn :D

[Caleb (husband)]: And yes we’re watching my fav so you can stop calling it bad :>

[Caleb (husband)]: Last hurrah before i leave

This is dangerous, you think. Really, really dangerous. 

You seriously hope you don’t fall for him, if it isn’t too late already.

A few hours later, the living room is dimly lit with soft lights, the low hum of something playing in the background as Caleb sets everything up. The bowl of popcorn ends up a little too full, a few pieces spilling onto the counter as he carries it over, muttering something under his breath as he munches on the ones that are about to spill over. You sink into the couch, watching him move around the room—adjusting the volume and flipping through options he’s already decided on. 

It’s strange, how easy it feels. How normal.

You don’t realize you’re staring until he glances over.

So you look away quickly, fixing your gaze on the screen. But a few seconds pass, and you can feel his attention still lingering.

You pretend not to notice.

What are you doing? What are either of you doing?

You don’t say anything, swallowing the question down into the pit in your stomach.

The movie stars a side character with a passionate devotion to his family, who reminds you of Caleb. Oddly enough, the resemblance is almost uncanny. You kind of want to root for him but also want him to lose terribly. You huff quietly. “He’s so intense.”

Caleb glances over, a hint of a smile tugging at his lips. “What? You wouldn’t want someone like that?”

You tilt your head, pretending to think. “I mean… he’s a bit much.”

A pause.

“…but it comes from a good place. I like him.”

He stills.

You pick at a piece of popcorn, rolling it between your fingers. “He reminds me of you a little.”

“Yeah?”

You shrug, still not quite looking at him. “Yeah.” A small breath escapes you before you can stop it. “MC is really lucky to have you.”

He goes quiet. When you glance over, he’s already looking at you.

“…Lucky,” he repeats, almost to himself.

You hesitate, then ruin it by saying more. "I mean, you're always there for her, you know? If she calls, you come running. Everyone wants someone like that."

It was supposed to come off lightheartedly, but it only digs the hole deeper.

Something in his expression shifts. His smile fades, his face losing its usual ease as it drops to something you’ve never seen on him before. It contorts in phases. Surprise, and then confusion, and finally into one you prefer the least.

Panic. Something is wrong.

You wish you’d just shut up. The long pause makes you wish you were just a fly on the wall right now.

“Is this why?” he blinks, and his eyes glisten with something you haven’t seen from him. Void of the usual emptiness but replaced with something fuller. Heavier. “Is this why you hate me so much? Because of MC?”

Huh?

“Fuck,” one hand pulls at the roots of his hair, his top teeth sinking into his bottom lip as he attempts to hide his face from you. “I’m a moron. I should’ve known.”

What? Despite your hands growing clammy, you feel cold. Like the blood is draining from your face.

“You must hate me so much.”

When did you ever hate him? You’ve loathed him, certainly, when he’d disappear for weeks on end leaving you all alone in this cold, lifeless house. You’ve wanted to punch your balled up fists into his chest, knowing that it wouldn’t phase him in the slightest simply to alleviate some of your own anger. You’ve wanted to run away a multitude of times. But hate? Have you ever hated Caleb? Can you hate Caleb?

“Caleb.”

“This is my fault. I should’ve been more aware. It’s so obvious now, I feel like an idiot.”

“Caleb.”

“I thought you just hated me because this isn’t a marriage you wanted,” his voice cracks, and he’s burying his face into his palms. “I thought staying away from you was what you wanted. Shit, I’m so stupid.”

“Caleb,” you say, more firmly this time, and he finally looks at you. There’s a watery film over his usually lifeless eyes, glistening against the light of the TV screen, and it makes the pit in your stomach grow deeper. You don’t like seeing him like this. You thought you would, but you don’t.

His voice is a mere whisper now. He looks like he wants to vomit out a million words at once, but there’s three specific ones that linger on his tongue. Is this what they call a woman's intuition? You’re not sure how, but in the moment, it feels like you’re in his head. For the first time in the 4 years you’ve been wed to Caleb Xia, you feel like you can understand him. 

A victory that doesn’t feel like one at all.

“Listen to me,” he grabs your hands in his, holding them in front of his chest. “I don’t love her—not as a woman. I haven’t in a long time. She and Zayne are like my family, and I’d be a terrible person not to be happy for them. I’m sorry I didn’t make it clear to you. I’m so sorry.”

Your heart doesn’t seem to be beating anymore.

The air is too thick. Like liquid entering your lungs.

Caleb opens his mouth and then shuts it again, his words stuck in the back of his throat. You’re not sure if you want to hear what he wants to say. The words hold too much value, too many years of hurt, and you don’t know how you’ll react. You don’t want to acknowledge any of this as real, because if it is, what was all of this for? What were the years you spent holed up in your room meant to achieve? Were you just being a fool? And in that case, would you even want to know?

No. You don’t.

So instead, you kiss him.

A wordless, messy kiss. Though he’s taken aback at first, he’s quick to slot his mouth against yours eagerly, hands flying to your waist to pull you closer as if a man starved. It’s desperate. Different from the kiss you shared with him at the courthouse, or for transactional purposes. His mouth feels hot against yours, and when his tongue swipes against your lip, you let him in. 

You climb onto his lap, straddling him as he presses you flush against him. The movie is long forgotten. His hair weeds through the crevices between your fingers and he deepens the kiss as if he’s trying to physically become one with you. His heart hammers against your own like a timer, warning you of what this could mean, but you don’t care.

“Put your arms around my neck,” he mumbles against you, and then you’re suddenly being lifted up to your room with his hands supporting your thighs around his waist. But even those few seconds aren’t worth staying apart for, because he’s kissing your neck, mouthing at spots that have you pursing your lips to avoid making any embarrassing sounds. He lets you down gently onto the middle of your bed and follows suit, pushing you onto your back.

You’re here again.

He’s looming over you, face flushed in a deep red this time. He’ll ask if you’re okay. If this is okay. And then he’ll take off his shirt and his hand will slide up yours. It’ll be better this time, because it’s not out of some twisted sense of duty. Desire pulses at your core, but you can’t help but shake off this curdling feeling in your chest, as if you want to hurl. You wait for what you expect, eyes never leaving his.

Instead, he breathes sharply. “I love you.”

The world stops. 

“You don’t have to say anything back that I don’t deserve. I just want you to know,” he whispers.

Can anyone love someone like you—much less, your husband? You start breathing again because you have to, staring up at him as if he’s gone insane. In fact, you think you’ve gone insane. Kissing him, lying beneath him, enjoying his presence, looking forward to his breakfasts, letting him drop you off at work, feeling disappointed that he’s leaving—you’ve most definitely died and come back as another person, because this is not you.

This is Caleb Xia. He is an unloving person. He cannot love. But what happens if he does? With tears stinging at his eyes, watching you with a mix of pure adoration and sorrow, he’s telling you he loves you. Love is a strong word, isn’t it? But he means it. He loves you. Caleb loves you. You want to call him a liar, but he’s not.

You want to cry into his chest and run away at the same time.

The flame flickers, and you panic. Not because you despise him, or because his confession is one you don’t want to accept, but because this flame is not one you welcome with open arms anymore. It’s too easy to hurt. Too easy to shrink, yet somehow impossible to destroy.

“I can’t,” you croak. “Not right now.”

Even Caleb can’t mask the hurt that deepens his frown, as if you’ve torn his heart straight from his chest. For a man with so much power, he’s never looked more powerless than he does now.

It feels too vulnerable. Open. As if you’re naked and he’s fully clothed, when it’s infact the exact opposite. You don’t want to open up to him again. You don’t want him to snuff out that small flame you have that never seems to go out no matter how much you douse it in water. Or maybe you do?

He forces a crooked smile, strained against his very will and nods before leaving the room. As the door slips shut, he doesn’t turn to look at you. “Sleep tight.”

You don’t get much sleep that night at all.

Morning comes anyway.

And then another.

And another.

His absence returns, but this time because you’re the one avoiding him. You leave earlier than usual, linger longer at work, find excuses in the smallest things—emails, errands, anything that keeps you just a little out of sync with him. When you do cross paths, it’s brief. Polite. A short good morning or a quick goodnight. It’s easier that way.

You tell yourself this is what you wanted—to put distance back where it belongs. Whatever that night was, whatever flame flickered between you, it will fade. It must fade.

He isn’t yours. Even if he says he is, there’s too much pain--too many years of resentment built up that you don’t know what to do with.

You catch yourself thinking about it at mundane times—standing in line, walking home, staring at your coworkers chatting amongst themselves. The apartment feels different already, like it’s preparing to be emptier. As cold as it was a few months ago, when he was still Caleb Xia, and not just Caleb.

You take the time away from him to reset. To think, but not too much. You find yourself flipping through his photo albums again, smiling when you flip to a particularly embarrassing one. You hear him shuffling outside your room, probably packing for his business trip. You’re aware of what he risks everytime he disappears for weeks at a time—not only his life, but the lives of his men—and you don’t know how he bears to leave home everytime he does. 

But he always comes back. He has to. 

You suppose it’s for the best for now. And when he returns, things will return to normal. The house won’t be as awkward as it is. The two of you will slip into your usual routine of a loveless marriage, and you’ll find other avenues in life to derive joy from. So will he.

The front door shuts faster than you anticipated. 

He’s gone.

This is fine.

This is what you wanted.

The house is empty again. You pace to the living room, and surprisingly, a fresh bouquet of flowers is propped inside their usual vase. You lift the vase into your hands, letting the scent of the flowers waft into your nose. They smell good. New. Sort of like the detergent he uses when doing the laundry.

You set the vase back down, nails pressing faint crescents into your skin.

His face when you last saw him keeps flickering in your mind. So much hurt. Raw with fear.

“I love you.”

You want to tell him he doesn’t. You want to remind yourself that this is your husband. Your heartless, cunning husband who kills people for a living—who doesn’t care about anyone but his family. 

But you’re his family, aren’t you?

You can still smell his cologne in the air.

You must’ve missed it from the glint of the sunlight in the glass coffee table—there’s a small shimmer of something sitting beside the vase. With a quirked brow, you pick it up. He usually never leaves trash lying around.

You nearly drop it.

His wedding band.

Your breath stutters, sharp and uneven, like your lungs have forgotten how to work. Your heart pounds as you realize that you're shaking, eyes wide as saucers as you stare at the object in your hands.

No.

He wouldn’t. He wouldn’t just leave it.

The ring sits in your palm like a brick that weighs your entire body down. This isn’t something you can pretend will reset when he comes back.

This means no more quiet dinners. No more stupid arguments over movies he insists are good. No more messages waiting for you when you’re at work. No more him, standing at the counter every morning with a pan in his hand. No more him.

And worst of all, no more chance to fix it. To tell him your side of the story.

Your body moves before your mind catches up.

You wrench the front door open, not bothering to lock it behind you as your feet hit the pavement with just your socks. The air burns your throat as you run, lungs screaming, heart still pounding like it’s trying to break through your ribcage.

He can’t leave.

The stinging beneath your feet go unregistered as you clutch the ring so tightly that it feels like it might dig into your flesh. 

Just forward, you hiss to yourself. Faster. You turn corner after corner, your body begging you to stop overexerting yourself, but you can’t bother to care. You don’t even register where you’re going, but you need to go somewhere. It feels like ages and seconds at the same time, as you beg nobody in particular for one more chance.

A chance for what, you're not sure.

Reconciliation? Love? Understanding?

Is any of that possible? And if not, why are you running like your very life depends on it?

The ring digs further into your skin, and you realize it doesn't matter as long as you find who it belongs to. Him. Caleb. The reason and bane of your existence, and apparently what has you running across the entire town in hopes of bringing him back.

Finally, you slam into something solid.

The impact knocks the breath out of you, your grip loosening as the ring nearly slips from your fingers. A hand catches your arms before you can stumble back too far, steadying you with a familiar scent that somehow lets you breathe again.

“Hey—watch it—oh.”

You freeze in place, breath hitching as you look up. Standing right in front of you, he appears slightly disheveled, one hand still gripping your arm while the other awkwardly balances a paper bag of groceries. Caleb blinks, his eyes immediately scanning over your frame before landing on your feet. “Why are you here? Are you okay? And where are your shoes, it’s dangerou—”

“Don’t go, Caleb,” you sniffle, tears already stinging at your eyes as your body finally has a chance to rest, though it doesn’t feel much better. “Please don’t go.”

He stares at you as if you've grown a third eye, nearly dropping his bag of groceries at your pleas. Even the tips of his ears turn red, flustered. "What are you--"

“Why did you leave the ring? Did you lie?” About loving me?

His expression falls, attention honing in on the ring gripped in your fist. Something seems to click in his head, and immediately, he shakes his head. “No, of course not, I was going to leave a note. I just went out to get groceries before I left—”

“So you were going to leave the ring?”

“Well, yes, but can we–”

“Do you not like me anymore?” you blurt, finger bunching at the fabric of his sleeve. “Is it because I ignored you for a week?”

He almost looks offended. “Of course I still like you.”

“Then why?”

His voice softens, as if speaking too loud will scare you away. Hesitantly, he sheepishly releases your arms. Instead, he slowly takes your hand in his, lips pursing as he sighs. His palm feels rough with calluses from the work he does, but light as feathers against your skin. His touch is gentle, as if you’re the most precious thing in the world. “I figured there was no reason for me to tie you to me anymore. I won’t force you to be with someone you can’t even stand to be around. Someone you hate. It’d be selfish.”

Your words tumble out before you can process them. “I don’t hate you.”

Finally, with your hand in his, the world feels okay again. This feeling tells you you’re screwed, but you don’t care.

“I’ve been mad at you, and I don’t know what to do with your feelings because they make no sense, but I don’t hate you,” you mutter. “You’re just too confusing.”

“...Confusing?”

“I just—I don’t know what to do, Caleb,” you wipe vigorously at your eyes with your free hand, head falling to avoid looking him at him. “I don’t know what to think about you. How to feel about you.”

His eyes ease, and you feel him squeeze your fingers. “Do you want me to leave?”

“No.”

“Do you love me?”

“I don’t know.”

Caleb has always been better at reading you than yourself. A flash of hurt ripples across his face, but his eyes maintain its soft glimmer—because he knows. Even if you say you don’t know, he knows. He also knows that you’re afraid of those words, and he doesn’t blame you for it.

So instead, he asks something else. “What am I to you?”

You want to call him a million things. The man who left you by yourself, the man who refused to touch you for so many years, the man who’d chosen to sleep in the guest bedroom just to avoid taking up space in yours. He’s felt awful, inconsiderate, and cold. But he’s also the man who’s gotten you flowers, the man who’d break four speeding laws to make you feel safe, the man who makes sure you’re never hungry, the man who folds your laundry neatly and organizes it color-coded in your closet. The man who you wish you could slap across the face and hold close to you at the same time. The man who’s made you feel alone yet so cared for all at once.

You like him, you think. In some strange way that’s never been covered in the romantic films you used to clutch onto like a life line, you like him. The ‘L’ word teeters on the tip of your tongue like a marble rolling around to decide what these emotions settling in your heart really are, but it doesn’t really matter. All you know is that you need him. You want him. You want him to hold your face and kiss you tenderly, like he did that night. You want him to do it again and again until you can’t breathe, and all you can feel is him. You want to eat dinner with him every night and wake up in the morning to his stupid apron. You want to go grocery shopping with him. You want to fall asleep watching a movie in his arms.

“What am I to you?”

Tears fall down your cheeks in fat globs and you try your hardest not to let your voice crack. “My husband.”

His eyes widen for a moment, and then his lips split into a wide grin that resembles the lovesick expression of a teenage boy who’s holding hands for the first time. Caleb drops his grocery bag to his feet and reaches either hands to the sides of your face, cradling you gingerly as he guides you closer. Before you’re even registering it, he brushes a strand of hair out of your forehead and presses a soft but firm kiss to your temple, where you can feel him smile against your skin.

“Who am I to say no my wife?”

Your marriage is a messy, complicated jumble of emotions. The confusion. The fear. The warmth. It’s not perfect. It never will be. And despite it all, you don’t want it any other way, because Caleb Xia is a loving person.

taglist. @inzanekillian @someonestopsoren @sweetieelilii @3rdslide2heaven @gabburabbu @moltensceptergambit @cherrysherryblossom @younbeanz @txtworlddom @glitterykingdomheart @applebrat9 @ephemeraleb @cherrybomb5000 @chartreuxxlikesboba @corvusmemoriae @toorulee @ilovecoffe8 @cordidy @younghideoutberserker @yesbiaswrecked @madnesslusy @bypanana @noosummert @littleappleorchard @anyeeyna @xie-hua (I apologize if I didn't add you! I always struggle with tagging on tumblr lol!)

[taexual]

. . . d e l i r i u m | 5

what might be good for your heart might not be good for my head /// sleep token, gethsemane

pairing: yeonjun x fem!reader

summary: sometimes love and hate exist on opposite ends of the map. other times, on separate floors of the same building.

genre: ex!yeonjun / enemies to lovers au / neighbour au

warnings: slow burn, outrageous mutual pining, strong language, mentions of heavy drinking, illegal levels of yearning (arrest this man), angst of course, but also fluff?

words: 14k

[ ! ] this is a sequel to equilibrium

masterlist / read from the beginning

✦ • ─── AUGUST 30, 2026. 8 AM

Your phone buzzed against the cardboard boxes beside your bed, rattling your empty glass of water and shocking you awake. At first, you didn’t understand where the noise had come from and stared at your ceiling, disoriented.

You had fallen into such a heavy sleep last night that you hadn’t even heard Violet coming in through the cracked window. Hadn’t texted Yeonjun that she was here.

Shit, you didn’t even know if she was here.

Bleary-eyed, you sat up and squinted through the narrow gap in your bedroom door. The flat was so quiet that it made your stomach knot.

Then something white moved past the leaves of your monstera.

Your tension eased. You grabbed your phone.

REINA [8 AM] you up? coming over in 30 if yes

Without thinking, you typed back:

YOU [8:03 AM] yes ok

Then, before your mind properly caught up, you switched to another chat to inform Yeonjun about Violet and quickly locked your phone again.

There was a faint smell of rain in the flat. You shut the window and went into the kitchen.

Violet meowed the moment she saw you stumbling in, and kept meowing until you realised to open the curtains for her. It was another overcast day, but the faint light still hurt your eyes.

It was only as you splashed cold water over your face that it struck you how bizarre it was for Reina to come over before ten on a Sunday.

By the time the intercom buzzed, you’d already convinced yourself that something awful had happened. You analysed her muffled it’s me, let me in, looking for signs of distress: a trembling voice, perhaps a stifled sob.

Nothing.

You were still confused when you opened the door.

Reina looked the same as always, albeit slightly tired, her long hair damp from the drizzle. Immediately, she began to complain about the trip upstairs.

“Jesus,” she wheezed, shoving a white bakery box into your hands and pulling you into a hug. “How does this building pass inspection? This lift is pre-war. And the stairs have the incline of a fucking ladder.”

You laughed into her shoulder. “You’re just very small.”

“So, that’s discrimination, then. There should be someone we can call about—oh.” You felt her stiffen just before she pulled away. “There’s a cat here.”

You turned.

Violet sat politely on the armrest of the sofa, staring at Reina with wide, cautious eyes.

“Yeah,” you said, setting the bakery box on the kitchen island. “That’s Violet.”

You reached for the cupboard above the sink and pulled down two mugs.

Behind you, Reina stayed silent, eyes locked on the cat. “Yeonjun’s Violet?”

The back of your neck prickled.

“Yes,” you said, keeping your tone even. “She kept showing up here every morning, so we decided to just let her stay.”

Reina frowned as she shrugged off her damp raincoat and draped it over the back of the sofa. Violet leaned in to give it a sniff.

“You decided,” she repeated. You pretended to be deeply engrossed in picking out coffee capsules. “Together?”

“Well, yes,” you said. “It’s his cat.”

“Right. It’s his cat. Spending the day in your flat.” She parted her lips, suddenly amused. “Hey—that rhymed. But also, what the fuck?”

“It—okay, listen.” You shoved a capsule into the machine. “Did something happen? I mean, I love having you here, obviously, but it’s barely nine in the morning.”

“Oh.” She climbed onto a stool at the kitchen island, tucking one leg underneath herself. “Well, how about you tell me what happened? Bin and I left last night and missed all the entertainment, apparently.”

Something bitter twisted in your stomach. “You didn’t miss anything.”

“No?” She grinned. “So, what did you do after we left?”

“I went home.”

“Mhmm. And who did you go with?”

You leaned back against the cupboards, palms pressing into the cold marble on either side of you.

“We live in the same building,” you said.

Reina tapped her fingers rhythmically against the countertop. “Right. And you’re co-parenting a cat.”

“We’re not—okay, we’re not co-parenting. It’s just a cat, Rei.”

“I’ve got nothing against the cat,” she said, though she shot Violet another wary look. Under normal circumstances, Reina adored cats. Under these circumstances, however, she did not trust them. “It’s just that, um—I was joking before, about feeling like we were back in grad school. But are we actually back? Because between the party and this, it’s very—”

“We’re not back,” you said.

Thankfully, the coffee machine clicked off before Reina could say anything else. You handed her the blue mug with a red heart at the bottom, the foam trembling slightly on the surface, then turned back to make your own.

“He lives downstairs,” you said. “And his cat keeps coming up through the fire escape. It made more sense to leave her here instead of texting him every five minutes.”

“Oh,” Reina said lightly. “So, you’re texting, too.”

You winced. “Well, the cat keeps showing up. I can’t exactly throw her out.”

“Mhmm. Just like you can’t throw Yeonjun out, yeah? Funny how that works.”

You pressed your tongue against the inside of your cheek.

“Well,” you said, “he’s not here now, is he?”

“Not yet, I guess,” she said, taking a sip of her coffee. It burned down her throat exactly the way she liked it. “Has he been over, then?”

“Only to pick up the cat.”

It felt unpleasant, knowing that it was technically true, but still skipped over the peach cobbler and the lobby and the argument in the stairwell and the smoking area outside the restaurant.

Shit, you might as well have been back in grad school.

“And,” Reina continued, watching you pick up your red mug, “have you been over to his place?”

You lingered with your back to her for a second longer, fingers curled around the mug even as the ceramic burned your palms.

“I, uh.” You cleared your throat. “Once.”

“Oh, once.” Reina set the mug down on the countertop a touch too hard. “That’s interesting.”

“To help with a fern,” you added, turning around. “That’s it.”

“To—” She frowned. “To help with a what?”

You sat down opposite her and opened the box she’d brought. There were four cupcakes inside, with swirls of chocolate and vanilla frosting on top. The flat filled with the scent of warm sugar.

“He got a plant,” you explained.

“And he needed your help with it?”

“To find where to put it.”

“Where to—oh.” She picked up a vanilla cupcake from the box. “Is he four years old?”

Your lips twitched. “S’just a fern.”

“Right.”

Outside, the rain thickened, pattering against the windows. The whole flat dimmed, as though you’d been plunged underwater.

Violet, bothered by the noise, hopped off the sofa and trotted towards the bathroom. Bless her. She was probably going to inspect your washing machine; it appeared to have started leaking again. Either that, or you’d spilt water there last night after getting home.

You tried not to remember.

“So,” Reina said finally, taking a thoughtful bite, “it’s just a fern. And just a cat. And just a party.”

You spent an unnecessary minute peeling the paper from the base of the chocolate cupcake. “Right.”

“Mhmm.” She swallowed. “Won’t draw parallels to a year ago. But you see, of course, how easy that’d be, yeah? I mean, you said nothing was happening last time, too—”

“I see it.”

“Right.” She ran her tongue over her lower lip, fighting back a smile. “So, what actually happened yesterday? Because he spent the entire night following you around and then famously left with you.”

Your nose scrunched. “Is that really famous?”

“Did you check your phone?”

You took a large bite of your cupcake and tried to remember where you’d left your phone. The chocolate chips were half-melted, soft enough to stick briefly to your teeth.

“Wha’ should I have checked it for?” you asked through the mouthful.

“Doesn’t matter.” She waved dismissively with her mug. “Don’t unmute the group chat.”

“Oh. Brilliant.”

You could only imagine what was happening in the group chat that had otherwise been dead since graduation. Last you’d checked, Beomgyu and Nara had been arguing about which colour shoes went with the gown. She’d rather die, she insisted, than be caught in beige heels (she ended up wearing white).

“Is that why you came over, then?” you asked, lowering your cupcake to the island.

“Yes,” Reina said. “Had to hear everything straight from the source.”

“Not much to hear.”

“Mm. Give me a moment to process what I’ve already heard.”

You sighed and took another bite.

For a while, the two of you focused on eating and drinking.

Reina was mentally calculating how many flights of stairs separated her fists from Yeonjun’s face—just in case.

You, meanwhile, considered the medical likelihood of liquefying and seeping into the kitchen floorboards so you wouldn’t have to answer any of her inevitable questions.

Unfortunately, you remained solid.

“So,” Reina said at last, folding her cupcake wrapper into a perfect square, “should I be asking about the two of you going home together last night?”

You took a sip of coffee. It tasted bitter today. Should’ve added more sugar.

“You shouldn’t,” you said. “We just went home.”

Reina seemed willing to accept that and nodded once. “Okay. What happened leading up to going home, then?”

Your gaze fell to the cracked corner of the marble island. You couldn’t remember if the crack had come with the flat or if you’d somehow caused it yourself.

“I, uh—well, there was a point when I went out for a smoke,” you said slowly. “And he… came out, too.”

“And then what?”

Your eyes flicked briefly back to hers, then away again. “I’d rather not say.”

Reina paused with her mug halfway to her mouth.

“Oh.” She straightened so quickly that the stool creaked beneath her. “That—okay. Is he fucking with your head again?”

“No.”

“Okay. I’ll assume he is anyway.” She took a large sip to soothe the tickling in her throat. “Walk me through the thought process there, then. Come on.”

You clicked your tongue against your teeth. “I don’t think thoughts were involved in that process, to be honest.”

Reina tightened both hands around her coffee in a visible effort to behave maturely.

She did not succeed.

It started with one snort, then another. Then she caught the twitch in your mouth and bent forward against the island, laughing properly.

Despite the reluctant smile pulling at your lips, you gave her a deeply miserable look.

“Sorry,” she wheezed. “Sorry. God.” She pressed a hand to her chest. “Okay. Ready to be an adult about this. What, um—what are we thinking now, then, babe? Surely, the thoughts are back now, yeah?”

You looked down into your mug. The foam lingered on the sides in pale rings.

Last night, you’d deliberately avoided thinking. Just returned home, washed your face, brushed your teeth, and gone to bed. But now, sitting here with Reina, your mind seemed to crack open, and every memory flooded in backwards: from the scarf Violet had dragged out of your box, to the dark basement corridor with the grey sofas on your first day of classes.

“I—” Your voice caught. You cleared your throat. “Remember that game we had? About which of us would be the last to find a campus crush?”

Reina didn’t understand where this was going, but her expression soured instantly at the memory.

“Yeah,” she said. “Still annoyed I lost my own game.”

You smiled faintly and took another sip from your mug.

“Well, at one point,” you said, “I texted you saying I’d lost. And then, about a minute later, I changed my mind. Don’t know if you remember tha—”

“Oh. I remember,” she said, pointing her cupcake wrapper at you. “First day of classes. Don’t think you ever told me who your crush was.”

It startled you that she recalled the exact date. Then again, over the entire course of the game, you’d only told her you’d lost once.

“Yeah,” you said with a long exhale. “Well. That was Yeonjun.”

“That wa—” Her expression turned blank.

You nodded, already bracing yourself.

Reina stared at you for three whole seconds before blinking.

“The puzzle pieces,” she said, “continue to fall into place.”

You snorted, lifting your mug before the instinct to minimise everything could kick in.

You remembered, still against your will, telling Yeonjun about this: on the sofa in his living room, while he’d had his cheeks stuffed full of grapes. He’d been euphoric. You tried not to linger on the memory.

“Right,” you said, swallowing the coffee. “So what I’m thinking now is… he probably shouldn’t have caught me off-guard back in grad school. I obviously must’ve liked him a little. I don’t know.”

Reina nodded carefully. She was trying to mirror your vocabulary, so she wouldn’t force conclusions onto you that you hadn’t yet reached yourself.

“Okay,” she said. This was her buffer word. “That—you’ve admitted that. That’s very good.”

A small smile appeared on your lips. “Oh, gentle parenting. Cheers.”

She let out a quiet snicker and nudged the cupcake box towards you.

You picked the one topped with chocolate sprinkles. The brown frosting had smudged slightly against the lid.

“The thing is, though,” you said, peeling back the wrapper, “he told me I’d won right after I accepted that—oh, hey, this doesn’t feel like a bet anymore. And I don’t want it to be. That—that’s when he said s’over. Fuck you and your feelings, basically.”

Reina reached for the last cupcake in the box. There was a stripe of chocolate smeared across the white icing.

“And,” you continued, “because everything between us was so brief, it feels like I haven’t even earned the right to feel this fucked up about it. Hurt, angry. Whatever. S’like it’s embarrassing. There’s this voice in my head constantly going, get a grip, it was only two weeks.”

The kitchen fell quiet once you finished speaking; the rain had softened back to a drizzle outside. At some point, Violet had returned to inspect the windows of the living room again.

Reina stared silently at the crack in the countertop.

Never—not once—in the year and a half since things ended with Yeonjun, had you openly admitted the bet had hurt you.

She’d seen that it had, of course. Seen the exhaustion, the irritability. She’d walked in on you sitting motionless at your desk, both hands over your face. You’d found an excuse every time your eyes met: stress, your thesis, New York. You were just tired. Just hadn’t slept enough.

Reina had even joked about him a few times, always gauging your reaction. You were consistent then, too: oh, I don’t care, he can get fucked.

This, right now, was very new.

“That was fucked up, ending the bet,” Reina said finally, setting her cupcake back down on the island. “Do you think I should’ve knocked him out when—”

Her focus drifted when Violet padded across the floor and came to a stop beside her stool.

“Oh, hi, baby,” she murmured, bending slightly towards the cat. “Came to help us figure out what your dad’s problem is? Think he’s just deeply unwell? Non compos mentis?”

You snorted. The majority of Reina’s co-workers at her NGO were former lawyers. She’d never trusted lawyers and had taken up studying Latin to make sure they knew what they were doing (they did not).

Violet, who did not speak Latin, sprang onto the island.

“Oh—hey!” Reina snatched her cupcake away just as Violet leaned in for a sniff and perhaps a little lick. “I haven’t agreed to share.”

The cat sat down in the middle of the countertop and turned her head towards you with a keen meow.

Snickering, you climbed off your stool.

Yeonjun had brought over a small plastic bag of treats the last time he dropped off her food. It sat beside the coffee machine now, clipped shut with one of your hairpins.

You shook out a cube of tuna into your palm.

“Here,” you said, lowering your hand towards her. “How’s this for you, little one?”

Violet accepted the treat immediately and leapt off the counter, carrying it back to her spot by the window. The rain had stopped altogether now, though the clouds still hung low outside.

Reina watched her with a faint smile.

“You’ve got snacks for her and all,” she said gently.

You lowered yourself back onto the stool and didn’t reply.

“Alright, then,” she said, taking a bite of her cupcake and turning back to you. “Where were we—ah, yes.” She swallowed. “Me beating up Yeonjun. Or do you want to do it yourself?”

You finished your cupcake in a few quick bites.

“I wanted to,” you said, wiping crumbs off your hands. Reina brightened. “But he kind of ran away from me the last time I tried to talk to him. Literally got into his car and drove off. And even later, when I found him again to ask about the—the whole scheme, he just walked off again.”

“Right.” She took a long sip of coffee. It was completely lukewarm now. “Break his legs, s’what I think. Never going to walk off again.”

You laughed.

Reina appreciated the momentary lightness. She set her mug back down on the island.

It made sense, she thought, why you’d denied being affected by this for so long. Getting hurt was one thing, but handing that hurt to someone and asking them to explain it, only for them to walk away, was another.

“What’s happening now, then?” she asked eventually. “Has he—I mean, he’s been downstairs for weeks now, yeah? And his cat’s practically moved in.” She glanced at Violet, who seemed to have fallen asleep against the monstera pot. “I’m assuming you’ve talked at least a little.”

You sighed. “Not really. We mostly talk about Violet.”

She lifted an eyebrow. “Mostly.”

You took your time folding the cupcake wrapper.

“He did offer to explain,” you admitted, wiping icing from your lips with your index finger. “Said we needed to talk.”

Reina didn’t need to ask. She already knew you’d refused, and that was likely why Yeonjun had been trailing you all night yesterday.

“I think,” she said, uncomfortably serious now, “that would probably be good. Listening to him.”

You stared at your hands.

“For closure, first of all,” she continued. “To, um—to understand what actually happened.”

“And second of all?”

She shrugged one shoulder. “You’d figure out what comes next once you’ve heard why he ended everything so suddenly.”

“Well, it wasn’t exactly sudden,” you said. “We did say the bet was—”

“Oh, come on,” she cut you off with a flick of her hand. “You can’t seriously believe it was really just a bet. Something had to have happened.”

“Did it, though?” You finally looked up. “He literally had a scheme to use me to embarrass his parents.”

Reina exhaled, forcing the lid of the cupcake box to tremble.

The scheme made no sense to her.

She’d made Soobin explain it to her three separate times and punished him by sleeping at home instead of at his house after each explanation. It remained excruciatingly stupid every time she heard it.

So, Yeonjun had wanted to date someone below his social status to spite his parents.

Reina had never held much hope for him, but surely he had to have been fucking joking. She’d seen the way he’d looked at you.

“Please don’t think I’m trying to defend him,” she said. “Fuck him, actually. But I thought that scheme wasn’t the reason he started the bet?”

You gave a weary shrug. “Maybe not. But the bet was still an ego boost.”

“Sure. But then, uh—he told you he had feelings for you,” she said, her gaze fixed on you in case she said too much. “That’s pretty far from that whole I’m the best in the world, and everyone loves me act.”

“Could’ve just been saying shit.”

“I guess,” she allowed, leaning back. “But do you honestly believe that?”

Your gaze dropped to the floor.

You remembered how Yeonjun had looked in the stairwell when he said he wanted to explain everything. The way he’d looked last night, too, clinging to that lamppost.

“No,” you admitted, but the word bruised on its way out. It felt like stepping on the same rake and taking the handle to the forehead all over again.

Reina nodded slowly.

“Right,” she said. “So, that’s what doesn’t add up. If he had feelings for you, why end the bet at all? You weren’t rejecting him. He had to know you liked him back. He’s a fucking idiot, obviously, but he’s not that stupid.”

That earned her a small twitch of your lips. Reina considered it a triumph.

“Soobin and I think his parents had something to do with it,” she said. “Otherwise, none of this makes sense.”

You folded your hands in your lap and pressed your thumbs together.

You’d had these thoughts looping over and over, hopeful and relentless, during those first months afterwards. Yeonjun had been convincing; he’d looked at you like he meant every word he said to you—which was why ending the bet hadn’t made sense. Something must’ve happened to change his mind.

But love wasn’t supposed to be something you changed your mind about.

“That’s even worse, then,” you said, “if it wasn’t just a bet for him, either. Because he still ended it without explaining anything. So it couldn’t have meant that much to him in the end.”

Reina lowered her gaze back to her empty mug.

“And then hearing him out now,” you went on, your voice tightening, “means I’ve got to dig up all of that. Admit that—admit that this is important. Maybe even forgive him. And then risk him just leaving again.”

A few stray raindrops tapped against the balcony, quiet against the glass, as though bashful to interrupt.

“That’s thinking three steps ahead, though,” Reina pointed out carefully, “isn’t it?”

You looked up at her. “Is it?”

“He spent the whole night following you around yesterday,” she said. “Seems genuinely desperate to be part of your life.”

“Seemed desperate for it last time, too.” Your eyes dropped back to your hands, a wry smile on your lips. “Still left.”

That was that, then.

Reina wanted to protect you from your own mind, but she couldn’t argue with you about this.

You leaned back against the stool, the metal edge digging into your lower spine. Your limbs felt strangely heavy, even though you hadn’t drunk all that much last night.

“I don’t know if I can do that,” you said. “Admitting that I wanted him outside the bet, that—that’s what ended up fucking me over. And I already said shit to him last night that I shouldn’t have. That’s it.”

Reina swallowed and tried to neutralise her expression. You were admitting things she’d expected to have to pry out of you inch by inch; she couldn’t get used to it.

“Okay,” she said again, still buffering. “I hear you. And I want to ask to elaborate, but I’m holding myself back. Please appreciate my efforts.”

One side of your lips stretched. “I appreciate your efforts.”

“Thank you.” She tapped her fingers against the marble. “So—uh, just to be technical about it for a second, yeah? You admitting that to yourself didn’t end things. That was good. It’s Yeonjun who ended things. And we still don’t know why. He knows, though. And wants to tell you, apparently.”

“Right.” You clenched your jaw. “But I don’t know if I want to know. Or if it even matters anymore.”

Reina lowered her head. She wanted to march downstairs and demand answers from him herself, maybe knock him out for good measure.

But this wasn’t her wound. Wasn’t her heartache.

“Babe,” she said after a moment.

You lifted your eyes.

“Do you really think it doesn’t matter?” she asked. “Or do you just wish it didn’t?”

You held her gaze for another second before turning towards the window instead. Violet was curled up like a little pretzel beside the flowerpots.

“I don’t know,” you said finally.

Reina shifted on the stool, tugging her left leg out from underneath her. It was completely numb.

“Shit,” she mumbled, shaking the feeling back into her foot. “Let me, uh—let me ask you something else, yeah?”

You turned back to her. “Mm. Love it when you come over just to interrogate me.”

She ignored that completely.

“Do you actually want him to just fuck off and leave you alone?”

You hooked your ankles against the bottom rung of the stool. You’d already anticipated the question and imagined your answer.

But, sitting here now, you could still feel his hands on you from last night, as though the traces of his touch were embedded under your skin.

“Probably not,” you said with a resigned exhale. “I mean, I kissed him.”

Reina coughed politely once, then less politely twice more.

“Right,” she breathed, pressing a fist to her chest. “O-okay, yes. I suspected that was what happened, so I don’t know why I—why I’m surprised. Um—”

“I’ll give you a minute,” you said, lips pressed tight. “More coffee?”

She tipped her head back and took a deep breath before looking at you again.

“I’m good,” she said, patting her chest. “We’re back.” She cleared her throat another time just in case. “Well, more or less.”

You snorted.

“This is smashing news to receive at nine in the morning, just so you know,” she said. “M’so glad I came over.”

“I can tell.”

“Mm.” She took another breath. “So, uh—okay. In light of this deeply important development, talking to him would make sense, no?”

You shook your head faintly. You’d followed your feelings before, ignored common sense, and this was where they’d led you.

“It would be better not to,” you said.

“For whom?”

You blinked. “For—well, for me.”

Reina ran her hand over the cold edge of the island and looked away from you for a second.

“Would it, though?” she asked.

You sighed again; a long, heavy sound. “I don’t know.”

That was the best you could manage, Reina was starting to notice. She recognised that she’d pushed far enough.

“Well, you don’t need to do anything right now,” she said. “You can think about it. Avoid it for a bit longer if you need to. Just, uh—you’re going to be seeing him anyway.”

You turned to Violet. “I know.”

“And it’s probably not going to get easier with time,” she added. “These things usually don’t.”

You pulled your bottom lip between your teeth, trying to organise your thoughts into something coherent.

“See, um…” You turned the empty mug between your hands. Your rings clicked against the ceramic. “I’m probably prideful enough to think this could get easier with time. Eventually, there might be no reason for us to talk anymore. Maybe Violet will stop coming here, I don’t know.”

Across the room, Violet lay so still that she resembled a plush toy. Reina watched her and did not share your optimism.

“Sure,” she said. “If that point ever comes.”

You looked back at her. “Why wouldn’t it?”

“Nara’s birthday is on Friday.”

You clicked your tongue. “Okay. Fuck. But maybe he won’t—”

“And Yeonjun’s is right after that.”

Your shoulders lowered again. “Well, I can skip that one.”

Reina tilted her head towards the sleeping cat. “Can Violet?”

You glanced back towards the window.

“Look.” Reina flattened both palms against the countertop, drawing your attention back to her. “This can very easily turn into a lifelong process of finding excuses to avoid him. And you might find enough of them—in fact, I don’t doubt you will.”

You opened your mouth to reply.

“But,” she continued before you could interrupt, “that means your brain stays switched on all the time. All the time, yeah? Constant fucking rerouting, planning ahead, avoiding places. It’s exhausting, babe. You can’t live like that.”

You tapped your finger absently against the edge of the island. The kitchen still smelled of coffee and chocolate.

“I get that,” you said. “It’s just a lot.”

“Well, of course it’s a lot,” she said. “You’ve been carrying all of it for over a year.”

You hummed.

“S’the band-aid thing, the way I see it,” she said. “You either rip it off in one go, and it hurts like hell for two seconds, and then it’s done. Or you peel it off slowly, tiny rip by tiny rip. And it stings the entire time, and your skin’s all raw by the end of it.”

A weak smile appeared on your lips. “Vivid imagery, Rei.”

“I know, yeah.” She smiled, then forced her lips back into a straight line. “S’what you’re doing, though. You peel the band-aid back a little, panic because it hurts, then try sticking it back on. But it’s never going to stick properly, is it? Corners all curled up. Hair’s getting caught underneath.” She shuddered. “S’a nightmare.”

The humour slowly faded from your face.

You dragged your fingers down your calf until your hand wrapped around your ankle, for no reason other than to give your nervous energy somewhere to settle.

“Well,” you said, looking back towards the balcony doors, “I could always just buy a new band-aid and slap that over the old one.”

“Over the—” Reina narrowed her eyes. “Oh, look at you, Miss Think-Outside-The-Box.”

You ducked your head with a soft chuckle.

“No, I mean, that’s true,” Reina said. “You could get a new band-aid. S’going to be fun, I imagine—and sustainable—having to find a new band-aid every time Yeonjun comes to collect the cat you’re co-parenting.”

You winced before you could stop yourself.

Reina noticed it immediately and leaned back from the island, already preparing to apologise.

“We’re not co-parenting,” you said before she could. “Violet just visits.”

She sighed. “Right.”

“I get it, though,” you added. “You’re right.”

Reina leaned slightly forward as if she’d misheard you.

“I—I’ll try to talk to him, I guess,” you continued, staring at your ankle. “Hear what happened. Rip off the band-aid. Whatever.”

Reina gave a slow nod. She climbed off the stool and, limping slightly on her numb leg, crossed the kitchen to you.

“Good,” she said, draping an arm over your shoulders. “And then we’ll get a new band-aid if we still need one, yeah? Not leaving you bleeding out.”

The thumping in your chest quieted.

“Yeah,” you said, resting your hand over hers. Her shirt was soft against your arm. “Thank you.”

“I’m with you, babe. Always. Will rip out his eyes, just tell me when.”

Laughing softly, you turned properly to wrap both arms around her. Reina leaned into you, exhaling.

“I don’t like seeing you suffer,” she whispered, her fingers brushing over the ends of your hair.

“I know.” Your throat tightened. “I love you, Rei.”

She squeezed you back. “I love you.”

✦ • ─── AUGUST 30, 2026. 10:30 AM

Eventually, you and Reina relocated to the sofa, where the conversation drifted back to her engagement party—focusing, this time, on the next plans.

“Sage,” she announced, “is still the leading colour for the bridesmaid dresses in my mind.”

“Wasn’t it emerald last week?” you asked.

“Oh, yeah.” She snorted. “But, see, I had a dream about this frog the other night—kind of like the one in Shrek, Fiona’s dad? No idea why my subconscious produced that, but anyway. Everyone wore this garish shade of green in the dream. In his honour, I assume, so—”

“The frog’s?”

“Yes.”

“Ah.”

“Yeah.” She grinned. “So, since then, emerald reminds me of frogs. So sage it is.”

You chuckled, leaning in closer to look at the Pinterest board on her phone screen.

It still startled you, sometimes, to hear her talk about marriage. She’d just turned nineteen when you met her, a year younger than you.

Now, listening to her describe, one more time, the way Soobin’s hands had shaken as he held the ring box, it felt as though you’d lived an entire lifetime alongside them. As though you’d watched them grow up and had grown up with them.

You couldn’t wait for all that would happen next.

When Reina left your flat a few hours later, she felt much lighter.

That was why, after the two of you hugged goodbye and confirmed your Friday lunch plans, she stopped one floor below. She stood on the landing for several seconds, one hand gripping the railing, and watched the weak midday light filter through the narrow stairwell windows.

This, she knew, was probably overstepping.

Maybe even catastrophically so.

Then she thought about the years the three of you—Soobin, you, and herself—had spent together. Thought about Yeonjun, too, lingering on the periphery of those memories, whether you and Reina wanted him there or not.

She turned and knocked on his door.

Then knocked again.

And again.

By the fourth knock, she was beginning to suspect he’d died, and she was bruising her knuckles for nothing.

Finally, the lock clicked. The door opened halfway.

Yeonjun had very clearly not expected to see her here.

“Oh,” he said first.

Then, “um.”

And finally: “Hi.”

“Hi,” Reina replied. “She doesn’t know I’m here.”

That seemed to answer the question he was about to have. But he still looked mildly startled, and a bit like he’d crawled from his bed and immediately regretted surviving the night. His hair stuck out in several directions, skin looked nearly translucent. Reina could practically see his headache.

“Okay,” he managed after a second. “Why, um—w-why are you here?”

“Um.” She glanced towards the stairwell as if you might suddenly appear and catch her here. “A question before I answer your question, okay?”

Yeonjun frowned faintly. “Sure.”

“Do you love her?”

The headache seemed to drop straight from his skull into his chest.

His grip tightened around the door handle.

“Yes,” he said.

Reina was glad he hadn’t hesitated.

“Okay,” she said. “Great. So, that’s why I’m here.” She inhaled sharply, and the rest of her words tumbled out in one furious burst: “I don’t know what the fuck your damage is, but you need to sort your shit out and explain the fucktrain of bullshit you pulled in grad school.”

Yeonjun closed his eyes briefly. This, he recognised, had to be where Soobin’s colourful vocabulary had come from.

He remembered, abruptly, taking the lift home last night. Remembered finding his jacket draped over the stairwell railing outside his door. No trace of you, other than a faint whiff of your perfume on the lapels.

“Sh-she won’t listen to me,” he said quietly. His eyes were so bloodshot that Reina wondered whether he’d slept at all or just lay there decomposing. “I’ve already tried.”

She took a moment to regain her breath.

“I talked to her,” she said then.

The corridor fell quiet. It smelled, she noted, oddly of burnt toast.

“You talked to her?” he repeated. “About talking to me?”

“Yes,” she said, gripping the edge of her raincoat sleeve. “But not for you. I did it for her. She deserves to know what the fuck happened to you back then. Honestly, I deserve to know, too, seeing as you two have dragged me into this mess against my will—but anyway. You need to explain, and you need to do it properly. In a way that makes sense.”

“It—yeah.” He dragged a hand through his already dishevelled hair. “I know. Yeah.”

He still looked dreadful and grey. But now he seemed to have a purpose again.

“And I swear to God,” Reina added, tipping her head back, “if you come up with another fucking bet, or lie to her about—”

“I won’t,” he interrupted. “I’m done with bets. And I never lied to her.”

She stared at him for a long moment.

“Not going to fact-check that,” she decided, “but that better not be a lie, either.”

“It’s not.”

“Good.”

She glanced toward the stairs again, debating, for a second, whether he’d earned the next part.

Finally, she sighed.

“Look… don’t expect anything once you’ve explained yourself,” she said. “For your own sake.”

Yeonjun tried to nod, but quickly decided he’d be better off not moving his head at all today.

“Trust me, I don’t expect anything,” he said. “Just want her to know what I was—what really happened. What she does with that isn’t up to me. She doesn’t owe me anything.”

For the first time since she came here, Reina allowed her shoulders to drop.

“That’s right,” she said. “She doesn’t. So don’t push her into anything she’s not ready for, yeah? Or I’ll be back here knocking on something other than your door.”

Yeonjun lowered his eyes, though the warning still stung enough for him to mutter, “I’d never push her.”

“No, that—” Reina clicked her tongue. “See, you say that, but you seem to push her just by standing too close. Remember that when you talk to her. Because you might think she wouldn’t give a fuck if you got struck by lightning tomorrow, but she’d start a fight with the fucking rain clouds for you. Alright? Remember that. Or I’ll really knock your fucking teeth in.”

A wave of dizziness rolled through him so suddenly that he had to lean harder against the doorframe to stay upright. His heart thudded heavily in his chest.

You’d told him you cared last night.

He squeezed his eyes shut. His ears were still ringing.

“Still with me?” Reina asked, leaning forward to check for signs of life.

Yeonjun opened his eyes again.

“Yes,” he said hoarsely. “Yeah, I—I’ll remember.”

“And if there’s still shit you haven’t figured out yet,” she added, “figure it out first. Don’t take another year to do it, because—why did you need a year?”

“I—”

“No.” She held up both hands. “Never mind. Not my place. Just—just be ready. She’s already got questions. Don’t leave her with more.”

His pulse seemed to thrum through every inch of his skin.

A part of him wanted to run upstairs immediately. Talk to you right now, while adrenaline was still drowning out everything else.

He suspected all he’d manage was please.

“I won’t,” he said, forcing himself to take a breath. “I mean, I’ll try not to.”

Reina nodded. She trusted that more than she would’ve trusted his confidence.

“That’s fair,” she said. “So, we’re clear?”

He gave a small nod. “We’re clear.”

“Okay.”

She stayed on his doorstep another moment, studying him. His shirt was wrinkled. There was a faint crease along his cheek, probably from sleeping on that side of his face. He looked like, if he let go of the doorframe, he’d drop right onto the floor.

For one second, she almost felt sorry for him.

Then she remembered everything you’d said upstairs and crossed her arms.

“And in case you somehow still haven’t got it,” she said, “I’ll emphasise that again: I don’t care how much you drink or how fucked up you feel, yeah? I will literally fold you in fucking half, light your ass on fire, and launch you directly into the next galaxy if you hurt her. Are we clear on that, too?”

A shadow crossed his face.

He doubted Reina could make him feel worse than he already did, but the threat was fair.

“Yeah,” he said. “That’s, uh—that part was already very clear.”

“Good.” Finally, she took a step back from the doorway. “Your cat’s at her place, by the way. What the fuck’s that about?”

“Oh—” He laughed, startling himself. “Yeah. That’s Violet. She sort of does whatever she wants. And apparently, what she wants is to be around her.”

Reina smirked despite herself.

“Interesting,” she said. “Seems she inherited that from you.”

Yeonjun felt a flush at the back of his neck despite the chill in the corridor.

“Yeah,” he said, finally pushing himself away from the doorframe. “Seems so.”

“Yeah,” she echoed, amused by the way he avoided her gaze. “Well. Don’t forget what I said.”

“I won’t,” he said. “And, f-for what it’s worth, I wouldn’t have given up. I’d have kept trying to talk to her, however long it took.” His fingers curled around the handle again. “It’s not—I’m not doing this because you told me to.”

Reina watched him quietly for another second.

“I know,” she said finally.

Yeonjun realised, with some surprise, that this was probably the closest thing to approval he’d ever received from her.

“And, um…” Reina’s mouth twisted. “I’m also thinking she probably doesn’t need to know I was here.”

“Scared?”

“A bit, yeah.”

He smiled softly. “I won’t tell her.”

“Good.”

Reina stayed on the landing, feeling awkward now that she wasn’t threatening him.

“Just so you know,” she said. “I’m not rooting for you. You’ve got a lot of shit to fix before we can talk about that. But I also don’t want to repeat grad school. So I had to talk to you.”

“Yeah,” he said quietly. “I don’t want that either. S’why I’ve been trying to talk to her.”

“Right. So try that again.” She paused, frowning. “Actually, maybe don’t. Let her come to you. She said she’d try to.”

His eyes lit up so quickly that it embarrassed them both. Reina looked away.

“She did?” he asked.

“Yeah.”

He glanced down to process that. The linoleum outside his flat was terribly scratched. Part of the damage, he knew, had come from his own boxes when he’d moved in.

“That—well, knowing her,” he said, exhaling shakily, “that doesn’t necessarily mean she’ll talk to me soon.”

“True,” Reina admitted. “Nothing you can do about that now, though. You got yourself into this mess. Let her find you when she’s ready.”

Yeonjun didn’t argue. This was already more than he’d allowed himself to hope for after last night.

“Yeah,” he said. “Okay. I already know what I need to say to her anyway.”

Something in Reina’s expression softened very slightly.

“That’s good,” she said.

He ran a hand through his hair again. “Also, uh—m’sorry about drinking half the open bar last night.”

Reina’s lips twitched.

“Yeah. S’fine.” She nodded towards his face. “But take some aspirin. Your temples are turning blue.”

“Ah.” His hand lifted automatically to the side of his face. He could only feel the heat now, and none of the pain. “I will. Thanks.”

With a final nod, Reina turned and climbed down the stairs.

✦ • ─── AUGUST 30, 2026. 4 PM

When Yeonjun came to pick up Violet that afternoon, he wore a black jumper with the hood pulled up and did not look at you. The two of you communicated entirely through mime.

You opened the door.

He gave a nod.

You nodded back and stepped aside.

He bent, one hand braced against his knee, and whistled softly for Violet.

Violet walked over, tentative, her tail held high.

Yeonjun scooped her against his chest and stood. He gave you another nod.

You closed the door before either of you could accidentally say an actual word.

✦ • ─── AUGUST 31, 2026. 4 PM

When you returned from university the following Monday, Yeonjun wasn’t in the lobby.

You’d suspected he might stop waiting there eventually, and you were glad you didn’t need to search for what to say, yet his absence still felt odd in the empty space. The air was dry and still. Someone had left muddy footprints near the entrance; they’d already begun to dry.

You checked your letterbox and pulled out another advertisement for window frames—it had to be a joke, considering that ninety per cent of the windows in this building didn’t open. You crumpled it into your palm.

Your gaze drifted to the peeling adverts across the opposite wall. Alfred, the dachshund, had probably been found; the flyer was gone.

It was quiet here.

You could hear a faint ticking sound, as though that of a clock.

You turned up the stairs.

Inside your flat, you kicked off your shoes, grabbed a banana from the kitchen counter, and changed into your jumper and sweatpants. Violet was still here.

Before you could text him, Yeonjun rang the doorbell. This time, his jumper was blue.

The two of you performed the routine again: one nod, step aside, cat, another nod, door shut.

It felt worse today.

✦ • ─── SEPTEMBER 1, 2026. 4 PM

On Tuesday, Yeonjun wasn’t in the lobby.

And then he forgot the second nod before he left with Violet.

✦ • ─── SEPTEMBER 2, 2026. 4 PM

On Wednesday, Yeonjun wasn’t in the lobby.

At your flat later, he nodded an additional two times.

✦ • ─── SEPTEMBER 3, 2026. 4 PM

On Thursday, Yeonjun wasn’t in the lobby.

But he looked at you, this time, as he picked Violet up. Then nodded and left.

✦ • ─── SEPTEMBER 4, 2026. 4 PM

By Friday, you’d stopped expecting him in the lobby.

Exhaling heavily, you hitched the grocery bags higher against your wrists and started upstairs. The paper handles bit into your skin with every step. The carton of eggs kept thumping against your knee as if the eggs were suicidal.

You were exhausted.

University had wrung you dry this week; you’d forgotten how stressful that first month of the term could be. Professor Lee already needed your help reading through sixty essays from his undergrads. Even your lunch with Reina—during which she kept shooting you expectant looks—didn’t relax you as much as it used to.

Still, you hoped to recover in the next four hours before Nara’s birthday dinner. Hoped to squeeze in a nap as well.

Violet was stretched out in the middle of the living room when you unlocked the flat. She stood the moment she heard the grocery bags rustle and hurried toward you. You bent down to scratch under her chin. She enjoyed that tremendously, though not as much as she enjoyed the paper bags afterwards.

Twenty minutes later, the doorbell rang.

Violet was still sitting inside one of the bags, her tail waving through the opening.

Expecting another silent exchange, you opened the door. Yeonjun stood there, holding a plate of biscuits. He smelled of sugar and vanilla.

“Hi,” he said. Hearing his voice after nearly a week hit you straight through the ribs. He lifted the plate. “For you.”

For a second, your mind was empty.

“Oh,” you tried. “Th—thank you.”

You accepted the plate without registering your hands moving. The ceramic felt cool against your palms.

He’d been baking again, then.

You set the biscuits down on the kitchen island. Behind you, Yeonjun’s eyes followed you automatically.

The sunflowers, he noticed, were gone.

Violet untangled herself from the paper bag and scampered towards him, circling his ankles with an affectionate meow.

“Oh.” He crouched to scratch her ears. “Now you act as if you’ve missed me. Can you tell I’ve been baking, love? Hmm?”

You glanced down at the cat. “You smell like it.”

He looked up. “Hm?”

You leaned one hip against the island. “Like sugar.”

“Oh.”

Something in his eyes softened helplessly. He scooped Violet into his arms and straightened, his gaze dropping to the floor.

It struck you, suddenly, that if he nodded politely and left again, you might actually lose your mind.

“You, uh—” Your eyes flicked back to the plate. He’d used the same one he’d brought the peach cobbler on before. “You baked biscuits, then.”

Yeonjun couldn’t help a smile.

“Yes,” he said. “Thank you for noticing.”

“Mhmm.”

“They’re cherry.”

You turned back to him.

You remembered, of course, the neon pink, cherry-flavoured biscuits. The rain drumming against the roof of his car. The precision of his pen against your wrist.

You cleared your throat and looked away again.

“Have you got a minute?” you asked.

Yeonjun inhaled sharply.

“Yeah,” he said. Then, quieter: “Always.”

“Okay, um…” Your gaze drifted towards the balcony doors. “Can we talk? Or do you think we’ll end up late for Nara’s?”

He’d been waiting for this, but now that you were actually asking, he felt a reflexive urge to bolt.

What if he said something wrong and it became the last thing you ever said to each other, and he’d have no one to blame but himself, and—

He took another long breath.

“Yeah,” he said. “We—no, we can talk.”

You nodded.

“Do you want to go out on the balcony?” You gestured towards the living room. “Warm day today.”

“Sure.”

You carried the biscuits onto the balcony and set them down on the round metal table between two white chairs. They’d come with the flat, their legs slightly rusted and paint peeling in thin curls along the sides. You’d loved them immediately.

The balcony barely fit the furniture, let alone both of you, but it was cosy in the golden late-afternoon light. The metal table scorched your fingertips briefly when you touched it, still radiating the heat of the day.

Yeonjun lowered Violet by the balcony doors. She stepped outside cautiously, her whiskers twitching. The moment she felt the breeze, she scrambled towards the ledge to sniff at the wind.

Yeonjun took the chair on the left.

You sat on the right.

And then, neither of you spoke for a very long time.

Cars rolled steadily below. A pigeon landed on a nearby rooftop with a heavy thump of wings; Violet tracked it with wide, curious eyes. You realised you didn’t feel all that tired anymore.

“Well,” Yeonjun said eventually, leaning back in his chair, “reckon that’s a solid prequel.”

You snorted despite yourself. His shoulders relaxed at the sound.

He nodded toward the biscuits. You leaned forward to take one, and he did, too.

“Can’t remember us ever being quiet around each other for this long,” he added, taking a quick bite.

The biscuit was still warm in the middle when you tried it, buttery and soft enough to crumble against your fingers. It wasn’t as dangerously sweet as the ones from grad school.

“Yeah,” you said. “Would’ve spared us from your wardrobe room.”

His chair creaked as he shifted back. You wiped your palms against each other.

“Think I would’ve found another way to get to you, though,” he said. “Even without the Seven Minutes.”

He used to say things like that constantly back then, you remembered; careless little comments meant to fluster you into silence. Your instinct was still to drop your gaze and clench your hands.

“Right,” you said. “To get back at your parents, yeah?”

The warmth drained from his face.

“No,” he said. “Not for my parents. For me. Because I wanted to be with you.”

Your shoulders stayed taut against the back of the chair.

Across the street, a window slammed shut. Violet’s ears flicked toward the noise. Yeonjun looked that way, too, briefly distracted by the movement on the street below.

It occurred to him, as he watched the traffic, how easily you could just stand up and leave. Close the balcony door, end the conversation. End everything.

Immediately, he started to think of all the ways to stop that from happening, before he caught himself.

If you wanted to leave, you should be able to.

“C-can I start from the beginning?” he asked. “I don’t want to—I want you to know everything.”

You took a slow breath. “Yeah. Start wherever you like.”

Yeonjun had rehearsed this conversation hundreds of times in the past week: lying awake at four in the morning, standing outside your door with Violet, driving to work, in the queue at the shops, choosing between two brands of chocolate bars.

None of those rehearsals had included the look on your face, he realised now. He didn’t know what to expect.

“So,” he said, “the beginning is that I’m in love with you.”

Your gaze dropped immediately to the plate on the table.

His heartbeat was so violent that he wondered if you could hear it over the traffic below. You wondered if he could hear yours.

“You, um…” He rubbed the back of his neck. “You probably already know that. I told you before. Once.”

“Yeah.” You let out a long breath. “And I almost believed you. Once.”

His jaw tensed.

Violet, sensing the shift in the air, took a turn around your chair and settled in the shade underneath it.

“I meant it,” he said. “And I mean it now. I’m in love with you. Probably have been since the day I sat next to you outside class in our first year, and you were mean to me.”

You turned to look at him. “You earned that. Acted like a knobhead.”

“I know.” His jaw relaxed enough to let him smile. “But I was done for immediately. And then you kept making it worse for me—unintentionally, I’m assuming. You always get this look in your eyes when you realise you’re talking to a complete idiot, and I—”

You frowned. “I don’t get a look.”

“There!” He jumped, pointing at you with ridiculous delight. “That’s the look.”

You turned away the moment your lips twitched. He laughed, settling back in the chair. The metal at the back poked his spine.

“S’lovely,” he said. “Makes me want to keep annoying you just to see it again.”

“You have problems,” you informed him, not cruelly.

“Yeah,” he replied easily. “Quite severe ones, too. We both know that.”

“Hmm.”

You took another biscuit from the plate.

Across from you, Yeonjun watched your legs swing beneath the metal chair: back and forth, back and forth. You still looked nervous, but you were staying.

“I, uh…” He rubbed his thumb along the edge of the table. “I’ve already told you about the first time I wanted to kiss you.”

You let the biscuit melt on your tongue.

You remembered exactly the way he’d told you: standing by the window in your old bedroom, saying he’d spotted you on the balcony of his dorm room once, years ago, with a cigarette. He’d hidden behind the wardrobe door so you wouldn’t catch him watching.

It had been cute, if it was true.

“I remember,” you said, brushing crumbs off your sweatpants. They dropped to the floor.

Violet twitched under your chair, offended at the disturbance, and cracked one eye open. The crumbs smelled excellent, admittedly, but she had standards. She wasn’t eating crumbs. And off the floor, no less.

“I’ve been thinking about it a lot lately,” Yeonjun said, “and I identified another moment that was particularly bad for me.”

You looked up. “Yeah? How bad?”

“Very.” The corners of his lips curled. “Thought I was properly fucked if you never liked me back.”

You turned back ahead, lips pursed.

“Oh—” He clapped his hands. “There’s that look again.”

You shook your head, fighting back a sudden laugh. “What’s the moment, then?”

He smoothed his palms over his black trousers. He’d got flour on them earlier, but you wouldn’t be able to tell now.

“D’you remember our final year of undergrad?” he asked. “November, maybe late October. When we usually started racing.”

You didn’t know what you were supposed to remember.

“Sure,” you said anyway, reaching for another biscuit. You pushed the plate with the last one towards him.

“Right.” He leaned forward to take it, turning it between his fingers. “Soobin and Reina had just started dating, and he refused—I say that with love—to shut the fuck up about her. Thought I was going to go insane.”

You smiled.

Even before they started dating, Reina and Soobin already talked about each other as if they were being paid per mention. Once they actually got together, it increased exponentially. You remembered complaining about the broken radiators in your flat once, and Reina sighing dreamily, Soobin and I were just talking about that yesterday.

It had been endearing. And a little nauseating.

“So then,” Yeonjun continued, pausing to chew, “one day, Soobin tells me he’s going to be late for the first race because he’s got plans with Reina. And I was—now, we know I’ve got problems.”

You snorted into your biscuit.

“At that point, I was making real progress, though,” he said. “Massive character development, yeah?” He gestured with the biscuit. “Huge. So instead of accusing him of abandoning me forever because he’d got a girlfriend, I kept quiet. But I still wanted him there. He’s my good luck charm.”

You swallowed, the cherry jam warm against your throat.

Yeonjun had told you how he’d spiralled when Alain got a girlfriend and started spending less time with him.

It happened to him again, then, with Soobin. And there’d been no one who was proud of him for handling it better.

You realised, absurdly, that you were.

“So,” he said, the white of his shirt reflecting the sunlight, “the day before the race, I told him, hey, Soobin. Why don’t you bring Reina? That way we can all hang out.”

Your gaze drifted sideways as you searched through old memories.

“So, uh—naturally,” he went on, swallowing the last of the biscuit, “after Soobin invited her, Reina got nervous. Thought hanging around his mates would be awkward. He said it wouldn’t be. She disagreed, apparently, and brought you along just in case.”

He could imagine how much convincing that must’ve taken, despite not knowing that part of the story. All Soobin had told him at the time was that Reina would bring her best friend. And Yeonjun, knowing exactly who said best friend was, proceeded to put his jeans on backwards.

“Hmm.” You leaned back in your chair, hands dropping loosely to your sides. Violet’s tail brushed against your fingers. “What’s special about this race, then?”

“I’m getting to it,” he said. “I remember the exact moment you arrived.”

You glanced at him.

“You wore dark jeans and this white top with glitter writing across the chest,” he said. “Don’t know what it said. Stared at you for ten minutes, and my brain stopped cooperating.”

You ran your tongue over your lips, an ironic smile spreading across your face. “You once accused me of seeing you in the shapes of the clouds. Bit ironic now, yeah?”

He snorted. “Yeah, I’m great at deflection. You didn’t know?”

“Hmm. Go on, then.”

“Right. I remember you had sunglasses on, too,” he went on, “even though it was dark. Bit performative if you ask me, but—”

“Okay—” you paused to let him finish laughing, the memory vague in your mind, “—it was light when we left the flat.”

“Fair,” he accepted, tipping his head back. “It was a good night anyway. The wind kept blowing your hair into your mouth. You kept spitting it out. And you were carrying your leather jacket in your hands. I thought you looked like an actress from a 00s film.”

“Please.”

“No, really.” His grin widened. “It pissed me off how hot you looked.”

That finally made you laugh again.

The sound satisfied him unreasonably.

“I remember you saw me,” he said, “and just stopped dead. Reina turned to look at you. You said something to her—probably that you were leaving because I was there.”

“Probably.”

He snickered. “Yeah. And then you were actually about to leave, but Beomgyu found you. He did that a lot back then. Always seemed to seek you out.”

Now you remembered.

Beomgyu had asked you, earlier that day, if you were coming to the race. You’d said no. So when he spotted you there anyway, he’d marched straight across the old camping grounds, grabbed your wrist and refused to let you escape.

“He wanted to know if I’d brought drinks,” you recalled.

Yeonjun didn’t like the fond smile on your face. “Why?”

“A few days before, he overheard Reina and me in class, talking about her grandmother’s homemade spirits,” you said. “And I mentioned that my gran used to make them too, when she was young. Cranberry liqueurs, Kahlúa knockoffs. You know. Stuff where, if you threw it on a wall, paint would probably come off.”

Yeonjun laughed under his breath.

“Beomgyu got obsessed,” you said. “Spent days begging us to bring him some.”

“Did you bring him any?”

“No,” you said. “Our grans were generous with alcohol, and Beomgyu already drank enough as it was. We weren’t helping him become a full-time alcoholic. Think he’s held a bit of a grudge since then.”

Yeonjun laughed again, louder this time.

It was the drinks, then, that Beomgyu had wanted from you.

Good.

“Yeah, that sounds like him,” he said, his foot bouncing lightly under the table. “I remember him moaning at you the entire night.”

“Yeah, well.” You shrugged. “He’s very good at making people feel guilty.”

“Yeah.” He shifted his ankles, trying to ease the pressure against his spine. “Anyway—so, later that night, I was getting into my car for the first heat, and I looked over, and Beomgyu was wasted. Just gone. Walking circles around the pergola, one shoe on, another in the grass under the drinks table.”

You snickered, raising your hand to cover your mouth. Yeonjun wished you wouldn’t; he wanted to see your smile.

“A-and then,” he said, “I saw him trying to shove you into his Audi, saying he’d be your navigator. Just drive. He couldn’t miss the race.”

You looked up at the roof of the building across the street, an amused smile on your lips.

Beomgyu’s Audi, you remembered, had been in a tragic state when you’d climbed in: wrappers and empty energy drink cans rolled under your feet, the seats smelled of strawberry yoghurt. Your fingers clung to the steering wheel with something sickeningly sticky.

“I remember,” you said. “He was too drunk to drive. Kept saying I had to do it in his honour because I’d betrayed him over the drinks.”

“Hmm.” Yeonjun watched you across the table, one elbow propped against the metal edge. “He actually made you start the race.”

You nodded. Before the sirens had signalled the start, Beomgyu had already been halfway out the passenger window. He’d promised to give you directions. Instead, the moment the engine coughed to life, all you got was, oh God, I’m going to throw up, please pull over—wait, no, don’t pull over, I’ll lose my place, oh God. Then he’d passed out.

“Yeah,” you said. “I didn’t get far.”

“Mhmm.” Yeonjun bent one leg under his chair. “But you did finish the first lap.”

“Okay,” you said, “and then I spent the rest of the night holding Beomgyu upright while he threw up in the grass.”

He snickered softly. He remembered crossing the straight and catching sight of Beomgyu folded over the guardrail, while you stood behind him rubbing circles over his back.

“Alright, yeah,” he said. “But, uh—did you check your lap time?”

You frowned. “Did they even record it? I wasn’t supposed to race.”

“They logged it under Beomgyu’s name.”

“Yeah?”

“Mhmm.” He sat up straighter, a small smile on his lips. “You beat me.”

Your eyebrows shot up. “No.”

“Yeah.”

“No.”

He laughed. “Yeah. First time driving Beomgyu’s wreck of an Audi, with his drunk ass passed out beside you, and you still beat me on your first go.”

The delight on your face was beautiful. He’d known it would be.

“I thought it didn’t count,” you said, nearly out of breath.

“Of course it didn’t. I spent the next ten minutes shouting that it shouldn’t. It was very important to me.”

You laughed again, your head tilting back. Violet looked up from beneath your chair to inspect the noise. Once she was sure that no one was dying, she curled back into herself.

Yeonjun watched the crinkles forming around your eyes and thought he’d have gladly watched you beat him a hundred times over just to get to this point.

“Wow,” you breathed at last.

“Yeah,” he said, still grinning. “Humiliated the absolute shit out of me. Never fucking wanted you more.”

You shook your head.

“You really are insane,” you said, but there was a softness in your voice now. An old instinct.

He forgot to swallow for a moment and inhaled too sharply, coughing into his fist.

“Sorry,” he muttered, clearing his throat. “Yeah, uh—well, it only got worse from there, as you know very well.”

“It makes no sense, though,” you said, brushing the crumbs on the table into a tiny pile with your fingertip. “Because I remember all the times we argued. All your provocations. All of it.”

“Yeah.” He nodded along to every word. “I was in denial for a long time. But, fuck, let’s be honest, the more I pissed you off, the more I reinforced my problem. You were so mean to me. I was thriving.”

“That’s such—” A helpless laugh cut you off. Yeonjun lit up instantly. “I think we should be finding you help instead of sitting on my balcony.”

He snorted, shaking his head hard enough for his hair to fall into his eyes.

“S’fine,” he said. “I’ve accepted this is an incurable condition.”

“Ah, so just gave up, then. Typical.”

He gasped, clutching dramatically at his chest.

“Nooo,” he whined. “Don’t say that. You’re making this worse for me.”

You laughed so easily that he had to grip the back of the chair to physically stop himself from leaning across the table. Heliotropic, like a fucking sunflower.

Violet finally emerged from under your chair and stretched across the warm tiles, flexing her claws. Then she looked up at you. You looked back, still smiling.

Taking that as permission, she hopped into your lap, startling you slightly with her weight, and lifted her head in expectation, her pupils widening.

Obediently, you smoothed a hand down her spine.

“So, it was clearly bad for me,” Yeonjun said. He couldn’t look away from Violet sprawled contentedly across your thighs. “And that was why I talked our professors into letting me host that workshop with you later.”

“Hmm.”

“And…” His voice faltered. “After that, I suggested the bet.”

The warmth of the afternoon slowly drained away. You felt the cold at the nape of your neck every time the breeze lifted your hair.

“Right,” you said.

Yeonjun lowered his gaze to his hands. His thumbs moved restlessly against each other in his lap. He could feel the biscuits sitting in his stomach.

“All through this,” he said slowly, “from the moment we first talked, I kept looking for ways to get closer to you. That was all I did.” He swallowed. “I—I know I’ve got issues, yeah? Plenty. But wanting you is genuine. It’s got nothing to do with—with fucking schemes. None of that. It’s just you.”

Your eyes dropped to the dark tiles under your slippers and stayed there. Violet, offended you’d stopped stroking her, hopped off your lap and wandered back into your living room.

This time, Yeonjun was grateful you weren’t looking at him.

“On the last night of the bet,” he said, “after I sprained my wrist, my mum called me.”

The wind slid down your spine. You looked up, and the tension in his face made your stomach clench before he said anything.

“She gave me two options,” he said. The breeze caught the hem of his shirt and lifted it slightly. “Option one was that I break up with you.”

Your pulse stumbled hard enough to make you momentarily dizzy.

“Option two…” His jaw locked. “Option two was that I don’t break up with you. But the Board doesn’t let you graduate. Your thesis fails review for contract cheating.”

For a second, you forgot how to breathe.

It was surreal, at first, that accusing you of paying someone to write your thesis was a realistic option to begin with. Then you remembered the stark white walls of his parents’ house, and the heavy silence within. Remembered Yeonjun telling you his mother had once delayed his flight because he’d tried to run off on a holiday with friends.

Falsifying academic misconduct probably wouldn’t have troubled her much.

“That’s why I ended the bet,” Yeonjun said. “I didn’t want to lose you. But I couldn't let them do that to you.”

You looked up again. The sun was beginning to cast long shadows through the railings, painting stripes across the tiled balcony. Golden light brushed the edge of the plate and turned the white of Yeonjun’s shirt the colour of honey.

You felt almost nauseous.

He’d ended the bet, then, because he thought that wanting him would ruin your life.

“Why—why are you only telling me about this now?” you asked finally. “S’been over a year since we graduated.”

A flash of pain crossed his face. “I was afraid of what else my mum might do.”

“What else could she have done? My thesis had already passed review.”

He dropped his gaze and didn’t answer. The noise of the city filled the silence instead: the hum of the cars on the street, the distant wail of a siren several blocks away.

Your thoughts raced as you watched him.

You remembered the fellowship offer at New York University, the absurd timing of it—right after Yeonjun ended the bet. Right after his mother threatened your future if he didn’t leave you.

“Your mum—” Your stomach lurched. “Sh-she was behind my fellowship. Wasn’t she?”

Yeonjun squeezed his eyes shut. “I think so.”

“Fuck.”

“I don’t know what she did, exactly.” He opened his eyes again and fixed his gaze somewhere past your shoulder. “Could’ve just put in a good word. Made sure your name stayed in front of them. I don’t know.”

Your hands clenched into fists.

“The email I got,” you said, swallowing thickly, “said it was a nomination.”

He lowered his head. “Yeah. It was—it was still you, though. If you hadn’t done the work, she couldn’t have nominated you.”

“Mhmm. And if she hadn’t nominated me,” you returned, dryly, “I wouldn’t have got it.”

He didn’t try to argue. Instead, he let you sit with this for a minute.

“I-I think she wanted to make sure,” he said then, quieter. “Breaking up with you wasn’t enough. She needed you far away from me.”

You shook your head—in disbelief, Yeonjun thought, not realising that it was in disagreement.

It wouldn’t have worked.

If you’d known, it wouldn’t have worked.

He had thought there was no other way. Thought that staying together meant giving up everything else.

You didn’t think so.

You thought that staying together meant staying together. Thought it meant searching for some impossible solution, because that would still be easier than letting go.

“You…” You swallowed against the lump in your throat. There were twenty different things your mind was screaming at you. You tried to focus on the loudest one. “You didn’t explain anything. Just left. Did you really think I’d just fly to New York, be angry for a bit, and then move on?”

His whole posture folded inward.

He didn’t answer.

“You made me think that I wasn’t—made me think I had to be someone else,” you said. Your hands shook in your lap. “Someone worth staying for.”

He took a tentative breath.

“Fuck, I—I realise that now,” he said. “I’m really sorry. I didn’t know how else to protect you from the fucking mess that is my famil—”

“You could’ve told me right away.” Your voice sharpened before you could stop it. “I didn’t know your mum called you. Didn’t know New York was them.”

“It—I didn’t know for sure it was them,” he said. He felt too large, suddenly, for your small balcony, too heavy for the flimsy chair. “You were a brilliant student; the fellowship made sense. But, um… after a while, I thought—thought the timing felt too convenient.”

“Why didn’t you tell me then?”

“I was afraid you wouldn’t go,” he said. “If you knew my parents had anything to do with it. Thought you’d refuse on principle. And New York was an incredible opportunity for you. It would’ve been—”

“And you don’t think I would’ve got other opportunities?” you cut in. “Think I couldn’t have done anything without your parents handing it to me?”

He winced. “No. Fuck no. That’s not what I mean. I know you could’ve. But this was already happening. This was your future. I thought if I—”

“Why do you think that was my only future?”

He finally looked up.

Your eyes locked across the small table, and something electric crackled through the warm air.

“I wanted you in my future,” you said. Yeonjun felt every sharp thing inside his chest twist at once. “I could’ve still gone to New York. You could’ve come with me. We could’ve—fuck, I would’ve defended my thesis, and they would’ve seen in the viva that I hadn’t cheated. It—”

You stopped to steady your breathing.

“There were things we could’ve done,” you said, without looking at him. “But your mum gave you two options, and you never even considered refusing both.”

His breath hitched in his throat.

Just a few days ago, Reina had warned him to remember: she’d fight with the fucking rain clouds for you. He thought he could see it in your rigid shoulders, in the furious hurt brightening your eyes.

He’d known it, he remembered now, even as he walked away from you: if he’d told you about his mother’s call, you would’ve fought for him.

That was why he hadn’t.

He knew that fighting with his parents was like standing in front of an oncoming train and asking it politely to stop. That’s what it had always felt like. You could exhaust yourself, give it your whole soul, and still change nothing.

He didn’t think he deserved the effort. The sacrifice.

“So, then,” you said, hands clenched so tightly your knuckles hurt. “Since we’re talking now, you’re not worried about what else your mum might do?”

Yeonjun sat very still.

Below the balcony, a motorcycle revved hard enough for the sound to echo between the buildings. The two of you listened to it fade, block by block, into the city.

“I’m not in touch with my family anymore,” he said at last.

You frowned, turning back to him. “What does that mean?”

“It means,” he said, bringing a hand over his face, “I stopped going to dinners. Stopped answering their calls. Got a job. Got Violet. Moved out of the house they bought me, got my own place.” He glanced back toward the balcony doors. Violet’s tail was still visible beneath the shifting curtains. “I haven’t talked to my parents in months.”

Your brows stayed furrowed.

“Okay,” you said. “That—I get that.”

“Yeah.” He leaned back in the chair. “This had never happened before, them just letting me exist in silence. Even after Alain, we carried on as normal. But this is different. We’re not—we’re not talking anymore.”

Your gaze drifted past the balcony, towards the birch trees lining the street below. Their leaves shimmered with silver-green in the dying sun.

Alain, then.

People like you and me, he’d told you the only time you met him, aren’t irreplaceable in his life.

“It’s not entirely different, though,” you said. You could feel your pulse in every word. “Your parents forced Alain out of your life, and there was nothing you could do. Then years later, they forced me out, too.” Your gaze returned to him. “And again, there was nothing you could do.”

Yeonjun felt a wave of heat wash over him, so strong it hurt.

“It is different, though,” he said.

“How?”

He blinked incredibly slowly.

“It—I let them take Alain,” he said. “I played along when they acted like everything was fine. But I didn’t do that aft-after you.”

Something tightened in your expression. You lowered your head before he could recognise what it was.

“Okay,” you said slowly. “So what do you think would happen if your parents found out we both lived here? That we’re talking again?”

His gaze dropped.

“You think they couldn’t do anything else?” you pressed. “I’m back at university. I see your mum’s building every day. You really think your scheme wouldn’t accidentally come true anyway?”

He visibly flinched at the word.

“But I’m not speaking to them anymore,” he insisted. This was all he had. “They took it too far—t-they had to get the message.”

“Do you think they did?”

His eyes settled on the empty plate between you, red and blue around the edges. It was one of the first things he bought after moving out.

He realised now, staring at the crumbs, that his parents might not think this was permanent at all. They might think he was throwing a tantrum. Sulking. They might be waiting for him to come home again.

You were right, he thought. He hadn’t stood up for himself, or for Alain, or for you.

He’d just looked away.

“I don’t know,” he admitted quietly.

You nodded.

“Nothing’s changed, Jun,” you said softly. “We’re sitting here talking, and everything’s still the same as before.”

Yeonjun looked down.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured, staring at the grout between the tiles, “that I let my parents decide this, too.”

You let out a slow breath. “You shouldn’t apologise for that. You didn’t choose your family.”

“M’not apologising for my family.” He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, fingers locked together. “I’m apologising for not holding onto you. For not keeping my word when I said I’d never let them harm you. I—I shouldn’t have agreed with any of my mum’s options.”

You looked out beyond the railing.

The light was changing now. The birch trees had already fallen into shadow.

After you didn’t speak, he added quietly: “I should’ve told you.”

You moved at last, folding your hands together in your lap. Something turned low in your stomach while you tried to understand where to put all of this inside yourself. And where to go from here.

“Why, um—why did you want to explain everything now?” you asked. “After so long. I wasn’t exactly making it easy for you.”

He glanced down.

“I’ve wanted to for a while after you came back,” he said. “But I didn’t know how. And it—well, I suspected you wouldn’t want to hear from me anyway. But now—living here finally gave me an opportunity to do it.”

“But why do it at all?”

He took a shuddering breath.

“Because you should know,” he said. “I made you think that none of it was real. That I didn’t love you. And that’s not true.”

Your pulse thudded against your clasped hands.

“Why,” you said, losing your courage faster than you could catch it, “is that something I need to know?”

His chest tightened.

He realised what you were really asking him.

“Because it’s the truth,” he said. “And I’m not saying I love you because I expect you to say it back.”

You closed your eyes.

For a second, you could almost visualise the band-aid Reina had mentioned. You’d peeled it back just enough to see the wound underneath. It was still alive. It stung.

“Do you think it’s easy for me to hear that now?” you asked, your voice cracking on the last word. You cleared your throat immediately. “To believe it after everything.”

He swallowed. “I know. But it—it’s still true.”

You looked up at the table between you.

“I get it, though,” he added. “You think I’m explaining this because I want us to pick up where we left off.”

You didn’t answer.

Yeonjun looked back towards the street. In the evening light, the building opposite had turned blue. A few of the windows were already glowing.

“I appreciate you explaining,” you said after a moment. “I just—I thought I’d had my thoughts sorted. They weren’t bothering me. And then—then you started fucking hammering downstairs, and I went to check. And now I don’t know what anything means.”

He looked up from the balcony railings. “What would you want it to mean?”

You took a deep breath, glancing up at the sky overhead.

“It’s not that I don’t want things to be normal again,” you said. Then looked back down. “Actually, I don’t even know what normal is.”

“Yeah,” he said, turning away. “I-I get it. The least I could do was tell you everything, but that doesn’t change the fact that I didn’t do it before. Or that I left.”

You hated that it all came down to one decision not to tell you the truth. And now you were on your balcony, months later, and everything he was saying, the good and the bad, scared you in equal parts.

“Well,” you said quietly, “I understand why you didn’t do it before.”

His head dipped. “Thank you.”

Somewhere inside the flat, something dropped to the floor. You heard it roll across the tiles. Neither of you moved to check what it was.

The streets below you were growing louder now; it was Friday night. Nara’s birthday dinner would soon be starting across the city. Beomgyu was probably already on a last-minute booze run.

Yeonjun swallowed.

He wanted to promise that he would never leave again. Wanted to swear that he’d fight this time, that he’d stay, do better.

But he’d made promises before. And the memory of him breaking them still lived inside you both.

He inhaled carefully and offered the only honest thing he had:

“We don’t have to—we don’t need to do anything.”

You lifted your gaze to him. For once, neither of you looked away immediately.

The last glint of sunlight caught the loose strands of his hair falling over his forehead. His eyes were slightly squinted. You remembered tracing his features at night, lying in bed next to him, half-asleep. He’d been so beautiful then.

Even worse now.

“What will we do, then?” you asked.

Yeonjun found hope in the question. You didn’t trust this yet, but you still wanted there to be a this.

He glanced down briefly, thumb rubbing over the side of his left wrist.

“I’d like us to be friends,” he said.

When he looked back up, your lips were already curving. He smiled back instinctively.

He didn’t know what it meant to be your friend. But it sounded infinitely better than not being yours at all.

“Hmm,” you murmured. “Never tried that before.”

A soft laugh escaped him. “Yeah. Reckon it’d go well. We’re clearly very normal around each other.”

You laughed, too, and something lightened in your chest—just a little. Just enough to take a solid breath.

You didn’t know if friendship between you was possible at all, maybe it was a terrible idea. But it wasn’t nothing. And it wasn’t everything.

“Okay,” you said before you could change your mind. “We can try being friends.”

“Yeah?”

You shrugged. “Yeah. I don’t know. Why not?”

The smile that spread across his face was so warm that you had to look away for a second.

“Okay,” he said, pushing himself slowly out of the chair. His hands spread slightly at his sides. “Can I—?”

You stood before he finished speaking.

The movement startled a grin out of him. “Oh—yeah?”

“Fuck off.”

He laughed as you stepped into him and folded into his open arms. He pulled you against his chest at once, warm and shaking slightly.

Your hands settled around his waist, still familiar with his shape. Your cheek pressed against his shoulder. You could feel his heartbeat, a little uneven. But slower than last weekend. Calmer.

“Would you have invited me in,” he murmured against your hair, “if I hadn’t brought the biscuits?”

Your smile pressed against the side of his neck. “Of course not.”

His laughter was a gentle ripple between you. You relaxed into him.

“Did you bake the biscuits, then,” you returned, “just so I’d invite you in?”

His arms tightened around you. “Of course.”

You laughed softly, your breath warm against his skin. He exhaled fully for what felt like the first time in a year and five months.

The sky continued to darken overhead.

For now, this was enough.

prev ○ next (coming soon)

taglist:

@eleni-cherie @enhastolemyheart @beestvng @tomorrowbytgt @insaniteez @sorikkunhwangpil @yaintpaint @ohsowoozi @di3t-w0ter @virgopotterhead @beomgyusluver @pagesoobinie @champagne1221 @jammerhammerbanger @reiofsuns2001 @belabobanana @hheerrmmiitt @myglogic @mountyuki @adoresjjk @hueningsgirl @gunsfave @nanilis @yjcam @human-misery @angelgraphica @sooberriesx @yystarz @4wkjun @xjunniee @littlemoasoobin @kkyubear @proudsolarpunk @hyukalife @grogwrites @tarahardcore @jaegerbombin @danjakz @i4tzy @llvcyj @kookieterry @b9oms @starstrucktae @apriglw @mo0nstardust @koobiiiistar @unfiirt @yawnjjunnie @usuallyunlikelyfox @isakwon

thank you for reading!!♡♡

[dazedinadream]

⋆⋆⋆ DO YOU THINK I AM FRAGILE? ⊹₊ ⋆

⭑.ᐟ The coach's daughter - Lee Heeseung

A car accident has turned your life upside down, leaving you with a knee and ankle that ache like they belong to someone three times your age. Navigating college with these setbacks is hard enough, but when your overprotective dad insists you take an internship with the men’s hockey team, you’re thrust back into the world you’ve spent years avoiding. The rink represents everything you’ve lost, and then there’s Heeseung, the captain whom you somehow cannot stop thinking about.

💿 SOUNDTRACK 〢🖇 SERIES MASTERLIST 〢⛸️ PART ONE TWO wc pt 3 ୭ ˚. ᵎᵎ 31,334

ᵎ!ᵎ WARNINGS ──── GRAPHIC CONTENT! car accident, PTSD, chronic pain & disability, depression, Y/N is very, very frustrated and kinda angry at the world for a second, overprotective/controlling dad & brother, sports injuries, alcohol, mild drunkenness, hurt/comfort, panic attack, mentions of zombies, mentions of dying by said mentioned zombies, smooching (each other, not the zombies!!), mentions of party drugs # TAGS ──── SLOW-BURN friends-to-lovers, coach's daughter x hockey captain, mutual pining, very much bed-sharing, and a lot of napping, Y/N is a napper, they very obviously have crushes on each other, angst with happy ending

❝ AN ❞ ──── This somehow was really hard to finish for me. I've been plagued with writer's block for part 3, so it took me an eternity. I am so sorry, I hope ya all still enjoy the ending! Thank you so much for all of the love in the previous parts, I can't tell you all how much I appreciate it (੭ ;´ ⌂ `;)੭♡ I am really sorry if the formatting is off, tumblr is an idiot sometimes .

all feedback and reblogs are welcome ⭑.ᐟ

Sunlight slanted through the half-drawn blinds of your office, casting golden stripes across the cluttered desk and the worn leather sofa where you curled up. Your legs were tucked beneath you, crutches propped against the armrest, and a half-forgotten throw blanket was loosely draped over your lap. The air inside was stuffy and warm, but you didn’t mind; it would get cold soon enough. 

Heeseung sat hunched at your desk, his laptop screen glowing a sharp blue against his focused face. His fingers danced across the keyboard and mouse in precise, rhythmic patterns, while his head bobbed slightly to a beat only he could fully hear. You watched him push his hair back every few seconds, the dark strands messily falling into his eyes. 

His free foot tapped an irregular rhythm against the desk leg, and the faint crease between his brows deepened from time to time. 

You hadn't touched your phone in ages. 

You didn’t know how much time had passed since you stopped cutting the video Heeseung, Sunghoon, and you had filmed today. Minutes were ticking by as you drank in his figure: the subtle flex of his forearm when he dragged an audio clip, the way his eyes narrowed at the screen, the quiet hum he let out under his breath when a melody sounded the way he wanted it to. He looked so alive like this, so him; passionate, meticulous, a little frustrated but undeterred.  

You could watch him forever, lost in the simple wonder of it.

He paused suddenly, fingers hovering over the trackpad. His head tilted up, like he had sensed the weight of your gaze, and after a beat, he tugged his headphones down around his neck and gave you a small smile. The music cut off abruptly, leaving a comfortable quiet in its wake. "What's up? You've been staring at me for a while now."

Heat prickled your cheeks as your eyes met, but you didn't look away. Instead, you propped your chin on your knee, the blanket slipping a little further down. "Just watching you."

His smile faltered into something flustered, while his eyes widened a fraction, and a faint pink flush crept up his neck under the collar of his hoodie. He rubbed the back of it, glancing at his screen before meeting your eyes again. "Me? Why?"

You shrugged."Just because."

He blinked, then huffed a soft, disbelieving laugh, his ears now tinged red. "You're weird." But there was no edge to it, only fondness. 

He spun his chair fully toward you, the laptop still open on the desk. "Do you want to listen?"

You answered with a hum, nodding. "Yeah. Please."

Heeseung stood up smoothly, scooping up the laptop under one arm, and padded over to the sofa. The cushions dipped as he dropped down next to you, close enough that his thigh pressed warm against yours through your sweats. He balanced the laptop on his knees, angling the screen so you could see the chaotic waveform pulsing across his program. 

"Alright," he murmured, his voice low. "It’s a rough cut. Be gentle, it's still messy."

He handed you one of his headphones, the cable being so short that you had to lean towards him. You shifted closer, letting your head drop onto his shoulder. His warmth seeped through the thin fabric of his hoodie, steady and comforting, as his body went still for half a second before relaxing into the contact. 

He hummed and hit play. You recognised Jay's voice, speaking over a string instrument.  A haunting melody snaked through it all, his chopped vocals echoing in a way that sent goosebumps racing down your arms. 

You leaned in closer without thinking, eyes fixed on the screen. 

"I really like it," you said when it faded out, your awe genuine. “I really love your voice, Hee. Who was the other person singing?"

Heeseung's eyes darted from you back to the screen, his fingers already tweaking a slider. “Jungwon.” 

You hummed and adjusted your head a bit, so your temple was resting against his collarbone. “I didn’t know he was singing as well.”

Heeseung laughed a bit. “He isn’t, but I usually leave him no choice. I‘ve put years of money into his training at coin karaoke. At one point our parents even gifted us one of those karaoke machines for at home so we would stop spending all our pocket money.”

“He’s really good,” your voice was quiet, not wanting to disturb him as he replayed one part at the end again. 

He nodded and rested his head against yours before he spoke up again after a few seconds. “Yeah, he is. I was trying to get him into producing, but he is not really into it. He’s focusing on ice hockey, and apparently has no time to do anything else.”

“Oh?” You raised your head a bit, looking up at his face. “He’s also playing hockey?”

“Well,” Heeseung hummed and replayed a short part of the track, pushing up one button a bit more. “Did you have much choice with your brother and your dad being so into the sport?” 

You let your head sink back to his shoulder, averting your gaze from his hands for a second. You didn’t have much choice. 

You didn’t want the choice; you wanted what they had, wanted to be like them. And you were, for most of your life, you were. 

Hockey being the thing you lived for, burning with passion for the thrill of the game, the cold wind biting your cheeks, the feeling of flying over the ice.

“Not much,” you answered after a long moment. “But I think I didn’t need a choice. My dad wanted to make me figure skate, but I wanted to play hockey. And I loved it.”

You felt him exhale slowly, his shoulders dropping under your head. Heeseung hummed and turned slightly, his chin touching your forehead before you felt the soft press of his lips against the skin there. “When you’ve recovered, let's try going back onto the ice. I’m sure you’d love to skate a bit.”

You took a long, deep breath, holding it in your chest for a few seconds before closing your eyes and shaking your head slightly. “No,” your eyes wandered to his hands, and you reached forward, gently interlacing his fingers with yours before squeezing slightly. “I don’t want to go back onto the ice. At least with skates on. I don’t want to do that only to never be able to properly do it.” 

He nodded against your head, and hummed a quiet ‘okay’, before his free hand went back to his track, the other one stayed intertwined with yours, his thumb gently rubbing over the back of your hand. 

You closed your eyes for a second, curling closer into him. You had thought about returning to the ice plenty of times, of trying out your old skates, just to…try. 

It wouldn’t be the same, it would never be, you knew that.

And you knew that it would hurt. 

The thought of it working out, of you being able to keep your balance for more than a few strides, only for everything to…stop working. 

The thought of you failing and falling was scaring you. 

The pain of getting a taste of what you once had, only for it to stay unobtainable. 

You knew it was unrealistic, that even after this surgery you’d probably struggle with something easy like walking, if you even could go back to doing that without assistance.

The thought made your stomach turn.

“What do you think of this?” Heeseung's voice ripped you out of your thoughts, his hand gently squeezing yours.

“Hm?” You blinked your eyes open, the laptop slowly coming back into focus. 

“Do you think this sounds a bit busy?” He asked again, replaying the part he had been working on. 

You tilted your head slightly, your breath ghosting his neck as you concentrated on the song “I feel like the drums are a bit loud? I really like the part where your voice multiples?”

His throat vibrated as he hummed in agreement, his fingers getting to work before he replayed the section. He nodded in approval and turned his head to kiss your forehead again. “Thank you, Y/N.”

You shook your head slightly and chuckled. “Will I get more kisses if I give unsolicited advice?”

A grin split his face, quick and boyish, before he pressed another one to your scalp and let go of your hand. “As many as you want.” 

“Mhm, I don't think you’d get far with your song, Hee,” you said, nuzzling against his throat. 

Heeseung hummed, and snapped the laptop shut, pushing it onto the coffee table, careful not to jostle you too much. He shifted back against the sofa, stretching out a little, and guided you with him until you were lying more fully along his side, then easing you up so your head rested on his chest. You just let him do his thing, moving along without protest.

His heartbeat thudded steadily under your ear while one of his arms wrapped comfortably around your shoulders, holding you closely. Warmth bloomed deep in your chest, spreading slowly and sweetly. You curled tighter into him, your hand searching for his. 

The office fell into comfortable silence, sunlight shifting across the golden floor, his fingers playing with the dark strands of your hair.

He combed his fingers through it with almost ridiculous care, carefully detangling a curl that had caught against the seam of his hoodie.

“You curled it today,” he said quietly. A loose strand wound around his finger as he examined it, the curl springing back when he let go. “It looks really pretty like this.”

You felt your face heat, even though he couldn’t see it from this angle. “You think so?”

„Mhm,“ he hummed and gently grazed along your scalp as his fingers continued their lazy path through your hair. “I like it when you dress pretty or do your makeup. I love it even more when you get ready for bed and are barefaced in my bed to watch another compilation of those stupid cat videos.”

A quiet laugh slipped out of you, while you melted into the soft fabric of his hoodie. One of your hands slid around his waist, fingers resting lightly at his side, feeling the slow rise and fall of his breathing. Each gentle tug and twirl of your curls sent your muscles looser, your eyes growing heavier with every pass of his hand. You‘ve always been a person who needed a lot of sleep, but since the surgery, it has gotten so much worse. You felt like a toddler sometimes. Heeseung chucked lowly while his fingertips traced soothing lines of your scalp and nape. „Are you going to fall asleep on me again?“

You nodded and murmured a quiet ‚yeah‘, his heart beat increasing for a second under your ear before steadily thumping again.

„Do you want me to drive you home?“ His voice was soft and gentle, just like his fingers.

„No, I wanna stay here,“ you shook your head and adjusted your body against his, trying to soak in as much of his warmth as possible. 

He chuckled again, but moved his arm slightly to have a better hold when a firm knock sounded on the door.

You groaned and sat up, having locked your door earlier to stop intruders, like Beomgyu who loved coming in without knocking, meant you had to unlock it again. 

Heeseung sat up behind you, already standing up to let whoever was in front of your door inside, only to freeze when your father's voice came from the other side. „Y/N are you there?“

Heeseung turned around, his eyes large in shock. You blinked at him before almost frantically trying to fix your hair, even though you were pretty sure there was nothing to fix. 

„Yeah, Dad! One second!“

„Open the door!“, you hissed at Heeseung.

„But isn’t it weird that I am here? In your locked office?“ He turned around to the door.

„No! Open it! He’s gonna get mad and suspicious!“ You retorted, gesturing to the door.

„Does he know I was at your house?“ Heeseung whispered, his face pale. 

„No? Yes? I don’t know?“

„Y/N everything all right?“ Your father's voice interrupted the two of you, causing Heeseung to turn around and unlock the door, revealing your father standing just in front of him.

„Hi Coach,“ Heeseung said almost awkwardly. 

„Heeseung.“ Your father raised one eyebrow, his eyes flickering from Heeseung to you and back. „What are you doing here?“

„I-uhm-I-“, Heeseung said helplessly, looking to you for help.

You swallowed, forcing a casual smile and hoping your face didn’t betray how fast your heart was still thumping. „We were working on uni stuff together,“ you said and did your best to shrug nonchalantly. It wasn’t fully a lie; you did do some things for your classes, at least for a bit. 

Heeseung nodded so sharply it bordered on comedy. “Yes, sir. Just… just working.”

Your dad’s gaze lingered on him for a second, curious. “Right. Well.” 

The older man took a few steps into your office. „I am about to drive to your grandma's house to help her with her TV, and was wondering if you would like to come along,“ he said, inspecting the wall you took the liberty of decorating. His eyes drifted over the posters and the pictures before snapping back to you. „She made it rather clear that she wanted to see you, to be sure you’re healing well. She made samgyetang for you.“

You nodded once, pursing your lips. Your grandmother was as stoic and demanding as your father, and usually, an invitation to her house didn’t come with the option to say no if you didn’t want to receive multiple phone calls from her.

„Okay,“ your eyes flickered to Heeseung, who was still awkwardly standing next to the door. „Give me like five minutes to pack up, and I’ll come outside.“

Your father gave you a court nod and turned around to address Heeseung directly again. „If I‘m late to training, start warming up.“

Heeseung blinked at him before rapidly nodding. „Yes, coach.“

With a clap to his shoulder, the older man left the room, and Heeseung let go of the door.

The second it clicked, you collapsed back against the cushions. Heeseung turned around and rubbed both hands over his face, groaning muffled. “He knows. Your dad definitely knows.”

You glanced at him, biting back a nervous laugh. “We‘ve done nothing wrong. We are both fully dressed, and for all he knew, we were never cuddling on my sofa.”

Heeseung peeked through his fingers, the corner of his mouth twitching despite the flush. “He‘s gonna kill me if he figures out that we did.” With a few steps, he crossed the room. You tilted your head up the second his hand hesitantly drifted toward your hair, gently smoothing it down.

You leaned into the touch, closing your eyes. „Do you really think he would?“

His fingers moved lower, carefully tracing over your cheek. „He would. And if not your dad, I think your brother will.“ 

⋆꙳❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔*:･*❆ ₊꙳❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔*:･*❆

The car hummed along the streets, the sun warm on your skin even through the tinted windows. You closed your eyes, just resting them for a bit, before you had to spend the whole evening eating and letting your grandma fuss over you. 

Your father was weirdly quiet next to you, not even humming along to his favourite song when it was played on the radio, when he usually sang every word. You cracked one eye open and noticed how his hands gripped the steering wheel so tightly that his knuckles turned white. 

With a deep breath, you opened your eyes and sat up the same moment he opened his mouth. 

“You and Heeseung,” he said, voice low and even, eyes still on the road. “Are you two close?”

Your stomach dropped, but you nodded slowly despite the heat creeping up your neck. “Yeah,” you hummed, your fingers twisting into your jacket. “He’s been helping with filming and coordinating stuff. Today we’ve planned on what and how I should film things next week at the game, since you know, it’s not a home one.” Tentatively, you added: “So yeah, we’ve... hung out a few times.”

The car grew silent again, heavy and full of tension. Your father exhaled long through his nose, but he didn’t say anything; he just kept on driving. 

You opened your mouth once, twice, before closing it again and staring out the window, not knowing what to say.

Minutes dragged on before he spoke up again, his tone measured but edged sharp underneath.

“You’re supposed to be focusing on your health right now. Not be at the rink every damn day filming stuff with Heeseung.”

You blinked in confusion as you processed what he just said. “But…it’s part of my job, Dad? The job you wanted me to have, that you claimed would be good for me? So I would get out of the house and find friends, but now I’m not supposed to do that?” 

He shot you a sideways glance, brow furrowed deep, frustration cracking through the calm. “I wanted you to have something to do. A distraction while you heal. Not someone enabling you to go to a hockey game after you’ve just had a panic attack.”

“Enabling? Heeseung was the one who got me through the last one. Dad, I called him, and he came running. He left his bag in the library when he heard how bad it was. You think he would be the one enabling me to go?” You huffed in annoyance and disbelief and crossed your arms in front of your chest, turning back to face the road. “He and I have talked about what to do; he even texted one of the players asking if they have a spare room I could escape to, Dad. If there is someone taking care of me right now, it is Heeseung!” 

Your fathers jaw tightened visibly, his hands flexing on the wheel as he accelerated through a green light. “That’s exactly my point. You haven’t gone to a game for years at this point. You know how loud games are; you know where the media sits. What if a player slams into the boards right next to you? What if it sets off an episode? Heeseung can’t help you. Lord help him if he jumps off the ice for a girl, even if it is you, he won’t be captain any longer. Neither he nor I can help you if something happens.” 

You laughed sharply, bitterly. “ You don’t even know how to help me if I have a panic attack, Dad! You get that deer-in-headlights look, call Soobin or Mom or someone else. Don’t even pretend you would help me; I know you wouldn’t. And I dare you to kill off your star player, your golden Heeseung, the son of the person who literally funds the program. I don’t think he will be the one in trouble, Dad. And just so you know, I already talked with mom, and she will come along. And I don’t know what makes you believe Heeseung would be the only one to jump to help me. Soobin, Yeonjun and Beomgyu would do the same.”

The car swerved faintly into the next lane, your father looking furious. 

⋆꙳❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔*:･*❆ ₊꙳❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔*:･*❆

“Heeseung.” 

Heeseung looked up from his shoes at the sound of your father's voice. 

He had been furious all evening long. 

When the players wondered what was going on, even Soobin seemed lost as to what could have happened.

Funnily enough, Heeseung had a good idea as to why CC had been making them suffer on the ice today. 

“Come to my office before going home. We have to talk,” your father was standing in the door to the changing room, his eyes locked onto Heeseung. 

“I-”, he swallowed before nodding. “Yes, Coach, I’ll be there in a second.”

The older man nodded and turned around without another word. 

“What did you do, Hyung?” Jay asked, his face set in worry as he pulled his t-shirt down. 

“He caught me and Y/N in her office,” Heeseung mumbled, his face heating up. 

“Fuck,” his friend breathed out. “Were you making out?” 

“I-What? No! No, we weren’t,” his heart dropped while he stuttered out his answer, his eyes flickering towards Soobin and Yeonjun, who were very obviously listening. “I–we were just like on her sofa. Nothing happened. We haven’t kissed or anything. I swear nothing happened. But the room was…locked.” 

Soobin looked between the two of them for a long second, his hands stilling over his towel. If Heeseung's heart wasn’t pulsing in his throat, it would have been fun to see how half of his friends' face was covered by a hot pink towel, and the other had his dark hair standing off his head in every direction, but the expression on Soobin's face made it very clear that there was nothing to laugh about right now. He had gone still in a way that was almost worse than if he had started yelling. The whole cabin grew silent, the only sounds coming from the few players showering and the Zamboni outside refreshing the ice. 

“Are you being serious about her, Heeseung?” He asked finally, his gaze fixed on Heeseung now.

Heeseung’s face heated immediately.

He knew that this conversation would come; he also knew that the one with your father was going to come, he just wished it wasn’t in front of the whole team.

“Yes,” he said, voice a little rough but steady enough. “I am.”

He took a breath and kept going, even though it made his ears burn. “I really like her,” he admitted. “And I’m not trying to rush anything. We’re taking it slow. I would never want to hurt her.”

That made the room go even quieter.

Heeseung could feel Jay staring at him like he was trying to decide whether to be impressed or alarmed, and he was fairly sure Yeonjun was ready to stop Soobin from attacking Heeseung, his stance changing within seconds. But Soobin just kept looking at him.

“Do you know how hard it would be?” Soobin asked after a moment, his tone calmer now but still serious. “Being with her?”

Heeseung didn’t hesitate.

“Yes,” he said immediately. “I do. I know her disabilities affect everything, not just her day-to-day life, but mine too if we’re together. I know there will be things we have to plan around. I know it won’t always be easy.”

Soobin studied him closely.

Heeseung swallowed and kept his eyes on him. “That doesn’t bother me. I would do whatever I can to help her. To accommodate her. That’s not something I dislike. It’s just part of caring about her.”

For a moment, Soobin didn’t say anything.

Then he sighed, long and tired, and leaned back slightly in his chair. “Okay,” he said, quieter now. “Whatever my dad is going to say to you, take it with a grain of salt.”

Heeseung blinked. “What?”

Soobin’s mouth twisted faintly. “He’s probably going to tell you to stay away from her, or act like this is somehow your fault. ”

Heeseung went a little more still.

Soobin kept going, his voice dropping just enough to make it clear he was being sincere. “So if he does that, tell my sister or me, and we will deal with my dad. It’s a thing between him and her and not him and you, understood? You’re a player, one of his students, and he is not to pull personal affairs into this. You don’t need to get dragged into whatever this is.”

Heeseung nodded slowly, absorbing that while trying not to look too relieved. 

“Okay,” he said after a beat. “Thank you.”

Soobin gave him a short nod, then glanced at Jay like he expected some sort of reaction. Jay just stared back, looking deeply shaken, and then lifted one shoulder in a helpless shrug, as if to say, well, this is insane, but not my circus.

And with that, he got up and headed toward the coach’s office.

⋆꙳❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔*:･*❆ ₊꙳❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔*:･*❆

The door to the office was already open, and Heeseung had barely stepped inside before he could feel the mood in the room.

The coach didn’t even ask him to sit down.

“You need to stay away from Y/N,” he said immediately.

Heeseung stared at him, caught off guard by how blunt it was. “Coach Choi–”

“I’m serious.” The older man’s voice was clipped, controlled. “You need to focus on your game right now. I do not want you distracted. Not by her, not by whatever this is, and absolutely not by dating my daughter.”

Heeseung straightened immediately, keeping his expression respectful, trying to swallowing down his anger and surprise at that. “Coach, I’m not sure what you mean. I don’t think my performance on the ice would change because of her. Nothing is going on between us. We’re just friends.”

For a second, the coach only stared at him.

Then his expression sharpened, disbelief flashing into irritation. “Do you think I’m stupid?”

Heeseung blinked. “Sir–”

“Of course something is going on,” the coach snapped. “I didn’t miss the way you look at her, and I certainly didn’t miss the way she looks at you.”

Heeseung’s face warmed, but he didn’t interrupt him, knowing that if he did, his Coach would explode.

The older man leaned back, jaw tight. “I want it to stop. Whatever this is, I want it over.”

Heeseung frowned slightly. “With respect, sir, I don’t understand–”

“You do understand,” the coach cut in. “Y/N is fragile. Mentally, physically, all of it. You’ve seen it yourself. You’ve seen how easily she can get triggered, how hard it is when something throws her off, how much she has to manage just to get through a day without the world beating her down.”

His tone had changed now, still stern but unmistakably personal. This was not just about hockey to him. That much was obvious.

“She needs stability,” he went on. “She needs a safe environment to heal in. She does not need complications. She does not need emotional entanglements, making everything harder. And I am telling you right now, dating is not helping.”

Heeseung held his gaze, feeling a strange mix of frustration and unease.

It wasn’t that the coach’s concern for you was fake. If anything, it was the opposite. He sounded like he genuinely believed he was protecting you, even if the way he was doing it was suffocating.

Your father kept going. “You’re a good kid, Heeseung. But I need you to understand this clearly. I am trying to keep her safe.”

Heeseung swallowed once, then answered carefully. “I understand that you care about her.”

The coach’s eyes narrowed slightly, but he said nothing.

Heeseung continued, trying to stay respectful while his thoughts raced in his head. He felt like screaming at the man for trying to command him around, for trying to command you around. “I care about her too. And I’m not trying to make things harder for her.”

Your father looked at him for a long moment, his expression unreadable.

Then he gave a short, hard nod, like the conversation was over, whether Heeseung liked it or not. “Then keep your distance.”

And that was that.

⋆꙳❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔*:･*❆ ₊꙳❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔*:･*❆

Heeseung pushed out of the building with his jaw tight and his hands shoved deep into his pockets. Jay and Jake were already waiting by Jay’s car, both of them looking up the second they saw him.

Jay straightened first. “Well?”

Jake tipped his head. “Yeah, what did he say?”

Heeseung let out a breath, dragging a hand through his hair before stopping beside them. “He told me to stay away from her.”

Both of them went still.

Jay’s brows pulled together. “Just like that?”

Heeseung gave a short, humourless laugh. “Pretty much.”

Jake made a face. “What a surprise.”

Heeseung leaned back against the car for a second, staring out at the lot. “I tried to tell him nothing was going on. I said we were friends and that I didn’t think it would affect my performance.”

“And?” Jay asked.

“He said, ‘Do you think I’m stupid?’” Heeseung exhaled through his nose. “Then he said, of course, something was going on because he’d noticed the way I look at her and the way she looks at me.”

Jake snorted. “Well, he’s not wrong.”

Heeseung shot him a look. “That is not helping.”

Jake only shrugged, looking far too entertained for Heeseung's liking.

“He said Y/N is fragile,” he went on, quieter now. “Mentally and physically. That she needs a safe environment to heal in and that dating isn’t helping.”

Jay’s expression darkened while Jake crossed his arms. “That’s insane. The only thing you’ve done was help her. She relies on you enough to call you when she’s panicking and he claims you aren’t helping?”

Heeseung didn’t answer right away. He just stared down at the pavement, the whole conversation still sitting heavy in his chest.

“I get that he cares about her,” he said eventually. “I do. But the way he said it made it sound like he thinks he gets to decide everything for her.”

Jay and Jake exchanged a look.

Then Jay exhaled slowly, leaning an elbow on the top of the car. “So what now?”

Heeseung looked up, expression tired. “I don’t know.”

Jake frowned. “Did he threaten you?”

“Not exactly,” Heeseung said. “More like made it very clear he wants this to stop.”

Jay went quiet for a second before saying, “Well, that’s not happening.”

That got a small, tired laugh out of Heeseung, though it didn’t reach his eyes.

Jake pointed at him like he was making a serious vow. “If he tries to pull anything, you tell us. Or Y/N. Or literally anyone, but keep it to yourself. We’ll deal with it.”

⋆꙳❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔*:･*❆ ₊꙳❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔*:･*❆

Heeseung was drifting off, his limbs heavy in the thick duvet when his phone buzzed. He groaned and barely cracked one eye open before reaching for it. It was rare for him to get calls this late, so it was probably important. 

He answered with a rough, sleepy sound. “Yeah?”

There was a pause, then your voice came through the speaker, soft and tired. “Hi.”

He let out a long breath and rolled onto his back, rubbing a hand over his face. „It’s late.”

“I know. I–” you said quickly, then sighed. “Sorry. I just wanted to apologise for what my dad did.”

That pulled him awake a little more. He swore Jay and Jake into silence, not wanting you to hear a single thing about what your dad said. It would matter anyway; he would not let his coach come between the two of you. Heeseung frowned at the ceiling. “How do you know about that?”

“From Soobin,” you said. “I don’t know what he said but I am sure he wasn’t nice. So I wanted to apologize that I pulled you into this mess.”

He made a quiet noise of disbelief and sat up a little more, suddenly less sleepy than before. “Y/N-.”

“I’ll deal with him. I promise, Hee,” you interrupted him, sounding exhausted.

Heeseung took a deep breath and rubbed his eyes. “It’s fine, Y/N. There isn’t much to deal with. I think he’s just being a tad overprotective.” 

You were silent for a second, and he heard the rustle of your bedding in the background. “Can you tell me what he said?” 

He hummed and told you in a low voice exactly what the coach had said. 

When he finished, there was silence for a second.

“I just don’t get it,” you muttered. “Why does he think I’m so fragile all the time? I’ve been through way worse than whatever a heartbreak could ever do to me. I know he thinks he’s protecting me, but it’s so annoying.” You let out a tired breath. “I like spending time with you. A lot. And now it feels like he wants to rip even that away from me.”

Heeseung was quiet for a second before answering, his voice low and gentle, hoping it could help ease your mind a bit. “I know.”

You huffed. “I know he means well. That’s the worst part. It’s coming from worry, and I get that. I do. It’s just…” You trailed off, then muttered, “Ugh. He’s just plain stupid sometimes.”

He gave you a small, sleepy laugh. 

Then, after a beat, you said, a little more softly, “I wish you were here.”

His eyes closed for a second at that. “Yeah?” he murmured.

“Yeah,” you said. 

He gave a sleepy, disbelieving laugh. “We saw each other a few hours ago.”

“I know,” you said, and he could hear the pout in your voice even if he couldn’t see it. It made him smile despite himself. “I still sleep better when you’re there.”

That did it.

His expression softened all at once, the kind of melting softness he only ever got like this with you. “That’s unfair,” he murmured, already reaching for his blanket with his free hand. “Now I want to come get you.”

“No,” you said immediately, and he could hear the grin hiding behind your exhaustion. “Let’s not pour oil into the fire.”

He huffed a quiet laugh through his nose and settled back against the pillow. “Fine.”

After a short pause he offered something different, “I can stay on the line until you fall asleep? Maybe that helps?”

You made a noise that was half amused, half sceptical. “You’d be asleep before I even got tired.”

“I would not.”

“You absolutely would.”

“I’m awake enough.”

“Mm-hm.”

He could hear the smile in your voice now, and it made his own eyes feel heavier in the best way. “Just let me stay,” he said, softer. “I don’t mind.”

That seemed to quiet you for a moment.

Then, very gently, you said, “Okay.”

Neither of you said much after that. Just small bits of breathing, the faint rustle of blankets on your end, and the occasional sleepy murmur from him when he almost drifted off. He was trying to listen for your breathing evening out, but at some point, he must have fallen asleep first, because the next thing he knew, morning had crept in and his phone was still in his hand.

⋆꙳❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔*:･*❆ ₊꙳❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔*:･*❆

Your heart was hammering in your chest. The first fans had slowly trickled into the arena, and you could hear the faint music playing outside. 

You wanted to come. 

God, you really wanted to. 

It was the first official game of the season, the first one since you’ve officially become the social media manager of the team. You had prepared the music, parts of the show that were gonna happen in the breaks, had plans for content to post and most importantly, wanted to watch them play.

You haven’t watched a full game of hockey in years. 

For good reasons.

Which was also why almost everyone was against your decision to actually attend the game. You knew they meant well, but it irked you somehow. 

Poor Y/N is scared of loud sounds, so she shouldn’t come to watch the game and get triggered. You recently had been, right? So just sit this one out. 

Maybe you would, maybe they were right, but there was nothing left to try. 

Soobin and your father had been the ones who had protested the loudest. If it wasn’t for your mother and, funnily enough, your grandmother, who deemed your progress to be acceptable but demanded that you invite your family to dinner on the weekend, they wouldn’t have let you come. 

A knock rattled the door, sharp but gentle, and before you could call out, it cracked open. Heeseung slipped in, already in full gear: pads bulked under his jersey, helmet tucked under one arm, his stick slung casually over his shoulder. His hair was damp from warm-ups. 

"Y/N." He crossed the room in three strides, dropping his stick against the wall to pull you into a hug. 

His arms wrapped securely around your shoulders, while his chin rested atop your head. You melted into it instantly, your face pressing to the familiar scent of him. It was kind of weird to hug him while he was wearing all the protection gear, the bulky plastic hard under your touch. 

After a beat, he slightly pulled back, and his gloved hand came up, tilting your chin gently with two fingers, searching your face with quiet intensity. "How are you?"

You wanted to seem strong, to tell him that you were feeling good, that you were excited to watch him and the others play, but the words stuck in your throat. Instead, you just leaned into his palm, pressing your lips together tightly, your eyes flicking away as your throat thickened. 

Heeseung hummed low, understanding without you saying a word, his thumb brushing your jaw softly. "Hey. It's fine if you're not feeling it. No one's gonna think it‘s weird if you can‘t. Someone else can film the walkout and get the pictures for Instagram."

"No," you said quickly, adamant, shaking your head even as your voice came out smaller than you meant. "I want to. I need to be there." You needed to prove to your dad and your brother that you could do this, prove it to yourself. 

He held your gaze a beat longer, then nodded, giving in with a soft smile that crinkled his eyes. "Okay. Then we're good." He pulled you closer again, arms wrapping full now, and pressed a lingering kiss to your forehead. His lips were warm and soft against your skin. You sighed into it, the tension in your shoulders easing a fraction as you swayed together side to side for a slow second, his bulked frame enveloping you like a shield.

„I‘m actually here to get you, because we are going to start with the walkout soon, and you might prepare your cameras,“ he mumbled against your hair.

You closed your eyes and took a deep breath. „Okay, let’s go.“

⋆꙳❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔*:･*❆ ₊꙳❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔*:･*❆

Heeseung's skates dug deep into the ice with every stride, the cold burn in his thighs turning to fire as he sped over the blue line for what felt like the hundredth time. 

Yonsei played like maniacs today. 

They were good, they‘ve always been good, but with the new recruits this season, it was as if his team had not even a sliver of a chance.

He backchecked the puck, lifting his stick at centre ice to break up a pass, snarling under his breath as the whistle blew, signalling a foul. 

"Fuck," he muttered, ripping off his helmet strap to wipe sweat from his eyes, while frustration started to bubble up in his stomach. 

His eyes shifted to the bench area, searching for your face, checking if you were doing alright. It was almost funny. 

He didn’t really care about how he had to go to the penalty box, about how one of the younger players got a puck to the face a few minutes ago, but every time someone slammed into the boards or sticks clashed, his heart jumped a beat. But whenever your gazes met through the glass, you would always flash him a grin or a thumbs-up. Pride swelled up in his chest, even as he begrudgingly stepped off the ice into the penalty box, silently praying that the power play Yonsei was now in would not mean they would get a goal past Beomgyu. 

Two minutes after he jumped back onto the ice together with the rest of the first line.

They were behind. 

By only one goal, but that was enough. They had to get their shit together. Heeseung had to get his shit together. 

But even at the end of the third period, they still were one goal behind. They had so many good opportunities and so many good shots, but the new Yonsei goalie was incredible. He stopped every single one of them. 

The final three minutes were a desperate 6-on-5, with one of the visitors sitting in the penalty box. They were in a power play; this had to work. Heeseung dug the puck free, stickhandling it through skates and passing it to Jay, who finally got their sixth goal. The arena erupted into cheers, and Heesung rammed into Jay, hugging his friend in laughter. A few seconds later, the game was back on again. They still had 25 seconds left. 

Heeseung pounced on the puck the second it dropped and somehow made it through the defence line to score a goal just seconds before the final whistle rang through the arena. 

He wheeled toward centre ice, pumping his fist into the air, but his eyes snapped straight to you. You were on your feet, beaming at him. Without hesitation, he tapped his chest and pointed to you and the phone that was undoubtedly recording him right now. 

In the heat of the adrenaline-fueled moment, he forgot who was sitting next to you, knowing very well what the gesture meant. 

His coach's head snapped towards you and then back to him, his eyes narrowing, zeroing on the gesture. Heeseung's stomach dropped like a stone mid-celebration, his heart seizing for one endless second.

He was dead. 

Done. 

He didn’t have time to spiral over what he had just done, what had been displayed to the whole arena thanks to the jumbotron because Yeonjun barreled into him with full speed, slamming him into the boards with a howling tackle, the rest of his teammates piling on in the scrum. 

"Goal, baby!" Yeonjun roared, his helmet clunking his.

Heeseung laughed breathlessly in the dogpile, but his eyes darted back one last time.

⋆꙳❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔*:･*❆ ₊꙳❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔*:･*❆

You stood beside your parents near the edge of the rink, waiting for the players to file out after the game. Neither of your them had said much since the game had ended, your father's facial expression conveying what he was thinking without the need for many words. 

You took a deep breath and nodded, trying to ignore the feeling of despair that welled up within you whenever you thought about what was to come the second there was a bit of privacy. 

Heeseung hadn’t answered your text, but had seemingly read it, or just knew not to come from the changing rooms by himself. Jake, Eujioo and Jay trickled into the arena, followed by Heeseung, who seemed just as uncomfortable as you felt. 

But before either of you could said anything, a voice coming from behind interrupted the tense silence. “Wonbin!”

You swivelled around, as good as you could on your two crutches. The man standing in front of you looked like an older version of Heeseung. He was tall, maybe even taller than his son, had the same eyes, the same nose, the same lips. 

Heeseung’s father extended his hand towards your father, who seemed just as shaken as you were. „Manseok! What a surprise to see you here.“

„Oh yes,“ the other smiled, his smile resembling one you had come to love in the last couple of weeks, „I was around the area and thought it would be nice to see my son play once in a while, and I must say your boys had me on my toes, Wonbin.“

Your father gave him a tight smile and nodded. „Yes, they sure did. But they did a good job.“

„That they did,“ Heeseung's father smiled even broader, and he turned towards you, extending his hand in your direction this time, only to quickly drop it when he realized that you couldn’t take it, your arms in your crutches. „You must be Y/N! I have to say I have heard a lot about you already, and my son wasn’t lying, you really are as beautiful as he claimed you to be.“ 

Your whole brain stopped.

No, your full body went into fight or flight mode, your face heating so fast you were sure it had to be visible.

Did Lee Manseok, a NHL legend, Heeseung’s father, just say you were beautiful? Did he just say that Heeseung had talked about you in front of him? 

Before you could even think of an appropriate answer, Heeseung interrupted you. „Dad?“

His father swivelled around, opening his arms. „Heeseung! My son!“

He engulfed him a hug, while Heeseung caught your eyes mouthing a ‚what the fuck‘ before pulling back. „What are you doing here?“

„My boy,“ the older man said as he put his arm around Heeseung's shoulder. „I wanted to watch you play for a bit. See if coach Choi is still keeping you all on track.“

„Ah, well, yeah,“ Heeseung coughed, and his ears grew redder and redder by the second.

“Jay! Jake! Boys! Congratulations on your win!“ His father already focused on the rest of the group, calling them over, while he seemed to have difficulties grasping the situation, looking at you helplessly. His father hugged the newcomers, then clapped a hand lightly on Heeseung’s shoulder. “Proud of you, son. You did well.”

Heeseung gave a small, awkward smile, clearly trying to figure out whether this was about to get better or worse while his dad looked far too pleased with himself as he went on, glancing once more at you with unmistakable interest. „I’m glad he finally has something else to be focused on besides hockey. I was starting to worry he didn’t even enjoy college. You seem to be making a good impact on my son, Y/N.“

You nearly died on the spot.

Your face went so hot you were convinced everyone could see it, and you could feel the sheer panic rippling underneath your skin as you tried to keep your expression from completely collapsing.

Beside you, Heeseung looked equally stunned, though his panic was a lot more visible now that his father had basically announced his own support in front of half the room.

Your dad stayed perfectly polite, which somehow made everything worse.

And Heeseung, sweet, mortified, very doomed Heeseung, just stood there looking like he was hoping the floor would open up and swallow him whole. 

Then his father turned toward your dad with a pleasant smile that somehow felt sharper than it looked. “Your daughter is lovely,” he said, with the kind of smooth politeness that left no room for argument. “I’ve heard and seen a lot to know that you must be so proud of her. Overcoming such a tragic accident and still having so much fun.”

You had to focus on controlling every muscle in your face to not laugh out loud at what he said. Your dad’s expression barely moved, but you could tell he wasn’t happy. He stayed courteous, though, because of course he did. Heeseung’s father was one of the major donors funding the program, and everyone in the room knew it. 

„I am very proud of her and of my boys,“ his eyes flickered towards Heeseung. „Even though there have been some mistakes that could have been avoided, if some had played with their head and not their emotions.“ 

„Oh, Wonbin,“ a melodic laugh came from the NHL star. „We’ve all been there, haven’t we? And none of your players initiated any fights, so nothing happened, right? Actually, I was thinking about stealing your players and letting them wind down in one of our bars. You’re staying the night, right?“

While your father drifted off into conversation with the other man, discussing logistics for a spontaneous outing in one of the sports bars in the city, Heeseung leaned down toward you, careful and quiet, like he was trying not to draw anyone’s attention. “Is your dad very mad?” he asked, his voice low enough that only you could hear.

You let out a breathy little laugh, unable to help it. “Yeah,” you whispered back. “Yeah, he is.”

The answer should have made things worse, but somehow the look on his face only made you smile more.

He looked so concerned, so earnest, like he was ready to take the blame for something that was very clearly spiralling far beyond his control. You nudged your shoulder lightly against his arm, trying to reassure him.

“You don’t have anything to worry about,” you said softly. “I’ll deal with it.”

His expression shifted then, the tension in his face easing a little, but he still looked at you like he wasn’t entirely convinced you should have to.

You wished, achingly, that you didn’t still need the crutches. Wished you could just reach out and take his hand, squeeze it once, feel his fingers close around yours in return. Instead, you just stood there, close enough to feel his warmth, close enough to share the breathless little pause between you.

He looked at you like he could feel exactly how much you wanted to touch him, too, and his hand hesitantly came up to your lower back. 

⋆꙳❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔*:･*❆ ₊꙳❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔*:･*❆

The moment the conversation finally broke apart, the whole group started drifting toward the player bus. Heeseung stayed close enough that you could still feel his hand on your back. You caught Soobin's eyes flickering between your father and the two of you, mouthing a ‘what the fuck’. The only answer you had to that was a shrug.

Before you could separate yourself from the group, Beomgyu had jumped out of the bus, slinging an arm around your shoulder, not quite gentle but very careful, pulling you against his side. “Captain I’mma have to steal Y/N to sit with me in the back so we can speak about how brilliantly I’ve played and she can show me what she filmed.” 

“I-yes-okay,” Heeseung nodded, and the warmth of his hand disappeared from your back. 

“Beomgyu, I can’t–”

“Nope.”

Before you could argue, he had already helped guide you forward and into the bus, practically ushering you up with the others. It was absurdly fast, a little chaotic, and somehow very Beomgyu. You laughed despite yourself as he made sure you were settled properly before dropping into the seat beside you, a few rows behind Heeseung.

The bus rumbled to life not long after, and for a second, all you could do was sit there and try to catch your breath.

Beomgyu leaned an elbow on the back of his seat and turned toward you with an immediate, concerned look. “Okay,” he said. “How are we doing?”

You let out a tired sound that was halfway between a laugh and a sigh. “I’m good. Overwhelmed. Tired?”

His brows lifted. “Fair. Do you know what the fuck is happening right now?”

You glanced forward briefly, then dropped your voice. “Heeseung’s dad just casually walked up to my father and acted like he’d known me forever. He told my dad I was beautiful and then talked like he was proud of me and somehow also vaguely threatening. I think I might still be processing.”

Beomgyu stared at you for a beat, then let out a low, disbelieving laugh. “What the fuck?”

You covered your face for a second. “Exactly.”

Before Beomgyu could ask anything else, Jake leaned back over the seat in front of you.

“Didn’t he tell you?” he asked, adjusting his cap.

You lowered your hands and frowned at him. “What do you mean?”

Jake looked far too pleased with himself. “Jay and I may have talked about you when we visited our apartment.”

You stared at him.

He shrugged like this was completely normal. “In his dad’s eyes, you’re basically already his daughter-in-law.”

Your brain stalled so hard it almost hurt.

“Okay, what?” you said, not even sure you had formed the sentence properly.

Jake grinned wider, absolutely unbothered by the fact that he had just detonated your entire nervous system. “Yeah. You know, he’s been bugging Heeseung bout how he should be enjoying college and should party and date, and I kinda told him that you and Hee are dating. And we might have also mentioned that your father isn’t the biggest fan of that.” 

You slowly turned to look at him.

Jake, still grinning, lifted both brows. “What? It made sense at the time.”

Beomgyu made a noise somewhere between a laugh and a groan beside you, clearly trying not to fall apart from the sheer absurdity of it all.

“First of all, Jake,” you said, blinking at him. “Heeseung and I aren’t dating and secon–”

Jake snorted before you had even finished your sentence. “Right,” he said, clearly not buying it. “You and Heeseung aren’t even dating.”

“We are not.”

“Eah,” Jake said, dragging the word out with theatrical pity. “It’s painful to watch.”

You stared at him, scandalised. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“It means you should just get going already,” he said, like this was the most obvious solution in the world.

Your face heated instantly. “We are taking it slow, okay?”

Jake lifted one eyebrow, looking at Heeseung at the front. “Slow,” he repeated. Then he glanced at you, deadpan. “So there’s no toothbrush at our place? No skincare because apparently Heeseung has been influenced by you to buy the same stuff?”

You spluttered. “That is not–it’s not like that.”

Jake held up a hand before you could finish. “No, no, don’t worry. I’m sure it’s all very innocent and normal and completely not what it looks like.”

You stared at him, mortified and defensive all at once. “We’re just–”

“Insufferable?” he supplied.

You gaped at him. “I was going to say, friends.”

Jake gave you a long look, then let out a sigh. “You two are insufferable,” he said. “Even if you haven’t made it official, it kind of is.”

That shut you up for half a second.

Was it? 

Was it official that you and Heeseung had something going on that was definitely dancing along the line between friendship and relationship?

You sighed and buried your face in one hand for a second before looking between Jake and Beomgyu, who both seemed far too entertained by your suffering.

“Okay,” you muttered, half mortified and half defeated. “Then what am I supposed to be doing now?”

Jake didn’t even pretend to think about it. He spread his hands and leaned back.

“Let me work my magic,” he said.

⋆꙳❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔*:･*❆ ₊꙳❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔*:･*❆ 

The bar was loud and crowded, with the team taking at least half of the room. Luckily, Heeseung's dad was friends with the owner, meaning he made space for twenty-six bulky hockey players and some of their friends and staff to celebrate the first win of the season. 

You were tucked into a booth near the bar, sitting next to Heeseung, having your leg resting on his. Your father had been busy talking to his dad and a few of his friends. 

You should have been paying attention to the conversation happening around you, but it was difficult when Heeseung kept making himself impossible to ignore.

He had his hands on your cast, brushing over your knee whenever he took a sip of his beer, and every time you looked up, he was already looking at you too, lips curved in a small smile.

You narrowed your eyes at him. “Are you drunk?”

He let out a quiet laugh and shook his head. “From half a beer? No,” he said, still looking at you with that same soft, starry expression. “I just really like seeing you like this.”

You blinked at him. “Like what?”

“So into it,” he said simply. “You just got all intense and serious, and it is honestly kind of adorable.”

Your face heated immediately. “That is not adorable.”

“It is to me.”

You looked away, suddenly very interested in your drink. For a brief second, the two of you just sat there in the noise, neither saying anything. The conversation around you kept going, chairs scraping, glasses clinking, Jay laughing at something Yeonjun said on the other side of the booth, but in between the two of you, there was this tiny, suspended silence that felt almost intimate.

Then you huffed and finally gave in to the thing you had clearly been holding in.

“Honestly, though, some of our players were messing up way too much tonight,” you said, leaning into him a bit more. “That one turnover in the second period was painful. I was sitting there like, are you serious right now? It was like they were unable to communicate with each other, even though you’ve done so much of that weird team building stuff.”

Heeseung’s mouth twitched, and then he laughed softly, like he had been waiting for you to let that out. “I noticed,” he said, his tone warm and amused. “Mostly because your face was doing a lot of talking for you.”

Your eyes narrowed. “My face was not doing a lot of talking.”

“It absolutely was.”

You pouted at him, crossing your arms. “It was not that bad.”

He hummed, a very clear, very mocking sound. “Yeah, of course.”

You gave him a flat look, but before you could think of a smart reply, he reached up and tucked a loose strand of hair back behind your ear. His fingers brushed your cheek on the way there, and then lingered, his hand staying just a second too long at the side of your face.

The touch stole the rest of your answer.

You swallowed, suddenly aware of how close he was, how softly he was looking at you, how the noise of the bar seemed to fade around the edge of the booth whenever he got like this. 

“Still,” he said, voice quieter now, “you were very invested for someone pretending not to care.”

“I do care,” you muttered, your eyes flickering to his mouth for a second.

“I know,” he said, and the way he said it made your stomach flip in the most annoying way.

He looked at you with a small smile and, without even seeming to think about it, let his hand settle on your thigh beneath the table. His thumb started moving, rubbing slow little circles over the spot just above your knee. The motion made your whole body ease without warning.

You looked at him, a little startled.

He noticed instantly. “Too much?”

You shook your head quickly. “No. It’s just… nice.”

Something in his face softened at that, almost too much to look at directly. “Yeah?” he asked quietly. “You were limping a little earlier.”

Your lips parted, surprised that he had even noticed. “You saw that?”

“Of course I did.”

The answer was so immediate and so matter-of-fact that it almost made your chest ache. You looked away first this time, your cheeks warming again. 

⋆꙳❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔*:･*❆ ₊꙳❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔*:･*❆

By the time Jake stumbled over, he was already looking a bit glossy-eyed.

“Move,” he said, not waiting for you to actually do so.

He slipped into the narrow space beside you and immediately crowded in close enough that you were pressed right back against Heeseung, who had to shift his arm around you to keep you balanced as Jake practically folded himself into the space in front of you. 

His head dropped onto your shoulder with a dramatic sigh. “I need pity.”

You laughed, already half expecting nonsense. “Why?”

He reached for your hand like it was the most natural thing in the world and turned it over in his, making a show of settling it onto his head. 

“Go on,” he said. “Pet me.” 

You looked at Heeseung first, just to see his reaction, and he was already smiling, shoulders shaking a little with quiet laughter. Jake noticed the look and immediately clicked his tongue.

“I had a disaster of an evening,” he announced. “The most gorgeous girl in one of my classes just told me she’s dropping it and retaking it next semester, so now I have no one to daydream about anymore.”

Heeseung let out a short breath of disbelief before shaking his head. “Poor Jake,” he said, voice dripping with mock sympathy.

Jake lifted his head just enough to glare at him. “Fuck off,” he muttered. Then he pointed at you without any real heat. “If it had been Y/N, you’d be the same. Imagine having to longingly stare at her all day in class because there is no way you could just talk to her because you don’t know her. You wouldn’t be in her office, cuddling all the time. Or watching whatever show you’re watching now and using it as a reason to have your little sleepovers. You’d also be miserable.”

Heeseung coughed into his hand, looking away for a second, and you felt your face burning as Jake, completely unbothered, nudged your hand.

“Come on,” he said, much softer now but still shameless. “Scratch my head. Your nails are nice.” 

You sighed, shaking your head, but your fingers were already moving through his hair. Jake immediately melted, letting out a satisfied little sound and tipping more of his weight into you.

“There,” he murmured. “That’s what I needed.”

You shifted a little in your seat, trying to adjust your leg a bit, and Heeseung’s hand at your side tightened immediately, steadying you without even thinking about it. 

Jake noticed, of course, he did.

“Aha,” he said, sitting up faster than you thought would be good for him. “See? That right there. That is not normal. You’re just moving at a snail pace, Y/N.”

“Jake,” Heeseung said again, sharper this time, while you stifled a laugh. 

But Jake was already leaning back with a very satisfied expression, clearly pleased with himself. “I’m just saying. Your pink toothbrush is ruining our bathroom, Y/N. If you want me to leave it there, do something.”

You buried your face in your hand for a second, laughing, while Heeseung let out a helpless breath.

“Okay,” he said, voice tight with embarrassment and amusement, while his hand reached from your back to the hand that was still petting over Jake's head, intertwining your fingers in a rather awkward pose, “that’s enough. Go bother Jay.”

Jake stared at him. “Rude.”

“Go,” Heeseung repeated.

Jake sighed but stumbled off, muttering about how he was the only honest person in the room. 

For a second, both of you were quiet before you broke into giggles, and Heeseung leaned back in the booth, pulling you with him. “Sorry about him,” he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. “He’s just being… Jake.”

You let out a small laugh, the heat in your face finally beginning to settle. “It’s no worries. He has warned me he has a plan. I just…didn’t know this was his plan.”

Heeseung glanced down at you, then back up, before he sighed again. “What was this plan supposed to be?” 

You shrugged and laughed again as you watched Jake enthusiastically taking another shot together with Beomguy. “Making you jealous by making me scratch his head?”

Heeseung's chuckle vibrated through you. “Right, as if that’s not something he makes you do on a regular basis since you've gotten your nails done.”

“Hee,” you turned around, grinning at him. “Let Jake be delusional.” 

His gaze dropped briefly from your eyes to your lips and back, the corners of his mouth twitching as if he was trying to suppress the stupid grin on his face. ⋆꙳❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔*:･*❆ ₊꙳❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔*:･*❆

You were hot and a little dizzy. 

Music was blasting through various speakers spread through the whole house, laughter and singing coming from everywhere, the sound of bottles clinking, feet pounding across the floor, and someone yelling about a beer pong win making everything even louder. The whole house felt alive, buzzing with heat and alcohol and movement. 

You couldn’t tell how long you’ve been here, or how much you had drunk, but you loved it. You loved being here, being part of this stupid Halloween party that would be the most normal thing to anyone else here but was one of the best things that happened to you in a while now. 

A laugh bubbled out of you, almost involuntary, but Beomgyu, who was standing next to you, one of his arms wrapped around your waist to help keep you balanced, didn’t seem to mind. He had found you not long after you, Yeji, Lia, Ryujin and Chaeryeong arrived, and from the second he did, he decided it was his personal mission to make sure your cup was never empty. Every time you looked down, there was somehow more in it. Every time you protested, he grinned and shoved it back into your hand.

You should have been more careful. 

You knew that. 

You knew you didn’t have the tolerance to keep up with other people your age, especially college students who drank every weekend. But the drinks were cold and sweet and easy, and the whole night felt so impossibly good that you didn’t really want to stop.

You wanted to feel it.

The music. The lights. The fact that you had walked here on your own. The warmth in your limbs. The way the room seemed to tilt just a little when you laughed too hard.

So when Beomgyu handed you another shot, and then another and another, you took them.

“Look at you,” Beomgyu sang, squeezing your waist. “You’re having a great time.”

“I am having a great time,” you said, and the way the words came out slightly slurred only made you giggle harder.

“I know,” he said smugly. “I’m helping.”

“You’re enabling.”

“I prefer the term supporting.”

You shoved him lightly, but not hard enough to knock the grin off his face. He just laughed and leaned in to say something else in your ear, and you could hear the smile in his voice even before you understood the words.

The thing was, you really did feel good.

The cast on your leg was annoying, sure, and your balance still wasn’t perfect, but the whole evening had already given you this strange, glowing sense of victory. 

You had walked in here without crutches. 

You had even danced a little, or at least swayed in a way that could probably be counted as dancing if the audience was kind.

You felt proud of yourself.

You felt impossible.

Like maybe you could just be normal for a while, just show up and be fine and laugh too loudly and drink too much and not have to think about what your leg looked like or how people might be watching or how complicated your body still was.

For a little while, that version of you felt real.

The beer pong table was crowded, noisy, and chaotic. You ended up on one side of it with strangers cheering and people shouting over the music. At some point, someone handed you another drink. Or maybe you took it from Beomgyu. It was getting hard to remember who was putting what in your hand anymore.

The whole room spun just slightly whenever you turned too fast, but it never felt unpleasant. 

At one point, Beomgyu looked at you with that slightly wicked grin of his and said, “You’re definitely getting drunk.”

“I am not,” you said immediately, then burst out laughing.

“Yes, you are.”

“No, I’m not.”

He lifted his brows. “Denail is a river in Egypt, Y/N!”

That made you laugh harder, and you had to grip the edge of the table for balance.

The truth was, you were getting drunk.

You just didn’t care.

Not really.

That was why you were here, right? Why did you lie to your dad about staying over at Ryujins and having a slow Halloween evening? Why did you leave your phone at her place, so whenever he looked up your location, he wouldn’t know where you actually were? 

⋆꙳❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔*:･*❆ ₊꙳❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔*:･*❆

The whole hockey team had gone all out, dressed as Greek gods, draped in gold-trimmed togas, laurel crowns and a lot of naked skin. You had made fun of Soobin when you first saw his costume, what your sober brain, however, did not think about was that Heeseung was also part of the hockey team, meaning he would be dressed as a Greek god. 

You were on your way to the kitchen to find Yeji, but instead of spotting her somewhere within the crowd, you saw Heeseung. The white fabric of his toga clung to his chest and arms in ways that made your mouth go inexplicably dry. His dark hair was tousled just right, and the light caught his face just right when he laughed at something Jake said. 

He looked unfairly, devastatingly hot. 

You couldn't stop staring, heat creeping up your neck.

You didn't even realise you had started moving toward him until you were right there, bumping into him with a wobbly grin. He turned at the motion, his eyes locking onto yours instantly, and his face split into that familiar, warm grin.

"Hee!" The name burst out of you brighter than you meant, your excitement spilling over as you reached him, one hand landing on his arm for balance. Up close, he smelled like cologne mixed with beer, and god, the toga dipped just low enough to show the defined cut of his collarbone. 

Your gaze flicked over him shamelessly, your heart thudding harder.

He laughed softly, his hand coming up to steady you by the elbow, firm but gentle. "Hey, careful there."

Your cheeks burned, but the alcohol made you bold, words tumbling out before you could overthink them. "You look hot."

His eyes widened a fraction, genuine surprise flashing across his face before it melted into a flustered, deep laugh, his head tipping back a little, the sound warm and rumbling over the music. Heeseungs free hand rose to smooth over your hair in that gentle, familiar way he had, fingers threading through your curls to tuck a loose strand behind your ear. "Yeah? You look hot too." 

His touch was warm, thumb brushing feather-light along your cheekbone. Then he tilted your chin up softly with two fingers, searching your face with a mix of amusement and growing concern, while you wrapped your arms around his waist. "How much did you have to drink?"

You squeezed your eyes shut tight, the world spinning faster behind your lids for a dizzying second, then popped them open with exaggerated seriousness, trying to focus on him through the haze. "A bit?"

He laughed again, louder this time, shaking his head like you were the most entertaining thing he had seen all night. "A bit. Define 'a bit,' exactly."

You waved a hand vaguely in the air, your grin turning sloppy and unfiltered. "Whatever Gyu gives me."

Heeseung's face did a full comedic shift, eyes going wide, mouth dropping open in disbelief. "Oh, my god." He shook his head and gently tilted your head side to side, his brows pulling together almost immediately. “And you’re not using your crutches?”

You beamed up at him.  “Isn’t that awesome?” You slurred proudly.

Something flickered across his face. Surprise, maybe. Or concern. Maybe both.

“You didn’t tell me,” he said, his thumb caressing your cheek softly, stopping just above your lips.

You blinked at him, then giggled, because in your head it was obvious. “I didn’t wanna jinx it! I’ve been walking at home, but I didn’t wanna try it in public until I was more confident. And look!” You swayed the two of you a little to demonstrate just how well you were walking. “I’m walking.”

Heeseung’s hand came around your waist, steadying you against him. 

“Just… be careful, okay?” he said, softer now.

You leaned a little closer because you liked the way he looked at you when he worried. “I promise. Look, I’m a vampire now.” You spread your hands with exaggerated drama. “I’m unstoppable.”

He snorted, and the corner of his mouth finally curved. “Yeah? Even vampires need to be careful.”

You were about to argue, but your name was called loud enough for you to hear over the noise in the kitchen. You swivelled around to see Beomgyu standing in front of you. “Heeseung, you have found Y/N!”

Heeseung chuckled and shook his head. “She found me, Guy. How much did the two of you drink?”

“Ah,” Bemoguy waved dismissively before peeling his captain's hands from your waist, wanting to pull you away, but Heeseung's grip only tightened at that. “A bit of this and that and more of this and we have to go back to the beer pong table because they’re almost done, Y/N!” 

You laughed and nodded, wanting to follow him, taking his hand, but Heeseung tilted his head to the side once. “Hmh, I think Y/N should stay here and drink some water, Beomgyu.”

“Boo hoo”, your friend said, adjusting his crown a bit. “You’re boring, Heeseung. Let us have fun!”

“I am,” Heeseung said evenly, “after I’ve seen Y/N drink water.”

You made a small whiny sound in protest, and that seemed to do it, because his expression softened for a second before he turned fully toward you.

He cupped your face in both hands, thumbs resting lightly near your cheeks. “You’re very drunk,” he said, looking directly into your eyes, a little bit stern in the gentlest way possible. “I want to make sure you sober up at least a little.”

Jake stepped in with far too much enthusiasm before you could oppose Heeseung’s idea. “Beomgyu, I’ll play with you.”

Beomgyu’s face lit up, and his arms let go of yours. “Oh, perfect.”

Heeseung lifted his head just enough to mouth a quick ‘thank you’ over yours, and you caught it even before you fully processed what was happening.

You whined again. “I wanted to play.”

“I know,” he said, already guiding you gently deeper into the kitchen. “You can play later. Right now, you need water.”

Heeseung helped you up onto the counter like it was the most natural thing in the world, setting down his cup next to you before he reached for a clean glass, filled it with tap water, and handed it to you.

You took it with a dramatic sigh, still grumbling under your breath.

He stayed close in front of you, one hand braced lightly against the counter near your hip, watching to make sure you actually drank.

“So,” he said quietly, eyes soft, “how has your dad been?”

You let out a small breath and leaned back like you were about to settle against the cabinets behind you, only to misjudge the distance by a bit. Before you could bump into anything, Heeseung’s hands shot forward, steadying you at once.

You gave him a sheepish look. “Okay, rude. I was fine.”

His brows lifted, clearly unconvinced, but he didn’t let go right away. “You were about one second away from falling into the kitchen.”

You huffed a laugh. “Maybe I wanted to do that.”

He took a deep breath and chuckled, pulling you a bit towards the edge of the counter, your cast hitting the front of it with a dull thump.

“I’ve been avoiding being home when he is,” you admitted after a beat, your tone quieter now.

Heeseung’s face changed immediately. Not alarmed, exactly, but concerned in that deep, careful way he got when he was trying not to let his worry show.

You noticed it and smiled a little, trying to smooth it over before it could grow bigger than it already was. “It’s fine,” you said, reaching up to cup his face. “Really.”

Your fingers brushed his cheek, warm and familiar, and for a second, you thought he might lean into it. You certainly wanted him to. 

But he gently caught your wrist before you could pull him closer.

“Drink more first,” he said, voice low but firm.

You narrowed your eyes at him. “You’re being annoying.”

“I’m being responsible.”

“That’s the same thing.”

Before he could answer, one of his friends came up beside you, cutting into the moment just enough to make both of you glance over. Heeseung turned to talk to him, only half distracted, while you took the opportunity to snatch his cup from the counter.

You took a big sip and immediately regretted it. 

It was beer.

You stared down at the cup in betrayal, then scowled at it. Heeseung noticed almost instantly and let out a quiet laugh over the conversation he was having, clearly catching the whole thing out of the corner of his eye.

You looked up at him indignantly, still holding the cup. “Why would you let me do that?”

Heeseung’s mouth curved, amused now. “You looked very determined.”

“That was a trap.”

“It was not.”

“It absolutely was.”

You glared at the beer one more time, then at him.

Trying your best to look innocent, you tilted your head up at him. “Can I have another piña colada now? I had water.”

He let out a tired little sigh, but smiled at you. “No, Y/N. Let’s take a break.”

You pouted immediately. "That is mean.”

He just hummed and raised an eyebrow, but before either of you could say anything else, a cup appeared in your vision. 

“Here,” said Jeongin, who you recognised as one of the swimmers from earlier. He held out his drink toward you with a lazy grin. “Take a sip if you want to chase the beer taste.”

You blinked at him, then at the drink, then back at him before deciding that this was, in fact, an excellent idea. You took a careful sip and immediately felt the awful beer taste fade into something much more tolerable.

Heeseung looked over at Jeongin with an expression that was equal parts annoyed and amused. “Really?”

Jeongin just shrugged, completely unbothered. “I’m not gonna stop a lady from enjoying her evening.”

You handed the cup back with a satisfied little hum. 

⋆꙳❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔*:･*❆ ₊꙳❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔*:･*❆

Somehow, more and more of the swimmers appeared in the kitchen, crowding the room a bit more as they all joined in the conversation. You had rested your head against Heeseung's shoulder a while back. 

The room kept moving, the music kept pounding in your head, and you started to lose track of conversations halfway through them. 

You became aware of your body in pieces.

The weight of your legs.

The painful throbbing in your foot and calf.

The very urgent fact that you needed the bathroom.

Badly.

“Hey, Hee,” you mumbled against him. 

His attention immediately shifted towards you. “Yeah?”

“I’ll go look for a toilet and come back, don’t move, okay?” Your arms felt heavy as you pushed yourself from the sticky counter, the stupid cape of your costume getting caught up in between your legs for a second before Heeseung reached down and straightened it out again. 

“Do you want me to come with you?” His hands reluctantly let go of your waist as you started moving towards the door. 

You shook your head, only to regret the movement a second later. “No, it’s fine. Maybe I’ll find Yeji, I wanna ask when she wants to leave.”

“Why?” His voice sounded alarmed. “Do you want to leave?”

You shook your head again, bracing yourself on his arms when you tilted a bit too far to the left. “No, I just wanna check in on her. I’ll be fine. Stay here.” 

“Are you sure?” Heeseung asked, showing no signs of actually letting you go alone.

You hummed. “Yeah, I’m fine.” 

He reluctantly let go of your waist. “Okay. I’ll wait here.” 

You nodded and made your way out of the kitchen. By the time you found the hallway, the room behind you was spinning just enough to make you regret drinking as much as you had. The floor seemed farther away than it should have been. The walls leaned slightly when you walked. 

You made it through the hallway with a careful, clumsy determination, one hand braced against the wall, when the buzz in your head tipped too far to one side.

You found the bathroom door.

Locked.

You groaned softly and leaned your forehead against the frame for a second, pressing your lips together. Of course.

You waited.

And then, after what felt like forever, the door opened to reveal your older brother.

The second he saw you, his expression changed.

“Y/N. You okay?” he asked.

You blinked at him, then gave a very serious nod that probably did not look nearly as serious as you intended. “I need to pee.”

He stared for a second, then snorted and stepped aside. “Go. I’ll wait.”

The bathroom was bright in an unpleasant way. You took your time with the door, the lock, getting your dress and the stockings as well as your hip brace out of the way before sitting down on the toilet seat. Once you were finally done, you opened the tap and splashed some water on your wrists, trying to get your head to settle.

When you came back out, Soobin was still there, leaning against the wall with his arms folded.

He looked at you for one second and immediately said, “You need water.”

You squinted at him. “I just had water. I’m fine.”

“No, you’re not.”

“I’m very fine.”

He gave you a look so flat it would have been rude if it hadn’t been completely accurate. “You are absolutely not very fine.”

You made a face, but your body was too soft and too floaty to put up any real resistance. Soobin took your hand and guided you to the sink, where he turned the tap on and held out his palm under the stream.

You frowned. “What are you doing?”

“Making you drink water.”

“I don’t want to drink water.”

“Too bad.”

He filled his cupped hand and held it up to you like he was dealing with a particularly stubborn toddler. You stared at it for a second, then sighed dramatically and leaned forward to drink from his hand, because apparently that was where your life was now.

“It’s wet,” you mumbled when you were done.

“Yes,” he said, deadpan. “That’s usually what water is.”

You made a weak face at him, and he just waited until you drank a little more before finally letting you go. The whole thing was humiliating in the gentlest possible way, and you hated that he was right, and also that you were too drunk to care properly.

When you turned away from the sink, the room gave a slow, disorienting tilt.

Soobin’s hand shot out instantly, steadying you by the elbow. “Easy. Be careful, you’ve not even been walking for a week. I don’t want to explain why we're at the hospital to Dad after you fall and hurt yourself.”

You huffed out a breath and pouted at him. “I’m walking perfectly fine, see?”

He gave you a long look. “Barely.”

“Rude.”

“You’re drunk.”

“Maybe a little.”

“A little?”

You made a face, but before you could think of a comeback, the bathroom door opened again, and the hallway noise spilt in.

And then he was there.

Heeseung.

You looked up at him a little too slowly, your brain catching up with your eyes. He stopped in the doorway when he saw you, gaze flicking immediately from your face to the hand Soobin still had near your elbow.

And then back to you.

“There you are,” he said, voice gentler than usual.

You smiled at him. “Hi.”

“You okay?”

You nodded, then swayed a little and immediately felt Soobin tense.

“I am perfectly fine,” you slurred. 

Soobin snorted beside you. “She needed water.”

Heeseung’s mouth twitched like he wanted to laugh and worry at the same time, which would have been funny if your head weren’t so fuzzy. He stepped closer and dumped out his cup, filling it with water before handing it to you. 

“Have some more,” he said quietly.

You blinked at him, then obeyed.

Soobin groaned next to you. “Why did she fight me when I tried to make her drink water, but takes it without complaints from you, Heeseung?”

Heeseung chuckled, his gaze flickering up to Soobin. “I have no idea, I’m just glad she’s drinking water. I have no idea how much Beomgyu and she have had.” You set the cup down and swiped over your chin, where some of the water that escaped the cup was dripping down. “Just a bit.” 

“A bit of everything, you mean?” Heeseung asked, raising his eyebrows.

You just shrugged. “Yes?” 

“Oh my god,” Soobin laughed in disbelief. “Beomgyu is fucked up. If she just had half of that, she had definitely had too much.”

“I know,” Heeseung said, taking one of the napkins from the sink, reaching for your face, and carefully wiping your chin. 

“My makeup,” you whined and tried to escape his gentle grip, only to wince when you put your weight onto your injured foot. 

“Mhm,” Heeseung hummed. “I'm saving your makeup, Y/N.” 

You tried to look up at Soobin, hoping he could help you. You were sure Heeseung was just smearing the blood drip that came from your lips away, destroying your vampire get-up. 

But Soobin just dropped his hand casually, stepping back. "Do you wanna come to the others? We’re upstairs."

Heeseung slid an arm around your shoulders, pulling you gently into his side after he had deemed your makeup good enough. "Sure."

The three of you weaved back into the crowd, as Soobin led you upstairs to a sagging sofa in the corner where Yeonjun lounged with Yunjin and two baseball players.

You dropped onto the cushions between Heeseung and Soobin, your leg stretched out carefully over their laps.

“Y/N! Heeseung!” Yeonjun’s face lit up when you sat down. “Do you want a drink?” 

He held out two strawberry soju bottles, but before you could reach for it, Heeseung had already shaken his head. “Nah, we're good, thanks, Yeonjun.” 

You pouted, crossing your arms. "I’m not. I can still drink."

"No," Soobin and Heeseung said in unison.

Yeonjun smirked, completely unrepentant, shrugging, taking a sip from his cup.

The group fell into easy chatter after that. 

You sank deeper into the cushions, your head lolling heavy onto Heeseung's shoulder, your cheek pressed right to the warm, bare strip of skin where his toga gaped open at the collarbone. The world spun lazily behind your closed eyes, a slow carousel of bass thumps and muffled shouts.

Heeseungs arm stayed draped casually behind you, but his fingers... god, his fingers. They traced lazy, feather-light patterns along your exposed arm first, his nails grazing your skin in tingling drags that made you hum low in your throat, a soft sound of pure contentment vibrating against his shoulder. The touch drifted lower sometimes, brushing the edge of your thigh where the red dress had ridden up, sending shivers chasing up your spine despite the room's sticky heat. Then up again, toying with a loose curl of your hair, twirling it slowly around his knuckle before combing through with his fingertips. Your Body went boneless, fully resting against him, every muscle melting into the solid line of his frame.

Your eyelids grew heavier with every pass of his fingers, drooping like they were lined with lead.

Heeseung shifted slightly beneath you. "You okay?" 

You hummed, not bothering to lift your head or open your eyes. 

"M'completely okay," you slurred softly, a sleepy smile tugging your lips despite the spin. "World's just... turning."

He chuckled quietly, the vibration rumbling through his chest into yours, his fingers never stopping their soothing trail, now combing slowly through your hair properly, his nails grazing your scalp. "Yeah, I figured. You drank a lot."

You nodded, or tried to, mostly just nuzzling deeper into him. 

“Because Beomguy made me,” you mumbled, suddenly remembering you promised Beonguy to play beer pong with him.

Pushing yourself up from the sofa with sudden determination, you ignored the way your legs were wobbling under the sudden weight and the room that tilted to the side. 

Heeseung's head snapped up immediately, his arm shooting out to stabilise you, one hand firm on your waist, the other catching your elbow as he rose halfway with you. "Whoa, easy." 

"I'm gonna find Gyu," you blurted, already tring to step forward. “I promised him we would play beer pong!”. 

Soobin half-rose too, his hand outstretched like he was about to grab your arm. "Wait, Y/N–no, you're–"

Heeseung was faster, shifting between you two, his grip on your waist tightening protective as he shot Soobin a quick, calm look over his shoulder. "I've got her. No worries, Hyung.”

His tone was light but firm, brooking no argument, arm already guiding you steady as you leaned into him.

Soobin hesitated, mouth opening then closing. ⋆꙳❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔*:･*❆ ₊꙳❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔*:･*❆

There was no chance for you to find Beomgyu in the mess the party had turned into. After a while, you ended up back in the kitchen, Heeseung making you drink another cup of water before drowning one himself. 

Your hands fisted lightly in the draped fabric of his toga, right over his chest, where you could feel the steady thump of his heart picking up under your palms. God, he looked unreal up close, the tousled dark hair framing his face, the white fabric dipping low enough to show the sharp cut of his collarbone, sweat from the party making his skin glisten faintly. 

"You look so hot," you breathed again, the words spilling out unfiltered, your grin wobbly but genuine, voice thick with drunken awe. "Like... stupid hot."

Heeseung laughed, low and rough, a little strained at the edges, but his free hand came up anyway. "Still on that, huh?" he teased, voice dropping softer, his thumb brushin along your arm in a way that made your skin tingle. His gaze roamed your face openly now, taking in the red-smeared lipstick, the fake fangs peeking from your parted lips, the flush high on your cheeks. "You're not so bad yourself, Dracula."

Emboldened by the look, by the way he was holding you, you pulled him closer, bodies flush in the cramped kitchen corner..

"I wanna kiss you." 

The confession hung there, your breath ghosting his skin as you tilted your chin up, eyes locked on his mouth. "Right now. Really bad."

His breath hitched audibly, his laugh turning into something deeper, more ragged, his eyes darkening as they dropped to your lips, watching them part slightly. For a heartbeat, you thought he might give in, the air between you thickening with want. But then he shook his head slowly and deliberately, even as his body betrayed him, leaning in just a fraction closer. 

"No," he murmured, the word soft but firm, laced with regret. His hand slid up from your elbow to cup your jaw gently, thumb tracing the curve of it. "You're drunk, baby. We can't."

The refusal landed like a soft punch, genuine upset blooming in your chest. Your face crumpled into a pout without thinking, your eyes stinging a little as you pulled back just enough to search his face. 

"Why not?" you whispered, your voice small and slurred. "I know you want to kiss me too." 

It wasn't a question. 

You knew he did. 

The way he had been looking at you all night, the way he was touching you all night, the way your body ached for it.

"You do, right? Tell me."

Heeseung's expression softened instantly. He laughed again, not mockingly, but warm, tender, like you were the most precious thing in the room. His hands moved then, both of them cradling your face fully. His big palms cupping your cheeks with infinite care, thumbs stroking in soothing drags along your cheekbones. He tilted your head up gently, his forehead dipping to brush yours, noses nudging in the space between you, his breath warm against your lips. 

He was close enough to taste if you leaned forward. 

"Yeah," he breathed, voice gravelly and honest, eyes locked on yours with raw intensity. "I do. Fuck, Y/N. I want to kiss you so bad it hurts. Have for weeks. Every time you're near me like this..." His thumbs traced lower, feather-light over your jaw, then back up, sending shivers chasing down your spine. "But not when you're this drunk. Not when you can barely walk straight. I want you sober. I want you to remember every second."

Your pout deepened, but the upset ebbed under his touch. He was right, you were drunk, maybe too drunk to comprehend everything that was happening around you, but you wanted this. You wanted him. 

With a huff, you pulled back just enough to plant your feet with drunken determination to prove him wrong. "I can walk straight. Watch." You took one wobbly step away from him, but pain burst up from your ankle, and the room tilted hard enough to make stars burst behind your eyes.

Heeseung's brow arched sceptically, amused, one arm shooting out to catch you before you could topple over, pulling you right back into his chest with effortless strength. "Yeah? That's straight?"

You collapsed against him with a sheepish whine, face buried in his shoulder. "Okay, fine. My foot hurts. That's why. Not 'cause I'm that drunk." 

He chuckled softly, his hands caressing the back of your head, smoothing down your hair. "Sure it is. Blame the foot all you want." He pressed a kiss against your head. "Tomorrow. Sober Y/N gets the kiss. Deal?"

You nodded against him and sighed. “Deal,"

You could have stayed like that forever, drunk and dizzy and wrapped in him, but the moment broke when a voice cut through the room, loud and breathless. “Heeseung. There you are.”

Jay appeared in the doorway looking alarmed. His eyes flicked from Heeseung to you and then back again.

“What’s wrong?” Heeseung asked immediately.

Jay looked back towards the hallway, jaw tight. “Yeonhee," he said, swallowing once. “She got drugged. The ambulance is here.”

Your breath got stuck in your throat, and Heeseung’s face changed at once, all softness snapping into alert focus. “What?”

“Sunghoon’s freaking out,” Jay said, voice clipped with urgency. 

Heeseung was already moving, but not without you.

His hand found your waist again, careful and automatic, and he glanced down at you with a quick check of your face. “Can you come with me?”

You nodded, still a little dazed, the edges of the room fuzzy and bright. “Yeah.”

He kept you close as the three of you moved toward the front, Jay leading the way through the growing knot of people near the door. By the time you got outside, the ambulance lights were already flashing across the driveway, bright and harsh against the dark.

The moment they hit your eyes, your whole body went rigid.

The world, already soft and unsteady from the alcohol, seemed to lurch sideways. The lights burned too sharply across your vision, and your focus slipped instantly, your stomach turning in a way that had nothing to do with the alcohol.

You tried to focus on something simple, anything simple, but the lights kept strobing across your vision, and the driveway seemed to tilt under your feet. 

You needed to stop moving.

You knew that much. 

If you kept walking, it was only going to get worse.

You tried to ground yourself, tried to plant your feet and tell your body to settle, but the combination of the alcohol, the lights, and the sudden wrongness in your chest made it hard to hold onto anything.

Your grip tightened on Heeseungs sleeve.

You wanted to tell him to stop, to just stop for a second, because if you could get away from the lights, if you could stand still and breathe, maybe you could pull yourself back before it swallowed you.

Instead, all you managed was a shaky breath and a hard blink against the blur creeping in at the edges of your vision, accompanied by a low buzzing in your ears.

You hated how fast it was happening.

Hated that you could feel yourself sliding even though you were trying so hard not to.

And worst of all, you could tell you were already reaching the point where you needed him to understand without you being able to say much at all.

You felt Heeseung move in front of you, felt the shift of his body as he tried to block the lights from your view, but it was already too late. 

You tried to focus on him anyway.

His face was right there, close enough that you should have been able to lock onto it.

You swallowed, trying to tell yourself it was fine, that you were fine, that you just needed to breathe and the lights would stop. 

The motion around you had become strangely distant, like everything was happening a few steps away from your own body.

One moment, you were still trying to fight the panic, and the next, you realised Heeseung had moved you somewhere quieter. The flashing lights were gone. The harsh brightness had fallen away. You were being guided down, carefully and with surprising steadiness, until your legs folded and you found yourself sitting on the floor.

The coolness of it helped a little.

So did the dark.

Heeseung crouched in front of you, his voice low and even. It took a moment for the ringing in your ears to fade enough that his words started to make sense again, but once they did, you felt yourself loosen by a fraction.

Your shoulders were still tight, your pulse still too fast, but the worst of the sharp, dizzy terror had started to fade. When you finally looked up, Heeseung was watching you carefully, face soft with concern.

“Is Yeonhee okay?” you asked first, voice small and rough.

Heeseung nodded right away. “I think so,” he said gently. “Sunghoon’s with her. She’s not alone.”

You let out a shaky breath and nodded weakly, but the motion made your head feel heavy, so you dropped it against your knees for a second instead. It wasn’t graceful, and when you shifted a little, a jolt of pain burst through your ankle, and a small whine slipped out of your mouth. 

Heeseung noticed immediately. Of course he did.

“Hey,” he said quietly. “Do you want to go home?”

You blinked at the floor, still trying to collect yourself. “My phone’s at Yejis,” you murmured. “And I have no idea where she is.”

Heeseung was silent for half a beat, then his tone softened even more.

“I want to bring you home,” he said. “To my place. Just so I can make sure you’re okay.”

That made something in your chest ease at once.

You looked up at him then, and the relief on your face was probably obvious because he softened in response almost immediately.

You nodded.

“Come on,” he murmured, voice low and coaxing, one hand sliding down to lace his fingers with yours while the other stayed at your waist. “Let’s get your jacket.”

You nodded, but the motion felt slow and fuzzy, like your brain had to think through syrup just to process his words. 

Heeseung guided you back through the crowd toward the entryway where you’d left your coat, moving carefully so you didn’t get jostled too hard. The noise of the party pressed in from every direction, but it felt distant now, muffled and warped, like you were hearing it from underwater. His hand stayed warm around yours the whole time, steadying you whenever the room tilted a bit.

He found your black puffer jacket crumpled over a chair and shook it out before helping you into it. You were clumsy with the sleeves, your fingers not quite listening properly.

“There,” he said softly, guiding your arms into the right position, before pulling the zipper up. 

You let him do it, blinking too slowly, trying to focus on his face and failing every so often when the dizziness rolled back through you. 

The jacket felt good, though. 

Heavy and warm. 

Safe.

“Better?” he asked.

You made a small noise that was supposed to be a yes, but it came out more like a tired hum.

⋆꙳❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔*:･*❆ ₊꙳❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔*:･*❆

The walk back to his dorm was slow, almost painfully so. He matched your pace without comment, deliberately keeping it easy for you, one arm hovering near you whenever the pavement dipped or your steps wobbled. 

“Can we–” You stopped and swallowed, trying to gather the words. “Can we take a quick break? My foot really hurts. I just need to sit for a second.”

His expression changed instantly.

He looked down at you, then at the damp ground nearby, and visibly rejected the idea of letting you sit on the cold pavement. “Or,” he said carefully, “I could just give you a piggyback ride.”

You blinked at him, the suggestion taking a second to reach you. “You want me on your back?”

“I want you off your foot,” he said. “That ground is cold.”

You stared at him for a moment. You’ve had enough time to sober up at least a bit, though the world was still a bit wobbly around the edges, to know that he was probably right. If you didn’t want to end up with a bladder infection, sitting on the floor was not an option. “Okay.”

He crouched in front of you, and you climbed on with more effort than you would’ve liked, arms looping around his neck and your bad leg angled awkwardly so it wouldn’t take too much pressure. 

He slowly, carefully straightened up again, adjusting his grip under your thighs, and kept going.

You pressed your cheek against his shoulder, your mouth opening up, talking before your brain could stop it. “You’re really strong.”

He laughed under his breath, but you could hear the warmth in it. Your body was still buzzing oddly. For a second, you wished you hadn’t drunk that much, you had drunk nothing at all, so you could take something to ease the pain pulsing in your leg. 

It wasn’t unbearable yet, but close to getting there. 

Every beat of your heart seemed to pulse ten times as strongly in your ankle and calf. You closed your eyes and tried breathing against the pain, tried to ignore it, but it was no use. 

“Mmm,” you murmured after a minute, your voice sounding slurred even to your own ears. “It hurts.”

He went a little quieter at that. “I know.”

You tucked your face closer into his neck, breathing in the faint, clean scent of him and the trace of party air still on his skin. “You smell so good,” you whispered, more because your brain had latched onto the thought than because you meant to say it out loud.

He gave a startled little laugh. “You’re ridiculous.”

You didn’t answer right away, just kept breathing deeply, trying to stop thinking about the pain, but even while Heeseung was carrying you, the world did not stop turning. For a second, you wished you could touch the floor, just to see if it was the movement of his steps or your head that made everything feel like you were on a boat within rogue waters. “Beomgyu got me so drunk.”

He huffed a quiet laugh, rubbing your arm through the jacket. “I tried to stop you.”

“Not hard enough,” you mumbled, very unimpressed.

“I literally kept taking drinks out of your hand. You were very insistent on drinking even more.”

You made a small sound and nuzzled closer. “You should have been more insistent on taking away my drinks. The world is turning.”

He continued walking at that same careful pace, your weight settled against his back, and your breathing slowly evened out as the night grew quieter around you. The movement was soothing in a way you hadn’t expected, the steady rhythm of his steps and the warmth of his shoulder against your cheek making your eyelids feel heavier and heavier.

At some point, your grip around his neck loosened a little.

Your head tilted more fully against him, the world around you softening into a blur of streetlights and dark campus paths. His shoulder was warm and solid under your face, and before you really meant to, you started to drift.

He just adjusted his hold a little, making sure you stayed comfortable as your body went heavier against him.

A minute later, you stirred and mumbled, your voice muffled against his shoulder. “Sorry.”

He glanced back slightly, enough that you could feel the movement more than see it. “For what?”

“For the panic attack,” you said, the words coming slow and thick. “And for you having to deal with me.”

Heeseung went quiet for a second, and then he shook his head once, gently and definitely.

“It’s no problem,” he said.

The answer came so easily that it made your chest ache in the softest way.

You frowned a little, still not quite awake enough to argue. “Still… annoying.”

He let out a quiet laugh, the sound low and warm under you. “You are not annoying.”

You made a tiny noise of disagreement, but it came out sleepy and weak, and your cheek settled back against his shoulder before you could really push the point.

He shifted you slightly higher on his back, careful with your bad leg, and kept walking.

“It’s really fine,” he said again, softer this time. “You don’t have to apologise to me.”

That was the last thing you clearly heard before your thoughts started to drift again, the comfort of his voice and the steady motion of his steps pulling you gently under.

⋆꙳❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔*:･*❆ ₊꙳❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔*:･*❆

Heeseung punched in the pin to his apartment with one hand, adjusting you with the other against his back. You had grown silent a while ago, and he wasn’t sure if you had fallen asleep or if you just didn’t feel like talking. 

He had learned that whenever you weren’t feeling well, you weren’t talking much, tensing up whenever you did. But right now, your body was lax against his, your front slumped against his as you were still breathing against his neck. 

He shuffled his sneakers off and carried you into his room, the dim light of the street lamps outside helping him avoid bumping into any furniture on the way there. 

Shifting his grip around your thighs, he carefully lowered you onto his bed. 

“I’m so tired,” you mumbled, crossing your arms over your face. “I don’t wanna move anymore.”

He sat down next to you, catching his breath and massaging his thighs for a second, as he looked at you sprawled out on his sheets. “You’re going to have to move a little,” he said gently. “Don’t you want to get out of that dress? It looks tight. You’ll hate sleeping in it.”

You pouted up at him, eyes big and glassy. “But it’s so comfy here.”

He rolled his eyes, but the fondness was impossible to hide. “You still have your hip brace on as well, Y/N,” he reminded you. “If I let you knock out like this, you’ll complain all day tomorrow. Come on, I’ll help. Just a bit.”

You huffed, but after a moment, you pushed yourself up, swaying slightly as you did. The short trip home and the litre of water he and Soobin had convinced you to drink had done a bit at sobering you up, but you still seemed pretty out of it. “Can you open the dress?” You asked, your arms moving towards the brace on your foot, before you unceremoniously ripped open the velcro strips to pull your foot out of the plastic shell and let it drop to the floor. Heeseung winced at the sound; his downstairs neighbours were surely not amused about the two of you being this loud at four am. 

He still stepped closer, one hand instinctively coming up to steady you by your cheek, thumb brushing over your skin. “Alright,” he said quietly. “Can you turn around for me?”

You nodded and did as he asked, presenting your back to him.

He eased the zipper down slowly, careful not to tug too hard. As the fabric loosened and slipped, more of your back came into view. His eyes caught on the scars and the faint bluish bruises blooming along your skin from physio, and for a second, his hands stilled.

“Do you want to ice your foot? Or your side?” He asked, helping you guide the dress over your head. 

You hummed and shook your head. “No, I want to sleep.” 

Heeseung laughed lowly before his gaze dropped to your hip, where your brace was still digging into the soft flesh on your side.

He hesitated for half a heartbeat before touching the strap.

It was surprisingly snug around your hip and lower side, the material tight under his fingers. He moved slowly, very slowly, undoing the fastening with the kind of care that made his own pulse thud in his ears. The room felt quiet, the only sounds were the faint rustle of fabric and your slow breathing.

When the brace loosened, the skin underneath was warm and tender-looking, marked by the roughened texture and dull dents that came from something being worn too long. Heeseung’s fingers paused there, hovering just over the edge of it.

“It’s ugly, isn’t it?” Your voice was rough, and he saw you swallow. For a second, he was afraid you would have to throw up before your words reached his brain. 

His chest tightened when they did, and he forced himself to move again. “It’s not ugly,” he said, his voice low but firm. “It looks a bit uncomfortable, yes, but not ugly.”

You let out a sarcastic little huff. “Sure.”

“I’m serious,” he insisted, carefully unwinding one of the straps. “Your scars don’t make you ugly, Y/N.”

The strap came free, and when his fingers brushed over the bare skin of your hip, he felt the slight unevenness there. The texture caught under his fingertips for a second, and his hand stilled again.

He had the absurd, immediate urge to smooth it away somehow.

To erase every mark. Every bruise. Every rough line. Every ugly thing that had ever made you look at yourself like you had to apologise for existing in your own body.

He eased the brace fully off with careful hands and set it aside before he hesitantly put his hands to your hip, the skin warm against his palm. 

You leaned into his touch, your back resting against his chest. “I hate the way they look. Sometimes I can’t look at myself in the mirror without being disgusted.”

Heeseung had to close his eyes for a second, trying to stop them from burning the way they were right now. He didn’t know what to say to that, what he had to say so you would believe him, what to say to change your mind. 

“You don’t have to like how they look,” he said quietly, his fingers slowly caressing your hip. “You don’t have to pretend that you do. But I need you to hear me when I say this: they do not make you disgusting. They do not make you less beautiful. And they definitely do not make me see you any differently.”

Your shoulders shifted against his chest, and he took that as a sign to keep going. He kept his voice soft. “You’ve been through something brutal. Your body is healing. Of course, it looks different. Of course, it feels strange. That doesn’t mean it’s wrong.”

You looked away, jaw tightening, and he could tell you were fighting the urge to dismiss him.

He wrapped his arms around your waist, resting his chin against your shoulder. “I know it’s hard,” he murmured. “And I know it probably feels impossible to hear this right now. But when I look at you, I don’t see something ugly. I see you. I see the person I care about who is tired and hurting and still so, so pretty.”

You swallowed, and for a second, the only sound in the room was the quiet of the apartment and the faint hum of the night outside.

Then you gave a weak little laugh that didn’t sound amused at all. “I wish you were lying, that would make it so much easier for me.”

He let out a soft breath through his nose, almost a laugh. “No, it wouldn’t, and that’s okay.”

That made you glance up at him, just slightly.

He smiled, small and tired and honest. “I just mean it.”

His thumb brushed once over your hip, gentle enough that it barely moved the skin. “And if you can’t look at yourself, then that’s okay. You don’t have to force yourself. You can borrow my eyes for a while and see how gorgeous you are to me, scars or no scars.”

You nodded in tiny movements, your hand coming up to his, before pulling it from your skin and intertwining your hands. 

Heeseung moved his head to the side, kissing your forehead, lingering there for a second before pulling back. “Come on,” he whispered. “Let’s get you into bed.”

You nodded faintly, letting him help you sit down on his bed before he turned around to get you one of his T-shirts and soft shorts. When he turned back, you were already halfway to flopping back onto the bed again, only stopped by his quick step forward.

“Hey, hey,” he laughed, catching your shoulder. “Not yet. Shirt first.”

You whined under your breath, but obediently sat up and lifted your arms, so he could tuck the shirt over your head. The second it was on and decently covering you, you immediately dropped back onto the mattress with a dramatic groan.

“The light is so bright,” you complained, throwing an arm over your face. “I don’t wanna move anymore.”

He glanced at your face, the white streaky makeup and the red lipstick he had tried to savour at the party were still smeared on your face. His hand reached forward, and he smeared the lipstick even more, a red streak now on your cheek. “You still have to get your makeup off and brush your teeth, Y/N.”

“I’ll do it tomorrow,” you mumbled against his fingers. 

He let his finger stay where they were for a second, pulling your chin down a bit and opening your mouth before shaking his head. 

“Hold on,” he muttered fondly. 

He disappeared into the bathroom and returned with a pack of makeup wipes. You peeked at him from under your arm, eyes squinting. “What’re you doing?”

“Saving you from waking up with raccoon eyes.” He sat on the edge of the bed and gently nudged your arm aside. “Close your eyes.”

You obeyed, your face going soft as you relaxed into the pillow. He peeled a wipe from the packet and brought it to your cheek, moving slowly and carefully. The moment the cool, damp cloth touched your skin, you sighed and leaned into his hand, pressing your face against his palm.

“Feels nice,” you mumbled, a little sing-song, the words blurring at the edges.

He huffed out a quiet laugh. “Yeah?”

You hummed something under your breath as he worked, thumbs and fingers framing your jaw while he wiped away the makeup as gently as he could. He took his time around your eyes, making sure not to tug too hard, his touch so light it was barely there. You kept pushing your face into his hand, like a cat seeking more contact, and every small, sleepy noise you made went straight to his chest.

“There,” he said softly when he was done, tossing the used wipe into the bin. “All clean.”

You cracked one eye open. “Thank you,” you murmured and watched him toss the wipe into his trash can.

“No worries,” he said, giving you a small smile. “Do you want water?”

You frowned. “You already made me drink like a lake.”

He gave you a look. “I’m actively trying to avoid you waking up with a hangover, idiot.”

“You’re calling me an idiot?”

“Yes.”

You stared at him for a second, then flung one arm over your eyes. “You’re annoying.”

“And yet,” he said, mixing one of his electrolytes into a water bottle, “you keep me around.”

“Maybe I am an idiot then,” you joked and sat up again, swaying a bit to the side before catching yourself. 

“A drunk idiot,” Heeseung said, passing you the bottle. “Bottoms up, Dracula.” 

You took a deep breath and hummed before drowning the bottle almost in one go. If he weren’t as worried about it coming back up again, together with whatever you had eaten and drunk today, he would have been impressed. 

You smacked your lips onto each other before closing the bottle. “I gotta pee.” 

“Okay, let's go,” he offered you a hand. 

⋆꙳❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔*:･*❆ ₊꙳❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔*:･*❆

When you finally crawled back into bed, after peeing, brushing your teeth, and surprisingly washing your face and finishing your usual skin care routine, you just shuffled closer until you were pressed against his side, your head finding its place on his chest. “I feel so sleepy,” you murmured, words slurring as you nuzzled deeper into him. “Then close your eyes and sleep,” he said quietly, resting his chin lightly on top of your head. He let his hand drift up and down your arm in slow, soothing strokes, feeling the goosebumps rise under his fingertips. After a few minutes, your breathing began to even out. He thought you had fallen asleep, only to startle when you suddenly spoke again. “Do you really mean it?” you asked, your voice small. “About what?” You hesitated, then lifted one hand a few inches off his chest in a vague motion toward yourself. “All of it.” Heeseung’s expression softened in a way that was almost painful. “Every bit of it,” he said. “You’re still you. Scars, bruises, braces, all of it. None of that changes how I see you.” You grew silent again, your fingers tightening and relaxing in his shirt.  “Don’t leave.” He kissed the top of your head. “I’m not going anywhere.” And he meant it. He stayed right there with you, one hand in your hair and the other resting warm over your hip, until your breathing finally deepened and the apartment went quiet around the two of you.

⋆꙳❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔*:･*❆ ₊꙳❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔*:･*❆

Heeseung felt you move before he was fully awake. The mattress shifted under your weight, and his eyes cracked open just enough to catch the shape of you sitting up beside him, one hand already reaching instinctively toward the bedside as if you were still in your own room. Then you froze. He blinked through sleep, his voice rough when he asked, “What’s up?” You didn’t turn fully toward him. “Go back to sleep.” He made a small sound of agreement, too sleepy to argue, and let his eyes close again. A soft, pained sound escaped you, and Hee cracked his eye open again to check what was going on. You were trying so hard to be quiet. He could tell it in the careful way you moved, the soft scrape of the sheets as you scooted toward the edge of the bed. He watched the moment you set your feet down, watched your eyes flutter close, and your face scrunch up in pain. You paused before leaning forward, trying to stand up, and almost falling forward. Your weight barely left the bed before your leg gave out under you, and you caught yourself on the mattress with a sharp hiss through your teeth. He was sitting up before he had fully decided to, his arms moving forward in a futile attempt to catch you before you fell, only to let his arms drop when you sat down on the edge of the bed again. You looked down at your foot like it had betrayed you, your face already tightening in pain and frustration. “Hey,” he said immediately, fully awake now, his voice low and alert. “Hey, don’t move.” You just shook your head. “It’s fine,” you muttered. “It does not look fine.” You gave him a tired glare that had no real force behind it. “I just need to pee.” That almost made him smile, but he was too worried about the fact that you were unable to stand on your own right now. He shifted closer, hand lifting toward you. “Okay,” he said gently. “Then let me help you.” You opened your mouth, probably to protest on principle, but the moment you tried to straighten again, your face pinched with pain, and the protest died there. “Fuck”, you let out a slow breath and leaned into him with a quiet, frustrated little sound.

He carefully eased you upright, keeping most of your weight off the injured foot. You clutched at his shirt, and he tightened his hold just enough to keep you steady. “Can you put any weight on it at all?” he asked once he had you in a standing position, most of your body leaned into him. You shook your head, jaw clenched. “Not really.”

“Okay,” he shrugged, as if this wasn’t something to worry about, as if this was just a typical morning. It probably was for you at some point. “Do you want me to carry you?” Your immediate expression answered for you before your mouth did. “Don’t look at me like that,” he said. “You can barely stand.” “I can stand.” You tried to prove it on instinct and immediately winced again when you shifted your weight. He raised a brow. You glared at him. “Shut up.” He almost laughed this time. “That sounded like a no.” You muttered something under your breath that he chose not to challenge, because he already had a pretty good feeling you were somewhere between embarrassed and stubborn enough to refuse if he pressed too hard. So he leaned in, kissed your forehead once, and said, “I’m carrying you.”

You looked like you wanted to argue for the sake of arguing, but then your shoulders sagged, and you gave in with a miserable sigh. “Fine.” He slid closer, one arm under your back, the other under your knees. He was honestly surprised at how well his arms were cooperating after having carried you to his dorms for almost half an hour yesterday. You made a quiet sound and instinctively curled closer to him, one hand braced lightly against his shoulder. He held you like that for the short walk to the bathroom. And as much as you probably hated it, you let him. He set you down on the closed toilet lid and made his way to the kitchen to get something to eat and your painkillers. After a few minutes, he had warmed up the last bowl of instant rice he found in their pantry and put everything in his room before making it back to the bathroom. 

It was quiet for a while, just the running tap, the soft scrape of the sink, the sound of the toothbrush against the cup coming from behind the closed door. He was staring at the framed jersey hanging in the hallway, his eyes tracing over the letters, when your voice startled you into moving. “I’m done.” Heeseung hummed and carefully opened the door, taking in your figure sitting on the closed toilet seat. Your face was washed clean, your hair a little damp at the edges, and your eyes looked tired in a way that went deeper than sleep. He didn’t say anything right away. He just stepped closer and bent to lift you without warning. You made a tiny startled sound, but the second he had you in his arms, you buried your face against his neck and clung to him. He carried you back to the bed and sat down with you still pressed against him. When he tried to set you down, your arms tightened around his neck, and he realised you were crying. Small tremors shook your body, pressed against his. His chest tightened, but he didn’t say anything about it. He just settled more comfortably against the headboard and let you stay exactly where you were, one arm wrapped around you while the other moved slowly through your hair. After a minute, he quietly told you, “I brought something to eat. And your painkillers.” You pulled your face out of his neck then, sniffling a little as you rested your forehead against his shoulder instead. Your voice came out rough and small when you answered. “Thank you.” He pressed a kiss to your hair. “You don’t have to thank me for this.” You shook your head weakly, still tucked into him. “I do.” Heeseung could feel the tears building in your voice before you said the rest. “I feel so shitty,” you murmured. “I’m sorry. I’m such a burden.” Heeseung went still for half a second. He felt a pang in his chest at the words, at how wrecked you sounded saying them. “You are not a burden,” he said, low and certain. You gave a shaky breath that almost became a laugh, but didn’t. “I probably ruined your evening.” He frowned a little. “You didn’t ruin anything.” “I did,” you insisted, though weaker now. “You were supposed to be there for Sunghoon, and then I got drunk and had a panic attack and–” He cut in gently, thumb brushing over your hairline. “And I was here because you needed me.” That seemed to catch you off guard, because you went quiet for a moment.

He kept his voice calm. “You do not have to apologise for having a hard night. You do not have to apologise for being in pain. And you definitely do not have to apologise for me choosing to stay.”

Your breathing stuttered once, then steadied a little against his shoulder. He looked down at you carefully, trying to catch your eyes without pushing too hard. “I can care about Sunghoon and care about you at the same time. Those things do not cancel each other out.” You swallowed, looking small in his lap, your hands fisted lightly in his shirt. A tear slipped down your cheek, and he wiped it away with his thumb. “I’m serious,” he said. “I wanted to be there with you.” Your eyes stayed on his for a beat, wet and red-rimmed. Then your face crumpled a little more, and you leaned back into him again, hiding in his shoulder as more tears made their way into his t-shirt.

He stayed still while you cried, one hand moving in slow strokes through your hair, the other resting firmly at your back. He knew there was nothing that would make you feel better, no words to ease the pain away. After a while, he stretched his arm towards his bedside table and nudged the bowl toward you a little and murmured, “Eat a few bites, okay?” You made a weak protesting noise, but he could feel the tiny nod you gave anyway. “Good,” he said softly. “Then we’ll take the medicine and go back to sleep, Y/N. Maybe that will help a bit.”

That got the faintest, most tired little huff out of you. He offered you a spoon, and you took it without protest, chewing the plain rice, while he ate one himself. The rice had grown cold already, but neither of you cared. When you swallowed and leaned back into his chest again, your voice came out soft. “How are Sunghoon and his girlfriend?” Heeseung gave a small breath through his nose, the corner of his mouth twitching. “His girlfriend?” You lifted your head a little, looking at him with your eyebrows scrunched together. “Yeah?” He shook his head and reached forward with his finger, drying the last streaks of tears from your cheeks, ignoring the puffiness around your eyes. “Yeonhee is Sunghoon’s roommate, not his girlfriend.” That made you pause, then blink at him in confusion. “Oh.” “Yeah,” he said, gently amused. “They are still in the hospital, but she woke up, and Sunghoon said she is shaken but okay. Or as okay as someone can be after being drugged.” Your face changed at that, a pout forming on your lips as you adjusted yourself in his lap. “She has to be feeling awful. I don’t even want to imagine getting drugged; it must be so scary.”

Heeseung took a deep breath but nodded. “Jay, Jake and I kinda convinced her to come,” he muttered quietly. “Or, well, we invited her. I feel really bad about it now if I’m honest.” He hadn’t had much time to think about it, but he felt genuinely awful for even asking her to come. Sunghoon had texted updates into their group chat, letting them know how she was doing and blaming himself, when he definitely wasn’t the one at fault; it was all four of them. You shifted before he could pull too far into that thought, moving so you could cradle his face in both hands.

The touch startled him a little, not because it was unwelcome, but because it was so direct. “There is nothing to feel guilty for,” you told him softly. “No one could have known she’d get drugged.” Heeseung held your gaze for a second, and something in his chest loosened just a little. You were right, of course. He knew that. But knowing it and feeling it were different things. Your fingers brushed lightly over his cheeks, and he leaned into them before he could stop himself. “Seriously,” you murmured, smiling faintly. “You didn’t do anything wrong.” He let out a slow breath. “I know. I still feel bad about it.” “Mhm,” you hummed and kept your hands on his face for another moment before letting them fall back to his shoulders, your eyes not leaving his, and he immediately reached for you again, his hands wrapping around your wrist. 

The two stayed like this for a while, just staring at each other, letting the silence sit between them. “Are you feeling hungover?” he asked, his voice just above a whisper. You made a small face, almost offended. “No.” He arched a brow, amused. “No?” “No,” you repeated, a little firmer this time. “You basically pumped a gallon of water into me.” That pulled a quiet laugh out of him, low and warm. He tilted his head. “Right,” he said. “Because you were very cooperative about that.” You huffed, though there was no real bite in it. “I was drunk.” “Very drunk,” he corrected, his voice still quiet. You looked away, suddenly very interested in the blanket. “Whatever. At least I had fun.” That made him go soft all over again. He liked looking at you like this. Not in a way that made him restless or hungry, though that was there too sometimes, but in a way that made his chest ache with how much he cared. He could spend an hour just watching your expressions change and still feel like he hadn’t taken enough of you in. Heeseung found himself studying every little thing: the shape of your mouth, the tired softness around your eyes, the small blush on your cheeks. His gaze drifted over your face again, slower this time, almost reverent. You looked beautiful when you were annoyed, beautiful when you were sleepy, beautiful when you were trying not to smile and failing. But right now, with your shoulders loose and your eyes on him, there was something almost unbearably tender about you.

He leaned in until his forehead rested against yours, the space between you shrinking down to almost nothing. “You really did have fun,” he murmured, mostly to himself. You gave a faint hum, your eyes searching his face like you were trying to catch what he was thinking. He smiled a little, then let his thumb move over your cheek in a slow, absent stroke. He couldn’t help it. “You were cute when you were drunk,” he said, voice low and fond. Your face screwed up instantly in protest, even though he could tell you didn’t really mean it. “You were.” You made a tiny, frustrated sound, but he caught the way your mouth kept trying to smile. And because he was still looking at you, really looking, he saw the exact second your annoyance melted back into something shy and pleased. He had to suppress a grin at that and let his hands slide a little higher on your back, holding you closer. He thought, not for the first time, that it was impossible how you could look this gentle and still be so strong. How someone could hold that much pain and still laugh the way you did. How someone could look at him like he was the best thing that happened to them. His thumb traced once along your jaw. “Looking at you,” he said quietly, “is kind of unfair.” You blinked up at him, confused. “Why?” He smiled, a little helplessly. “Because you keep making it hard to think about anything else.” That earned him a look that was equal parts shy and accusing, and he could tell you wanted to respond with something biting but stayed silent.

So instead, you just stayed there, looking back at him. And Heeseung, still gazing at your face with all the softness he had, leaned in and kissed you. Your breath caught, just a little, before you melted into it with a soft little sound against his mouth that made his whole body go warm all at once. The kiss was gentle at first, careful and almost shy. It was awkward for about half a second, just enough for you both to pause and breathe out a tiny laugh against each other’s mouths, but then Heeseung’s hand settled more firmly at your waist, and you shifted closer on instinct. You adjusted, hissing softly when your hip bumped into him, and Heeseung pulled back immediately, brows knitting in concern. “Sorry, sorry.” “No,” you whispered, already shaking your head, your hand finding his shoulder to keep him from moving away completely. “Just–wait.” He stopped instantly. You shifted your legs a little, trying to find a position that didn’t make your hips or ankle complain. Once you were settled properly against him, you kissed him again. This time it was smoother. Softer. Less hesitant. His thumb traced a small circle against your side, and you sighed into him, not breaking the kiss, the sound went straight through him. It was slow and warm and sweet in a way that made his chest feel full. Not rushed. Not desperate. Just comfortable, like the two of you had both been waiting for this, and neither of you wanted to waste it. When you pulled back, it was only just enough for air, your forehead still hovering close to his. Heeseung’s hand stayed at your hip, thumb moving in slow circles there as he looked at you like he was still a little stunned by the fact that this was happening at all. You were breathing a little unevenly, eyes heavy and warm and fixed on him. He couldn’t help the small, helpless smile that spread across his face. And then, because neither of you seemed capable of saying anything sensible yet, he kissed you again. When he pulled back, it was only far enough to rest his forehead against yours again. “You really were adorable,” he said, voice low and amused. You let out a tiny, helpless whine and buried your face in his shoulder again, but he could feel the smile you were trying to hide. He kissed your hair once and held you close, still grinning.

⋆꙳❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔*:･*❆ ₊꙳❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔*:･*❆

Heeseung woke up from the insistent ringing of his phone. You were curled against his chest, your leg lying on top of his thigh, the cooling pack you had put onto your ankle now resting on his bed sheets. The condensation on it had seeped into his bedsheet, darkening the fabric around it. 

Without opening his eyes, he felt for his phone, accepting the call. “Hello?” “Heeseung.” Your dad's voice came from the speaker, tight and angry. “Is Y/N with you?” He ripped both of his eyes open, blinking against the sunlight that was coming from the window. “Yeah?” He cursed himself for letting his answer sound like a question. “I mean, yes, yes, she’s here.” Heeseung felt you tense. “Bring her home. Now.” “I–okay? Yes, of course,” Heeseung swallowed hard and watched you sit up, staring at him with your eyes wide open. Your dad hung up without saying another word, and the two of you just stared at each other for a second before hurrying out of bed. 

⋆꙳❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔*:･*❆ ₊꙳❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔*:･*❆

Your dad was waiting in the hallway. You had taken the double dose of painkiller, hoping they would work well enough so you could hide your limp from him, just before you climbed into Heeseung's car. It wasn’t working as well as you hoped, but your father was apparently too angry to even notice that. “Where were you?” he asked sharply. You blinked at him, a bit startled. “Dad, I–” “Don’t start,” he cut you off, before you could even start talking. “You lied to us, disappeared to a party, stayed over at some boy’s place, didn’t tell anyone where you were, and now one of the girls there has been drugged.” He kept going, voice rising with every word. “Do you understand how sick with worry we were? Your mother and I thought something had happened to you. We thought you might be hurt, or worse, and then we find out you were with Heeseung all night.” Your mother stood a little behind him, tense and quiet, but your father looked like he had been holding himself together by pure force all morning and had run out of patience the second you walked in. The mention of Heeseung made your throat tighten. Heeseung himself had gone still beside you, but your dad didn’t seem to care that he was there at all. He barely even looked at him, his focus locked fully on you, like you were the only person in the room. Your face burned. “I’m not a child.” “You are acting like one. You never listen,” he said coldly. “Not about your injuries, not about your limits, not about anything. You always think you know better, and every time, you prove that you don’t.” Your face went hot with shock, but he didn’t stop. “Look at what this has gotten you,” he said, voice clipped and sharp. “Sneaking out, staying over at some boy’s place, lying to your family..” You stared at him, stunned into silence for a second. “You want to know what the problem is?” he went on. “You keep acting like you can handle more than you can. You push, you ignore everyone who tries to help you, and then something goes wrong, and suddenly everyone else is supposed to clean it up.” “That’s not–” “It is,” he cut in. “You risked your health just for that? An evening out? I’m sure you drank alcohol as well, compromising your health even more.” His words landed hard enough to make your stomach turn. “I was fine,” you said, but your voice was already shaking. “You were careless,” he snapped back. “That’s what you were. Careless, stubborn, and impossible to reach.” The silence that followed was worse than the shouting. You could feel your pulse start to hammer, anger flaring hot and immediate under the hurt. “I was with people I trusted. Nothing bad happened to me,” you said, your voice rising in spite of yourself. He let out a harsh, disbelieving laugh. “Nothing bad happened to you because we were lucky.”

You stared at him, stunned.

“Lucky,” he repeated, more bitter now. “Do you have any idea how much has already been sacrificed for you? How much has this family given up? How many times have your mother and I rearranged everything just so you could keep going? Just for you to risk it all going to Jackson Wang’s party?” You felt the room tilt a little. “Dad–” “No, listen to me.” His voice was louder now. “I am the one who has had to take care of everything when things go wrong. I am the one who has had to hold this family together. I am the one who has had to step in, again and again, when you had to get another surgery because you didn’t give your body time to heal, because you didn’t listen to what I said.” Your face went rigid. “That is not fair,” you said, the words coming out thin and shaking.

“It is true,” he snapped back. “We have done everything for you. Everything. And this is how you repay that? By breaking our trust?”

The hurt in your chest was so sharp it almost made you dizzy. You could feel your eyes filling, but you were too angry and too humiliated to let yourself cry yet.

“I didn’t ‘repay’ anything,” you said, voice trembling now. “I went to a party. I stayed at Heeseung’s because I felt safe with him, Dad. We were there when Yeonhee got taken to the hospital, and we both felt awful because of it. Do you think I would have wanted to come home and deal with your anger at having fun for once after that?” “Of course I would have been angry, but at least I would have known you are safe, Y/N!” “I was safe, Dad! I just wanted to be normal for one night, and I know you would have talked me out of it,” you adjusted your stance a bit, shifting your weight to the side, and your dad's eyes flickered to your cast and back to your face, before his expression hardened even more. “Normal,” he echoed, with enough disdain that it made the word sound insulting. “You think this is normal? Y/N you will never be normal again.” “I–,” your voice broke in your throat, and your eyes started burning. His jaw tightened so hard you could see the muscle jump. “No matter what you will do in the future, Y/N, your normal will always be different from our normal, but you don’t seem to understand that. You will have to sacrifice some things for your health, to be able to even have the chance to make these choices.” He took a deep breath and continued, his voice dangerously controlled now. “We’ve sacrificed so much for you; you do not get to take that for granted. You do not get to disappear, stay over at some boy’s house, and expect us not to be furious when we have no idea where you are, especially after a night like that.” Something inside you broke at his words, your heart squeezing together so tightly your whole chest burned. “I wasn’t even alone. I was with people who cared about me.”

“And yet you still lied to us.” “I lied to you because I hate being at home, okay? I hate not having a social life, I hate missing out on things you got the chance to live through, I hate that I have to live like I am living,” The words burst out of you before you could stop them, raw and angry. “I hate that you were the one who got out of that car with a few scratches and bruises. I hate, Dad, I hate that my life ended while I had so much to see, to do. I had so many dreams, and suddenly I can’t do anything anymore. And now you’re here pretending to know better than my doctors, better than those who helped me get back to the state I am in right now. I hate that I sometimes think that it should have been you, that you should have gone through what I am going through. Maybe you could understand why I have to lie to you, just to feel good for one evening. But I love you, and I don’t want that for you, and yet you make me feel like a burden, like something that should be pitied.”

The silence that followed was awful. Your dad stared at you like he didn’t know whether to be more offended or more hurt. You stood there shaking, tears burning down your cheeks. Instead of defending himself or telling you that he wasn’t thinking you were a burden, he looked at you with that same rigid, disappointed expression and said, “Then you know exactly why you shouldn’t have gone out then.” That was the final blow. You turned away before anyone could utter another word. Your face was crumpling, your whole body trembling with a mix of anger, hurt, and sheer exhaustion. Heeseung said your name softly behind you, but you couldn’t bear to turn around. Not with your father still standing there. Not with that look on his face. So you just wiped at your face with the back of your hand, and walked straight back out the door. Heeseung followed you immediately, but you shook your head hard enough that he stopped. “Drive home,” you said, voice breaking. “Please. I can’t do this right now.” He looked like he wanted to argue, but one look at your face must have been enough. He nodded, stunned and worried and quiet. And you left before anyone could stop you, stepping back into the cold morning with tears in your eyes and your heart feeling like it had been split clean open.

⋆꙳❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔*:･*❆ ₊꙳❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔*:･*❆

You made it to the bus stop with your face still wet and your breathing uneven, not caring about how you might look to anyone around you.

Getting on the bus was harder than you expected it to be, even the smallest amount of weight made pain bloom in your leg strong enough to make you nauseous. You pressed your lips onto each other and dropped into the nearest free seat, ignoring the grandma who got up so you could take her priority seat. The bus started driving, but you didn’t even notice the movement, just staring at your cast, doing your best to suppress the tears that didn’t seem to stop rolling down your face. It had not gotten better. Not even a little. That was the worst part. Everyone had been worried. The doctors, the medical staff, your family, even the people around you, who were trying not to make it obvious. No one seemed to understand why it still was not healing properly, why it kept lingering like this, why you could not just seem to get past it. So you had done what you always did when you ran out of better options. You had lied. You told everyone you were fine. You pretended the painkillers were enough. You acted like it was manageable if you just kept moving and did not think about it too much. And for a while, you had almost managed to convince yourself, too.

Almost. You just wanted to be normal, to live your life. You knew that going to the party wasn’t a good idea, that drinking was even a worse one, but you also knew that you might not have many opportunities to be remotely normal in the near future. 

You hated that your dad was right, that they had sacrificed so much for you, that they would have to continue to do so, just because your body was incapable of healing. By the time you found yourself in front of your brother’s apartment, you had run out of tears to cry. You did not remember walking there, passing the ice cream shop, the small cafe Soobin, which you had gone to a million times, or the barber with the horrible advertisements. You just knew that somehow you had ended up there, in the place that still felt safest when everything else had become too much. You let yourself in. The apartment was quiet when you stepped inside. You barely had time to register the living room before Soobin appeared in the middle of it, seemingly startled to see you. For one second, you just stared at each other. Then your whole body gave out in the worst possible way. You stumbled forward without meaning to, still wearing one shoe because you had not even thought to take it off, and crashed into him hard enough that he had to catch you. The second you were in his arms, all the fight drained out of you at once. You broke. The tears came fast and ugly, hot and uncontrollable, and you could not hold any of it back anymore. Not the hurt, not the exhaustion, not the fury that had been sitting under your skin since the argument, not the humiliation of being here like this, not the aching, constant pain in your foot that you had been pretending was not ruining everything. Soobin’s arms tightened around you immediately. “Y/N?” he said, shocked and worried, but you could barely hear him over the sound of your own breathing. You shook in his grip, face pressed somewhere against his shoulder as you cried hard enough to make your chest hurt. Soobin shuffled you toward the sofa with slow, careful steps, one arm still wrapped around you. He kept asking what happened, what was wrong, if you were in pain, but every time you tried to answer, the words broke apart under the force of another sob.

You pressed one hand over your mouth, trying to breathe through it, but it only made your shoulders shake harder. Soobin sat you down gently and crouched in front of you, his face tense with worry. “Hey,” he said softly, “slow down. It’s okay. You’re okay. You’re safe. You’re in my living room.”

You tried. You really did. “Can you tell me five things you see in the room right now?” You realised belatedly that he was thinking you were having a panic attack, trying to calm you down like he did when you had an episode. And that made everything even worse.

You tried to push him away, to pull your hands from his, but his grip tightened around your fingers. “I’m not–” a sob interrupted you, and you had to lean forward to catch your breath.

 “Try, just try,” he said, his voice wavering for a second, before he caught himself. “I can start if you want to? I see the horrible graphic T-shirt I bought a few years ago at that vintage store and an empty water bottle–” “I’m not having an episode,” you got out in between gaps, wiping your cheeks before pressing the heel of your palms into your eyes. The noise must have carried, because when you opened your eyes again a few seconds later, Yeonjun and Beomgyu both appeared in the hallway, hair messy and expressions immediately shifting the second they saw you.

“Oh,” Beomgyu said quietly, his voice losing all its usual teasing. “What happened?”

Yeonjun was already crossing the room, his gaze flicking from your face to Soobin’s tense expression. “Y/N?” You tried again to speak, wiping at your cheeks with shaking fingers, but you couldn’t get anywhere near a sentence. Beomgyu looked at Soobin, then back at you, and the three of them sat down around you, keeping their distance as if they were unsure if you could be touched right now. You were still trying to get your breathing under control when Soobin spoke again, lower this time. “Did something happen with Heeseung?”

That was the question that cracked the last of your ability to hold anything in. “No–” you choked out, then had to stop because the sound turned into another sob. “Dad–He said–” Soobin’s expression tightened, and he moved a little closer. “Take your time.” You shook your head helplessly. “I can’t–I can’t say it right.” “That’s okay,” Yeonjun said gently from the side, his voice so soft it almost made you cry harder. “Just try to calm down first, maybe it will work then.” You gasped and nodded, wiping your face. Beomgyu had gone quiet now, his usual energy gone completely, and he stood by the couch with his arms folded tightly like he was trying not to look too angry before he even knew what had happened. Soobin reached for a tissue and handed it to you. “Start wherever you can.” You took it with shaking fingers, pressed it to your face, and tried again. This time, the words came out between sobs, broken and messy and angry all at once. He had yelled at you. He had said you were careless. He had said you always thought you knew better. He had said you were a liability, a burden the whole family had sacrificed itself for. And when you said that part out loud, your voice cracked so badly you had to stop and bend forward again. Soobin closed his eyes for a brief second, and the hurt on his face made your stomach twist all over again. You wiped at your cheeks with the back of your hand, suddenly mortified. “I’m sorry,” you whispered. “For coming here. For being a burden. For making you worry.” His eyes opened again immediately, and the expression in them softened at once.

“Don’t say that,” he said quietly. You looked down at your lap, still shaking a little. “But he’s right, Soobin. That’s the worst part, he is right.” “No,” he said, firmer now, but not unkind. “You are not a burden.” That made your throat burn. He dragged a hand down his face, staring at the floor for a second. “I understand you,” he said slowly. “And I understand him, too, even if he had no right to speak to you like that. If I were him, I would also be worried sick, Y/N. If I hadn't known you were with Heeseung yesterday, I would have moved earth and heaven to find you. It was stupid to leave your phone at Yeji’s place, yes.” You gave a tiny, miserable nod. You knew he was right. “I just want to be normal,” you admitted, voice small and raw. “Yesterday felt so good. It felt easy. I felt like–” You stopped, swallowed, then laughed once without humour. “Like a person.” Soobin’s face softened in a way that made your chest ache. “There isn’t one normal,” he said gently. “Everyone is different. Everyone has different things to worry about.” You sniffled, still staring at the tissue in your hands. “Yours is just a little bigger,” he said, trying to make the words sound light without making them less true. “That’s all. It doesn’t mean less. It just means you have to be careful.” You let out a shaky breath, but your mouth twisted as if you wanted to argue. And then your expression changed.

Something in you went very still.

Soobin noticed it. “What?” he asked, instantly alert. You stared at the floor for a second, then let out a breath that sounded almost like a laugh, except there was nothing funny in it at all. “It doesn’t matter anyway,” you said quietly. Soobin frowned. “What do you mean?” You looked up at him then and just said it, said what you didn’t dare to think about. “My doctor thinks I’ll probably have to amputate.” The entire room fell into a stunned, heavy silence. Even the air seemed to stop. You laughed once, sharply and brokenly, because the alternative was crying again, and you were so exhausted from that already. “So it doesn‘t matter,” you said, voice cracking on the words. “I can’t be careful if it’s broken beyond repair.”

Soobin’s face had gone tight with shock, his eyes staring at you almost as if he wasn’t seeing, just looking. Yeonjun had closed his, pressing his lips onto each other. Beomgyu was the only one who moved, his mouth parting like he was about to say something, then nothing came out at all before tears finally spilt over. He put a hand over his mouth as if that would somehow stop it. Your own chest hurt just looking at him. “Don’t,” you whispered immediately, wiping at your face again. “There’s no reason to cry.” Beomgyu shook his head, tears running down his cheeks now whether you wanted them to or not. Yeonjun was staring at you like he had gone completely still inside, one hand braced on the back of the couch, eyes glassy and shocked. Soobin just sitting there, staring, as if he was too stunned to do anything else. “How long?” Beomgyu’s voice came out rough and small. “How long have you known, Y/N?” You looked at him for a second, then down at your hands. “A bit more than three weeks.” That made Beomgyu let out a broken, disbelieving sound through his tears. “Three weeks?” You nodded, already hating the shame creeping up your neck. “I didn’t want to tell anyone until I knew for sure.” Yeonjun’s face crumpled a little more. You swallowed hard. “I’ve been taking more painkillers,” you admitted, almost in a whisper now, “just so I could keep walking. So I could at least pretend for a bit that it got better, that the surgery helped this time.”

Beomgyu gave a wet, incredulous laugh, half sob and half disbelief. “Was that why you were so gone at movie night?” You winced at that, heat flooding your face. Then you gave the smallest nod. He just stared at you for a second after that, tears still falling, like he didn’t know whether to be angry or heartbroken or both. Soobin still hadn’t said anything. He had turned his face slightly away, silent tears running down his cheeks, hands clenched so tightly in his lap that his knuckles had gone pale. The first thing he said, his voice thick and careful, wasn't what you expected him to say. “Does Heeseung know?” The question made your stomach twist. You looked down immediately and shook your head. “No,” then you added in a rush, “And please don’t tell him.” Soobin’s head lifted at that. His eyes were red, but his expression sharpened into immediate concern. “Why not?” You swallowed hard. “Because I don’t want to scare him away.”

Beomgyu made a small, disbelieving sound. “Y/N.” Your face burned. You kept staring at your hands. “I’m serious.” Soobin’s voice came out quieter than before. “He wouldn’t leave.” You shook your head once, too quickly. “You don’t know that.” Soobin leaned forward a little, searching your face, tears still running down his face. “Has he ever done anything to make you think he’d be uncomfortable with your disability?” You hesitated. Then you shook your head no. “No,” you said, even though the answer came out smaller than you wanted. “He hasn’t.” “Then why would you think that?” he asked, his voice a whisper. You let out a shaky breath and looked away. “Because people do. They realise how hard it is to live with me, how many accommodations they have to go through, and they leave, Soob.”

Nobody answered that right away. But Soobin’s voice came back after a second, steadier now. “He’s not going to be scared off.” You gave him a tired, wet-eyed look. Soobin just held your gaze and repeated it as he needed you to hear it clearly. “Heeseung is not going to run.” You stared down at your hands for a long moment, trying to find something to say, but it was like your brain was empty “What am I supposed to do now?” You asked, your voice small and quiet, swallowing hard. “I can’t go home. Dad would kill me.” Your voice cracked on the last word, and you shook your head, wiping at your face again. “And I can’t even look at him right now.” Soobin’s expression tightened immediately. He looked like he wanted to go straight to your parents' apartment and yell at your father himself, but he stayed where he was. “You’re not going home tonight,” he said firmly. “You’re staying here,” he continued. “All right?” Beomgyu nodded right away, tears still drying on his cheeks. “Yeah. Obviously.” Yeonjun’s voice came softer, but it was just as sure. “You can stay as long as you need.” That should have helped more than it did, but your chest still felt tight with everything you had just said out loud. You didn’t want to be a problem here, too. You didn’t want to keep being the thing everyone had to rearrange their evening around. Soobin seemed to read that on your face, because his own softened immediately. “Listen to me,” he said, leaning forward a little. “You do not have to figure out everything tonight. You’ve had enough.” You let out a shaky breath. He glanced at the others, then back at you. “We’ll help you with whatever comes next. But right now, you are not going anywhere except the couch or maybe my room, and we’ll watch one of your movies and eat as much junk food as we can find, okay?”

⋆꙳❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔*:･*❆ ₊꙳❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔*:･*❆

You blinked slowly, disoriented at first, then noticed the weight of the blanket over you, the familiar smell of detergent and Soobin’s room.

You were lying in his bed, another person lying next to you, their weight causing the mattress to sink in a bit on your side.

You moved carefully, blinking at the light in the room. “Hey,” the other person said quietly. “You’re awake.” You recognised Heeseung's voice and looked at him blankly for a second, still foggy with sleep. “Why are you here?” you asked, voice rough. His expression softened instantly. “Soobin called me,” he said. “He knows you keep your meds at my place, and he wanted me here in case you needed anything. I also got your phone from Yeji’s place.” You blinked, the answer taking a second to settle. Then your face crumpled faster than you could stop it, and your tears came back, embarrassing and hot and immediate, and before you could stop yourself, you were sitting up and wrapping your arms around him. He caught you without hesitation, his arms closing around you in an instant, warm and sure. “I’m sorry,” you whispered into his shoulder, the words breaking apart as soon as they left you. “I’m sorry. I’m such a burden. I’m sorry you had to see all that. I’m sorry that you have to come just because I’m a crybaby.” He went still for a second, then shifted closer, careful and gentle, until his forehead rested against yours. “Hey,” he murmured, his voice low and steady. “It’s fine.” You shook your head weakly, squeezing your eyes shut. “It’s not,” you whispered. “I made everything worse.” His hand came up to your cheek again, thumb brushing away a tear as it fell.

“No,” he said softly. “You didn’t.” You opened your eyes again and looked at him through the blur of your tears. He didn’t move away. He just kept his forehead against yours, his breath warm and calm, and repeated it as he needed you to hear it properly.

“You’re fine.”

You carefully shook your head, moving away slightly, not able to look him in the eyes. “I’m…I’m not fine, Heeseung?” His expression shifted at once. “What do you mean?”

You swallowed hard, suddenly wishing you had found a gentler way to say this, a better point in time as well. “My doctor thinks I might have to amputate.” The silence after that was brutal. He didn’t pull away. He just went still, his eyes widening for the briefest second before something softer and more pained moved into his face. A tear slipped down his cheek before he could stop it. You reacted on instinct, lifting your hand to wipe it away. “No pity,” you whispered, even though your own voice wobbled. “You promised you wouldn’t pity me.” He shook his head once, looking at you like he was trying very hard to keep his own emotions in check for your sake. “It’s not pity,” he said quietly, his voice wavering. “I just… I hate that this is happening to you.” Your chest tightened, and because you couldn’t quite bear the weight of the feeling, you let out a mall, breathless laugh. “Well,” you muttered, trying to lighten the mood, “ remember when you said I’m not broken? I’m pretty sure something in me is, and it’s my ankle.” That got a shaky laugh out of him, too, and for a second, the room felt a little less heavy. He leaned in and kissed you. It was soft and careful, his lips gently moving against yours, while his hands were cradling your face as if you were something fragile. When he pulled back, his forehead settled against yours again.

“Nothing about you is broken,” he said, his voice low and steady. “Nothing. Not you, not your body. Even if you need an amputation. Even if you get a prosthesis.“ A tiny smile made its way onto his face. “And if you’re going to be a cyborg,” he adds, “you better put my jersey number on it.” You stared at him for one stunned second before a laugh escaped you.

⋆꙳❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔*:･*❆ ₊꙳❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔*:･*❆

Two weeks later Heeseung was leaving the arena after extra drills when your dad stopped him near the tunnel, catching him off guard. For a split second, he thought something had gone wrong again, that he had done something wrong again. “Can I talk to you?” his coach asked. Heeseung nodded, a little wary but calm. “Of course.” Your father looked like he was choosing his words carefully, and that alone told Heeseung this was not going to be simple. A week or two ago, he probably would have gone into the conversation ready to defend himself. Now it was different.

He understood more than he had before.

He understood what it meant to be scared for someone who could get hurt so easily. He understood why your father was so protective, even if he didn’t agree with the way it had come out before. And he had seen enough of your bad days now to know that the fear was not imaginary.

He had felt it himself, too. The day your foot suddenly gave out in the middle of the afternoon had nearly scared the life out of him. One second, you had been standing there, talking to him like normal, and the next, you had gone tense and still, face draining of colour as the pain hit all at once. He still remembered the way his stomach had dropped when he saw it happen. And the worst part was watching you wake up in his arms later that night, the first thing your hand reached for being your painkillers. He had wanted to hate that. Wanted to tell you to stop being so used to hurting, to stop treating pain like it was just another thing to work around.

But he knew better than to make your body about his feelings. You knew what you needed. You knew what was too much. He trusted you on that. “I was unfair to you,” your father said after a beat. Heeseung blinked, surprised enough that it took him a second to search for an answer. Your father exhaled, looking tired in a way that made him seem older than usual. “I am worried about my daughter,” he admitted. “That is not something I can really turn off.” Heeseung’s expression softened. “I get it,” he said. “I really do.” Your father looked at him for a moment longer, as if checking whether he meant that. He did. The older man hesitated before speaking again. “Could you ask Y/N to talk to me?” he said finally. “I want to apologise to her. I want to tell her that she is right, that I have no right to be as controlling as I was. I want to tell her that I miss her, that I love her.” Heeseung looked at him for a second, caught between surprise and a cautious kind of hope. He could tell it wasn’t easy for him to say that. So he gave his coach a small, polite smile. “I can ask her,” he said. “But I can’t promise anything.” Your father nodded once, accepting that without argument. “That is fair.”

⋆꙳❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔*:･*❆ ₊꙳❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔*:･*❆

Heeseung let himself into the apartment as quietly as he could, shutting the door carefully so as not to wake anyone up. He hadn’t gone home immediately after talking to your dad; he had sat in his car in the rink's parking lot for an hour, thinking about what to do, his mind looping around the conversation with your father, trying to decide whether it had meant anything real or whether it was only a moment of guilt that would fade by the morning. If it was worth telling you about it. He kicked off his shoes by the door, shrugged off his jacket, and hung it up with a tired sigh. You were asleep in his bed, curled on your side beneath the blanket with your face turned toward the pillow. Your clothes and braces were set in a careful little pile beside the bed, and you were wearing one of his hoodies, the sleeves swallowing your hands. The sight of you there made something in his chest go painfully soft. He stared at you for a long moment, just taking it in. You looked peaceful. Small, almost, in a way that made him want to protect you from everything, even the world itself. Even his own thoughts. He sat down on the edge of the bed and leaned over, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. You stirred almost immediately, blinking awake with a small, sleepy sound. Your eyes opened halfway, unfocused and heavy with sleep. “What time is it?” you mumbled. He smiled, brushing a thumb over your cheek. “Almost one. Go back to sleep.”

You hummed, the sound low and content, and shifted just enough to turn your back toward him again. It was such a simple thing, but it made him smile all over again. He stayed there for another second, looking at you, before heading to get ready for bed. When he came back, you were still curled into the mattress, so he slipped into bed beside you, careful not to jostle you too much but you stirred anyway, half waking at the movement, settling when he pulled the blanket up and draped an arm around you. For a while, neither of you said anything. Your breathing slowly evened out again, but Heeseung stayed awake a little longer, one hand resting lightly against your hair. He stroked it back from your face in slow, absent motions before opening his mouth. “Your dad talked to me today.” You made a small, unimpressed noise from where you were tucked against him. He could practically hear the expression on your face without seeing it. “He asked if he could talk to you,” Heeseung added softly. “He said he wants to apologise properly. He seemed worried.” You huffed, eyes still closed. “Mm. He could’ve shown that worry to me when I was still talking to him.” There was no real surprise in your voice, only exhaustion. Heeseung’s hand kept moving through your hair, slower now. “I know.” You were quiet for a long moment after that. “Do you think I will never want to speak to him again?”

He took his time answering. “Will you?” You went silent again before you spoke again; your voice was quieter. “No.” He didn’t say anything right away, only kept petting your hair, letting you take your time. You sighed through your nose and shifted closer, your forehead brushing lightly against his shoulder. “I can’t,” you admitted, sounding irritated by the fact as much as by the situation itself. “I still have to tell my parents about the amputation. And arrange things.” You swallowed. “I… I’ll need my dad for that.” Heeseung’s heart squeezed a little at how plainly you said it, like you were annoyed that reality had made itself impossible to avoid. Like needing him felt like a compromise you hadn’t wanted to make. He knew you were being practical even though you hated it.

“I know,” he said gently.

Your eyes opened a little then, just enough for you to look up at him from where you were tucked against his side. He smiled at you, small and warm, and brushed his thumb over your temple. “That doesn’t mean you have to forgive him right away.”

You let out a quiet breath. “I’m not planning to.”

“I know that too.” That finally earned him the faintest look of exasperation. “You know a lot.” “Only the important things.” You rolled your eyes, but the corner of your mouth twitched despite yourself. It was such a small shift, but he felt it instantly, like a tiny door opening again. He leaned down and kissed your forehead once more, then again, slower, just because he could. “I think your dad is trying,” he said, voice soft against the dark. “It doesn’t fix anything. But it’s something. You were quiet for a moment, then muttered, “He should’ve tried sooner.” “He should have.” You let out a breath that sounded almost like surrender. “I’m still mad,” you said. “I’d be disappointed if you weren’t.” That made you huff a small laugh into his shirt. “You would?”

“Yeah.” “Why?” He kissed the top of your head. “Because you’re allowed to be.” You went still at that. Not in the tense way from before, but in a more relaxed, calm kind of still. He felt it in the way your fingers loosened against the blanket, in the way your body melted another inch into his side.

After a while, your voice came again, much softer this time. “You’re too nice to me.”

He smiled into your hair. “No, I’m not.” “You are.” “I’m just honest.” You made a sceptical noise, but it lacked any real force. Then, after a pause, you asked, “Did he seem bad?” “Your dad?” You nodded once. He thought about the conversation carefully before answering. “He seemed worried,” he said. “And tired. And like he didn’t know how to fix anything.” That made you hum, thoughtful in a reluctant sort of way. He kept stroking your hair, slow and repetitive. “He asked if he could talk to you,” he repeated. “That’s all. He didn’t push.” You were quiet for another long moment, and he thought you might have fallen back asleep. But then you shifted just enough to tuck yourself more completely into him, one arm sliding across his chest. Heeseung smiled and tightened his hold a little, careful of you, careful in the way love had made him careful lately. It was never about fragility, not really. It was about attention. About learning the shape of you, the limits of you, the moments when you needed softness more than words. And tonight, you needed this. So he gave it to you in the only way he knew how: by staying, by listening, by petting your hair until your breathing slowed again. After a while, he felt your hand move against his shirt, fingers finding the fabric as if to anchor yourself there. He bent his head and kissed your hair. “You know,” he murmured, “you look really cute in my hoodie.” You made a sleepy sound that might’ve been a protest if you were more awake. “Shut up.” He smiled, kissing your forehead again. “No.” That got a little real laugh out of you, muffled and soft, and he felt absurdly pleased with himself for it.

⋆꙳❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔*:･*❆ ₊꙳❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔*:･*❆

Heeseung had gone into the evening thinking he would actually watch the movie.

That lasted maybe ten minutes. The cafe on campus was dim and cozy, the projector throwing colors across the wall while people settled into mismatched chairs and the floor with cups balanced in their hands. Heeseung kept meaning to look at the screen. He really did. Instead, every time you shifted closer, he found himself pressing a kiss into your hair. Then another, right near your temple. Then one against the side of your head when you tipped it toward him. He could hear your little laugh each time, warm and fond and just a little bit teasing. “You’re missing the movie,” you muttered, not even trying to sound serious. He smiled against your hair. “I’m not missing it. I’m multitasking.” “You’re not multitasking. You’re distracting yourself.” “That sounds like a skill issue on my part.” You snorted, and he felt the vibration of your laugh through your shoulder where you were pressed against him. He lowered his cup with one hand and kissed the side of your head again, lingering longer this time because he could. You made an exaggerated noise of protest. “You’re horrible.” “I know,” he said easily, and kissed you once more, softer. “I’m also very good at this.” “At kissing me during movies?” “At choosing you over the movie.” You turned your head just enough to look up at him. “What’s gotten into you today?”

He blinked. “What?” “You’re being weirdly affectionate.”

He gave you a deadpan look. “Weirdly affectionate?” “Yeah.” You lifted your brows. “You keep kissing my hair like you’re trying to make up for something. So what have you done, Lee Heeseung?” He laughed under his breath and didn’t pretend to be innocent. He just looked at you, really looked at you, and felt something in his chest loosen with the force of how much he liked this, liked you here, liked you warm against his side, liked that you were healthy enough now to sit through a movie and tease him about ignoring it. “I’m just happy,” he said quietly. You went still. He hadn’t meant for it to sound so plain, but once the words were out, he didn’t want to take them back. They were true in a way that felt bigger than he could easily contain.

“I’m happy you’re here,” he said, voice low so it would stay between you. “I’m happy you feel fine tonight. I’m happy you got rid of the cast. I’m happy I met you.” The last part came out a little rougher than he expected, and he looked away for a second, suddenly self-conscious. But you didn’t let him hide. Instead, you turned fully toward him, setting your cup carefully aside before lifting both hands to his face. Your fingers were warm against his cheeks, your thumbs resting just under his eyes. He barely had time to inhale before you leaned in and kissed him. His whole body went still for a beat, then melted right into it. He kissed you back automatically, slow and full of a kind of awe he had no interest in disguising. When you pulled back just enough to speak, your forehead nearly touched his. “I love you too, Heeseung,” you murmured. For a second, he thought the entire room might disappear. Not because anything changed around you, the movie was still playing, someone laughed behind the two of you, but because the world suddenly felt very small and very bright, all at once. He stared at you, stunned in the best possible way. Then his mouth curled into a soft, helpless smile, and he kissed you again before he could say anything that would ruin the moment. It was a better answer anyway. This time, when he pulled back, he rested his forehead against yours and let out a quiet breath that felt like relief and joy and disbelief all tangled together. “I love you so much it hurts, Y/N,” he said finally. You smiled at him, small and happy and real, and he pressed one more kiss to your lips before letting you curl back into his side. The movie kept going. He still didn’t watch most of it.

⋆꙳❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔*:･*❆ ₊꙳❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔*:･*❆

Heeseung was a little surprised when you asked him to drive you home the next day, but he agreed right away. He could tell from your voice that this wasn’t a casual favour. “You’re sure?” he asked. You nodded. “Yeah. I’ve decided to talk to my dad and get this straight.” That made him glance at you more carefully. “I have to start dealing with everything,” you said. “The surgery, pushing my exams, figuring out who’s going to handle the PR stuff.” You looked out the window for a second before adding, “The first stop is dealing with my dad.” Heeseung nodded once. “Okay.” You gave him a look that was grateful, almost nervous, and then went quiet for most of the drive. When he pulled up in front of your apartment complex, he thought that was it. But you didn’t let go of his hand. Instead, you made him drive into the parking lot, and when he parked, you still didn’t release him. Your fingers stayed wrapped around his, warm and steady, as though you were borrowing his nerves as much as his support. “Come upstairs with me,” you said. He blinked, then nodded. The two of you rode the elevator and walked down the hallway together, your hands never separating. Heeseung could feel the tension in your grip. When you unlocked the door, he took one look at your face and knew that beneath the calm, you were bracing yourself. You stepped inside first, and he followed. The apartment was dim, the light low within the living room and spilling softly into the hallway. For a second, the whole space felt suspended, like anything could break the peace right now. Then you took a breath, turned, and pulled him gently further inside. Heeseung barely had time to take in the room before your parents noticed the two of you standing in the doorway. They were on the sofa, and both of them got up in surprise. You didn’t let them speak. “Mom, Dad,” you said, your voice steady despite the way your hand trembled against his, “this is Heeseung. My boyfriend.” Heeseung’s stomach flipped at the word, though he barely had time to process it before you kept going. “And there is something I have to tell you. I’m having to get my foot amputated. I’ve known for a while now, since a few weeks after the surgery, actually.”

The silence that followed was immediate and devastating. Heeseung’s mind went almost blank with the shock of hearing you say it so plainly, so directly, in front of them. He had known this was coming, but hearing it spoken out loud in that room made it feel impossibly real again. You didn’t stop. “I know this is hard to hear, but there is nothing to change. I’ve already made my decision,” you said, your voice still controlled, though he could hear the strain under it now. Your mother had gone pale. Your father looked like he had been struck by lightning. Neither of them seemed able to speak at first. You kept your gaze on them anyway. “I’ve been thinking about staying with Grandma for the healing process,” you went on. “Because I’m over whatever this is here. I’m over being treated like I’m stupid, and if nothing changes until the surgery, I will make that happen.” That was when your mother’s face crumpled. Your father looked stunned in a different way, like he was trying to force the words into something he could understand and failing. Heeseung stood there, still holding your hand, feeling very aware of himself and also completely unsure what he was supposed to do with his other hand, his posture, his face. You looked tired, but you didn’t back down. There was a long, awful silence. Then your mother started crying. Your father did too, though more quietly, tears running over his face. Heeseung’s chest tightened. He knew this must be harder on them than it had been on him. They were your parents; they had been there for every setback, for every try, for every failure. Heeseung didn’t even want to imagine the pain they were feeling right now. Before he could decide whether to step back or speak, your mother moved first. She crossed the room in a hurry and hugged you tightly, crying against your shoulder. “Oh, Y/N. My baby. My poor, poor baby.” You stood there for a second, stiff with surprise more than resistance, then your face softened, and you patted her back. “It’s fine, Mom,” you said, your voice gentler now. “It’s fine.” Heeseung watched the whole thing with a strange heaviness in his chest, not because it was wrong, but because it was so much. So much pain had been sitting in this family for so long that it was finally spilling out all at once. Then your mother pulled back, she wiped at her face, and turned to him.

He straightened instinctively. She stepped forward and hugged him too, brief but sincere, and Heeseung went a little awkward and stiff for half a second before carefully returning the gesture. Her hands were trembling a little. “Thank you for being there for Y/N,” she said, her voice thick and heavy. “It is so nice to see you again.” His throat tightened at that. “It’s okay,” he said softly. “Of course.” He looked at you then, really looked, and saw how tired you were, even now. How much strength it had taken to walk in here and say all of that out loud. How tightly you were still holding onto his hand, even after everything had been said. He squeezed your fingers once, small and steady. You gave him the faintest look back, and in that second, he understood that you had not brought him here just to witness the conversation. You had brought him because you needed someone beside you while you said the hardest thing you had ever had to say. And he was glad, painfully glad, that it was him.

Thank you so much for reading! Lots of Love, Patty

⤷ ゛OTHER INSTALLMENTS OF THE SERIES ˎˊ˗

@enhastolemyheart @dreamiestay @elairah @vviolynn @engenemilia  @xylatox @firstclassjaylee @mangoescrazy @ddolleri @goldenmellow @en-boyz @bananasrme @classicroyalty @stars4kooo @evilangel404 @angelhyuka @heeseungiess @minjsui @enhaverse713586 @vtyb23 @andieekosmos @dearestdreamies @kyunlov @rizz00 @aquitkuro @vixialuvs @typewonnie @sunnimia @teenagecheesecakereview @wintereals @enhapagluuuuu @kristynaaah @libby0705 @enhypenina @drewstarkeyloverilikemysuitcase @nishimurarizzler @sectusempraa @sweetshinypuppy @vissnipherwifeey @vtyb23 @meloncholatte @ikeufied @wobblymug @heexyzy @deluluscenarios @hadesnumber1daughter @sievenderz@sugarcwtie@babyt0matoes

[bew-ari]

Lighting study w/ Colonel Caleb🤍

[sunsetagain]

Chk-chak. PEW PEW PEW!

[art-by-ady]

Easy, Tiger 🐈

This banner is so cute. Just another reimagining of this scenario. Kinda makes sense to be in your birthday suit tho if you transform from a cat then back to being a human 😂

Frame by frame ⬇️

[momentsofengene]

WHEN DUTY CALLS ✧ park sunghoon

pairing: neurologist!sunghoon x ob-gyn!reader

after years of being co-workers, he never reciprocated the feelings you had for him. so you buried them and learned to live with it. that is, until a small encounter leads him to start showing you that he cares.

genre: co-workers to lovers, fluff, slow burn, hospital au

word count: 12k

It's 2 am, and you're at the hospital.

Seated in the doctors' lounge, you go through your previous patients' charts, updating them one-by-one. From their vitals, medications, progress notes, everything has to be precised and double checked.

Being an OB-GYN means your life rarely follows a normal schedule.

Most nights are spent awake. On call, in delivery rooms, watching life come into the world one patient at a time. It’s exhausting, relentless… but familiar. Somewhere along the way, the chaos became routine.

You barely notice how late it’s gotten anymore.

The quiet scratch of your pen against paper is suddenly interrupted by a soft clink.

Then a cup of coffee appears beside you.

You pause, eyes shifting from the chart to the cup, then upward to the person who placed it there.

Park Sunghoon.

Four years of working in the same hospital, and he still has a way of showing up without a sound. White coat neat as ever, expression calm in that almost unreadable way of his. He works as a neurologist, precise, composed, and annoyingly consistent.

“Night shift again?” he asks, already pulling a chair a few steps away before sitting down.

You lean back slightly, exhaling as you close the file in front of you. "Yeah, I wasn't able to finish these in one go so I had to switch schedules with Dr. Choi."

“I get it,” Sunghoon replies, offering a small, understanding smile. “There are days when I end up doing the same thing too.”

“Well, thanks for the coffee, I really needed this,” you say, taking a sip. You pause, then look up at him surprised. “You even remembered my order?”

Sunghoon simply purses his lips and shrugs, as if it were nothing, before reaching for his own cup. “You’re welcome.” Just as he’s about to say more, his phone vibrates.

“They need me there. I guess I’ll see you later.” He stands from his chair and lightly pats your shoulder before heading toward the door.

You glance at the cup of coffee in your hands, a small frown forming. You’d only been to the café together twice: once three months ago, and again just two weeks ago. How could he have memorized my order?

A warm feeling slowly blooms in your chest as you think about Sunghoon and his sudden thoughtfulness.

It reminds you of a time when your feelings for him were harder to ignore. Back during your first week working together, when he introduced himself as the newly hired neurologist. What started as simple admiration gradually turned into something more.

Those feelings lasted for an entire year. But between the long hours, the need to stay professional, and your own reluctance to risk it all, you chose to bury them. You kept telling yourself that workplace romance should be avoided, that work always comes first, and that romance simply wasn’t worth the risk. Eventually, you convinced yourself that being nothing more than co-workers was for the best.

You shake your head, snapping yourself out of your thoughts. “Why am I suddenly thinking about the past?” you murmur under your breath. “He probably just has a really good memory.”

With that, you turn back to your work, forcing the lingering warmth in your chest to fade.

ᯓ★ ݁˖

Sunghoon, who was on his way to a patient’s room after leaving you alone in the doctors’ lounge, caught himself smiling slightly, especially when he recalled the look of surprise on your face when you realized he had remembered your order.

Back then, he hadn’t paid much attention to you. He hadn’t gone out of his way to learn the little things. Like how you took your coffee or whether you preferred something sweet on the side. But ever since that small hangout with you and a few co-workers three months ago, something had shifted. A quiet curiosity about you had begun to grow.

It wasn’t just because you were one of the best rookie OB-GYNs the hospital had seen. It was also the way you cared for others, not just your patients, but people in general.

ᯓ★ ݁˖

Three months ago…

As the rest of the group prepared to leave the café, you lingered behind, glancing at your phone as if you had just remembered something.

“I just remembered I need to buy something before I go. You guys go ahead,” you told Chaewon, your friend. She nodded, calling out a quick goodbye before catching up with the others.

Once they were gone, you stepped back towards the counter and ordered two croissants and a bottle of water. After paying, you hurried outside, scanning the area as if looking for someone.

What you didn’t realize was that Sunghoon had stayed behind. He had gone to the restroom just before everyone left, assuming he’d catch up with the group afterward.

As he stepped out and dried his hands, he paused when he spotted you still there. From inside the café, he watched as you approached a beggar and a small child sitting near the parking lot.

You crouched down to their level, handing them the food you had just bought. A gentle smile spread across your face as you spoke to them softly, though he couldn’t hear the words. After a moment, you gave a small wave before turning to leave.

Sunghoon stood there a little longer than he meant to, quietly processing what he had just seen. Something about that moment stayed with him. The sincerity, the kindness, the way you did it without expecting anything in return.

It made him realize that maybe you were more than just a co-worker he had known for years.

And somehow, from that day on, he found himself paying closer attention.

──────────────────────────────

The elevator doors slid shut with a soft chime, sealing you into the quiet hum of fluorescent light and mirrored steel.

You pressed your back lightly against the wall, exhaling through your nose as the display above the doors blinked from floor to floor. The senior doctor’s message still lingered in your mind: Come to my office. I need to introduce you to someone.

The elevator slowed briefly at the 5th floor, then continued upward. You checked your watch out of habit, fingers tapping once against your coat sleeve.

Just then, the doors opened with a gentle ding. You looked around to find out nobody there, until your eyes caught movement at the far end of the corridor.

A familiar figure stood just outside the elevator’s reach, hands tucked into his white coat pockets, posture relaxed in a way that somehow still looked presentable. Sunghoon.

He nods slightly when he sees you inside, stepping into the empty space beside you. He presses the button, and the elevator doors slide shut with a soft chime.

“Busy today?” he asks, breaking the silence a few seconds after stepping in.

“Not really. I just need to meet with the senior doctor.”

“Oh? How come?” he asks, a hint of surprise flashing across his face. It’s rare for either of you to be called in, usually only for major announcements or worse, bad news. So when you first read the message, you had been just as puzzled.

You shrug lightly. “I’m not entirely sure. She did mention introducing someone, though. Maybe a new employee.”

Sunghoon nods, taking that in.

“How about you?” you ask, turning to him. “Anything big happening today?”

“Actually, I have a procedure at 5 pm,” he says casually.

You instinctively glance at your watch. “That’s in thirty minutes.”

"I know." Sunghoon replied. "You don't seem like you're in a rush." You replied, noticing his chill attitude.

"Well it's a minor one. Just a lumbar puncture, won't take long." He says, seeing your expression.

“Huh… that’s your version of minor?” You mutter, brows lifting slightly as you look at him.

Sunghoon lets out a quiet breath, almost a huff of amusement, barely there. “You just get used to it.”

You shake your head, a small smile tugging at your lips despite yourself. “Still sounds intense.”

“It’s routine,” he says simply, like that alone should settle it. And somehow, coming from him, it almost does.

The elevator hums softly as it slows, the numbers above the door blinking once before stopping.

Your floor.

The doors slide open.

You hesitate for only a second, then shift your weight forward, stepping out into the hallway. Before fully turning away, you glance back at him.

“Good luck, Sunghoon.”

He meets your gaze, calm as ever. “I don't need it.”

That almost makes you scoff, but instead you just exhale a small laugh. “Still, good luck.”

The doors begin to close behind you.

And just before they shut completely, you catch it, the smallest hint of a smile on his face, gone just as quickly as it appears.

You walk straight to the end of the hallway, where the senior doctor’s office is located.

Stopping in front of the door, you knock three times. A voice from inside calls, “Come in.”

Taking the cue, you twist the doorknob open and step inside. Dr. Lim stands near her desk, a folder in hand. Beside her is a young man with sharp, cat-like eyes, standing straight with quiet composure.

You close the door behind you and walk toward them.

“Dr. Kang,” the senior doctor says, closing the file in her hand, “This is Jungwon, a newly assigned resident. He’ll be rotating in OB-GYN under your supervision.”

You turn your attention to him just as he steps forward, extending his hand. “Pleased to meet you, Dr. Kang.”

You shake his hand without hesitation, offering a small, welcoming smile. “Nice to meet you too, Jungwon. Welcome to the OB-GYN department.”

He smiles back, his expression calm and professional, no trace of nervousness in sight.

“Alright,” Dr. Lim continues smoothly, already reaching for another document on her desk. “Jungwon, you’ll report to Dr. Kang starting today. She’ll orient you with the ward and your responsibilities.”

Jungwon nods. “Understood, ma’am.”

The senior doctor looks up once more, this time addressing both of you. “OB-GYN is a demanding department. I expect discipline and clear communication. Dr. Kang, he’s your responsibility during this rotation.”

You give a small nod in acknowledgment.

Dr. Lim leans back slightly, signaling the end of the meeting. “Now that’s settled. You may go.”

You turn first, straightening your posture as you head for the door. Jungwon follows a step behind, attentive.

Once you’re outside in the hallway, you turn to face him.

“First things first,” you say, folding your arms lightly. “Call me by my first name, Y/N. No ‘Dr. Kang.’ It makes me feel older than I am.”

Jungwon lets out a small chuckle. “Got it. Y/N it is.”

“As Dr. Lim mentioned, I’ll be your supervisor for the duration of your rotation in OB-GYN,” you continue. “Since it’s your first day, I’ll give you a quick tour of the facilities so you can start familiarizing yourself.”

You gesture forward. “Let’s go.”

The two of you head towards the elevator. “The OB-GYN department is on the third floor,” you add, pressing the button.

When the doors open, you’re greeted by the nurses’ station. The nurses on duty look up from their desks.

“Good afternoon, Dr. Kang,” they greet in unison.

“Good afternoon,” you reply with a polite nod before turning slightly to Jungwon. “This is Jungwon, our new resident. He’ll be working here starting today.”

Jungwon smiles and greets them, and they return the gesture warmly.

You lead him down the left hallway lined with patient rooms. “This is where admitted patients stay, postpartum mothers, as well as those recovering from surgery,” you explain. “The rooms along the right hallway are mainly for regular check-ups and consultations.”

“And over here…” you continue, walking towards the far end where a large door with glass panels stands. “…is the Labor, Delivery, and Recovery Room. LDR for short.”

You push the door open just enough to step inside and the shift is immediate.

A strained breath cuts through the air, followed by a low cry. A patient grips the bed rails, her knuckles pale, while a nurse guides her breathing with steady reassurance.

“Active labor,” you say calmly as you step further in. “This is where things start to pick up.”

Jungwon stays close behind you, noticeably quieter now, his eyes taking everything in.

A monitor beside the bed beeps steadily, then suddenly dips. The nurse straightens. “Doctor, heart rate’s dropping.”

Before the tour can even pause, you’re already moving.

“Position her to the left,” you instruct, your tone calm but firm. “Give her oxygen.” The room shifts instantly, quick hands, precise movements, controlled urgency.

The patient gasps, her eyes squeezed shut as another contraction hits. You glance at the monitor. Then steady again, as the beeping evens out.

“Good,” you murmur, stepping back as if it were second nature. “Keep monitoring.”

“Yes, doctor.”

The tension doesn’t disappear, but it eases just enough. You turn back to Jungwon, your expression composed.

“It can change that fast,” you say simply. “You learn to respond before it becomes a problem.”

He nods, still processing what he just witnessed.

“Come on,” you add, already heading for the door. “Let’s continue.”

“On the opposite end,” you say, pointing down the hallway, “is the operating room.”

You walk in that direction, with Jungwon following closely behind.

You push the operating room doors open, and a wave of sterile, cool air greets you as you step inside.

Bright overhead lights reflect off stainless steel instruments neatly arranged on trays. The operating table sits at the center, surrounded by monitors and machines humming quietly in the background.

“Procedures like cesarean sections and gynecologic surgeries are done here,” you explain, your voice steady as it echoes slightly in the room. “And when things don’t go as planned…”

You pause for a brief moment, your gaze flicking toward the operating table.

“…that is where we take over.”

ᯓ★ ݁˖

The tour continues as you guide Jungwon through the rest of the facility, from the ultrasound rooms to the examination areas, and finally to the newborn units. You explain each section with ease, answering his occasional questions, barely noticing how quickly time slips by.

It isn’t until you glance at your watch that you pause.

“Oh, it’s already 6 pm,” you say, a little surprised. “Perfect timing. My shift ends now, and since I’ve already shown you around the entire OB-GYN department, we can both head home.”

“Wait, really?” Jungwon asks, clearly caught off guard.

You nod. “Yes. Once I leave, there won’t be anyone to supervise you anyway. And since it’s your first day, I’ll let you off early this time. Your real work starts tomorrow.”

“Ah…” Jungwon exhales in relief, a small grin forming. “I’ll be ready by then,” he assures you, determination settling into his expression.

“Good to hear,” you reply with a faint smile. “Well, I’ll get going now. See you tomorrow, Jungwon.”

“See you, Doc,” he says.

You give him a small wave before leaving.

ᯓ★ ݁˖

After gathering your things, you take the elevator down to the underground parking area. The space is quieter now, the hum of engines and distant footsteps echoing faintly. You spot your car a short distance away and walk towards it, pressing your key fob to unlock it.

Sliding into the driver’s seat, you place your bag on the passenger side and reach for the ignition.

You turn the key.

Click.

Nothing.

You try again.

Click. Click.

The engine doesn’t turn over.

A faint frown forms as you attempt a few more times, but the sound only grows weaker until the car falls completely silent and unresponsive.

"Unbelievable,” you mutter, letting your forehead rest briefly against the steering wheel.

You sigh, leaning back as frustration settles in. Your eyes drift to your bag beside you.

“How am I supposed to go home now...”

ᯓ★ ݁˖

A few minutes later, you find yourself standing outside the hospital entrance, arms folded loosely as you scan the road.

You decided to take a cab instead, but even after waiting for several minutes, none stop. The few that passed by are already occupied, their headlights briefly illuminating you before disappearing down the street.

You shift your weight, glancing down the road again, hoping the next one will finally be empty.

Then, a sleek silver BMW pulls up in front of you, the engine purring softly as the window rolls down.

You look over to see who it is.

Sunghoon sits behind the wheel, one hand resting loosely on it while the other drapes over the passenger seat’s headrest, his posture relaxed.

“Need a ride home?” he asks.

“I—”

Before you can even answer, he leans over and pushes the passenger door open. That leaves you with little room to refuse.

You step in, closing the door gently behind you.

Settling into the passenger seat, you sit a little stiffly, your gaze fixed on the window beside you.

It’s your first time riding in a car alone with him, something you never really imagined would happen. And not just any car, but his.

For a moment, the air inside feels thick with unspoken tension. Neither of you says anything, the quiet stretching just a bit too long.

After a while, Sunghoon clears his throat, breaking the silence. “So… what happened to your car?”

You turn slightly to look at him. “The battery died. I’ve been so busy these past few weeks that I forgot to get it replaced.”

“I see.” He nods once. “How long were you waiting out there?”

“About twenty minutes,” you reply.

“Good thing I saw you then,” he says, a faint chuckle slipping through. “You looked like you were about to lose your patience.”

You let out a small laugh. “Honestly, I was. And thank you, by the way. If you hadn’t shown up, I probably would’ve ended up walking home.”

That earns another quiet hum of amusement from him.

After that, the conversation fades, but this time, the silence feels different. Softer. Easier. The low hum of the engine and the faint music playing on the radio fill the space comfortably.

For once, it isn’t awkward.

The car slows to a stop at a red light. Sunghoon glances your way, his expression unreadable but calm. “You hungry?”

“I think I’m good,” you reply, but almost immediately, your stomach betrays you with a low rumble. Shit.

You freeze for a second, suddenly remembering that you skipped lunch earlier, too distracted and a little too nervous about the senior doctor’s message.

Sunghoon lets out a quiet laugh at the sound. “Let’s grab something to eat,” he says, already easing his foot back on the gas as the light turns green. “My treat.”

You don’t argue.

ᯓ★ ݁˖

A few minutes later, you find yourselves at a casual Italian fast-food restaurant. The warm lighting and soft chatter from other customers make the place feel cozy despite the rush hour.

You scan the area and spot a small booth tucked into the corner. “There,” you say, heading towards it.

You slide into the seat while Sunghoon remains standing beside the table. “What would you like to eat?” he asks.

“I think pasta’s fine,” you answer.

He nods. “Alright. I’ll order for us. Just wait here, okay?”

“Okay.”

You watch as he walks toward the counter, joining the short line. For a moment, you find yourself absentmindedly observing him the way he stands, calm and composed even in something as simple as ordering food.

A few minutes later, he returns carrying a tray.

He sets a plate of pasta in front of you, his lasagna beside it, then hands you your drink.

“And this one’s for you,” he adds, placing a slice of pizza next to your plate.

You blink, confused. “I didn’t order that.”

He sits across from you, completely unfazed. “I did. I figured the pasta wouldn’t be enough since you’re hungry.”

You cough lightly, feeling your cheeks warm. “Oh… uh, thank you.”

You start eating, your gaze fixed anywhere but him. Somehow, the earlier ease from the car ride has shifted again, replaced by a quiet, awkward tension.

You never really imagined this. Sitting across from him, sharing a meal like this. It almost feels unreal, like something out of place in your usual routine.

You can feel his gaze on you, subtle but unmistakable.

“What happened with the senior doctor earlier?” he asks, snapping you out of your thoughts.

You look up, surprised, but your shoulders relax now that the conversation has shifted. “She introduced me to a new resident,” you explain. “He’ll be under my supervision.”

Sunghoon nods, taking a bite of his food.

“His name’s Jungwon,” you continue, twirling your pasta with your fork. “From what I’ve seen so far, he has potential. He wasn’t nervous at all, even when we went to the LDR earlier.”

“That’s good,” Sunghoon says. “At least he seems passionate from the start.”

You nod, but then the thought that’s been lingering in your mind resurfaces. You hesitate just for a second before speaking.

“Sunghoon… can I ask you something?” He looks up. “Sure.”

“Not to sound rude or anything, but why are you suddenly talking to me?” you ask, your voice softer now. “I mean… we’ve been co-workers for four years, and this is the first time you’ve bought me coffee or talked to me for more than ten minutes.”

For a brief moment, he looks genuinely caught off guard. His eyes widen slightly, and a faint blush creeps up to his ears as he scratches the back of his neck. “That’s… uh…”

"I just thought that I've been so shy these past years that I don't get to socialize with my co-workers that much. You know, I just recently became close with that dermatologist, Kim Sunoo." He replied.

You nodded, a small smile forming. “That’s good to hear. I remember you skipped the Christmas party for two years straight. It’s nice to see you stepping out of your comfort zone.”

He smiles back. “I guess it is.”

The conversation drifts into something lighter after that, and before you realize it, dinner is over.

ᯓ★ ݁˖

Soon enough, you’re back in his car, this time parked in front of your apartment building.

You unbuckled your seatbelt, turning slightly towards him. “Thank you for the ride, Sunghoon. And for the food.”

He smiles softly. “Don’t mention it. If you ever need a ride home, you can just call me.”

You stopped. “But… I don’t have your number.”

“Here.” He unlocks his phone and hands it to you. You take it, typing your number into his contacts before handing it back. “There.”

You step out of the car, the cool night air brushing against your skin. “Goodnight, Sunghoon,” you say, closing the door halfway and then you heard him speak, “Goodnight, Y/N.”

You pause for just a moment before shutting the door completely, the sound echoing softly in the quiet street.

Later that night, as you lie in bed, staring up at the ceiling, your mind drifts back to everything that happened.

The coffee. The car ride. Dinner.

Him.

Your heart beats a little faster, your cheeks warming at the memories.

Those feelings you buried years ago? They’re being dug up by none other than Park Sunghoon himself.

──────────────────────────────

Three weeks after that dinner with Sunghoon, the two of you have grown noticeably more comfortable around each other. He even picked you up from your apartment the morning after that night, insisting so you wouldn’t have to take the subway to work.

And now, you’re back in the thick of it. Endless patients, heavy workloads, night shifts, deadlines, and back-to-back surgeries taking up most of your time.

“Doc, I’m done with my rounds for now,” Jungwon says, appearing beside you while you’re busy taking a patient’s blood pressure.

You finish up, offering the patient a small reassuring smile before noting down the readings on the chart.

“Good,” you say, turning to him. “I want you to check on Baby Jung in the newborn unit. When I assessed the baby earlier this morning, the condition was a bit unstable. If that continues, report back to me so we’ll coordinate with the Pediatrics Department.”

“You got it.” Jungwon gives a quick salute before turning to leave.

“Oh, and Jungwon,” you call out just as he’s a few steps away. “Don’t forget the dessert you promised me for lunch.”

He chuckles, glancing back. “Of course, Doc. See you at the cafeteria later.”

Over the past three weeks, you and Jungwon have also grown closer, spending nearly every day working side by side. You’re grateful to have someone to share the hectic schedules and overwhelming workload with as it makes everything feel just a little lighter.

You grab the clipboard with your patient records and head towards the elevator. Your phone vibrates in your pocket, and you pull it out, about to read the message but you bumped into someone.

The impact causes the clipboard to slip from your hands, papers scattering across the floor.

“Oh my, I’m so sorry!” a voice says quickly.

You crouch down to gather the papers, the other person doing the same.

As you pick them up and glance up, a nurse you don’t recognize hands you a few sheets. “Here you go.”

“Thank you,” you reply, standing up.

“I’m really sorry again, Doctor…” Her eyes flicker to your coat, reading the name stitched onto it. “…Kang.”

You shake your head lightly. “It’s okay. I wasn’t looking either. It’s partly my fault.”

You pause for a moment, studying her. “By the way, what’s your name? I don’t think I’ve seen you around before.”

She smiles sweetly. “I’m Jang Wonyoung. I just started working here yesterday.”

“Well, it’s nice meeting you, Wonyoung,” you say with a friendly smile. “Sorry our first meeting had to be like this.”

“That’s alright,” she replies. “Have a nice day, Dr. Kang.”

She gives a small wave before heading off.

You continue towards the elevator and pressed the button. While waiting, you check your phone and read Jungwon’s message. He mentions that the newborn unit is a bit crowded with nurses and a few parents, and that he’ll update you once he gets inside.

Ding.

The elevator doors open.

You look up and see Sunghoon inside.

A smile forms on your lips as you step in, slipping your phone back into your pocket.

“Funny how we always run into each other at the elevator,” you say, turning to him.

“It is,” he replies, a hint of amusement in his voice. “Maybe I should start charging you for getting to see a handsome face like mine every time the doors open.”

You let out a laugh, and he joins in, the sound light and easy between you.

“Anyway,” he continues once the laughter fades. “Where are you planning to eat lunch? Sunoo and a friend of mine are trying out a newly opened restaurant nearby. Want to join us?”

“I’d love to,” you say, “but Jungwon and I already made plans, and he’s treating me to dessert, so I can’t really say no to that.” You nudge his side playfully.

“Ah, I see.” He nods, though you can’t help but notice the slight disappointment in his tone. “Maybe next time.”

“Definitely next time,” you reply.

The elevator doors slide open at your floor.

You step out, then glance back at him. “I promise I’ll make it up to you.”

And with that, you walked away, unaware of the way his gaze lingers on you just a second longer than usual.

ᯓ★ ݁˖

Lunchtime arrives, and you’ve been sitting there for almost an hour.

Your plate is already empty, your drink long finished, and yet there’s still no sign of Jungwon or the dessert he promised.

You let out a quiet sigh, resting your cheek against your palm as you glance towards the cafeteria doors. Maybe I should’ve just gone with Sunghoon instead…

Just as the thought crosses your mind, the doors swing open and Jungwon rushes in, scanning the room before spotting you.

“Y/N, I’m so sorry I’m late, a patient was—” He’s panting so hard he can’t even finish his sentence.

“Woah, hey. Sit down first,” you say quickly.

He does as told, and you hand him your spare bottle of water. He takes it immediately, drinking it down in one go.

Once he’s done, he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and looks at you apologetically. “I really wanted to come earlier, but a patient asked me to stay with her until her husband arrived. I didn’t expect it to take that long… if I had known, I wouldn’t have stayed.”

You nod, your expression softening. “It’s okay. I would’ve done the same thing.”

“Did you at least eat lunch?” you ask.

“I did,” he replies. “The patient felt bad for making me wait, so she gave me some food.”

“Then I guess that leaves us with dessert,” you say, pointing lightly at him. “Now go get me that dessert you promised.”

Jungwon stands up immediately and heads to the counter.

A few minutes later, he returns, but this time, there’s a slight frown on his face.

“They ran out,” he says. “I guess it’s my fault for getting here late.”

You sigh, leaning back in your chair. “So… what are we supposed to have for dessert now?”

Jungwon pauses, thinking for a moment before his expression brightens. “I know a place. Come with me.”

A short while later, the two of you find yourselves standing in front of a gelato shop in town.

“I come here whenever I’m craving something sweet,” Jungwon says, a hint of excitement in his voice. “They make the best gelato.”

He steps ahead of you, holding the door open.

“You’re really serious about this gelato, huh?” you tease with a small laugh.

ᯓ★ ݁˖

Across the street, inside the newly opened restaurant, Sunghoon sits with Sunoo and Jay.

“Is that Y/N?” Sunoo suddenly says, pointing towards the window.

Sunghoon’s attention shifts instantly, his gaze following the direction.

Outside, he sees you with Jungwon.

“She’s with the resident,” Sunoo adds, still watching.

“They seem close,” Jay comments casually. “Maybe a little too close. I can’t even remember the last time I became friends with a resident.”

Sunoo gasps softly, covering his mouth. “Right? I thought I was the only one who noticed.”

Sunghoon’s grip on his fork tightens slightly as he listens, his eyes still fixed on the scene outside. On the way Jungwon holds the door open for you and the way you laugh.

“Do you think maybe they’re—”

“Okay, that’s enough,” Sunghoon cuts in, his tone sharper than usual. “Can we just eat in peace and not start rumors?”

Sunoo scoffs, side-eyeing him. “Geez. I was just saying.”

Sunghoon then goes back to eating, but the air at the table has shifted.

ᯓ★ ݁˖

After finishing your gelato, you and Jungwon stepped outside.

Just as you’re about to leave, you spot Sunoo approaching the shop.

You wave at him, and he waves back enthusiastically, a grin spreading across his face.

“What are you doing here?” you ask.

“Getting dessert,” he replies. “Do they have mint chocolate here?”

“Yeah they have tons of flavors, actually. I think you’ll like all of them,” you say with a small laugh.

“Really?” Sunoo’s eyes light up. “I can’t wait!”

He practically skips toward the entrance.

Moments later, Sunghoon and Jay approach.

“Hi,” you greet as they stop in front of you.

“Hello,” Jay replies, glancing inside. “Is Sunoo in there?” You nodded.

“I’ll see if there's a flavor I like,” he says, turning to Sunghoon. “You want anything?”

Sunghoon shakes his head. “I’m good.”

Jay heads inside, leaving the two of you and Jungwon, who has just stepped beside you in an awkward silence.

“Hey,” you say to Sunghoon, but this time, something feels off.

He just nods. No smile. No teasing remark.

Jungwon shifts slightly beside you, and Sunghoon’s gaze flickers toward him, sharp, assessing.

“Right,” you say, trying to ease the tension. “Jungwon, this is Dr. Park Sunghoon, my friend.”

You gesture towards Jungwon. “And Sunghoon, this is Jungwon, the resident I told you about.”

Jungwon immediately extends his hand. “Nice to meet you, Dr. Park.”

For a second, Sunghoon just stares at it, his thick brows slightly furrowed.

You clear your throat softly. Only then does Sunghoon take his hand, briefly.

“Uh huh,” he mutters.

Jungwon withdraws his hand, the smile on his face still polite, though a little uncertain now.

Just then, Sunoo and Jay return. With Sunoo holding his three scoops of mint chocolate chip gelato.

“Let’s head back,” Jay says. “Lunch break’s almost over.”

The five of you began walking back towards the hospital. Sunghoon, Sunoo, and Jay walked ahead, while you and Jungwon trail slightly behind.

“Jungwon… I’m sorry about that,” you say quietly. “Sunghoon isn’t usually like that. I don’t know what got into him.”

“It’s okay,” Jungwon replies, giving you a reassuring smile. “Maybe he just had a bad day.”

“Still… I’ll talk to him.” Before he could respond, you jogged forward.

“Sunghoon,” you call.

No response.

You try again.

Still nothing.

You frown slightly before reaching out and poking his side.

He flinches, finally turning to look at you. “What was that for?”

“You weren’t listening, so I had to resort to that,” you say, pouting slightly. His expression softens just a bit.

“…Sorry. What did you want to say?” He asks as you crossed your arms. “Why were you rude to Jungwon earlier? The kid was just trying to introduce himself.”

“I wasn’t,” he replied, looking away.

“You were,” you insist. “What’s wrong? Are you upset because I didn’t join you for lunch?”

There’s a flicker of something in his eyes as he looks back at you.

“No,” he says quickly. “It’s not that. A waiter messed up my order earlier, so I didn’t really enjoy the meal,” he lied, his voice a little too fast, as if he’s trying to convince both you and himself.

“Oh… that sucks,” you say, your tone softening. “So you really just had a bad day.”

“Yeah,” he mutters, scratching the back of his neck. His ears tint slightly red.

“You should leave them a bad review,” you say lightly. “They don’t deserve all that hype.”

A faint smile tugs at his lips. “Maybe I should.”

──────────────────────────────

It was now time for the yearly medical mission, this time held in Gangwon Province.

Early in the morning, before the sun had fully risen, doctors were already gathered at the back of the hospital, loading supplies into vans. The atmosphere was focused, everyone moving with practiced efficiency.

Once you finished loading your things into the vehicle, the senior doctor, Ms. Lim, arrived to announce the car assignments. Most of the staff, doctors and nurses alike were placed in the larger vans, while only three were assigned to the smaller car.

That included you, Chaewon, and a pharmacist.

“We better get moving. The drive will take two to three hours, and I don’t want us arriving late,” Ms. Lim said as everyone began heading toward their assigned vehicles.

You stepped into the small car first, with Chaewon following right after. “Great, seatmates,” you said lightly, earning a smile from her as she settled beside you. The pharmacist sat in the front passenger seat, next to the driver.

Even with only four people inside, the space felt slightly cramped, with a few supplies stacked behind your seats, signaling the long drive ahead.

ᯓ★ ݁˖

You arrived in Gangwon Province after two and a half hours.

You stretched your arms as soon as you stepped out of the car. “Finally, we’re here,” you said, glancing at Chaewon beside you.

“Look at the view,” she pointed out.

Ahead of you, mountains covered in green stretched into the distance, the early sunlight rising over them and casting a soft glow across the landscape. The air was noticeably cooler and cleaner, a quiet reminder that you were far from the city now.

Around you, doctors and staff had already started unloading supplies from the vehicles. You moved towards the car again and joined in, helping carry boxes as the medical mission was about to start.

ᯓ★ ݁˖

The medical mission is taking place at a public school gym that is converted into a temporary clinic.

Folding tables are set up in sections for each department, with simple privacy screens dividing consultation areas. Nurses move between stations guiding patients, while rows of chairs line the sides of the gym for those waiting their turn.

You sat at a small table marked for OB-GYN consultations, flipping through charts as a line of patients steadily forms in front of you, the hum of the makeshift clinic filling the space around you.

The check-up began smoothly, most patients were cooperative, listening attentively as you gave instructions and advice. Those who needed minor procedures were guided to the adjacent room for outpatient care, while you stayed at your station, calmly writing prescriptions and updating charts.

From across the space, Sunghoon sat at a parallel table, his gaze occasionally lifting towards you. He observed the way you spoke to each patient, reassuring and always gentle in tone, together with the soft smile you gave even in the middle of a busy line.

“Man, you gotta stop staring at her. There are patients on their way,” Jay said quietly from beside him.

“I— I wasn’t staring,” Sunghoon replied immediately, shifting his attention to the neatly arranged supplies in front of him, pretending to align them even though they were already perfectly in order. “Just… observing.”

Jay let out a small hum of disbelief. “Whatever you say.”

ᯓ★ ݁˖

Lunchtime came, with your team providing free food for all the attendees. A long line formed as patients waited for their meals, the gym still buzzing with quiet conversation and movement.

You sat at the table assigned for the doctors, with Sunghoon taking the empty seat beside you.

“Hi,” you greeted as he greeted back.

“How’s the consultation so far? I saw there are a lot of patients in your area,” he asked as he started eating.

“It’s going well. I haven’t had this much fun in a while,” you admitted, earning a small nod from him.

“Good to hear you’re enjoying it,” he said simply.

“I am,” you continued. “It’s always a pleasure helping people.”

The conversation flowed easily as you both ate. When you finished your meal, you reached for the brownie included in the tray, but Sunghoon stopped you.

“Don’t.” You looked up at him, confused.

“It has nuts,” Sunghoon added.

“Oh,” you blinked, then set it back down. “Right.”

A beat passed before you asked, “How did you know I’m allergic to peanuts?”

He cleared his throat, looking down at his food. “I saw you separate the nuts when you were eating that salad last week. And I've seen the EpiPen you always carry in your pocket.”

You stared at him for a second longer than intended, your chest tightening.

“You noticed that?”

He gave a small shrug. “It’s hard not to.”

A quiet warmth settled in your chest, though you kept your expression calm. “Well… thank you for warning me.”

You glanced back at the brownie, then sighed softly. “But it feels like a waste to just leave it.”

Before you could say more, Sunghoon reached over and took it from your plate.

“Always so considerate,” he said, before taking a bite himself.

ᯓ★ ݁˖

It was already night by the time the medical mission ended.

Everyone looked exhausted, evident in the way people moved slower than usual, taking their time packing up supplies. The once busy area had quieted down, replaced by tired chatter and the occasional sigh.

You grabbed your things and made your way to the car, opening the trunk.

“Here, I got it.”

Before you could protest, Sunghoon had already taken the supplies from your hands and placed them neatly inside.

“Thanks,” you say, watching as he closes the trunk.

Just then, Chaewon comes rushing over, slightly out of breath. “Y/N, I asked Ms. Lim earlier if I could transfer to the van since I felt claustrophobic in the smaller car. She said I could, but only if someone switched places with me. I tried asking around, but no one wants to,” she groans, squeezing your hands in mild panic.

You give her a sympathetic look. “Chae, maybe we can—”

“I’ll switch seats with you.”

Both of you turn as Sunghoon speaks up, having clearly overheard the conversation.

“You would?” Chaewon asks, her face lighting up.

He gives a small nod. “Yeah.”

“Oh my gosh, thank you!” she squeals, then quickly turns back to you. “But Y/N, is it okay if I’m not your seatmate anymore?”

You smile softly. “It’s fine. I know how much you hate small spaces.”

Chaewon beams before pulling you into a quick hug. “Thank you, Y/N. You’re the best.”

“Everyone, let’s go!” Ms. Lim calls out.

“I have to go, see you at the hospital!” Chaewon says, waving as she hurries off.

You wave back before heading to the car. You slide into your seat, and a moment later, Sunghoon follows, settling beside you.

“She’s right,” he mutters, shifting slightly. “It is cramped in here.”

Your shoulders brush against his from how little space there is.

“Yeah,” you sigh. “We just have to endure it for two and a half hours.”

ᯓ★ ݁˖

The car ride begins, the hum of the engine blending with the low chatter of others. You pull out your phone, texting Jungwon about updates from the hospital. The screen blurs slightly as you blink slowly, fatigue catching up to you.

You let out a quiet yawn while waiting for his reply, your eyelids growing heavier by the second.

“Tired?” Sunghoon asks softly from beside you.

“Mm,” you hum in response, too drained to form a proper sentence.

“You should get some sleep,” he says. “I’ll wake you up when we arrive.”

"Maybe I should.”

You lean your head against the window, eyes slowly closing as the gentle motion of the car puts you to sleep.

A few minutes pass.

Sunghoon glances at you, noticing the way your head keeps tilting awkwardly against the glass, your body shifting uncomfortably with every bump on the road.

Carefully, he moves a little closer.

Slowly, so carefully you don’t wake, he lifts a hand and gently guides your head away from the window, letting it rest against his shoulder instead.

“There…” he whispers softly.

Your head settles against him, your breathing evening out as you remain asleep, now in a far more comfortable position.

He stays still, not wanting to disturb you. But as the quiet of the ride settles in, he begins to feel his own exhaustion creeping in.

His eyes flutter shut.

And soon enough, he falls asleep too.

ᯓ★ ݁˖

Unbeknownst to the two of you, Sunoo, who had already taken the front seat earlier, insisting he wanted to ride shotgun instead of being stuck in the back with the supplies on the van, was quietly watching a movie on his phone.

At some point, he glanced up from his screen and caught a glimpse of the back seat through the rearview mirror.

His brows lifted slightly.

He shifted in his seat and turned just enough to look behind him directly.

There you were, fast asleep, your head resting gently on Sunghoon’s shoulder.

And Sunghoon, also asleep, his head slightly tilted toward yours.

A slow, mischievous grin spread across Sunoo’s face.

He paused his movie and casually raised his phone, snapping a photo of the two of you, clearly entertained.

“Interesting…” he muttered under his breath before returning his attention to the screen, as if nothing had happened.

──────────────────────────────

The morning two days after, you step out of the elevator, heading towards the doctors’ lounge, only to stop in your tracks.

A few feet ahead, you spot Sunghoon walking out of the operating room. He’s in the middle of removing his surgical gown and cap, his hair slightly disheveled as he runs a hand through it to fix it.

For a moment, you just watch him.

You were about to walk over, maybe ask how the procedure went when someone beats you to it.

“Doctor.”

You glance over.

It’s the nurse you met before, Wonyoung.

“How was the procedure?” she asks, her voice softer than usual.

“It was fine,” Sunghoon replies.

“Of course it went well. You’re good at what you do,” she says, stepping a little closer than necessary. “Do you need help with anything, Dr. Park? I can assist you in cleaning up.”

Before he can respond, she reaches out, noticing his collar slightly crooked from removing his surgical gown and fixes it herself.

You freeze.

For a second, you can’t quite believe what you’re seeing. Your lips part slightly as you watch the interaction unfold, something uneasy settling in your chest.

She’s clearly flirting.

You wait, expecting Sunghoon to step back, to say something, to at least react.

But he doesn’t.

He just stands there, looking at her, almost as if he’s momentarily zoned out.

Something about that makes your chest tighten.

“Tsk.” You crossed your arms and turn away, not bothering to watch any longer.

Your steps are quicker now as you head straight to the doctors’ lounge, pushing the door open a little harder than necessary.

The sudden noise makes Jungwon look up from his laptop, slightly startled. “Y/N?” he says.

You pause, then let out a small breath. “Jungwon. I didn’t know you were here.”

“I’m just working on a report,” he replies, closing his laptop halfway. “What’s up? You look a little… irritated.”

You sit down beside him, crossing your arms as you lean back.

“Jungwon, do you know that newly hired nurse? The tall one who looks more like a supermodel than a nurse?”

He turns his chair toward you, giving you his full attention. His brows knit slightly as he thinks. “Nurse Wonyoung?”

“Yes, her,” you say quickly. “I just saw her flirting with Sunghoon out there. Can you believe that? A nurse who’s barely been here a month, hitting on a doctor?”

Jungwon lets out a small chuckle once you finish.

“Yeah, I believe you,” he says. “You don’t usually get this worked up over something small.”

You narrow your eyes slightly. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means…” he leans back a bit, a teasing glint in his eyes, “you sound jealous.”

“Jealous?” you repeat, almost scoffing. “Of course not. He's my friend and I’m just looking out for him. You know it’s against company rules to date someone new.”

You can feel the warmth creeping up your cheeks.

“…Yeah right,” Jungwon says, clearly unconvinced.

You quickly stood up, not wanting to entertain his teasing any further. “Whatever. I’m going to grab something to eat.”

“Alright, Doc,” Jungwon says with a small teasing grin as you head for the door.

You walk down the hallway, your gaze lowered as you fumble through the pockets of your coat, searching for some cash. Distracted, you don’t notice where you’re going and end up bumping into someone.

It’s Sunghoon.

Your expression shifts almost instantly, your mood dropping the moment you realize it’s him.

“Where are you heading?” he asks, one brow slightly raised.

“Just going to buy some food,” you reply.

“Want me to come with you?” he offers.

“I’m fine,” you say a little too quickly. “I can manage on my own. Besides, I have a hysterectomy scheduled after this. I need to get back right away.”

The lie slips out easily, even though you know the surgery isn’t for another hour.

“Okay… just don’t forget to—”

You don’t let him finish.

You walked past him without another word, your steps just a little faster than before, the image of what you saw earlier still lingering stubbornly in your mind.

Maybe it was better to avoid him and push those resurfacing feelings back down. So that in the end, you wouldn’t end up getting hurt.

──────────────────────────────

The next few weeks stayed the same, you avoided Sunghoon as much as you could.

You grew distant. Conversations were cut short, small talk nonexistent, and every interaction between you was kept strictly professional.

It felt like the friendship you built with him had never existed at all, as you treated him the same way you had for years before.

“Working the night shift again?” He asked as you were waiting for your coffee at the vending machine.

You froze for a split second at the sound of his voice behind you, but quickly composed yourself.

“Yeah.”

The cup dropped into the slot. You took it without looking at him as you walked past him.

Sunghoon could only watch your retreating figure, letting out a quiet sigh as another attempt to start a conversation with you failed.

ᯓ★ ݁˖

Sunghoon leaned back against the counter in the doctors' lounge, arms crossed, gaze fixed somewhere distant. Jay glanced up from his phone and watched him for a moment before speaking.

“You’ve been like that all week,” he said.

Sunghoon didn’t respond.

“Actually,” Jay added, setting his phone down, “ever since she started avoiding you.”

That finally made Sunghoon look at him. “Avoiding?”

Jay let out a short scoff. “You didn’t notice?”

Before Sunghoon could answer, the door opened and Sunoo walked in, drink in hand, immediately sensing the tension.

“Notice what?” he asked casually.

Jay nodded towards Sunghoon. “He just realized.”

Sunoo blinked once, then laughed lightly. “No way.”

“What are you talking about?” Sunghoon frowned.

Sunoo leaned against the table, studying him. “You’ve been acting off for weeks.”

“I haven’t—”

“You have,” Jay cut in. “You’re more distracted. You forget small things, double-check things you normally don’t.”

Sunoo added, “And you keep looking towards her area even when you’re not assigned there.”

Sunghoon’s jaw tightened slightly. “That doesn’t mean anything.”

“It does,” Jay said calmly. A brief silence followed before Sunoo tilted his head.

“You didn’t even realize she was avoiding you until now.”

Sunghoon paused, thinking back. Vague replies, shorter conversations, the way you left early, the lack of eye contact. “…I thought she was just busy,” he muttered.

Jay shook his head. “You don’t believe that.”

Sunghoon didn’t answer.

Sunoo exhaled softly. “You’re not just noticing her.” He smirks slightly. “You’re affected by her.”

The words hung in the air.

Sunghoon scoffed weakly, but it lacked certainty. “I’m not affected.”

“Then why do you look like that every time she walks past you and doesn’t stop?” Sunoo asked simply.

Silence.

Jay crossed his arms. “You didn’t care before.”

Sunghoon frowned slightly. "What do you mean?”

“You used to be fine,” Jay said. “Now you’re not.”

Sunghoon ran a hand through his hair, exhaling. "She’s been acting weird...”

Jay immediately corrected him. “No. You’ve been acting weird.”

Sunghoon looked between them, irritation flickering but it didn’t last. Because it was starting to feel… accurate.

Sunoo sighed and pushed himself off the table. “You know what your problem is?”

Sunghoon looked up. “What?”

“You think noticing her is enough,” Sunoo said simply.

That made him pause.

Jay added more quietly, “It’s not.”

Sunghoon frowned. “What are you talking about?”

Sunoo stepped closer, voice steady now. “You don’t get to just notice her forever.”

“You either do something about it or someone else eventually will. Like perhaps, Jungwon?”

That landed differently.

Sunghoon’s expression hardened. "What am I supposed to do?” Jay answered immediately. “Tell her.”

Sunghoon blinked. “Tell her what?” Sunoo lets out a short laugh. “Don’t act like you don’t know.”

He pulled out his phone and unlocked it, tapping a few times before turning the screen toward Sunghoon.

The photo from the night of the medical mission appeared. You, asleep, your head resting on his shoulder. Him, leaning slightly toward you, closer than he remembered.

The room went quiet.

“How did you get that?" He coughs. "And you know, that was just an accident. I didn't mean to end up in that position,” Sunghoon said after a moment, but his voice was quieter now.

Sunoo hummed. “Sure.”

Jay added, almost matter-of-fact, “You don’t let people that close.”

Sunghoon didn’t respond. His eyes stayed on the photo longer than necessary. “Since when did I start doing things like that?” he muttered under his breath.

Neither Sunoo nor Jay answered.

Instead, they just watched him, because for the first time, Sunghoon wasn’t denying it anymore. He was thinking.

Then Sunoo spoke again, softer but sharper.

“You don’t have to keep pretending you don’t feel anything. We know.”

Jay nodded once. “Just talk to her.”

Sunoo tilted his phone slightly, still showing the photo. “Before someone else does.”

And this time, Sunghoon didn’t argue.

──────────────────────────────

You push through the operating room doors, the sterile air hitting you instantly as the urgency inside the room becomes clear. The patient is already on the table, breaths uneven, the monitor beside her flashing unstable vitals.

“Doctor, her blood pressure is dropping,” one of the nurses calls out.

“I see it,” you reply, already gloving up. “Prepare for immediate delivery.”

Jungwon stands across from you, already scrubbed in, eyes focused but tense. This is different from the cases he’s seen before, this one is slipping, and even he can feel it. The usual controlled rhythm of the operating room feels tighter, heavier.

You moved quickly, voice steady despite the rising pressure. “Ma’am, stay with me, okay? You’re doing well. Just a little more.”

The woman turns her head slightly towards you, her face pale, lips trembling. “Doctor…” her voice is weak, barely audible. “If something happens…”

You shake your head immediately. “Nothing is going to happen. We’re getting both of you through this.”

She lets out a shaky breath, her fingers weakly gripping the sheets. “Please… just save the baby.”

“No,” you say firmly, without hesitation. “We’re saving both of you. Stay with me.”

“Heart rate dropping!” another nurse calls.

“Let’s move, now.” The room shifts into rapid motion.

“Push,” you instruct, your tone controlled but urgent. “You have to push for me.” With one final effort, the baby is delivered.

A second of silence, then a cry fills the room, strong and alive.

“Baby’s out,” you announced, a flicker of relief passing through the team.

But it doesn’t last.

“Doctor, she’s bleeding heavily!”

You look down, there's far more blood than before as it pooled rapidly.

“Start uterotonics. Apply pressure, now!” you order, your voice sharper now.

Jungwon hesitates for a fraction of a second before moving, following your commands, his movements slightly rushed.

“Ma’am, stay with me!” you call, louder now. “Stay with me!”

The monitor begins to slow.

“No, no, come on,” you mutter under your breath. “We’re not losing you.”

“BP unrecordable!”

“Prepare for resuscitation!”

The flatline cuts through the room. Followed by a long, continuous sound.

“No!” you shout, immediately stepping in. “Start CPR!”

You begin compressions, counting under your breath, your movements precise but desperate.

“Come on… come on…” you whisper, your voice cracking just slightly.

Jungwon watches for a brief moment, then steps in to assist, swallowing hard as he follows your lead.

Minutes pass, but the monitor doesn’t change.

The sound remains flat as your movements slow down.

The weight of the silence settles heavily in the room, no one daring to speak. For a moment, you just stare at the monitor, as if waiting for it to change. It doesn’t.

You inhale slowly, forcing yourself to straighten.

“Time of death,” you say, your voice quieter now, but steady as you glance at the clock. “4:56 pm.”

The baby’s cries echo faintly from across the room, a sharp contrast to the stillness surrounding you.

You turn your head towards Jungwon, your expression composed, but your eyes betray a flicker of something deeper.

“Transfer the baby to the newborn unit,” you instruct. “Go with the nurses.”

Jungwon nods, swallowing hard as two nurses carefully prepare the infant.

He hesitates for just a moment, looking back at you, before following them out.

You exhaled deeply, looking at the patient lying before you. Then you instructed the nurses on what to do with the body, ending with, “I’ll go inform her husband.”

ᯓ★ ݁˖

Pushing the operating room doors open, you stepped out into the hallway. The bright lights feel harsher now, the noise around you dull and distant. Across from you, her husband sits in the waiting area. The moment he sees you, he stands up quickly.

“Doc… how are they?” he asks as you approach.

You take a slow breath, steadying yourself, gathering the courage to say the words.

“I’m sorry, sir… but your wife didn’t make it,” you say quietly.

His shoulders drop as he looks down, his composure breaking as he starts to cry.

“…And the baby?” he asks after a moment, wiping at his tears.

“She’s alive,” you reply gently. “They’ve taken her to the newborn unit. I’ll let you know when it’s okay for you to visit.”

He nods weakly, trying to hold himself together.

“I’m… I’m sorry again for your loss,” you add, trying to sound professional despite the lump in your throat.

“It’s okay,” he says, though his voice trembles. “At least… at least you saved our baby. Thank you for that.”

You nod, offering a small, sympathetic smile as he turns and walks away, his steps heavy and unsteady.

You know it wasn't your fault, but deep down you still feel disappointed in yourself for not saving her.

As a doctor, moments like these are inevitable. But for you, it has only happened six times, including today. You always do your best to save your patients’ lives and you usually succeed. So when the worst happens, you can’t help but feel responsible, as if the loss was yours to carry.

You step aside, pressing a hand lightly against the wall as you take in a sharp breath. Tears begin to fall, quiet at first, then harder as the memory resurfaces, your patient’s face, the way she looked at you, trusting you when you promised to save both her and her baby.

“Y/N?” You heard someone call and you look up to see Sunghoon. You stared at him for a while, your expression a mix of surprise and nervous at the thought of him seeing your vulnerable side.

“Sunghoon, I—”

Before you can finish, he closes the distance and pulls you into a gentle embrace. One hand comes up to cradle the back of your head, guiding it to rest against his shoulder, while the other slowly rubs your back.

“Shh… it’s okay,” he murmurs softly. “You don’t have to explain anything.” He holds you carefully, like you might fall apart at any second.

You stayed like that for a while, crying into his shoulder, his arms wrapped securely around you.

You’re not sure how, but the simple gesture made you feel safe. The comfort you didn’t even realize you needed is suddenly there, steady and warm, easing the tightness in your chest little by little.

“I couldn’t save her,” you manage to say, your voice breaking as you pull away slightly, shaking your head. “I tried… but it wasn’t enough.”

“Hey, look at me.”

His hands gently cups your cheeks, guiding your gaze back to his.

“It’s not your fault,” he says softly. “It never was. So don’t blame yourself for what happened. You did everything you could.” His voice remains calm, comforting. “I’m like that too, I don’t always get to save my patients. But what matters is that you tried. That’s what counts.”

You swallow, nodding slowly as his words sink in.

“You’re right. Thank you,” you whisper.

He gives you a small, reassuring smile. “You don’t have to thank me. Just know that I’m always here for you.”

Your breath catches at that.

Your brows knit slightly as you search his face, trying to find even the slightest hint that he’s joking, but there’s nothing. Just sincerity, clear and unwavering in his eyes.

“Sunghoon…” you murmur.

“Yeah?” he responds, tilting his head slightly.

“Why are you being so nice to me?” you ask quietly. “I’ve been a jerk to you these past few weeks but you’re still here, comforting me.”

Your gaze drops again, guilt creeping in.

“I don’t think I deserve your kindness… or even your friendship.”

Sunghoon shakes his head almost immediately. He lifts your chin gently with his finger, making you look at him again.

“I don’t care about the past few weeks,” he says. “You needed someone, so I came.”

Something in your chest stirs at that, soft and unfamiliar, yet overwhelming all at once. Your lips tremble slightly as your eyes begin to sting again.

“I’m so sorry,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper. “I promise I won’t do it again.”

Before he can respond, you step forward and wrapped your arms around him once more, holding him tighter this time.

Sunghoon lets out a soft chuckle, clearly caught off guard, but he doesn’t pull away. Instead, he gently pats your back, his touch warm and reassuring as you cling to him.

──────────────────────────────

The next day after the incident, you, Sunghoon, Sunoo, and Chaewon went out to eat together. It was Sunghoon’s idea, he said it might help cheer you up after everything that happened.

You sat at the table with Chaewon beside you and Sunghoon across from you.

As you waited for your food, you glanced at him and smiled. “Sunghoon, thank you for this. I really needed it. I’m glad to have a friend like you.”

Then you looked over at Chaewon and Sunoo. “And you guys too.”

“Aww, no problem, babes. We’re always here to cheer you up,” Chaewon replied, wrapping an arm around you in a side hug.

“Friends?” Sunoo suddenly echoed, glancing at Sunghoon from the corner of his eye.

You blinked, confused.

“Oh– I mean… yeah, you’re welcome,” he quickly corrected, offering an awkward smile.

Before you could question it further, the food arrived, filling the table and momentarily shifting everyone’s attention.

The conversation died down as you all started eating, the clinking of utensils replacing it.

A few minutes in, Sunoo suddenly stood up.

“I just need to go to the restroom,” he said casually, then turned to Sunghoon. “Come with me.”

Before Sunghoon could even react, Sunoo was already pulling him up from his seat. Sunghoon barely had time to set his fork down, looking completely caught off guard as he was dragged along.

You watched them walk away, brows slightly furrowed.

“What was that about?” Chaewon asked.

You shrugged, just as confused. “I have no idea.”

ᯓ★ ݁˖

As you walked back to the hospital, you decided to bring up what happened earlier.

“So… are you going to tell me what that was about, or am I supposed to pretend it was nothing?” you asked, glancing at Sunghoon.

“What? That?” Sunghoon replied casually, slipping his hands into his pockets. “Sunoo was just overreacting about something.”

“Really…” you said, clearly unconvinced. “What kind of something?”

He rolled his eyes slightly, though a small smile tugged at his lips. “It’s just between me and him. Don’t worry. I’ll tell you if it ever concerns you.”

You let out a quiet sigh, deciding not to push further. “Okay, fine. I’ll believe you. As long as it’s not about a secret crush or anything, then I’m out.”

“What?” Sunghoon suddenly said, a bit too quickly.

You frowned, studying his reaction. “Huh…?” Then it clicked. “Wait… I’m right?”

“N-no, you’re not,” he denied, but the tips of his ears turned noticeably red.

A laugh slipped out of you. “Hey, relax. I won’t tell anyone,” you said, nudging him lightly. “Your secret’s safe with me.”

He glanced at you, still unsure whether to believe you.

“I think I already have an idea who it is,” you added, a teasing smile forming. “And don’t worry, I support you.”

“Oh…” Sunghoon exhaled, some of the tension leaving his shoulders. “T– thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” you replied with a small smile.

You looked away after that, your chest tightening just a little, feeling a strange mix of relief and disappointment. Relief, because Sunghoon trusted you with something so personal, and disappointment, because you hadn’t expected him to like Wonyoung back.

You thought you had successfully buried those feelings long ago, but hearing him admit he had a crush still stung more than you were willing to admit.

It’s fine, you told yourself. As long as you stayed good friends, that would be enough.

──────────────────────────────

The fluorescent lights in the doctors’ lounge felt harsher than usual.

Maybe it was the hour. Maybe it was the exhaustion settling deep into your bones. Or maybe it was the way the numbers on the chart in front of you refused to make sense no matter how many times you read them.

Beside you, the cup of coffee you bought earlier had long gone lukewarm.

You reached for it anyway, bringing it to your lips in a half-hearted attempt to wake yourself up.

The bitter taste lingered, but it did little to chase away the heaviness in your eyes. If anything, it only reminded you how tired you really were.

You blinked once. Twice.

Still, the words blurred.

With a quiet sigh, you leaned back slightly in your chair, pressing your fingers against your temple as if that would somehow force your mind to cooperate. It didn’t. If anything, the silence of the room only made your thoughts louder and harder to ignore.

You didn’t even realize you were staring blankly at the same line for the past five minutes.

“You’re going to misread that.”

The voice came from behind you, calm and familiar, cutting through your haze like it always did.

You didn’t turn immediately. Instead, you let out a small breath, somewhere between a tired laugh and defeat.

“I’m not,” you muttered weakly, eyes still on the chart. “I’m just… taking my time.”

There was a pause. Then the sound of footsteps, slow, unhurried, coming closer.

“You’ve been ‘taking your time’ on the same page since I got here,” he replied.

You finally turned, meeting Sunghoon’s gaze. His expression wasn’t mocking, nor was it particularly soft, it was something in between, the kind you had learned to read over the years. Observant. Quietly concerned.

You straightened a little in your seat, as if that alone could prove your point.

“I’m fine,” you insisted, though even you could hear how unconvincing it sounded.

His eyes flickered briefly to the untouched coffee beside you, then back to your face.

“You didn’t even finish that,” he pointed out.

You glanced at the cup, then away. “It’s not working,” you admitted under your breath.

That was when his expression shifted, just slightly.

“…Come on.”

You frowned slightly. “What?”

“Come on,” he repeated, already turning away as if he expected you to follow.

You stared at his back for a second, then let out a quiet sigh before pushing your chair back. The legs scraped softly against the floor as you stood, grabbing your coat almost out of habit.

“Where are we going?” you asked, trailing after him.

“Fresh air,” he said simply. “Since that clearly isn’t working.”

You glanced back once at the abandoned cup of coffee on the table before following him out.

ᯓ★ ݁˖

The hallway was quieter than usual.

Your footsteps echoed faintly against the polished floors, falling into rhythm with his. Neither of you spoke, and yet the silence felt… comfortable. Familiar. It wrapped around the two of you like something well-worn, something neither of you questioned anymore.

The elevator ride was short.

You leaned lightly against the wall, arms loosely crossed, your head tilting back just enough for your eyes to close for a second. The hum of the elevator was almost lulling, dangerously so.

“You’re actually going to fall asleep standing up,” Sunghoon muttered.

You opened one eye lazily. “I’m not that far gone.”

He didn’t respond, but you felt his gaze stayed on you for a brief moment.

ᯓ★ ݁˖

The rooftop door creaked softly as he pushed it open.

The moment you stepped out, the cold night air hits your face, sharp and refreshing. It stole the warmth lingering on your skin and replaced it with something clearer.

You inhaled deeply.

And for the first time in hours, your head felt lighter.

“…Okay,” you admitted, stepping forward. “That actually helped.”

The wind picked up slightly, brushing past you and tugging at the edges of your coat. Fabric shifted, swaying gently with each passing breeze, the night wrapping itself around you in quiet movements.

You walked towards the railing, resting your hands against the cool metal as you looked out at the city below. Lights flickered in the distance, cars moving like slow, distant streams.

For a moment, everything felt far away.

“Thanks for this,” you said softly.

No response.

You glanced over your shoulder.

Sunghoon stood a few steps behind you, his hands tucked into his coat pockets, his posture relaxed but his gaze wasn’t on the view.

It was on you.

You turned slightly, brows knitting together. “What?”

He didn’t answer right away.

Instead, he took a step closer.

Then another.

The faint sound of his shoes against the concrete felt louder than it should have, each step closing the space between you until he was standing beside you, closer than usual.

Close enough for you to notice the way the wind shifted his hair slightly.

Close enough to see the way his eyes caught the city lights.

The way they seemed to twinkle, just barely, as he looked at you, not distant, but focused in a way that made your chest tighten without warning.

Something in your expression must have changed, because his gaze softened a little.

“You know, lately…” he began slowly, his voice lower now, steadier but heavier somehow. “I’ve been noticing things I didn’t before.”

Your breath hitched, just slightly.

“I thought it was nothing,” he continued. “I told myself it didn’t matter.” Then he took another step closer.

You didn’t move.

“But it keeps coming back,” he said, softer now. “No matter how much I try to ignore it.”

Your heart was beating faster now, louder than the wind, louder than your thoughts.

You couldn’t look away, not when he was standing this close, not when his voice sounded like that.

“Look, Y/N…” he said, your name quieter than you had ever heard it from him.

“I’ve been meaning to tell you something—”

A sharp sound cut through the air.

Your phone rang.

The sudden noise felt almost too loud in contrast to the stillness that had built up around you. You flinched slightly, breaking eye contact as you reached into your pocket.

Jungwon’s name flashes on your caller ID the moment you pick up.

Before you can even speak, his voice comes through urgently. “Y/N, there’s a woman in active labor with complications. We need you here now.”

“Okay, I’m coming,” you reply, your voice cutting through the quiet rooftop.

The wind is still, almost cruelly calm compared to the urgency in his tone.

You turn to Sunghoon, and for a brief second, your expression softens with guilt. “There’s an emergency. You can tell me that next time, okay?”

“Oh… okay,” he says quietly, the disappointment flickering across his face before he can hide it.

“I’m sorry, I have to go,” you add, already stepping back.

And just like that, you’re gone.

Sunghoon watches as you rush towards the door, your coat trailing behind you, footsteps echoing sharply before fading completely into the hospital corridor.

The rooftop falls silent again.

He stays there for a moment longer, unmoving, the wind brushing through his hair as if time itself has slowed down just for him.

A small breath escapes him, almost a sigh, as he looks at the empty space where you were standing just seconds ago.

══════════════════════════════

☙ taglist:

@kristynaaah @choibeargyu @oopshee @wonstruck7 @missoxy @loveydoveyez @naraemin @momoarchiveee @betagalactose @jakebitez @reneleaily @jakey1115 @honestlyatomicpanda @jaeunaria0-0 @thisismepls @sievenderz @fabulousarepo4 @heestiki @cumtrov3rsy @wonniecaramelmacchiato

author's note: wow, 12K words, this is actually my first time writing a fic that reached this word count

i really enjoyed writing this, which is probably why it ended up this long haha. as a med student myself, i got especially excited while writing the medical parts. and i think this is, by far, my favorite fic that I’ve written so far

i hope you were able to read it until the end >< even if it didn’t fully meet your expectations, i genuinely did my best to pour my heart into this fic (which I think I somehow did hehe)

[taexual]

. . . d e l i r i u m | 3

it’s been two hours since i left you in new york city now, but i guess good love dies young ///yungblud, time

pairing: yeonjun x fem!reader

summary: sometimes love and hate exist on opposite ends of the map. other times, on separate floors of the same building.

genre: ex!yeonjun / enemies to lovers au / neighbour au

warnings: slow burn, mutual pining, fluff & firting, strong language, ANGST (but it’s necessary for them)

words: 13k

[ ! ] this is a sequel to equilibrium

masterlist / read from the beginning

✦ • ─── AUGUST 24, 2026. 6:55 AM

Violet was back on your fire escape the following Monday morning, undeterred by such feeble inconveniences as a firmly shut window latch.

You saw her as soon as you opened your eyes.

Before you’d moved in, you’d worried about the short curtains, afraid that the morning light would wake you up at the crack of dawn. Now, however, fingers braced on the window frame as you worked the latch, you appreciated every inch of glass they failed to cover.

Violet slipped inside the moment you pushed the window open, already accustomed to this. She brushed your ankles in a brief greeting and strode through your bedroom like she was running late for a meeting in your living room.

You exhaled and reached for your phone. Your vision was still clouded with sleep as you opened Yeonjun’s contact, but last night’s conversation on your screen snapped you awake.

You typed quickly, forcing your eyes to stay on the keyboard.

YOU [6:58 AM] violet is ehre

It took him a minute to reply:

YEONJUN [6:59 AM] coming up

You briefly wondered if you’d woken him, but decided it wasn’t your problem. Violet, however fond you were of her, was his cat. And if he wasn’t taking enough precautions to keep her inside, he could deal with the consequences.

You headed into the kitchen and picked up your mug from the cupboard.

Violet had already stationed herself by the window, nose lowered to the floor where her water bowl had been the day before. There were faint smears on the tiles where droplets had dried. You made a mental note to give the floor a proper scrub tonight.

The doorbell rang, cutting through the quiet of your flat.

You opened the door to find Yeonjun in a loose grey jumper, hood up, his hair poking out in uneven strands from underneath. His eyes were half open.

“Hi,” he said, voice still rough with sleep.

“Hi,” you replied. “She’s by the window.”

He glanced over your shoulder. “Sorry again. I know it’s starting to come across like maybe I don’t mind her leaving—”

“A bit, yeah.”

He held back a smile. “I do mind. I don’t even hear her do it.”

You stepped aside. Yeonjun’s gaze dropped to your pyjama top. It had strawberries on it. He was almost certain he’d seen it on you before, and the recognition sent a pleasant shiver through him.

Your phone buzzed in your hand before he could speak.

Professor Lee.

You glanced towards the living room, where Violet was sitting with her tail curled politely at her feet, then back at Yeonjun.

“Come in,” you said. “I’ve got to take this.”

A little thrown by the invitation, Yeonjun hesitated on the threshold for another second, then stepped inside with a deep inhale.

You turned away to answer the call.

Professor Lee skipped the small talk as he usually did, but it felt particularly abrupt this early in the morning. Apparently, he needed you in. Said he had a faculty meeting, and you would have to cover his office hours.

Yes, immediately.

No, there wasn’t any time to discuss details.

You stumbled over your words, trying to negotiate a reasonable travel window; you couldn’t exactly come in immediately, you were in your pyjamas. But Professor Lee seemed to be operating under the assumption that you either possessed the ability to teleport, or would develop it under pressure.

While you blinked at the floor, Yeonjun made soft, clicking sounds with his tongue to get Violet’s attention behind you. She resisted for a good half a minute, watching you as though she expected you to tell him to stop; he was embarrassing them both.

When you didn’t meet her gaze, she relented and allowed Yeonjun to gather her up.

“Sorry,” he murmured as he passed you with Violet in his arms. His eyes lingered, briefly, on your vase of sunflowers. He didn’t ask where they’d come from, but hoped it was your grandfather.

You nodded, half-turned away.

“Alright,” you said into the phone, shutting the door. “I’m on my way.”

✦ • ─── AUGUST 24, 2026. 9 AM

As it turned out, Professor Lee’s emergency was not much of an emergency at all.

You sat in his office for an hour, and not a single student came; not one tentative knock, no confused first-year wandering in by accident.

You spent the first twenty minutes checking your emails, another twenty staring at the clock above the door, and the last spinning aimlessly in the chair, half-hoping someone would appear just to give you something to do.

This was the calm before the storm.

Shortly after Professor Lee returned, he declared, with his usual flair, that the undergrads had flipped his schedule upside down. Naturally, that meant yours was upside down as well.

You spent the rest of the day reshuffling appointments, reworking study plans, and running around campus in search of Professor Lee’s missing staff badge. You returned to his office with bad news, only to be told that he’d realised he’d forgotten the badge in the back pocket of his trousers at home. He had a great laugh about that. You considered stepping out for a cigarette.

By the time you returned to your building, you could barely stand. Your dark brown trainers, which seemed so comfortable when you put them on this morning, had rubbed blisters all over your feet. The noises of the day still rang in your ears.

Yeonjun was in the lobby.

He stood by the letterboxes with a bowl of something aggressively green (with tomatoes) and a fork.

“Hi again,” he said, mid-bite.

“Hi.” You paused by the door, eyeing the contents of his bowl. It seemed to be a salad. “Tastes better in the lobby?”

Grinning, he speared another leaf onto his fork and held it out to you. “Want to try?”

“No, thanks.” You moved past him towards the letterboxes. He shuffled out of your way, his trainers scraping on the floor. “Did you actually come out here to have lunch?”

There was a flimsy advert in your letterbox: window frames at twenty-five per cent off. You glanced at it, then scrunched it up in your hand.

“Technically,” Yeonjun said, pausing to swallow, “s’my breakfast.”

You shut the letterbox and looked at him. “It’s four in the afternoon.”

He shrugged, already shovelling another forkful to his mouth. You caught your gaze locking onto his fork and turned away, crossing the lobby towards the stairs. He followed.

“Everything okay, then?” he asked.

You glanced back at him. “Hm?”

“You rushed out this morning.”

“Oh.” You slipped the crumpled advert into your pocket to toss it out at home. “Professor Lee had—he needed me to come in early. Hope Violet wasn’t upset.”

“She was,” Yeonjun said. “Very offended you kicked her out. But what can you do.”

“Did you tell her I’ve got no hard feelings?”

“No.” He nudged something—coriander, by the look of it—to the side of the bowl. “I told her you changed your mind about being kind to her. S’showbiz.”

You fixed him with a look.

His grin settled more comfortably on his face. “What?”

You huffed, then turned back to the stairs.

“Violet’s fine,” he said, scraping the bottom of the bowl. The sound was eerie in the stairwell. “She’s spoiled, I told you. But she, uh—hopefully she’ll stop coming. M’thinking I’ll stick some tape on the latch, so she stops getting ideas.”

“Hmm.” You dragged your hands down the sides of your jacket. “She won’t like that.”

“Probably not,” he agreed. “But she’ll realise it’s for the best.”

He took the next step, then stumbled to a halt, suddenly recognising his mother’s words in his mouth.

His fork clipped the rim of the bowl and slipped, clattering down onto the stairs.

You turned.

“My fork,” he said, mournfully, and bent to retrieve it.

You pressed your lips together. “Serves you right. Eating in the stairwell.”

Yeonjun hummed as he straightened, tilting his head.

“Meant to do that,” he said.

“M’sure you did.”

He stopped outside his door, shifting the bowl to one hand so he could find his keys in his jumper pocket. You continued up the stairs.

“See you tomorrow, then,” he called out.

“Or not,” you replied. “If Violet hates me now.”

“Sure. But I might pop by the lobby, still.”

You glanced back down at him. “Oh, might?”

He lifted a shoulder in a lazy shrug, his lips stretching. “We’ll see what tomorrow brings.”

Shaking your head, you continued up the remaining steps.

✦ • ─── AUGUST 25, 2026. 6:55 AM

On Tuesday, Violet waited on your fire escape while you fumbled with the window frame. There was a strip of tape stuck to her whiskers. Evidently, Yeonjun’s grand plan to protect the latch hadn’t worked.

You braced a hand against the sill, blocking her path for a moment, and gently plucked the tape away. She chirped sharply, offended to be disrupted in this way, and tried to nip past your grasp.

You pulled back. The fire escape creaked as Violet slipped in through the gap and landed gracefully on your floor.

You shut the window and picked up your phone.

YOU [6:57 AM] guess who’s back

YEONJUN [6:57 AM] back again shady’s back

Frowning, you started to type before he could send another text.

YOU [6:58 AM] you coming or

The three dots disappeared for a minute.

YEONJUN [6:59 AM] omw

By the time the doorbell rang, Violet had already made herself comfortable on the armrest of the sofa. She flicked an ear at the sound, blinked once, and turned back to the window.

You opened the door.

Yeonjun looked as though he’d come here directly from his bed. His hair was flattened at the back, sticking up at odd angles by his temples; his shirt sat crooked on his shoulders, collar askew.

He took a determined breath and dropped into a squat.

“Right, then,” he said. You pulled back from the door, giving him a clear line of sight. “Come on, love.”

Violet did not come on.

Yeonjun had come prepared; he crinkled her bag of treats.

Unfortunately, that only drew Violet a little bit closer. She sat down at a safe distance and eyed him for a minute. A few petals from the sunflowers lay scattered on the floor beside her.

“Alright,” he murmured, giving the bag another shake. “Few more steps for me, yeah? Just—”

The moment he reached for her, Violet twisted out of his grasp with startling speed.

“Violet, shit—” He jerked his hand back, blinking at the thin red line rising across his skin. “What did I tell you last night? You can’t scratch when I’m trying to teach you to behave.”

You folded your arms and diplomatically averted your gaze to grant them some privacy.

Yeonjun’s firm tone must have registered with Violet, though, because she made a low, begrudging sound and turned around. After another moment’s consideration, she lifted her chin and stepped past him into the stairwell, as if this had been her intention all along.

Exhaling, Yeonjun stood.

“Your hand alright?” you asked.

He gave it a reflexive shake. “Yeah, it’ll be fine. Growing pains. Sorry about her.”

“She’s alright,” you said. Violet turned her head in your direction, her pupils wide. She was hoping you’d invite her back inside. “She’s clearly very determined to keep coming.”

Yeonjun glanced down at her and cautiously extended his hand again. Violet leaned in for a sniff, her whiskers stiff against his skin. She allowed him exactly one stroke down her back before slipping deftly out from under his fingers.

“Feisty today,” you observed.

“I’ve been holding back the treats,” Yeonjun explained, straightening. He rattled the package in his hands again. “Hoped it’d stop her clawing at the window.”

“Ah.” You inclined your head. “So she’s come to claw at you instead.”

“I guess.” He twisted his wrist experimentally—then winced, breath catching as the motion pulled at his old sprain. He dropped his hand back to his side. “Anyway, uh—I’ll try again with the curtains. I pulled them up, but maybe she wants them fully gone.”

You followed his gaze to Violet, now perched on the top stair, thoughtfully licking her paw.

“Maybe,” you said.

“Yeah.” He rocked lightly on his heels, then remembered himself and stilled. “Um—you’ll be off to uni, then?”

You pushed off the doorframe. The edge of your pyjama pants snagged on a loose splinter in the wood. You glanced down, suddenly very aware of the stain at the knee from an unlucky accident with oil.

“Yeah,” you said, angling your leg to hide the blemish. “Professor Lee and I are hosting the introductory lecture for undergrads today.”

“Oh,” Yeonjun said. He opened his mouth to make another comment, but discovered he had none left. Half his brain was still asleep. “Good luck.”

You nodded.

He stayed on your doorstep.

The corridor fell into a quiet stillness around you. Only the soft, repetitive sounds of Violet grooming herself by the stairs broke the silence.

Yeonjun scratched the back of his neck and glanced at you, then dropped his gaze back to the floor.

“I, uh,” he said, “I could drive you.”

Your stomach seemed to drop out from under you.

You glanced down, instinctively, as if to catch it.

“Oh,” you said, gaze locked on your slippers. “N—I mean, no need. It’s not far.”

“Okay,” he said quickly. “Well, if you change your mind, let me know. The offer always stands.”

Violet had paused, mid-lick, to give him a pointed look. Yeonjun caught it and blinked away.

Nice going, idiot, she seemed to be saying. What else you got?

“Right,” he said, bending to scoop her up before he started to peel his skin off. “See you later, then.”

You dragged a hand over the side of the doorframe. “Later.”

✦ • ─── AUGUST 25, 2026. 9 AM

Professor Lee was running late, which wasn’t unusual. You suspected the man would one day be late for his own funeral.

You could manage his absence.

What you could not manage was the auditorium door.

You pressed your staff badge to the scanner again. The little light above the lock flashed red.

You stared at it, perplexed.

The corridor began to fill with students, their voices wrapping around you—laughter, complaints about the cold, yawns, jokes about the football match last night. You stood still, badge in hand, trying to look like you weren’t locked out of your own lecture.

Your skin felt terribly warm. Uselessly, your mind flashed back to the early morning. Yeonjun hadn’t driven you here, yet your stomach still felt tight as if he had.

“Sure you’ve got the right room?”

You turned. A boy stood beside you, looking a good ten years younger than you. He should’ve been in kindergarten.

“Yeah,” you said. “Seems like technology’s not working today.”

“Oh, well,” he said easily. “Guess class is cancelled, then. You can hang out with us instead.”

His friend, taller than him but still looking like he was learning to clap his syllables in primary school, jabbed him in the ribs. “Shut up.”

You forced a tight smile and tried the badge again.

Red.

The boy beside you snickered. His friend failed, audibly, to stifle his own amusement.

A few more comments followed behind you, just loud enough to reach you: most assuming this was your first day on the job (it was), or that you were actually a first-year, too (you almost wished).

You kept your eyes on the lock.

When Professor Lee appeared five minutes later, slightly out of breath but unfazed as always, the corridor immediately quieted.

It irked you a little, his innate authority.

You wondered what he had that you didn’t. He didn’t look much like a professor with his multicoloured shirt, jeans, and a black backpack slung over one shoulder.

Maybe it was just that he was a man.

“Ah,” he said as a way of introducing himself. “Good, good.”

He tapped his badge once.

The light blinked green. The lock clicked open.

Smiling like you were due for a check-up at the local psychiatric ward, you stepped into the auditorium after him.

The lecture, at least, went better.

Once you switched on your PowerPoint, the words came easily. You’d practised your presentation until it was muscle memory, even if said muscles kept shaking the entire hour and a half.

The students listened. And, in what passed for high praise these days, only a few of them pulled out their phones.

After you finished, a small group stayed behind.

“Sorry about earlier,” one of the students said—Sungjae, you’d learned, the one who’d tried to recruit you in the corridor. “You’re very young for a lecturer.”

“Yeah,” you said, cutting him a look as you turned off the projector. “I’m equally shocked they let me do this.”

He snorted, relieved you were playing along, and brought a finger over the edge of your desk.

“You did well, though,” he said. “I’m looking forward to seeing you the rest of the term.”

You gave him a tight smile.

He’d been overly active the whole class, raising his hand to clarify the points that didn’t need clarifying (‘Why’s that image wonky? Oh, sorry, I thought it was, like, a test of our perception—carry on.’). He reminded you of the students back in your thesis workshop.

He didn’t move from your desk.

Behind him, Professor Lee was deep in conversation with another cluster of students, nodding enthusiastically at something you suspected he hadn’t even heard. You considered calling him over.

Clearing your throat, you glanced back at Sungjae.

“First paper’s due end of September,” you said. “I’m very excited for that.”

“Oh—right.” His eyes widened, then dropped to the floor. “Yeah—I’ll do my best, then. Have a good one.”

“You, too.”

He rejoined his friends in the corridor, where he was immediately met with a round of laughter and a few punches to the shoulder.

Off to a good start, then.

At least this one hadn’t tried to ask for your phone number. You might’ve had to call his parents otherwise.

Turning away, you caught Professor Lee’s eye. He beamed at you and flashed you an energetic thumbs up, startling the boys he’d been speaking to.

You smiled back, relaxing your shoulders.

The professor hadn’t changed much since he’d been hosting your psychological warfare seminars back in grad school. And, despite everything, it felt good to be back in the trenches.

✦ • ─── AUGUST 25, 2026. 4 PM

When you returned, Yeonjun was leaning against the wall in the lobby, scrolling through his phone.

This, you realised absurdly, might’ve been the most stable part of your life right now.

No matter what happened at university, you could trust Yeonjun to be in the lobby when you got home.

You sighed as the doors clicked shut behind you.

Yeonjun looked up, already smiling before your eyes properly met. He had big, black-framed glasses on today. They were sliding down his nose.

“Oh, hi,” he said. “Back already?”

“My usual time, it seems.”

“Yeah? Wouldn’t know.”

You hummed, eyes narrowing slightly.

The last time you’d seen him wear glasses, he’d followed you into the library where you were working on a presentation with Luke. Those had been lensless, then; he’d been putting up a performance. Brought a book and everything.

“Like my glasses?” he asked, noting your stare as he slipped his phone into the back pocket of his jeans.

“Real or not?”

“Real, of course.”

“Yeah?” You turned away, tightening the strap of your backpack. “Used to wear ones for decoration.”

He knew exactly what you were thinking about.

“Used to wear real ones, too,” he said, eyes glittering behind the frames. “Before we met.”

You remembered him mentioning that.

“Mhmm,” you said. “So, a quick switch to being fake, then, yeah? Checks out.”

He blew out a puff of air. You seemed in a violent mood today—perhaps Violet had infected you—yet the small smile on your lips as you crossed the lobby had him transfixed.

He stood still for half a second before he realised to follow you.

“I like that you remember my fake glasses,” he said, deciding he enjoyed walking on thin ice. His hand followed yours on the railing.

“Hard not to,” you replied. “You stalked me into the library.”

“I asked if I could come with you.”

“I said no.”

“You didn’t.”

“I implied—”

“Well, how am I supposed to understand implications?” he cut in, tapping his palm against the bannister. “I can’t read minds.”

You gave him a flat look over your shoulder. “Clearly.”

He grinned. “You should tell me everything directly.”

“Alright.” You paused on the second-floor landing and turned to face him properly. “Don’t come to the lobby anymore.”

“That’s better,” he said, stopping a few steps below. “I’ll see what I can do.”

“That doesn’t sound reassuring.”

He shrugged. “I’m only human.”

Clicking your tongue, you turned back towards the stairs.

“Tell me something else, then,” you said. “What are you doing, job-wise, to have enough free time to loiter here every day?”

Yeonjun was feeling very buoyant and needed a moment to gather himself. Then his thoughts.

“I do simulations,” he said finally. “Strategy work.”

You slowed just enough for him to fall into step with you.

“For cars?” you asked. “Racing?”

“Yeah.” He shrugged. Then, catching your raised eyebrows, he added, “not anywhere near Formula, in case s’what you’re thinking.”

“But you’re an engineer?”

He lifted a hand in a vague, sideways motion.

“A consultant, technically,” he said. “Mostly performance diagnostics. Data analysis.”

You lowered your head, thoughts drifting.

Beside you, Yeonjun could tell you remembered playing 21 Questions on his sofa with him. Eating grapes and chocolates. You’d asked him what he wanted to do in the future. He’d said he liked cars.

He remembered it, too: the low crackle of the fireplace, the way you used to look at him back then.

When he got the call with the job offer, that was what came back to him first.

“What sort of racing, then?” you asked, not looking at him.

“Stock cars.”

“Oh.” That surprised you again. “Like NASCAR?”

“Sort of,” he said. “We’ve got a local league. Closest thing you’ll get to NASCAR here, I guess.”

The stairwell narrowed as you climbed past the third floor, forcing you closer. Sunlight pushed through the thin windows in stubborn streaks, catching dust in the air and highlighting the yellow paint on the walls.

“Haven’t moved to dirt, then,” you said, almost absentmindedly.

His nose scrunched faintly, a reflex you recognised before you could stop yourself noticing.

“No,” he said, pushing his glasses higher up his nose. “Loyal to tarmac.”

“Hmm.”

By the fourth floor, your pace had slowed without either of you deciding on it.

You were aware that there was only one floor left until his flat. And if you lingered to talk there, that would mean you weren’t just exchanging quick neighbourly small talk on the stairs anymore. Then you’d be having a Conversation.

“That’s cool, though,” you said. “You went legal.”

“Yeah.” His gaze dropped to the stairs. “S’not bad. Mostly screens and numbers. Pays well, though, and, uh—” he looked up, “—leaves me with loads of free time.”

You met his eyes.

“Mhmm.” Your lips pressed together. “That explains it.”

“I do leave my flat, though,” he added quickly. “On test days, and—”

“I’m not accusing you of anything.”

“You gave me a look.”

You snickered under your breath.

“Didn’t mean anything by it,” you said. “Just surprised you’d voluntarily choose to work from home.”

That was fair enough, Yeonjun had to admit.

He let out a quiet breath, his gaze settling somewhere ahead.

“I’ve, uh—I’ve changed a lot,” he said. He’d had this conversation in his head hundreds of times before. He wondered if his words sounded rehearsed. “Found my peace.”

This wasn’t the first time he said something like this to you.

You didn’t know what it was supposed to mean.

“That’s good,” you said.

“Yeah.”

You rounded the next corner, gaze catching on the uneven linoleum, the peeling paint on the walls, the bannister smoothed by hundreds of hands. It all looked softer in the sunlight, more welcoming.

The two of you reached the fifth floor.

Yeonjun stopped at his door, hand hovering near the handle. He waited until you turned to glance back at him.

“Let’s see what Violet does tomorrow, I guess,” he said. “Yeah?”

You nodded and turned for the last flight up. “Yeah.”

Yeonjun watched you go.

✦ • ─── AUGUST 26, 2026. 6:55 AM

Violet did not care about the curtains.

She was back on the fire escape at her usual time, seated with rigid patience, waiting for you to notice her. In truth, she felt quite disrespected. It’d been nearly a week – surely, you should’ve expected her by now?

The faint, persistent scrape against the glass of your window finally dragged you from sleep.

You sighed into the pillow, then heaved yourself upright and went to the window. Violet squeezed through the gap the moment you lifted the latch, nudging the frame further with her plump backside.

“Violet,” you said as she toddled into the living room. “Be honest with me. Do you hate Yeonjun? I won’t tell him.”

Violet kept her secrets and settled between your flower pots.

Half an hour later, Yeonjun stood in the middle of your flat, scratching the back of his head. You left him to sort out the cat while you dried your hair in front of the mirror by the bathroom door.

“I don’t know what else to do,” he admitted, turning to look at you. He felt faintly dizzy at the scent of your shampoo.

He’d just spent five minutes hunched over in your kitchen, rattling the treat bag with steadily dwindling confidence. Violet wasn’t falling for it. Stretched out in her patch of sunlight, she had not so much as turned her head.

“Is she opening the latch herself?” you asked, shutting off the hairdryer and bringing a hand through your hair. It felt staticky. You tried to smooth it down.

“I mean, unless my flat’s haunted, yeah,” he said. “I shut it properly, I’m sure. She must keep at it until it gives. Chewed through the tape I’d put on and everything.” He glanced at the cat. “Then she just lets herself out.”

You hummed, gathering the cable as you turned your attention back to Violet.

You watched her roll onto her back, exposing her stomach to the sun. Her mottled fur seemed to glisten in the light. Her paws pressed against the glass.

She looked entirely at home.

“Um.” You walked into the kitchen and set the hairdryer on the island. “We could try leaving her here for the day.”

Even as you said them, the words sounded strange.

“I’ll be back around four,” you added, filling the pause before it could turn awkward. “I can let her out then. Bring her back to you. Obviously, I’d leave water out, and—” you gestured towards him, “—you could bring over some food. She could just—I don’t know. Stay here. For a bit. Like back on Sunday.”

Yeonjun watched Violet’s tail flick rhythmically against the floorboards and didn’t answer straight away. He flexed his fingers once, as if to remind himself that he, too, had a corporeal form.

“You’d—” He cleared his throat. “You’d be alright with that?”

You lifted one shoulder. “I don’t mind. But she’s your cat.”

Yeonjun was very aware of that. Aware, too, that Violet, his cat, clearly preferred your place to his.

He wondered, although he tried not to, how many other things he had in common with her.

“Yeah,” he said at last. “She—yeah. I’m cool. Fair warning, though, I can’t thank you with peach cobbler this time. Haven’t had a chance to bake anything.”

“Oh.” You raised your eyebrows and tsked. “Well, obviously, this can’t work, then. Take the cat and go.”

He snorted.

“We can try leaving her here,” he said.

“Yeah?”

He nodded.

“Okay.” You turned back to Violet. “Yeah.”

“I’ll, uh—I’ll bring over some of her food.”

“Alright.”

You stood still for a moment after he left, watching Violet and trying to decide if the rapid, uneven thumping in your chest meant anything. You decided it didn’t.

Yeonjun returned a few minutes later with Violet’s food in a charming, pale green ceramic bowl.

You took it and set it down on the floor beside the water, your expression deliberately neutral. This was all, of course, perfectly ordinary. Just doing your neighbour a favour and letting his cat stay at your flat. Again.

Violet lifted her head at the soft click of the ceramic against the floor. You crouched beside her, giving her a gentle poke on the back, then gesturing towards Yeonjun.

“Look, little one,” you said. “You sure you won’t miss him during the day? He’ll be gone awfully long.”

She flicked her tail once in acknowledgement, then turned her head back towards the window.

“Right, then,” you said, standing. “Never mind.”

“Right,” Yeonjun echoed. He was twiddling his thumbs.

“Nervous to leave her?” you asked.

“A bit.” He dropped his hands, then pushed them up to the back of his neck. “Always hard for a parent to separate from his kid.”

You felt your lips twitch again and turned away. “She’ll be alright.”

“Yeah. I guess.”

You left him to say his goodbyes—he did genuinely seem close to tears—and stepped into your bedroom to open the window just an inch, in case Violet decided to go home early. Then you returned to the living room.

Violet hadn’t moved. Her eyes were still squeezed shut in front of the sun.

You grabbed your backpack and stepped out into the corridor. Yeonjun followed, quieter now.

He lingered behind while you locked the door, wondering if he should say something else. He didn’t.

“Alright,” you said, slipping your keys into your backpack. “See you later, then. I’m sure Violet will be okay.”

“Yeah.” He nodded. “See you.”

He walked downstairs with you to his floor and stood by his door a minute longer. By the time he went inside, he was smiling again.

✦ • ─── AUGUST 26, 2026. 4 PM

When you returned home that afternoon, the light in the lobby was dimmer. The sun slanted through the narrow windows, reflecting off the silver chain around Yeonjun’s neck.

He turned from the letterboxes the moment he heard the door shut. He had his glasses on again.

You smiled before you could stop yourself.

“Hi,” you said. “She hasn’t come back?”

“Hi.” He pushed himself off the wall. “No. M’starting to think she won’t want to.”

Your heart lifted at that. You forced it to calm down.

“She’s probably just looking for a change in environment,” you reasoned, turning towards the stairs. “Or—have you got other pets? Or some unusual odour in your flat?”

He snorted, following you. “No. She’s my only pet and the only unusual odour in my flat.”

You laughed.

Yeonjun felt it like a sudden drop in gravity and reached for the bannister just in case. He was remarkably dreadful on his feet around you. There was probably a name for it.

“Think she just likes your place, to be honest,” he said around the second floor. “You’ve got good light. And plants.”

You glanced at him. “You haven’t got plants?”

“No.”

You slowed until your steps aligned with his in the cramped stairwell.

“Why not?” you asked.

He looked down at the scuffed edges of the steps and tried to concentrate on placing one foot in front of the other, or else he’d start thinking about how close to him you were walking.

“Never thought to get any,” he said.

Your thoughts raced ahead of you.

You remembered the house he used to share with Soobin—how large it had felt, with light spilling through the big windows, and a kitchen with too many cupboards and teabags no one could find. And plants, on the sills and on the tables.

“You, uh—” The words caught in your throat on their way out. “You used to have plants.”

Yeonjun looked at you and forced his expression into something more neutral.

“Yeah, those were Bin’s,” he said. “Didn’t even let me water them unsupervised.”

Your lips quivered. “Makes sense.”

“D’you think I should get plants?”

You looked at him again. He looked earnest and a little worried, as if the rest of his life depended on this decision. You made a concerted effort not to start smiling.

“Yes,” you said.

“Okay.” He nodded. “What sort?”

“Whatever you want. Ferns are fairly easy, for example. Once you get them settled in a good spot.”

You and Reina had had three ferns in your old flat. She’d taken them when she moved in with Soobin while you were away in New York. One of them hadn’t survived the move, may it rest in peace. You and Reina had held a small funeral after you returned, then divided custody of the remaining two.

Yeonjun, in the meantime, sifted through his own memories.

He hadn’t really got acquainted with the plants he’d had with Soobin. There had been ‘the big one, with the enormous leaves’ in the living room, and ‘the small ones’ on the windowsills in the kitchen. There might’ve been a few in the guest rooms, too, come to think of it.

Had any of them been ferns?

“Ferns,” he said slowly. “Those are the ones with the feathery leaves, yeah?”

“Yeah,” you said. “They’re also non-toxic for cats.”

“Oh.” He blinked, embarrassed that he hadn’t considered that. “Okay, that—that’s great. Can they survive anywhere?”

“More or less,” you said. You were nearing the fifth floor now, and you began to rush through your words. “They usually prefer shade, but they do need some light. They’re quite communicative, though—you’ll see it from the leaves if they’re getting too much sun. Or if you’re overwatering.”

Yeonjun clicked his tongue, unconvinced.

There’d been those Christmas plants that Soobin had brought home once—poinsettias, were they? He couldn’t remember. They’d looked expensive. Soobin had left them for a couple of days while he was visiting his family and had said, Yeonjun remembered clearly, water them a bit.

So, Yeonjun had watered them a bit.

By the time Soobin got back, all the red leaves had dropped off.

“Yeah, they’re all communicative,” he mumbled. “Hasn’t stopped me from killing them before.”

Your smile won against you. “Well, you’ve got to go into it with a pure heart. Plants can sense bad energy.”

He was about to argue. Then he thought of Violet, and the way she escaped his flat each morning and ran to yours instead.

Maybe he did have bad energy in his flat.

Maybe he should’ve bought one of those bundles of sage.

Maybe he should’ve asked you to move in with—

“Alright,” he said, inhaling sharply. “S’fair enough. I’ll look into ferns, then.”

You reached the fifth floor and stopped, briefly, on the landing.

“You, uh—are you coming up, then?” you asked. “For Violet.”

“Oh.” He glanced upwards as though he’d forgotten there was another floor. “Yeah. Of course.”

He followed you up the stairs. There was a peculiar lightness in his hands, he realised, as though some screws in his wrists had loosened. His fingers wobbled on their own.

It took you a minute to unlock the door. You jostled the key and nudged the wood with your shoulder until the lock finally gave.

Yeonjun paused on the threshold.

Your flat, he thought, smelled of something familiar. Fresh laundry, perhaps. Vanilla-scented candles. It felt warm and inviting. He was this close to climbing out onto the fire escape tomorrow morning and knocking on your window himself.

Violet hadn’t moved far.

She lay stretched across the centre of your rug, exactly where the sunlight had settled. She turned her head at the sound of the door, rolled onto her side, then pushed herself up and trotted over to Yeonjun. There seemed to be a small skip in her step.

Yeonjun was surprised.

“Hi, love,” he said, squatting to greet her. “Missed me, did you?”

She took a mandatory turn around his ankles, her head brushing against his knees, before allowing him to pick her up.

“Wow,” he breathed as she snuggled against his chest. She was content now. Ready to go home, treats or no treats. “Alright, then.”

“Guess she needed a break from you,” you said. “Can’t blame her.”

He snorted, then broke into proper laughter despite himself.

You felt yourself smile in response.

The sunflowers, Yeonjun noted, glancing back inside, were still on your kitchen island.

“Yeah,” he mumbled, one hand resting against Violet’s back. “Guess so.”

You slipped your backpack from your shoulder and let it fall by the door. Yeonjun shifted to the side to make more room.

This gesture felt alarmingly familiar, and for a moment, you forgot what to do with yourself.

“Should we—” Yeonjun paused when you looked up. He swallowed, recalibrating. “Should we do this again tomorrow? If she’s back at your window.”

You watched Violet’s whiskers twitch and settle. Yeonjun felt an uncomfortable heat rise to his ears with every second that you didn’t reply.

“I guess,” you said. You doubted you had a choice. “She seems to like it here.”

“Yeah. Alright.” He nodded quickly. “Don’t feel pressured by her big blue eyes, though. If you’re busy, I can come up and get her.”

Her big blue eyes were closed now. She was already half-asleep in his arms.

The bowl of food Yeonjun had brought her stood empty by the window.

“She’s good,” you said. “I don’t mind.”

Violet seemed to sense the shift in his chest at your words and lifted her head. He smoothed a hand down her back, warning her to be cool.

“Alright,” he said. “Just let me know she’s here, yeah?”

“Yeah. Of course.”

He nodded, and lingered on your doorstep for another moment.

He realised that, while he wasn’t very good at goodbyes, he was very good at hovering in your periphery and looking for small reasons to stay a little while longer.

You let him look for them.

“Until tomorrow, then,” he said at last.

“Until tomorrow,” you said, and then you smiled briefly—at him first, only then at Violet.

Until that moment, Yeonjun hadn’t realised he might be in competition with his cat.

✦ • ─── AUGUST 27, 2026. 6:55 AM

This time, you left the window open overnight—only a fraction, so you wouldn’t freeze in your sleep. The frame complained about it every now and then, and the fire escape rattled in the wind. But still, you slept.

At 6:55 precisely, the window frame gave an insistent groan.

You heard a faint scrape of claws. A soft, investigative sniff. Then—success. A quiet patter of paws on your floor.

You caught yourself smiling as you sat up in bed and reached for your phone.

YOU [6:57 AM] she’s here

Not waiting for a reply, you swung your legs out of bed and made your way to the kitchen. The tap glugged, disgruntled, as you filled Violet’s bowl.

Behind you, she had already taken her place by the window. She didn’t look at you. She figured she’d already trained you into your role.

“Right,” you said, crossing back to pull the curtains open.

The morning light flooded Violet’s little face. She blinked slowly and pushed onto her paws, leaning closer to the glass. The dark patch around her left eye softened in the early morning brightness.

She looked very pleased.

You left her there, got ready, and headed to university, anticipating an easier day. Your seminar had been cancelled, so you only had two meetings: one with your doctoral advisor and one with Professor Lee.

You should’ve known better than to celebrate.

On your way from that second meeting, you ran into Professor Myers in the corridor. You hadn’t seen her since graduation, and she whisked you into the staff room for a cup of coffee to catch up.

That part was lovely.

Then she asked you to speak to her grad students about your fellowship in New York.

“Oh,” you said. “When?”

She glanced down at her watch. “In about forty-five minutes.”

That was decidedly less lovely.

You finished your coffee, trying desperately to gather your thoughts, and followed her to the auditorium. Your eyes were twice their normal size; you dreaded being unprepared.

Your only consolation was that Taehyun and Kai were in her class—they’d just started their final year of grad school. They took it upon themselves to react to everything you said with excessive enthusiasm. Every time you stumbled over your words or lost your train of thought, they filled the silence by ooh-ing and ahh-ing at something you’d said earlier.

It was ridiculous.

It helped immensely.

You took them both to the canteen for dessert afterwards.

Despite being past lunchtime, the place was still loud. Benches scraped. Someone dropped a tray by the window just as you walked in. The air smelled distinctly of grease.

You’d missed it.

The dessert bar was already half-empty; only the chocolate cake looked remotely appealing. That was what the three of you settled on.

“I like your necklace,” you said, sitting down at a table in the back, opposite Taehyun.

His golden cross caught the light as he dropped himself onto the bench.

“Thanks,” he said, already cutting into his cake. “It’s the one Nara made for me.”

Kai, on your right, leaned forward to flaunt the four-leaf clover at his throat. “She made this one for me.”

Nara, from what you’d gathered, had discovered jewellery design earlier this year, after ordering a bracelet online and receiving it broken. Irritated, she’d bought wire cutters and a new clasp, and fixed it herself. It was a matter of principle, she’d said. Also, shipping was criminally expensive.

From there, she discovered beads. Then gemstones. You were sure she’d start melting metal soon, too.

“Reina mentioned she made her a lily,” you said, taking a bite of your own cake. The chocolate clung to the roof of your mouth. “Out of—out of wire. S’beautiful. I don’t know how she does it.”

“Oh.” Taehyun looked up sharply and shook his head. “Don’t ever ask her. She’ll walk you through every step in excruciating detail.”

You huffed. “That sounds interesting, though.”

He leaned back, lifting his plate. “Not when it’s the tenth time you’re hearing it.”

“I’ve asked her to make me a chain next,” Kai said. There was chocolate at the corner of his mouth. “One of those proper chunky ones that you can use as an accessory and a weapon.”

Taehyun glanced at him. “What’d you need a weapon for?”

“You never know,” Kai said, shrugging. “Better to be prepared.”

You smiled. “I like your thinking.”

“Practical,” Taehyun agreed, wiping his hands slowly on a napkin. Then he looked at you again, more thoughtful now. “I still think it’s ironic, though. You’re back from New York, giving a speech on what Sociology students can do with their degrees. Yet no one else in your year is actually doing it. I mean, Nara’s making jewellery.”

You tilted your head, your gaze dropping to his cross again. “Thought that was still a hobby.”

“Well, yeah,” he said. “But we don’t know what she and Beomgyu actually do, either.”

Kai looked up again. He was very invested in Beomgyu’s whereabouts now that they no longer lived together; partially because Beomgyu constantly sent him the most ridiculous pictures and never explained any. This morning, it was a photo of what looked like herring on a plate.

“To be fair,” he said, pointing his fork at Taehyun, “it could be related to Sociology. They never explained it.”

“Them not explaining it is exactly why I think it isn’t,” Taehyun replied.

You gathered the crumbs on your plate with the edge of your fork.

It was a known fact among your friends that Nara and Beomgyu left together every morning. Same car, same hour, every day. They came back the same way, too. They called each other ‘business partners’ and always giggled obnoxiously whenever anyone asked what they actually did.

“They are legal, though,” you said. “Right?”

Kai shrugged. “We hope so.”

“Hmm.”

You took another bite of your cake. It was still aggressively sweet and far too dense.

“Jun’s doing something with racing,” Taehyun said after a moment. He kept his gaze on his plate, but watched your reaction from the corner of his eye. “Actually think it might be something to do with data analysis, after all.”

“Mhmm.” You swallowed the chocolate. “He mentioned something.”

Taehyun lifted his head properly. “He did? To you?”

You looked up.

“He—yeah.” You paused, suddenly aware they’d both gone still. Something was rattling in the kitchen at the far edge of the canteen. “H-he lives in my building. I didn’t mention? Anyway. I think—”

“Whoa, hang on.” Taehyun raised a hand so abruptly that he nearly dropped his plate. “He lives in your building?”

Kai leaned forward, his eyebrows raised.

“Since wh—and you talk?” Taehyun added. “What the fuck?”

“What the fuck,” Kai echoed helpfully.

You reached for a napkin. The paper felt thin, almost useless, between your fingers, leaving a tear where your thumb pressed too hard.

“Yeah,” you said. “So, uh—funny story.”

Understandably, Taehyun and Kai ended up keeping you on campus a good half an hour longer than you’d planned. Your own fault, they’d said. Should’ve informed them about this Yeonjun development.

Swallowing your protests, you focused on answering their (many) questions without going into too much detail. The two of them already looked outrageously amused as it was.

✦ • ─── AUGUST 27, 2026. 4:35 PM

By the time you finally made it back to your building, the clouds had gathered overhead, thick and grey. It looked like it was going to pour.

You pushed through the lobby doors, quickening your pace. You were worried that Violet had started to feel abandoned in your flat. Or perhaps she’d already returned home through the gap in the window. Unless she got lost on the fire escape—

Yeonjun wasn’t in the lobby.

You stopped short and looked around, as though he’d decided to hide inside one of the letterboxes or behind the noticeboard.

He hadn’t.

You glanced at your phone.

To be fair, you were late. And you had told him to stop coming down here. Perhaps he’d listened.

A small flicker of disappointment tightened your chest. You clenched your hands into fists.

It annoyed you that you’d expected him to be here.

You’d never asked outright why he kept coming down in the first place. But he had, and now it had been over a week, and you found yourself lingering at the letterboxes, fingers brushing over the cool metal—waiting, without admitting you were waiting, in case he hadn’t noticed the time and was still on his way.

He was.

Not even two minutes later, the lobby doors pushed open again, the heavy frame resisting as usual. Yeonjun stumbled in, breathless, hair a mess over his forehead, one hand clutching a potted plant.

You straightened, stepping back from the letterboxes.

“Shit,” he managed between wheezes. His right hand was tangled in his jacket sleeve. “H—hi.”

“Hi,” you said, your gaze honing in on his hands. “You’ve got a fern.”

“I—” He bent slightly, bracing one hand against his hip as he lifted the small white pot, victorious. “I’ve got a fern.”

“Very nice,” you said, and waited, silently, until he’d recovered enough to move.

He pushed himself forward after a moment and joined you by the stairs. The two of you started up together, slower this time.

“Really think it’s nice?” he asked, drawing a steadier breath. His insides were burning. “Picked the greenest one.”

“Yeah,” you said, reaching out to brush your fingers lightly along one of the leaves. It was soft under your touch, but springy. “S’pretty much the main requirement.”

“I thought so,” he said, a flicker of pride in his voice. “Did you know they predate dinosaurs, by the way? Ferns. ‘Course they’ve evolved plenty since then, but still.”

“I didn’t know,” you said, a familiar smile settling on your lips. “Fascinating.”

“Hmm. There was a sale.” He tapped the yellow label on the edge of the pot. “S’why I went there—uh, today.”

He chose not to mention the calculations he’d performed to time his trip right, so he’d be back just when you returned home. The queue had ruined his plans. And the run back had nearly finished him.

You, in turn, chose not to mention waiting for him.

The two of you continued up the stairs in silence. By the time you reached the fifth floor, the rhythm of his breathing had grown unsteady again.

“Let me drop this off,” he said, hoisting the pot while his other hand rummaged through his jacket pocket for keys. “And we’ll go up for Violet.”

Nodding, you leaned against the railing, fingers tapping against the wood while he pushed the key into the lock.

You were waiting for him again, you realised.

That was not great.

“Actually,” Yeonjun said, opening the door. You looked up. “Would you mind coming in? Help me find a spot for the fern?”

You didn’t move straight away. You knew you shouldn’t.

Then you pushed off the railing anyway. “Sure.”

Yeonjun’s flat had the same layout as yours, but it felt noticeably larger. Your footsteps echoed once he shut the door.

It was the lack of furniture, you supposed. Aside from the standard built-in counters in the kitchen and a few chairs, the living room area stretched open completely bare. No sofas, no rugs, no tables. Nothing to fill the space.

The light fixtures on the ceiling looked new, though. That might’ve explained the noises you’d been hearing at night.

The curtains on the windows were in a terrible state. Half of them hung properly, but the other half draped over the frames and slumped to one side. He’d mentioned adjusting them for Violet. It looked like he’d started, then given up.

You found yourself wondering, without much reason, what Yeonjun’s parents thought about him living somewhere like this.

Then, as you turned your head towards the archway leading to the bedroom, you saw a piano tucked into the corner, partially obscured behind the wall. Its dark wood blended into the dark of the flat.

Something warm flickered through you.

“Oh.” The word slipped out before you could stop it. “You started playing again?”

Yeonjun followed your gaze as he set his keys down on the kitchen counter.

“Sometimes, yeah,” he said, shrugging out of his jacket. “Only when I’m in a good mood, though. Still pisses me off otherwise.”

You watched the piano for a second longer.

You hadn’t heard it once since he’d moved in.

“Uh…” You dragged your attention back to the living room. “Not many options where to put the fern.”

“Yeah.” He turned the pot thoughtfully in his hands. “I’m still moving in.”

“I can see that.”

Yeonjun hummed. He’d never lived alone before. Even after Soobin moved out, he’d kept to his room and didn’t touch the rest. This open space, this potential for other rooms, felt awkward to him.

He’d taken a few things from his old house—mattresses, mostly—but they hardly felt fitting here. He kept them all at the back of his bedroom.

“I don’t really know what living rooms are supposed to look like,” he admitted. “Never needed one.”

“Well,” you said, “they usually have a bit more furniture than this.”

“I assumed so.” He set the fern down on the counter and glanced towards his bedroom. “Hold on.”

He disappeared through the archway and returned a moment later, carrying a small metal table with golden detailing around the sides. It looked heavy.

“Got this in my bedroom,” he said, lowering it to the floor with a grunt. It landed with a loud thud. “The previous owners left it. Could put it here somewhere. By the curtains? I’ll sort those out, by the way, I know they’re a mess. Would that be a good spot? In the corner, there?”

You stepped closer. “Show me.”

He pushed the table across the floor. It moved with a jarring scrape that made you both wince. Abandoning the effort, he dropped it close enough to the corner and shoved the curtains aside with his forearm. Half of them shifted; the rest sagged further. One panel gave up entirely and slipped to the floor.

The room remained dim.

You stopped beside him to study the corner as he put the fern on the table. The green leaves seemed dull in the low light.

“This could work,” you said slowly. “But I hope you open the curtains in the morning. Fully, I mean.”

“Uh…” He glanced at you. “Well, what’s ‘morning’?”

You frowned. “What time do you usually wake up, then?”

“When you text me to say Violet’s at your place.”

“Oh—”

“Then I pick her up,” he continued, “and go back to sleep.”

Something in your chest clenched suddenly.

You were shaping each other’s routines now.

That was not great.

“Well,” you said, folding your arms, “it’d be good if the fern got some morning light. So maybe leave a gap in the curtains? Not directly on it, but just enough to let some light in.”

He turned back to the curtains.

They had been designed, quite deliberately, not to leave gaps—he’d made sure of that when he bought them.

He spent three minutes trying to find a way to make one. After that didn’t work, he dragged a chair over from the kitchen and wedged it between the drapes, forcing a narrow slit open.

“There,” he said at last, stepping back. “That alright? Kind of defeats the purpose of blackout curtains, but…”

“Looks okay,” you said.

A thin sliver of light cut into the room, catching the leg of the table. Small as it was, it changed the air immediately. The flat looked more alive.

“Why d’you even need blackout curtains in the living room?” you asked. “They’re meant to help you sleep.”

“I am very fascinated with the idea of living in a cave.”

You snorted. “Explains your obsession with Plato.”

He grinned, bringing a finger over the bruise Violet had left on his hand and instinctively searching for something to lean against. There was nothing.

He really didn’t have much furniture here, he realised. But, to be fair, he didn’t have many people over. He’d never needed to think about where to stand when talking to someone.

“I tried taking them down for Violet,” he said, nodding towards the uneven mess of fabric on his windows. “She didn’t care, so I hung—well, tried to hang them back up. In any case, I think I’ve got the disadvantage of that old billboard across the street. It blocks all the light.”

You glanced at the window, but the gap in the curtains wasn’t wide enough to show much.

You knew the billboard he meant anyway; it was an old wooden frame with peeling remnants of posters layered over each other. It had a habit of absorbing what little light reached it.

“Right,” you said, turning back to the fern. “Well, it should be fine here. Give it some time, see how it settles.”

He nodded. “Alright.”

You tapped your jacket pocket, searching for your keys. “Should we check on Violet?”

Yeonjun dropped his hands to his sides. “Yeah.”

The corridor was quiet when you stepped back out. The two of you moved upstairs, your shoulders brushing in the narrow stairwell.

For a few seconds, this felt perfectly normal.

The moment you noticed it, the feeling thinned.

It was really not great, you thought, this ease with him.

Not great, the way your breath kept catching in your lungs.

The last time that happened, it had taken you months to recover.

You jammed your key into the lock with unnecessary force, letting the resistance travel up your arm. The door stuck, as always. You lifted the handle and rattled it until it finally gave.

As soon as the door opened, Violet darted out of your bedroom, her paws quick and light against the floor. She locked onto Yeonjun, stopping abruptly at his ankles.

“Oh—hi, love.” He crouched down. “Have a nice day at kindergarten?”

She answered with a pleased little sound and pressed her face into his palm.

You looked past them.

The sky outside the windows was dark. Your bedroom door stood open. The sheets had been dragged halfway off your bed, trailing onto the floor. There were small holes, suspiciously shaped like paws, on your pillow.

An absurd smile pulled at your lips.

“I see she’s explored your place a bit,” Yeonjun said, glancing up.

“Yeah.” You looked back down at her. Violet blinked up, her blue gaze curious. “S’fine. I’m not hiding anything from her.”

“That’s good,” he said. “Because she will find it.”

You crouched beside him and ran your fingers over Violet’s back, her fur warm and soft. She leaned into you, inadvertently pulling Yeonjun closer. Your little finger brushed his. His hands were cold.

Swallowing, you drew your hand back.

“See you tomorrow, then,” you said, nodding at the cat. “Right, Vi?”

She turned her head towards you and let out a soft, agreeable meow.

You stood, brushing your hands lightly against your dark trousers.

Yeonjun gathered Violet into his arms and stood up, too. She rested her head against his wrist.

“Let’s see if I can recreate this setup,” he said, nodding towards your flat, “with my sole fern.”

“No direct sunlight,” you reminded him.

“I’ll try.” He pivoted towards the stairs. Violet blinked slowly at you from the crook of his arm. “If it’s dead tomorrow, though, that’s on you.”

“It won’t be dead tomorrow,” you called after him. “I trust Violet to keep an eye on it.”

Violet meowed obediently at the sound of her name. You snickered.

Yeonjun paused on the stairs just long enough to catch it, then gave you a brief wave as he reached the turn and continued down.

You watched him go.

✦ • ─── AUGUST 28, 2026. 6:55 AM

On Friday, following your newly established routine, you left Violet in her usual spot, pawing idly at your monstera. Her fur was a little wet; it was raining outside. You filled her bowls, checked the window latch, and set off for university.

Unlike your established routine, you were back two hours later.

Professor Lee had mentioned a book he needed for his research on incarcerated adolescents: Erikson’s Identity, Youth and Crisis. He said it’d been checked out of the library.

You had an interest in the formation of identity—less about being incarcerated, though—and happened to own a copy. Still too eager to be helpful, you offered to fetch it for him.

And so, you barged through the door of your flat just before midday, startling Violet out of her wits. She bolted from your bedroom—her new playground, apparently—back arched, eyes wide with alarm.

“Hey,” you said, breathless, as you shut the door behind you. “Did I scare you? I’m sorry.”

She stared at you from a careful distance, assessing whether you deserved her forgiveness.

You dropped your umbrella to the floor and lowered yourself into a squat, lungs still tight. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw that your wardrobe doors were open in your bedroom. You’d definitely closed them before you left.

“I just popped in to grab a book,” you explained softly, extending your hand. “S’why I’m back. And what’s your excuse for going through my wardrobe?”

Violet approached and pressed her face into your palm with a small purr. She accepted your apology and did not think she owed you any explanations.

You scratched under her chin, briefly captivated by the fine wisps of hair above her eyes. God, she was beautiful. Then you stood.

Once you stepped into your bedroom, you saw precisely what had kept Violet busy.

She’d found the box at the bottom of your wardrobe and lovingly redistributed everything across the floor. Old keychains, small trinkets, and empty picture frames were all scattered around your bed.

The black woollen scarf hung on the edge of the box. You could see the wrong side of the golden stitching on the corner.

The hippo plushie lay slightly apart from the rest. Its once vibrant grey had faded into a softer white.

You watched it for a minute.

It had been over a year now since Yeonjun had taken you to the zoo. And yet, you could recall that trip with near-perfect accuracy: the angry peacocks, the silly pictures with the camels, the gift shop.

And the giraffe, the other half of the pair.

He’d kept it.

Violet meowed questioningly behind you. You snapped out of the brief trance and turned to her, offering her a small smile.

“Right,” you said. The room was cold from the open window, a little drafty. “Let’s get the book, yeah?”

Violet followed you to the bookshelf. Your heart banged against your chest as you squatted to scan the lower rows.

Why had you kept the scarf and the toy?

It wasn’t because you loved Madagascar exceptionally much. And it definitely wasn’t because you’d wanted to wear Yeonjun’s scarf again.

It wasn’t because you’d forgotten them, either. You vividly remembered unpacking after New York, jet-lagged and disoriented, standing in the middle of your empty flat with your entire life still zipped into suitcases. You remembered finding the scarf—and remembered the brief flash of thought that followed: you’d wanted to run into Yeonjun.

You hadn’t been sleeping for those first two weeks back, and the noises in your head were very loud. You hadn’t been thinking clearly.

You supposed you’d wanted to see him just to reassure yourself that he had been real. Maybe to return the scarf, too.

You let out a deep breath.

Now that you’ve actually seen him, none of your thoughts made sense.

A little lightheaded, you finally spotted the red spine of the book and pulled it free from the shelf. Violet stepped closer, intrigued by the new object. You could still see the scarf out of the corner of your eye.

Had you kept it for the memories, then?

To relive everything now that it was safely contained inside a box that you could open and close at will?

But reliving everything meant reliving everything.

You sat down on the edge of your bed.

Back then, fresh from nine months in a city you didn’t know, you might’ve clung to everything that was familiar. Everything you could recognise without thinking about it. You’d even salvaged all of Reina’s doodles that she’d left on napkins all around your flat.

But you were home now.

And Yeonjun lived downstairs.

And you were seeing him in the lobby—and seeing him there again. And again, and again.

You were talking to him now.

Trying his peach cobbler.

Helping him with his fern.

Looking after his cat.

You inhaled sharply, your hand instinctively settling on Violet’s soft back. Your fingers moved slowly along her spine, tracing the soft brown patches, then the darker ones.

She shouldn’t have been here.

You thought you didn’t mind. Didn’t care.

But you did care.

Cared so much, in fact, that you could hardly take another breath.

It had been a monumental mistake, those two weeks with Yeonjun. Had they taken only your pride, perhaps you might’ve been fine now.

But they hadn’t.

You’d spent months thinking about his reasons for ending it and walking away. Months, thinking about what you could’ve done differently so that he would’ve stayed despite those reasons.

You felt uncomfortable about those thoughts now. You were supposed to be fine.

You sat on your bed for a minute longer, staring at the corner of the room, with Violet quiet by your side.

You wouldn’t relive it.

There wasn’t much you could do to change Violet’s ways—she was a cat, she went where she wanted—but you could still change yours.

✦ • ─── AUGUST 28, 2026. 1 PM

Your traditional lunch with Reina stretched far past the point of reason.

You’d gone over to hers to help her pick a dress for the engagement party tomorrow—quickly, before Soobin got home from work. Not long after, Nara came over to join you. She’d recently dyed her hair light pink and wore a golden necklace with a bear pendant. She’d made this one herself, too.

You spent the first half an hour eating noodles and talking about her jewellery. And, an hour later, the three of you were still sitting on Reina’s sofa, on your second glasses of wine.

Soobin had called Reina five times in the past twenty minutes. Reina’s uncanny sixth sense must’ve rubbed off on him; he sensed that she was planning some sort of surprise.

She let the first three calls ring out. Then she answered the fourth with a voice she assumed was casual, but actually sounded a little like she was being strangled.

By the fifth call, she admitted she was choosing the dress for the party.

Soobin said he was coming home immediately.

Laughing, you stood to gather the dresses and cram them back into her wardrobe. Nara, meanwhile, tried to help her hang up by feigning a crisis (dark red wine on Soobin’s grey carpet).

“I genuinely don’t know what we’ll do when it’s your actual wedding,” you said, once Reina finally tossed her phone onto the sofa. “When he’s not supposed to see you before you walk down the aisle.”

Nara picked up the glasses from the table and carried them to the sink.

“Maybe,” she said, “we could convince him to wear the dress instead.”

“Oh, yeah,” you said. “But then Reina will be the one trying to get a glimpse of him before the wedding.”

Reina sighed, slumping onto the sofa and holding out her wrists. “You’re right. We’re doomed. Just lock me up.”

You laughed again and joined Nara in the kitchen to finish tidying up.

By the time you left, you were in a good enough mood to forget the tremor in your hands.

Yet, back on campus, the day refused to settle.

Professor Lee’s office seemed to have a revolving door today. People came and stayed, stayed and talked, talked and drank coffee. They wanted to know how your first lecture went, how New York was, what the topic of your dissertation would be. You were fairly certain someone had asked about the colour of your socks, too, though you couldn’t remember.

When you finally staggered back home that afternoon, your hands were as heavy as the lobby doors. Your hair was wet from the rain (you’d left your umbrella at home when you stopped for the book), water dripping from your jacket onto the tiles.

Yeonjun was there.

He stood in his usual spot by the letterboxes, his phone pressed to his ear. He looked up as the door shut. No glasses today.

“Gotta go now,” he said into the phone, already turning towards you. “Yeah—sure. Yeah. Okay. Bye.”

He slid the phone into the pocket of his jeans before you could decide whether to acknowledge him or try walking past.

“Soobin,” he explained, tapping his pocket.

“Ah,” you said. “Getting ready for tomorrow?”

He exhaled and nodded. Ever since Soobin had determined that Yeonjun was functioning well enough, he’d been on the phone with him every day for at least forty minutes at a time.

“He’s spiralling about whether to wear a tie or a bow,” Yeonjun said. “Beomgyu voted tie, but Bin thinks it’s too much. It—it’s a whole thing.”

“Hmm.” You started towards the stairs. “Reina’s stressed about her outfit, too. It’s good, though, that this is their biggest problem.”

“Yeah.” He fell into step beside you, as easily as before. Something sharp pinched at your stomach. “M’happy for them. But, uh—still fucks with me that they’re engaged. I remember Bin losing it before their first date—he was dry-heaving on the bathroom floor. Feels like that was a few weeks ago.”

“Yeah.”

You remembered talking to Yeonjun about Reina and Soobin before. Remembered sitting across from him at that Italian restaurant—Linguini’s, your mind supplied helpfully. With Edgar, the waiter, and that piano player with hands growing out of his ass.

“Time’s strange like that,” you added, your throat dry.

“Mm.” Yeonjun’s throat felt dry as well, though for a different reason. “So, um—about tomorrow.”

You sensed the shift before he even said anything.

“Would you…” He trailed off, opting for a different approach. “I mean—we could, uh—go to the party together.”

Your heartbeat jolted, sharp against your ribs.

You reached out a hand to the wall to steady your balance.

“I’ve got to go there early,” you said, fingers tracing the uneven layers of paint. “Need to help Reina get ready. We’ve got a—kind of a ritual. Wouldn’t be good to break it on a day like this.”

“Oh, yeah,” Yeonjun said, nodding quickly. “Makes sense. Can’t break rituals. But I mean, I wouldn’t mind going early, too. Not to help Reina, but, uh—”

“Yeonjun.”

He looked up. “Hm?”

You’d stopped on the third-floor landing. Your hands, you realised, were shaking worse than before.

“Let’s not do this,” you said.

He visibly recoiled.

His jaw tightened, hands disappearing into the front pocket of his dark blue jumper.

“What are we doing?” he asked.

“This,” you said, gesturing between you. Your voice reached him as though from underwater: low and muffled. “Going places together. Let’s—let’s not.”

The landing felt smaller suddenly, and airless. The peeling paint on the walls beside you seemed to curl downwards in your peripheral vision.

“What’s wrong with that?” he asked.

“If you don’t know, I doubt I can help yo—”

“You can,” he said, sharper now, “by answering the question. Why can’t we go places together?”

You felt a pang of irritation at his tone.

A torrent of words teemed on the tip of your tongue, all of your past history: from the casual we’re-just-playing dating, to the serious it-had-not-felt-like-a-bet goodbye.

You could have unleashed it, you knew.

But you also knew what it would sound like. Knew what it would reveal.

You didn’t think you wanted him to hear it.

“We’ve already tried that before,” you said. “Hasn’t gone well, has it?”

Yeonjun swallowed. His throat felt full of sand.

He watched your wet hair for a moment and couldn’t help remembering that last day he’d talked to you, in the parking lot by the Social Sciences building.

He’d left you in the rain and driven off.

“That—well, that was—” He tried to grab onto a sentence, or even a word, and took a sharp breath. “I’ve been meaning to talk to you about that.”

You turned towards the next flight of stairs. “Nothing to talk about.”

A frustrated breath left him. “Don’t do that.”

You scoffed. “What am I doing?”

“Acting like nothing means anything. Looking for some angle. Some ulterior mo—”

“No.” The word was clean and brittle. “I stopped looking when I found it.”

Yeonjun shut his eyes for a moment, pausing on the topmost step.

He knew the scheme would come up. He just hadn’t expected to be standing in the middle of the stairwell when it did.

“That’s exactly what we should talk about,” he said.

“Well, then already have.”

“No, we haven’t,” he insisted. “That wasn’t—I was just—there were things happening that aren’t… they’re not happening anymore. I can talk about them now.”

You stopped—abruptly enough that he nearly missed a step and landed at your feet.

“Can you?” you shot back. “What does any of that even mean, ‘there were things happening’?”

Yeonjun had wanted to have this conversation with you, but hadn’t planned for it to happen like this.

He wanted, a little bit, to back out now. To rewind the time. Honestly, to have never been born.

“It—it’s a long story,” he said. He pulled his hands from his pocket, then shoved one back in, restless. “But I want to tell you.”

You studied him for a long moment.

Then you faced the stairs again.

“No.”

He couldn’t process the word. “No?”

“Think I’ve heard enough of your stories.”

The finality in your voice startled him.

He’d known better than to expect anything easy from you. But you were talking to him now. Joking with him. Smiling sometimes.

He thought the two of you were better.

He bounded up three steps to catch up.

“But it’s important.” His hand shot out on instinct, fingers closing around your wrist. “It—”

You stopped mid-step, startled more by the coldness of his hands than the touch itself.

He let go right away, but the brief contact was enough to send something electric through you both. You resented that your first instinct was to reach back. To warm him.

You weren’t sure you were breathing.

“I want to explain everything,” he said.

Slowly, you folded your arms across your chest.

He looked unsure and a little scared. You felt something inside you waver.

Maybe you should talk.

Maybe he should explain, and you should listen.

“Why?” you asked.

“Well, because it—because everything that happened was my fault,” he said, and you heard it in his voice—the I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry he’d kept repeating as he walked away from you, without an explanation, the last time.

“And what is it that happened?” you asked, jaw tightening.

“Everything,” he said. He felt each of your questions like a punch in the gut. “Us. And—you leaving for New York.”

Your eyes narrowed. “What’s me leaving got to do with anything?”

Yeonjun blinked down at the stairs.

This wasn’t how this was supposed to go.

“It—well, it was all happening at the same time, I don’t know,” he said, his gaze flicking, momentarily, to your face, then dropping again. “I—okay. Can we just talk about it? All of it.”

“We are talking about it.”

“No,” he said. “We’re talking around it.”

You dropped your hands to your sides.

“Right,” you said.

He looked up, hopeful despite his better instincts. You weren’t looking at him.

You didn’t want him to explain.

You wanted there to be nothing to explain. Wanted him not to have walked away that day.

You continued up the stairs. “Maybe we shouldn’t be talking about or around it at all, then.”

Groaning, he followed after you. “Why not?”

“Because I’m not doing this again.”

“Not doing what?”

“This.” Your voice rose despite yourself, instinctively matching his. “Arguing and explaining and playing games. I’m done wi—”

“I’m not playing games, though!” he cut in. His hands flew up, then faltered, fingers pushing back through his hair. “I—I’m not. I mean that. I meant it before, too.”

You paused again, your chest constricting, as if something inside was being forcibly pried open. It pinned you down to the floor. You could feel yourself start swaying faintly on your feet.

For a moment, neither of you spoke.

The stairwell did not know what to do with this silence. It stretched between you until it echoed in your ears.

You glanced up towards your floor, then down again, twisting the ring on your index finger.

This was enough.

“Look,” you said, in a voice so level and calm that Yeonjun didn’t recognise it at first. “Technically, we’re only talking because of Violet. Or because we’re neighbours. That’s all. And that’s all we’re ever going to talk about. Is that alright with you?”

For a second, Yeonjun simply stared at you.

He realised his mistake.

The more time that he’d spent around you, falling into these small routines, the more he’d taken it as a sign. Convinced himself that he could fix this. That you’d let him.

His wounds, he realised, had closed when he saw you.

But yours had opened.

“No,” he said finally. “S’not alright. But I get it. You don’t want to talk.”

You didn’t. But you found yourself itching to say something else. Felt the words rise, desperate and frightened on the tip of your tongue. You swallowed them down and turned back.

Quietly, Yeonjun followed.

At your door, he watched you wrestle with the lock. Watched the key catch, then slip out. Watched it struggle to turn. You adjusted your grip and pushed your shoulder into the frame.

The door opened.

Violet was already sitting on the threshold, as though she’d been listening. Her white tail flicked slowly side to side, her blue eyes bright and expectant.

You stepped back.

Yeonjun moved forward and scooped her up. He offered her no greeting. She didn’t dare breathe a meow in response.

You didn’t say anything else.

And this time, neither did he.

prev ○ next (coming soon)

taglist:

@eleni-cherie @enhastolemyheart @beestvng @tomorrowbytgt @insaniteez @sorikkunhwangpil @yaintpaint @ohsowoozi @di3t-w0ter @virgopotterhead @beomgyusluver @pagesoobinie @champagne1221 @jammerhammerbanger @reiofsuns2001 @belabobanana @hheerrmmiitt @myglogic @mountyuki @adoresjjk @hueningsgirl @gunsfave @nanilis @yjcam @human-misery @angelgraphica @sooberriesx @yystarz @4wkjun @xjunniee @littlemoasoobin @kkyubear @proudsolarpunk @hyukalife @grogwrites @tarahardcore @jaegerbombin @danjakz @i4tzy @llvcyj @kookieterry @b9oms @starstrucktae @apriglw @mo0nstardust @koobiiiistar @unfiirt @yawnjjunnie @usuallyunlikelyfox @isakwon

thank you for reading!!♡♡

[debryss]

[sylus-shivanika]

The face grab and that little tap>>

yeah, I’m exactly where I want to be Pure Ecstasy!

[enhastolemyheart]

someone should post the cards here if they can't be on x...

[f1atelier]

everybody's secret ✶ ln1

january 2024 : lando goes on stream and accidentally reveals that you are living with him now.

lando norris x f!reader ୨୧ word count : 2k ୨୧ warnings : language, fan culture, talks of sex (by fans) ୨୧ note : if you enjoy don't forget to comment/reblog! ୨୧ requested : yes!

part of the lando's heart series.

the stream started like any other stream for lando. him and max on call – bickering back and forth before the game even starts. chat flying by a mile a minute, too fast for him to even read at some parts. all pretty standard stuff.

he caught a few things from chat though; them saying hi, they love him, asking about race stuff, and also–

"where's y/n?" he echos, eyes catching a few (hundred) messages asking about your whereabouts. "she's..." he begins looking towards the door where he knew you were behind. you were currently still in the process of reorganizing and redecorating the apartment. he could have sworn he heard furniture moving around right before he started, but decided it was probably better to let you do what you wanted.

lando had told you plenty of times that he didn't care what you did to the apartment. could've thrown all his stuff away and filled it with yours, and he would have still been satisfied because he finally got to wake up everyday next to you. but you had strongly insisted on making the apartment a mixture of both of you – which also meant reorganizing everything. he remembers you telling him that you would take care of it and would call if he needed help.

but clearly you had it handled and would only fuss at him if he got in the way to help. and he knows that if you truly needed help, you would come get him.

his eyes go back to the monitor, looking into the camera before he finally finishes his statement, "she's relaxing, we're going out to dinner later so she might be picking out her outfit for that." which isn't a lie because lando was in fact taking you out to dinner after his stream, but you already had your outfit picked out.

lando had decided that he wasn't quite ready for everyone and their mothers to know you moved in with him. he wanted to enjoy the peace that the two of you have established over the past month.

and so the stream continues like usually, lando and max playing counter strike 2. lando getting killed too many times and then spending more time in his inventory and messing around with max than anything else. it was fun and he was enjoying himself.

"yeah, me and y/n were trying to play this one game the other day, but her pc kept shutting off randomly so we didn't get too far," lando was in the middle of telling a story to max and chat. he doesn't remember how this story came up, it just did and lando always took the opportunity to talk about his girl.

"didn't she just buy a new one?" max asked, sounding surprised.

"yeah, since her other one was fuckin' dropped during the move, but this one isn't as good as her old one. i told her we would look at it and just get a new one if needed," lando says, stretching before he continues. "she's been using my computer for her work stuff when needed. her stuff has intermingled with mine on my desk now."

"sounds like it's her desk now, mate."

he lets out a laugh, "yeah, it definitely looks like it."

what lando didn't realize was that the conversation he just had started ringing alarm bells off in fans' heads. messages coming in, but he clearly didn't see them.

WAIT– is yn living with you now?? why does it sound like yn moved in??? uhhhhh lando hello?! is yn living in monaco now???? "the move"?????? what are you talking about???

but again, lando was already deep in another round by the time the rest of chat caught up with how he was talking. chat moving a mile a minute that he didn't even notice how the subject changed – sometimes he really forgets to look at it.

meanwhile, you were in the living room looking through one of the last boxes you had to unpack. it was a smaller box, full of framed pictures of you and your friends, your parents, and some of you and lando over the last year. you immediately got up carrying the pictures and placing them with the pictures lando already had on display.

you couldn't help but smile as you looked at his photos, it was a good mixture of him with his friends and family. ones you had seen probably a million times whenever you come over, but you still always loved looking at them. however, it was while you were admiring the photos did you notice a few new ones. eyebrows furrowed, you put your photos in favor of picking one of his up.

one that was of you and him. in a simple frame that matched his other ones – how he did that you don't know – but the picture itself made your heart skip a beat. it was a picture of the two of you from your first anniversary together. him holding you close to his chest, both of you beaming at the camera. then you noticed another one of you two; a selfie you took of the two of you on a random day. you had completely forgot about it because you took it on his phone and he never posted it anywhere.

not knowing he printed it off and framed it for himself.

then you spotted the last picture of the two of you. it was during the summer break when you went with him and his friends to ibiza. you remember be so nervous about that trip because it was the first time you were going somewhere that wasn’t just to a race and was with his friends. you stressed during your packing phase about wanting to make a really good impression; because, yeah, you had met them before, but this just felt different.

but it was great time and the picture clearly showed that — it was of the two of you on the beach. you in one of your more fancier dresses you packed for the trip. long and flowy and had lando smitten the whole evening. you were smiling at the camera, hand on his chest while his was resting low on your hip. however, the main thing about this picture was that while you were looking at the camera, lando was looking down at you. his smile just as bright as usual, and you remember him kissing you after the picture. it was a lovely memory and he must have thought so as well.

you couldn't help how your heart skipped at knowing he had these pictures of you both with his other ones. like he really did value your relationship as much as you did. that he loved you as much as you loved him. a smile graced your face as you placed your photos with his, once again mixing your two worlds.

when you finished, you let your eyes drag over to where you knew lando was in his office playing with max. you couldn't faintly hear him shouting at max and the game behind the closed door. you then glanced at the clock that was on the wall – your kit-cat klock nonetheless that you and lando spent thirty minutes trying to hang. mainly him on the step ladder and you fussing at him that it wasn't straight.

you still had an hour before you were supposed to go out to dinner, and that was your last box. officially moved in. officially home with lando. you honestly couldn't wait to tell him, feet padding down the short hallway as you reached the doors to his gaming room.

lando was in the middle of talking, him and max having just won a round when you opened the door. his eyes immediately moved to look at you as you stood in the doorway. letting it open dramatically while you stood there with your arms in the air.

lando took in your appearance: his hoodie covering your body, your shorts – can they even be called that? – peeking out just barely from underneath his hoodie. he couldn't help but bite his lip as his eyes racked over your body. if moving in together did one thing it was give lando easy access to you in your booty shorts – something you never really wore when you would just visit him.

"hey baby, what are you doing?" he asks, not paying attention to anything else as you come into frame. he hits something on his keyboard – assuming he muted himself and turned his camera off.

key word: assuming.

in fact he didn't and he was too occupied by you straddling his lap to realize it. the camera getting a clear view of you in his lap – wearing his hoodie and shorts seemingly nowhere in sight.

IS THAT LANDO'S HOODIE??? HI YN!! YN IS HERE ❤️

"i have officially finished unpacking the last box," you say, gently sliding lando's headphones off to rest around his neck. his hands slide from your waist to your ass, grabbing it and making you giggle.

"so you're officially moved in now?" he asks, eyes beaming up at you as you run your hand through his hair.

"officially moved in," you confirm before you're leaning in to kiss him. lando happily accepted your kiss, your lips moving against him as your hand came up to cup his jaw. your mouth opened slightly, allowing lando's tongue to tangle with yours. the sounds of you kissing could just faintly be picked up by his microphone along with your soft giggles you let out. clearly and fully enamored with lando and vice versa.

meanwhile, lando's chat was going crazy:

UMMMM LANDO YOURE STILL LIVE omg did yn just say she's officially moved in!!! DUDE THEIR MAKING OUT ON CAMERA no way this is happening

it had even trickled over to max's stream who had no idea what was going on. that was until he pulled lando's stream up to see you both making out on camera. he tried to get lando to respond on discord, but lando had muted the call, headphones around his neck and it was pointless.

"well chat... how long until they realize they're still on camera?" max asks with an awkward laugh. he's quickly reaching for his phone and pulling up lando's contact as quickly as he could and calling the british driver.

"mmh, hold on baby," lando says as he pulls away when he hears his phone ringing. "why is max calling?"

"do you have him muted on discord?"

"yeah," he says before answering, "hello–

"MATE YOU'RE STILL ON CAMERA AND NOT MUTED!! EVERYONE IS WATCHING YOU AND Y/N MAKE-OUT!"

"what?" lando says, dread building up in his stomach as he glances at his monitors. and yep, sure enough he was still very much viewable on camera... with you in his lap. "oh fuck."

lando hangs up and reaches behind you, still holding you flush against him as he basically shuts everything off without a word. he even unplugs his monitor for good measures. fuck, he knows he'll be getting a call from his team once this all

"you were live?" your voice is soft in disbelief. "i... i thought you were just gaming with max. oh, fuck, lando– i'm... i'm so sorry."

"hey, hey, don't worry about it, princess. it's okay. we just kissed that's all. not like we fucked on camera or anything."

"but lando–

"no buts, y/n, i promise it's okay," he says, hands soothingly going up and down your back. he could basically feel your nerves and anxiety going up. he then took his headphones off, tossing them on his desk so you could rest your head on his shoulder. face hiding in his neck as you wrapped your arms around him.

"they heard me mention moving in and unpacking," you mumble softly after a few moments of silence.

"it's okay," he says, hand coming up to rest at the back of your head as he kisses your temple. "they were going to find out anyway, so it doesn't matter."

"are you going to get in trouble with your team?"

"maybe, but i don't care because i would happily make out with you again if it means knowing you're here with me everyday."

"i love you, lan."

"love you, too, princess."

[artsyririblobbu-deactivated2026]

he bought her a new phone dw