genre: smut, homie hopper y/n, ohshc au, mini series, dom! reader, crack, fluff, uni au, reverse harem, parody
pairing: sub! ot5 txt x dom! reader (yeonjun x reader in this chap)
summary: You enrol into a rich ass university under a scholarship scheme. You find out the university is not only famous for its prestigiousness, but also very famous for their host club: a club with five very handsome, very eccentric boys that entertain the bored and affluent students. When you accidentally land yourself in debt to them, you're forced to assist with five events each under a different host. What can go wrong…?!
warnings: subby!yeonjun, dom!reader, afab gn reader, cringe flirting, making out, handjob, cunnilingus, fingering, cum eating, top! yeonjun, riding, finger sucking, feminisation of yeonjun, use of pet names ‘princess’, use of condom, inaccurate depictions of fashion design
word count: 9k Txt host club ml & char profile !
“come on, just come with me after this. I don’t wanna go alone.” Your friend, yoon, nudges you, not so discreetly chatting to you once you’re nearing the end of your two hour lecture.
Your eyes flicker from the board, which you’re still trying to concentrate on, but also, your attention is wearing thin and you’re waiting until the painfully slow last few seconds go by and it finally ends. “I don’t get it. Is this some kind of society?” You whisper back to her.
“Kinda…yeah, it’s a host club-” You don’t hear the rest of what she says, everyone starts chaotically packing up their laptops and notes, abruptly leaving the lecture hall once it ends and flooding the exits with traffic.
You do the same, and so does yoon. Once you’re out in the hallway and away from the trampling stampede, she begins animatedly trying to sell the idea to you again.
“I went to that badminton taster session for you because you wanted to go! And I got hit in the face with a racket, so that means you totally have to come with me this time.”
You sigh inconveniently, adjusting the strap of your bag higher on your shoulder. You supposed you could go to it for her, you were free the rest of the evening. “Fine, what’s it actually about again?”
She rubs at the back of her neck, pausing, looking sheepish and surprisingly hesitant for a second. Your eyebrow raises at this.
“You really don’t know? Surely you must have heard of it? It’s really popular.”
You shrug your shoulders, very intrigued. “No.”
“What rock are you living under...” Yoon exasperatedly mumbles, “Well…you know like, a normal host club? Where males entertain people with like, alcohol and pretend to be like, their boyfriends? Well….we have one. At the university. Except, it’s more like a tea-and-conversation, flirting, with the five most handsome and richest students here.”
You stop walking. She stops walking. Someone behind you nearly bumps into both your backs, giving you both an irritated glare as they walk past. You study her face, but she’s looking at you with complete sincerity. “Oh my god. You’re serious.” You start walking again, faster this time, shaking your head. “You rich people are bizarre.”
When you’d joined the university on a scholarship, you had come to find out just how terrible and outlandish these nepotism children really were firsthand. They operated on an entirely different plane of existence. This manages to top the cake though. They really do fuckall with their time, anything but actually studying. It’s not like it really matters though, they’ll still become heirs of multi-million pound companies anyway.
“It’s not as bad as it sounds. Truly!” Yoon insists, jogging to match your pace.
“How is this allowed?”
Yoon shrugs. “The creator’s family is like, the main funder of the university.”
You’re not surprised. “Of course.” You tighten your hold on the strap of your bag. “So, these people are whoring themselves out basically?” How is this ethical?
“Come on, it’s harmless and fun! It’s Furry Friday!”
“Furry…what?” You try to blink yourself awake, staring off into the end of the hallway, dissociated. Why do you even bother anymore?
“Yeah, and there’s Maid Monday too…it’s just like a cool events cafe. There’s themes. It’s cute!”
“So, do these people sleep with their guests too?” You joke, casting a sideways glance at your friend, giving up with the actual questioning of the existence of this club at a prestigious university.
Yoon looks to her left and right, covering her mouth with her hand and whispers. “Ssh. That’s more of an underground thing. They’re very selective about it and it’s superrr expensive.”
Your face drops. “What?” This is not right. You drag a hand down your face, sighing heavily. “You really want me to go to this with you?”
Your friend nods her head enthusiastically, clasping her hands together. “Please. I need to get over my last scarring situationship.”
You give your friend a pointed look. “Didn’t she like, borrow £700 off you and you never saw her again? There’s not much to get over.”
Yoon grimaces as if she’s living through it all again, not wanting the reminder. “Yes, she had some gambling issues. But, she was so perfect other than that.” Yoon sighs wistfully. “Come on, I paid for both our entry fees already. Food’s included.”
Your ears perk up at that, staring at your friend who now has a sneaky little smile creeping up on her face, knowing she’s already won. You pause. Food is included? You wouldn’t pass up on free food…Damn that your friend knows you well. You huff resignedly. “Okay…I’ll go with you.”
Yoon squeals, bringing your hands to hers and jumping up and down aggressively. “Thanks!You’re the best.”
Now, you stand in the endless queue of other students waiting to get into the club, a snake of a line going right to the end of the corridor and around the corner. It really must be popular. How had you never heard of it before? There’s a permanent sign on the door reading ‘TXT HOST CLUB’. They even have their own personal room at the university? Even from outside, you can already hear loud squealing and high pitched screams at whatever is going on in the room.
Finally, eventually, it comes to both your turns, reaching the front. Yoon shows some ticket online and you’re allowed in, the big gilded doors opening, and you’re momentarily blinded by a sudden light.
You’re not entirely sure what you were expecting, but it’s definitely not this; five guys in animal ears and paws, dancing to some girl group song on a raised platform. The spacious room is all pink with even pink marbled floor, fancy chandeliers hanging from the ceiling, and ribbons and streamers decorating the walls and pillars. There’s cardboard cutouts of the members all around the room in absurd outfits, vampires, maids, fairies, princes, sanrio, mermaids, knights, traditional clothing, and more.
You’re escorted onto a free table with Yoon. Even the tables are decorated so lovely with floral lace cloth and a vase of flowers in the middle. There’s tiered cake stands with the yummiest looking sandwiches, cakes, pastries, tarts, and macarons. Laid too, are expensive-looking intricate painted tea sets and teapots. Maybe, perhaps, you could get behind this for the food.
Yoon doesn’t pay attention to anything on the table though, she’s too busy watching the performance, entirely enamoured and delighted by it, clapping and cheering them on.
“Oh, wow…” You watch it too, in disbelief, still trying to process your surroundings. All of this feels like a complete, bizarre, fever dream, but you have to admit, they were surprisingly pretty good at dancing, synchronisation quite insane for a bunch of random pompous dudes.
“I should introduce you to them all!” Yoon shouts over the music, excitedly pointing at one on the far right. “That’s taehyun! He’s super smart and stoic,” then she moves her pointed finger to the left each time, “that’s Kai he’s super sweet and cute! Oh-and that’s beomgyu he’s super emo and plays guitar, that’s soobin he’s a sweet posh boy and the president, and that’s…” Yoon sighs dreamily at the man on the far left, clasping her hands together, “that’s Choi Yeonjun. The It boy. He’s my fav. He’s such a prince.” She swoons. The poor descriptions weren’t all that insightful to you, to be honest.
Their performance ends with claps and screams, and then, you can finally tuck into the foods on the table, trying every single different assortment of pastries. The hosts had stepped off the platform, coming to the guests and their tables, speaking and chatting to them, the music lowered to soft ambient jazz. You can hear giggling… and barks and meows, and the strange things some guests are requesting for.
“Kai! Do a bark, do a bark!”
“Woof, woof!”
“Soobin, can you say that I’m your owner?”
“Beomgyu, I wanna be your pet!”
“I just wanna be your dog!”
You may have lost your appetite a little. But you try for it not to deter you.
One second, you’re looking down, scoffing the sandwiches on your plate, then you’re looking back up and you’re suddenly surrounded by the five men out of nowhere, looming over your table. You’re terrified, freezing mid-bite. Yeonjun, who you’d recognised as yoon’s favourite, comes to smoothly kiss her hand.
“Ah,” he sighs, “My lovely Yoon. Our loyal guest, will you be requesting for me again?”
Your friend is blushing and giggling, looking moments away from fainting. You raise a brow, gulping down the food in your mouth, turning your head her way with furrowed brows. “Again? I thought you’d never been here before. You didn’t want to come alone?”
Yoon coughs, embarrassed “Uhhm. Ahem. I never said I hadn’t been here before. Simply just wanted your company this time…”
You shake your head, finishing the rest of your sandwich, still feeling self conscious at the men still by your table. When were they going to leave?
“Ooh we’ve got a new guest, guys!” One of them says, noticing you, you think his name is Kai. The others lean in curiously at you, zeroing in. You feel like an animal at a zoo. This is very odd. Especially since they’re the ones still wearing pet ears and furry gloves.
Yeonjun theatrically reaches for your hand, kissing the back of yours too, grinning and winking. “Pleasure to meet you, beautiful being. I’m yeonjun. Choi yeonjun. What’s your name, pretty?”
“They look frightened…” Taehyun whispers to kai.
The rest of them introduce themselves, shaking your hand like a normal person.
Once you’re done with shoving the last bit of your sandwich down, you quickly dab around your mouth with a napkin and you abruptly rise from your seat, standing up, ready to leave. Your time here is more than done, and you so desperately want to get away from this uncomfortableness. “Well! Lovely to meet you all. Must get going haha...”
“Wait! You haven’t chosen a favourite yet!” Yeonjun stops you.
“Everyone picks one.” Beomgyu, the one with multiple facial piercings says with his hands in his pockets.
“Usually under twenty seconds.” Taehyun adds, checking his extravagant watch that probably costs more than your tuition fees. “The average is 17.83 seconds.”
“Yeah. Which one of us is the most handsome?” Soobin pushes the glasses he’s wearing gently up his nose bridge, tilting his head at you.
They all come even closer to you simultaneously, crowding you, staring at you intensely and expectantly, awaiting your answer. All of their jaws are raised up, sweeping hands through their hairs confidently, and posing for you, doing weird expressions with their faces as if they were in some modelling photoshoot.
“Um…I wouldn’t know.” They’re all very good looking. How were you supposed to choose just one? And how would you have a favourite already?
Taehyun crosses his arms. “You don’t know?”
“Just choose one! Come on!” Kai urges you, jumping on the spot.
“Yeah.” They all start saying and agreeing together, growing impatient and slightly agitated, wanting you to choose one of them already.
So, you try again, staring at each of their faces individually, trying to be pragmatic about it so you can finally get out of here. First, you analyse yeonjun, silky blonde hair, fox-like sharp eyes, piercings all on his ears. Then soobin, soft black hair, glasses, a bunny like nose and mouth, wearing a cute sweater vest. Then beomgyu, brown shaggy messy wolfcut, soft brown eyes, but dark thick eyebrows with a piercing on one of them, a dermal piercing, and lip rings too. Then at kai, fluffy white hair, angelic features overall and a pretty nose, holding a stuffed plush penguin toy in his hand. And finally, at taehyun, big round eyes, high cheekbones and a chiselled face, wearing a whole ass corporate suit for some reason.
“I really don’t know!”
“You have to. Gun to your head. Three—” Beomgyu raises three fingers.
“TWO.” All five of them start to join in, shouting in unison.
“Why are we counting?!”
“ONE.”
“ZER—”
The counting down, for some reason, and the fact that five absurdly attractive, very tall men are still crowded around you and shouting, makes you panic and stress and you feel very under pressure.
“Okay, okay! Oh-umm!-uh-Yeonjun!” You blurt out frantically. You don’t know why you say that name, you just choose the most memorable one to get them off your back.
There’s silence and the others recoil dramatically, betrayed, and they give you such disgusted looks.
“Terrible taste.” Taehyun clicks his tongue. The others are shaking their heads at you.
Meanwhile, yeonjun looks moments away from ascending, “I knew it!” Yeonjun’s eyes are practically shining, grabbing your shoulders excitedly, ecstatic and smug and violently shaking you. He runs a hand through his blonde hair once more, sighing out at himself as if he were in some sort of shampoo advertisement. “I knew you’d pick me.” He punches your arm playfully.
“Ow…” You rub at your arm to soothe it, it actually hurts. He punched you pretty hard. He looks like he’s about to hit you again in excitement, you back away as far as you can, taking a few steps back, fearfully.
You bump into something behind you. It wobbles. And that’s when you hear something smash so distinctly loud and hard onto the pink marble floor, exploding. Hesitantly, you slowly, dreadfully, turn around, thinking you already know what might have happened.
You had caused a very expensive looking sculpture of the five boys with roses in each their hands, to collapse straight onto the ground and smash into millions of smithereens, thousands of tiny little pieces scattered across and flying everywhere.
Everyone in the room turns their heads at the dissonant sound, gasping, teacups freezing halfway to their lips. You stare at the scene completely mortified. You can feel your soul departing your body, mentally already digging your grave to lie in. You could literally cry.
“Oh my god!” Yeonjun runs and drops straight down to his knees at the death of the artwork. “Our most expensive sculpture, all the way from Italy! Custom made from the renowned artist Angelo Pasquarelli, he passed away recently! This was the last remaining piece of art he ever made!”
Well, that doesn’t serve to make you feel any better. At all. You don’t even know what to do. You don’t have any parents that can pay this for you. You can’t even begin to imagine how much it actually costs and how you’ll ever be able to repay it, and how much debt you’ll be in now. “I’m so sorry! Oh my-I’m so, so, so sorry! I don’t know-i wasn’t looking where I was going.”
You can feel how ironic this is. You came here for the free food, now you’re massively in debt somehow.
Taehyun, the treasurer of the club, comes to crouch down beside yeonjun, staring at the remnants with visible pain and anguish too. “This was supposed to be an art investment for the club…I told you we shouldn’t have kept it out here in the open.” He murmurs sharply to yeonjun.
“I’m sorry, but I can’t afford to pay for this.” You admit. “I’m literally only here on a scholarship. Is there any other way I can help? I’ll do anything. Anything at all.”
“Hm. You can’t afford to repay for the damage?” Soobin raises a brow at you, thinking. He pulls the rest of the boys into a huddle. You hear intense whispering as they deliberate your fate.
Yoon panics for you, stepping in. “It’s going to be okay!” She reassures you, feeling slightly guilty as she was the one who brought you here when you hadn’t particularly wanted to in the first place. “I’ll try and pay for some of it for you!”
“No, that’s alright. They won’t have to pay for any of it. No one has to.” Soobin speaks up, all of them finally pulling apart.
You feel so relieved, clasping a hand to your heart that had minutes before giving out entirely. “Oh. Oh my god. Thank you, thank you-”
“You’ll repay us in another way.” Soobin thoughtfully explains. “Next week, the host club is holding a special events week.”
“For the first time ever,” Kai interrupts excitedly, “each host gets their own solo event where we can do whatever we want!”
Soobin nods. “Yes, we’ve never done events purely by ourselves before and we’ll need additional assistance.”
“You,” yeonjun says, flamboyantly pointing directly at you, “are going to become our assistant!”
“Monday to Friday,” Soobin confirms. “One host per day. You’ll help organise events, carry things, run errands, and deal with guests. You’ll work off your debt to the host club.”
“Just five days? That’s it?” That didn’t seem too bad at all, it’s an alarmingly good deal. You were expecting something significantly worse. How hard can it be? Only working five days to pay off the debt for a supposedly very valuable and rare sculpture? You can definitely do that. “Alright. I’ll do it.” You shake soobin’s hand, determined than ever.
“Yayy! Yippeee!” All five of the boys start clapping and cheering delightfully at you. You don’t know why they’re so happy.
“And guess what?” Yeonjun grins gleefully. “My event is the first one.” He takes your arm in his, interlocking and hooking your arms, and then completely drags you away. You throw one last pleading look at yoon through the gilded doors in case it’s the last time you ever see your dear friend again.
But she just giggles at you, calling out. “You’ll be fine. It will be fun!” She cheerfully waves at you being hauled out of the host club room.
“Woah.”
You stand in the doorway of yeonjun’s sleek studio apartment in awe, which hardly looks anything like student accommodation. You wander further inside, taking it all in. It is massive, everything down to the furniture and interior looking way too luxurious, with a fancy kitchen, living room, a big en-suite bathroom, and a walk in closet filled with designer clothes. That doesn’t seem to be enough though since there’s clothing racks near the windows too with garments, a mannequin, framed fashion sketches and artwork pinned on a wall, designer magazines stacked on a unique-looking coffee table.
It’s Buckingham Palace compared to your place. Your student accommodation was one tiny shoe box room, a shared bathroom and kitchen. But you had chosen the very cheapest you could afford.
“Do you like it? It’s a bit small. My bedroom is bigger than this in my mansion, but this is still cool and cosy.” Yeonjun stands in front of the wide floor-to-ceiling windows that showcase the city skyline. He looked genuinely apologetic about it too.
“Mansion…” You shouldn’t be so surprised by now, so many people you have met at the university do live in them, but it still manages to shock you a little no matter how many times you hear it casually mentioned.
Yeonjun turns around excitedly. “Hey, maybe we can go to my house after this and I can show you! Get you to meet my parents already, ay?” Yeonjun winks at you. “It’s just a five minute walk!”
“A five minute walk?” You gawk incredulously, “If your house is so close to campus, why would you ever waste money getting student accommodation?” It fills you more with slight disgust at the wastefulness rather than jealousy.
Yeonjun huffs. “My parents said the same thing. But I wanted to have that uni experience, you know? Plus, I needed to be more independent. It’s a good thing. That student lifestyle, it’s pretty hard sometimes.”
“So…you've achieved this student lifestyle by moving five minutes away from your mansion into a luxury apartment?” Wow, this is certainly going on the list of out of touch things you’ve heard students say.
“Yep!” The confidence with which he answers is quite commendable.
“Oh, okay, so you’re paying for it yourself?” You don’t mean to pry, you’re just genuinely trying to understand a bit.
“No…my parents pay for it.”
You nod. “Right.”
“Oh! Would you like anything to drink or eat by the way?” Yeonjun politely offers you.
“Just some water is good.”
He grabs two high-end bottled waters from his high-end fridge too and passes one to you. “Here you go.”
“Thank you.” Both of you come to plop yourselves on his sofa. “But you cook?” You ask him assumedly.
“I don’t know how. But my chefs come from the house every morning to make me meals. It’s lovely.” He obliviously beams at you, lounging comfortably against the cushions, one arm draped across the backrest.
You just nod along at this point, sipping on your water. You noted chef was plural, but you’re not sure where the independence is. “Well, anyways,”
He sits up right again, shifting closer to you, a bit too close. “Yes! Let’s plan my event.”
“So,” you say, “any ideas?”
“I already know what I want to do.” He seems very proud of this. “Fashion is my passion. Hey, that rhymes. Maybe I could be a poet too.”
“Sure.” You say tiredly, waiting for him to tell you what he’s got planned.
“Flirty Fashion Workshop.” He stares back at you expectantly, smirking like he was expecting some sort of praise for this.
Your face scrunches up. “What the hell is a ‘Flirty Fashion Workshop’?”
Enthusiastically, yeonjun explains. “They’re sewing, I’m showing them how to use the sewing machine like this-” he leans into you, placing his hands over yours as if he were showing you how to work some phantom sewing machine, feeling his breath on your neck as he guides your hands.
“Okay, I didn’t need a personal demonstration on it.” You swat his arms away.
Yeonjun shrugs but winks cheekily at you once again. “Your loss. People pay for this, y’know?” Undeterred, he continues to explain more of his idea, “I’ll make step-by-step, visual demonstrations on how to make basic articles of clothing and they can decorate it however they want with different fabrics and beads and embroidery and creativeness. I’ll come around, helping and flirting, of course. Then, once everyone is done, we’ll have a little fashion show where everyone can model and show off their work! Isn’t that so great?”
You can see the appeal for it, from what you saw earlier, you have no doubt it’ll work and keep guests very satisfied. It’ll probably be a huge success. You nod at him. “Hm. What we need first is all the equipment and materials for this then.”
Yeonjun nods too. “I’ll ask to borrow all the sewing machines from the fashion department. We just need lots of textiles and fabric, threads, scissors, pins, beads, buttons, decorative materials, and other things.”
“Where should we get all of that from?” You query.
“We’ll buy it, of course. Taehyun made a spending card for the club. Off to the city centre!”
“After you.” Yeonjun gentlemanly opens the car door for you, rushing out of his to come around unnecessarily for yours.
The walk to the city centre was just under twenty minutes, but he had insisted on his chauffeur driving you both there anyway.
Yeonjun leads you to a bustling street with independent craft & art shops and fabric markets. The energy is so totally different compared to the commercial, homogeneous high streets you’d passed on the way, it’s bright and welcoming and filled with such unique characters of shops.
First, you buy lots and lots of fabric as you’ll be needing a lot of those. He seems to really be in his element, ecstatically showing you and speaking words about materials and their compositions only someone studying fashion would know, making you touch and feel them all too.
All of the vendors even seemed to recognise him, happily greeting and conversing with him, faces lighting up whenever he walked in. Yeonjun is very chatty, talking to them all for a while. One elderly woman even abandoned a conversation halfway with another customer just to pull yeonjun in for a hug and squeeze his cheeks. He’s not just famous in the host club, you observed.
You’re trudging along countless heavy bags of materials you’ll need for the workshop by now, shoulders and arms aching, you and yeonjun exhausted, hours blurred and overloaded by endless textiles. But it was a little fun, there’s a certain beauty in watching a person be passionate about something, oddly fascinating to follow yeonjun along.
You make one final stop to buy packs of sequins, and finally, you have all the equipment you need. Both of you make a turn on a street, noticing a brightly coloured ice cream shop. All the shopping, conversing and carrying must have clearly gotten to yeonjun, he’s drawn to it instantly like a moth to a flame, trudging you along with him, allowing you little time to protest.
He’s staring at the menu in deep concentration, brows furrowed but practically salivating. “Could I have the largest tub with one scoop of tiramisu and one scoop of rose please?”
You take a little longer to decide what you’ll like, settling on the smallest tub (it’s cheaper), and ordering a scoop of strawberry cheesecake and chocolate. Before you’re about to put your own card down, yeonjun dramatically steps in, practically shoving you out of the way and slamming his own down instead. “No. It’s on me, of course. A prince never lets anyone else pay.” He puts one hand to his heart, closing his eyes like he was reciting something religious.
“Oh, thank you.”
The ice cream scooper seems more affected by the gesture than you are, completely swooning at yeonjun. “Wow, what a gentleman!”
Yeonjun giggles at the compliment. “Hehe. Thank you!”
“You’re such a handsome young man. Ah, young love. Go on, i’ll give you both an extra scoop.” They lean in over the counter, hushing.
Yeonjun gasps. “You’re so kind! Thank you so much.”
Yeonjun is giggling, the scooper is giggling back too. You’re affronted by the whole exchange. Is life just this easily kind to Choi Yeonjun? But, you say your thanks too, not complaining about more ice cream for free. Everyone seems to be absolutely smitten by this dude’s charms. Sure, he’s attractive and he’s got great social skills, but people act like he’s above human. Are they seeing something you don’t?
Eventually, you can sit down at the tables, dropping the bags to your feet. You’re in a much better mood after sitting down and once you’re eating the well deserved ice cream, the creaminess and flavour melting on your tongue, plus the fact yeonjun paid for it is a great bonus, both of you happily talking more about yeonjun’s event between spoonfuls.
“Wanna try my tiramisu flavour? Say ahhh.” Yeonjun brings his spoon to you in an attempt to feed you, a generous scoop of pale brown ice cream perched upon it.
You flat out refuse, instead, bringing your own spoon to take a swipe of his yourself. “Mm. It’s good.”
Yeonjun watches you continue to eat without offering your own. “I wanna try the strawberry cheesecake one too.” Yeonjun leans forwards, tasting yours without asking. He’d taken quite a large amount too. “Mmh! This is yummy! I must get this next time.”
“Hey, I never said you could try mine.”
“Let’s take pics of our date.” Yeonjun ignores your complaining, getting out his phone and taking a series of selfies with you.
You stop and stare at him across from you before you can take another spoon of ice cream. “It’s not a date.”
Yeonjun shrugs again, unbothered. “Did you know I have seventy percent request rate?People would pay a lot to go on an ice cream date with me.”
You set down your spoon in the tub, reminded of something you wanted to ask. You don’t get it. “Why would you make a host club when you don’t need any of the money?”
“I love entertaining people. It’s my thing. I’m good at it.” He’s not looking at you, his brows are furrowed as he tries to fish out the last bits of his rose ice cream from the edges. You’d noticed he furrowed his brows a lot when concentrating on something.
“Fair enough.” You nod in understanding, you can’t deny that. From today alone you’ve witnessed just how many people he can amuse. It seemed people easily gravitated towards choi yeonjun.
“But also I don’t have any siblings.” He pulls his full lips into a slight pout, brows further furrowed, “I always wanted one, so many of them actually. I kept begging but my parents didn’t want any more. And it got pretty lonely when they were overseas so often. I’ve always wondered what it felt like to have siblings. Now I’ve got them!”
It’s your turn to furrow your eyebrows. “By…making a host club?”
“It’s something I’ve always wanted to do. I personally sought out all the members myself. Now, they’re all like my four brothers! I cherish them and the club a lot. It’s very important to me. They’re my family.” Yeonjun warmly beams.
He has that glint in his eyes from earlier on when you were in the fabric markets, and like before you can’t bring yourself to actually hate on it, he’s clearly passionate and sincere about it, so you just hum in agreement.
“That’s actually…sorta nice, still bizarre though.”
Yeonjun grins. “Did that woo you?”
“No.”
You’re back in yeonjun’s studio apartment. It’s completely dark outside by now, the city skyline view from his big windows look different after the sun had set, now it’s all just lots of constellations of scattered lights. You sit on one end of yeonjun’s sofa in the living room with the warm glow of orange and amber lamps he’d put on instead of his main lights, playing low music in the background from his turntable, the ambience nice to focus in.
Yeonjun is on the opposite end of the sofa, a large sketch pad sitting on his lap as he draws out the step-by-step demonstrations for the simple garments, you can hear his constant scribbling from his pencil meeting paper too. You are on your laptop, currently focused on the duration and structure of what should be happening in the workshop and making a small slideshow for it.
“Does it look fine?” Yeonjun lifts his sketch pad for you to see the diagrams.
You scan the illustrations briefly. “Mhm. They’re easy to follow.”
You continue typing. By the time you finish the final slide, your shoulders ache slightly from hunching over the laptop. You lean back against the sofa, stretching your limbs, eyes drifting to the other side of the sofa. Yeonjun is still sketching, completely absorbed, eyebrows characteristically drawn together as he focuses, lips in a slight duck-like pout and his blonde hair now having more of the resemblance of honey under the colours of the lamps.
“Done admiring me? Daydreaming about kissing me?” Yeonjun looks up, lazily grinning as he notices your stare.
You heavily roll your eyes at him. “You’re not my type.”
“I’m everyone’s type.” He confidently states. You shake your head, sighing out at his ego, but he starts again, “Hey, you’re the one who picked me as the most handsome.” Yeonjun puffs out his chest, still pleased by that.
“Yeah, under duress. I only picked you because your name was the first I remembered.”
For some reason, he remains proud. “So what you’re saying is that I’m very memorable.”
You drop your head back against the sofa and the wall behind you. “Lord…”
“You’re bluffing. Bet you do actually daydream about kissing me.” Yeonjun goads. “I wouldn’t blame you.”
You snort. “Kissing? You wish.”
He places his sketch pad away from his lap and onto the part of the sofa next to him, smirking at you. “Oh, I do wish.”
You narrows your eyes at him. “Really? What about?”
He cockily moves and leans forwards, coming close to your face, his stupid smirk never leaving, humoured. “Lots and lots of things.”
You know he enjoys flirting without you doing anything back, meaninglessly flirting with you countless of times today without you reacting. You know he gets a kick out of it, so you decide to retaliate back this time, having had enough of it. If Yeonjun wants to play this game so badly, then maybe it's time somebody plays it back. You’ll see what he does then.
“You know what I think?” You grab him by the collar of his shirt, pulling his face even closer to yours, grinning yourself and making your voice sultry sounding. “I think you’re all talk. Bet you couldn’t actually even kiss me.”
He instantly pulls his face away, flustered, shocked by what you say, eyes wide, not expecting you to say something like that back to him. Especially since you hadn’t entertained anything else he’d said this entire day. “What?” Yeonjun’s face flushes immediately, turning unmistakably bright, beet red from his neck and ears too. His mouth clamps shut. And for perhaps the first time since meeting him, yeonjun seems quite speechless. The legendary flirt of the host club couldn't handle being flirted with back, he was accustomed to being the one in control of every conversation.
There’s an attempt to regain his composure though, clearing his throat and trying to confidently smile back. “I could and I would. Do you want me to?”
“Yeah. Go on then.” You challenge him, chin raised high, poking the bear with a stick.
He’s not sure if you’re serious, and yeonjun hesitates. “Fine.” He leans in, face close to yours again, staring at you falteringly with his narrowed feline eyes, but trying to make it seem formidable. Close enough once more that you can see the mole next to his eye, see the shadows the dark warm lighting casts on his cheek bones, making them that much more prominent, and smell the faint scent of his expensive cologne. You’re equally staring back with heated, daring eyes. You’re so sure you’ve won. He’s not going to do it. It’s all just talk.
Your eyes flicker down to his pouty lips, his rich, cushiony lips. They had such a pretty, distinctive shape to them that you’ve never seen before. For a small second, you wonder what they’d feel like against yours if he did actually lean in more, but you shake it away. Are you slowly being charmed too? Has he put a spell on you? Is this how he does it?
At last, yeonjun draws back, running a hand through his hair.
You’re just about to laugh in victory, knowing he’s lost, knowing his words hold no meaning to them, but then, yeonjun suddenly surges forwards, grabbing your face. His mouth mushes with yours fiercely and you gasp into it, startled. You find your lips move back with his, perhaps you’ll still win if you’re not the first to break away.
Both of you continue kissing for a long time, mouths sliding together, teeth over lips, taking it in turns to suck his bottom lip, then his upper lip. You don’t know if this is still part of the game but it’s starting to feel less significant as time goes on and your lips meet again and again, colliding with soft breaths. You’re enjoying it, yeonjun’s heavenly lips feel good on yours. You definitely feel like you’re under a spell right now, all almost hypnotic. Maybe he’s a witch. You’d like to believe that more than of your own will.
Barely an inch separates when you both pull apart for some air. Yeonjun is staring at you, entranced and dishevelled with rosy cheeks. His usually perfect hair has fallen into his eyes, and his plush lips were beyond swollen and tinted so red, all the blood vessels rupturing there from your kissing and biting. His breathing is totally uneven. The image and how stark it is makes your stomach flip and flutter.
Then, you’re kissing him again.
You’re touching and gripping onto each other’s bodies in different places as you continue to make out. Your lips reach yeonjun’s angular jaw, then down, brushing against the warm skin of his neck, leaving kisses and still being able to smell his lingering, delicious cologne that’s been able to last the whole day. He lets you, tipping his head back as his eyes flicker closed and his hold on your waist tightens.
Playfully, your hand reaches down to stroke his thigh and then his crotch, grinding the palm against the hardening dick in his pants. You like leading the whole of this, it’s amusing. Yeonjun goes completely still with a sharp, shaky intake of breath, mouth falling open. But just as you’re about to pull his dick out to actually touch him, his hand slaps against your wrist, stopping you. “N-no. Let me.”
You tilt your head. “Huh?”
“Let me eat you out.”
Wow. You thought yeonjun would just want to get his dick wet. He certainly looks like he needs a hand wrapped around it right now, but he’s offering to tend to you instead.
You shrug. “Okay.” You’re definitely not one to complain. So, you lie on your back for him.
Yeonjun sheds off all the articles of clothing of your lower half, grabbing the back of your knees to push you closer to him on the sofa. He spreads your legs, his sharp eyes heavily lidded at the sight, practically salivating. “Pretty…”
He wastes no time in diving into your pussy immediately, shoving his face in and licking up a long stripe of your cunt, before completely messily making out with your pussy, groaning and grunting against you, holding onto the flesh of your thighs tighter. You satisfyingly sigh out at the dim ceiling your eyes are fixed on before closing your eyes all together, biting your lip.
You grab ahold of yeonjun’s hair, fingers threading through the soft messy blonde locks and tugging just hard enough to make noises escape his throat in response.
Yeonjun attaches his perfect pretty lips to your clit, sucking, suctioning so vigorously until the bundle of nerves are even puffier than his lips. They feel even better on your clit, like they’re made just for that. He focuses completely on your pleasure, furrowing his brows as he eats you out, humming and whining and groaning, licking and sucking. The sounds of him smothered in your pussy are so audible, taking over the music still playing on the LP, and so obscene, so wet, you can only oddly describe it as if yeonjun is hungrily devouring a bowl of ramen, enthusiastically slurping and inhaling it all.
“Am I finally pleasing you? Weren’t pleased with anything I was doing before.” Yeonjun lifts his head up to look at you desperately and obsessively. He clearly takes this very seriously, intent on making you feel good.
“Mmh, sure. Keep going.” You don’t really care for anything he’s saying, barely listening, you’re nearly reaching the edge, so you grab more of a fistful of his hair, grinding down on his face. You guess he wasn’t wrong about being good at entertaining people.
Knowing you’re close, yeonjun brings his signet ringed fingers to your hole, quickly fucking them into you and lapping at your clit with his tongue, flicking over and over again, your slick gushing out as he does this. It manages to bring you over, thighs clenching around his face and cumming over it. You moan out loud and so does yeonjun at the view of you orgasming, nuzzling into your cunt further and licking up everything you give out.
Eventually, he lifts up from between your legs, your juices coating all around his enlarged lips, that they look like he put on some kind of really shiny plumping lip gloss. With a happy, drowsy smile, yeonjun licks it all off around his mouth. Then, licks his fingers clean off too, his family heirloom ring, dripping in your cum. Usually effortlessly confident yeonjun, looks incapable of forming any actual thought.
“Fuck me.” You tell him, looking down at the way his dick is practically crying to be let out of his pants, slight patch of precum dribbled out on it. You pull his zipper down, freeing his dick and pumping his achy red, leaky cock, rubbing your thumb over the tip and swiping at the fluid on his sensitive slit. Yeonjun curses, hips bucking and mouth hanging open, blissed out at the stimulation.
“Fuck you? Sure…Yeah… I-i can do that.” Yeonjun breathes out, so far gone already.
“You want to make me feel good, don’t you?” You spread your legs again, holding his gaze.
“Yes.” It seems to snap whatever restraint he has left. Yeonjun quickly goes to grab condoms from somewhere, nearly knocking something over in the process. When he finally gets ahold of one, he comes back, tearing the packet open with his teeth in a rush. Which you’ll admit, does something to you.
He frantically pushes the condom onto his cock, and you can only describe yeonjun’s face as purely debauched after he lines up his swollen fat tip to your pussy and pushes in, bottoming out completely, your walls sucking and swallowing him in so good, filling you up so good, both of you gutturally groaning. “Oh my g-ughh…” He moans every single time he pushes back in, mouth slack, long pretty whines and cries escaping him.
You wrap your legs tightly around his waist, pulling him closer and sheathing his dick deeper into you. Your hands slide up his back, digging your nails into the muscles there and yeonjun’s eyes nearly roll to the back of his head at that. It’s not long at all until yeonjun just completely loses himself in the feeling of you, his thrusts quickly building up in speed, slamming his hips harder and deeper, erratically.
He’s so unrhythmic with it, sloppily still trying to fuck you as his brain turns to absolute mush, he can barely do it, his pretty lips staying parted with how delirious he is. Yeonjun’s hips are practically shaking with every roll and you think he might actually fall on top of you. He tries to hold onto you, face falling into the crook of your neck, biting down there, utterly wrecked, drooling all on your neck now with muffled moans and groans.
You’ve had enough of his dumb, useless rutting, growing tired of the position. You roughly pull at his hair to bring his face back up and away from your neck. He looks at you practically cross-eyed, slurring. “Shit, you can’t even fuck me. Pull out.” You tell him.
Yeonjun panics, confused, shaking his head. “Huh? What-please, please.”
“Just pull out.”
He does as you say, whining and wailing at you like a hurt animal. You roll your eyes at his dramatics, shoving him down onto the sofa instead. “Calm down. I’m fucking you myself.”
“No, I-i can fuck you. ‘m sorry. I can do it.” Yeonjun tries to beg, profusely apologising, not wanting to feel useless to you, wanting to make you feel good, tears appearing in the waterline of his eyes from how muddled his mind is.
“Sssh. It’s okay.” You stuff two of your fingers into his mouth to shut him up, but also, wanting to watching him suck your fingers because you’re weirdly fixated on his gorgeously shaped, plump lips now. The sight of him sucking with sparkly tearful eyes is so hot and debasing.
Pulling your fingers out of his mouth, you straddle yeonjun, grabbing his dick. You place it at your entrance and unceremoniously sit down on the whole of his dick fast in one go, taking him all in to the hilt, until your hips meet his. It knocks the air out of yeonjun, theatrically throwing his head back and it has you sighing in pleasure at having his cock inside you again, stretched out at a more delicious angle.
You hold onto his abdomen, swivelling your hips around him and then beginning to ride him as yeonjun moans and mewls out so brazenly loud. “You need me to fuck you, baby. Don’t you?”
“Yeahyeah-mmm.” Yeonjun is fickle as shit, not complaining at all once he feels your pussy, in fact, he likes it more now since he’s not doing any of the work.
You lift yourself off and slam back down, bouncing on him faster and faster at an unrelenting pace and yeonjun just lays there underneath you, looking pretty and almost doll-like with his blushed cheeks and glossed lips in the shape of an ‘o’, happily taking it all in pure ecstasy, tongue lolling out and contently moaning high pitched like a girl.
You can’t help but chuckle at the view of yeonjun beneath you, brushing a strand of damp hair from his sweat-beaded forehead. “You’re more like a princess than a prince, yeonjun. Maybe you should be the princess’s host club instead.”
You thought he might objectify but yeonjun just mindlessly nods. “Kay…long as you’re still fucking me.”
You giggle, bringing your hand to the side of his hot face, stroking your thumb sweetly on his cheek. “You like being taken care of by me?”
Yeonjun nods, preening into your touch, purring like a cat. “Uh huh.”
You can feel yeonjun’s dick twitching uncontrollably inside of you. “Aww, princess, are you close?” You teasingly coo.
Yeonjun helplessly whimpers. “Yes, so close. Kiss me.”
You tut at him. “You’re not even going to ask nicely? What a spoilt princess.” But you do it anyway, leaning down, capturing his addictive lips with yours, kissing him hungrily, filthily, tongues tangling and swirling together as you ruthlessly ride him, both your brains clouded up by the other, sucking on his tongue nastily too. You clench down on yeonjun’s cock purposefully and he satisfyingly cries into your mouth, you swallowing down all his needy sounds.
You continue to bounce wetly on yeonjun’s girthy cock, going up and down at a mercilessly cruel speed as it creates sticky squelchy sounds, fucking the life out of him whilst his cries accelerate, your ass smacking his full balls every single time, grabbing his shoulders hard to hold onto as you do this, intent on reaching both your highs.
“Ohhhmy god. I’m cummingg!” Yeonjun cums first with garbled, mangled, pornographic whines, spilling his seed and filling the condom with his white gooey substance, back lifting off the sofa and arching as he sees stars everywhere. He pants and heaves, throwing an arm over his face at the overwhelming sensation, trying to come back down to earth, going boneless, feeling like a pile of nothingness, like melted ice cream in the sun.
You continue to use his spent dick, so close to your own orgasm too, so in reach as you keep jumping on his cock hard, reaching up in a gummy spot inside of you, prodding it every time so good, eyes squeezed shut in complete bliss, sweating so much, thighs aching. You don’t stop though, bringing your hand to rub at your clit too and you’re quickly able to let go, cumming around yeonjun’s twitching dick. You stay there, riding the after waves of it, slowly still moving on yeonjun’s cock, trying to prolong it until you can’t anymore and it stops feeling good.
You collapse on top of yeonjun’s body, utterly exhausted, allowing him to weakly grab and cling onto you as you both drift off.
“Shit, yeonjun. Wake up.” You attempt to shake yeonjun.
Both of you had managed to pass out on the sofa until the next day after the event planning had very abruptly turned into something else entirely. And now, you’re running a little bit late to set everything up for the workshop, neither of you remembering to set an alarm.
Yeonjun stirs in his sleep but doesn’t wake up, pouting with knitted eyebrows.
“Yeonjun.” You shake his shoulders more aggressively, shoving him.
“It’s too early.” He whines.
“No it’s not. Check your phone.”
He groans, but reaches over to grab his phone, checking the time with one eye open. “Oh. We have to go already.”
“Yeah.”
He gets up and so do you, quickly getting ready the best you can, grabbing the bundles and armfuls of supplies of everything you need and running over to the host club room.
Both of you rush to get everything prepared, checking the number of attendees, placing all the supplies each person and table will need, such as needles, measuring tapes, embroidery, fabric, scissors, pins. You make sure the screen and PowerPoint is up and ready. Yeonjun had gone to the printer to make individual copies of the demonstrations so everyone has one on a table. The sewing machines also needed to be carried one by one, all the way from the fashion department building and back to where the host club room is, which takes a considerably long time and effort. By the fifth trip, your arms genuinely felt like they were going to fall off.
The room was finally ready, guests would start arriving any minute. You collapse into a chair, yeonjun dropping down on the one next to you.
And the event goes satisfyingly well. As you had expected, the guests love the idea, following the steps and learning how to sew simple clothes, particularly loving when yeonjun comes around to flirt individually and help with the sewing machines, giggling and blushing into their sleeves. As the assistant, you go around table to table, checking in and giving extra supplies when guests need them, making sure everything is running and working the presentation on the projector as yeonjun confidently talks and teaches. You have to admit, It feels nice and rewarding to watch the whole event actually come to together after planning it for a long while yesterday and seeing everyone enjoy it.
Yeonjun insists on you being his model, wanting to make a top fitted for your measurements.
You groan. “Why do I have to be it, though? There’s plenty people who would love to be your model.”
“You’re my assistant, so you’re my model. Plus, you’re gorgeous enough.” Yeonjun deviously winks, corners of his mouth curling upwards.
You shake your head and defeatedly sigh. You thought his flirting would stop after you had retaliated back, but he’s flirting even more.
You don’t have much of a choice in being his model, so you stand before him, letting him get to work. You get to see his fashion designing skills in action, he’s very focused, a measuring tape draped around his neck, pin held between his lips, catty eyes squinted in concentration, measuring, cutting, seeing, creating the top and then decorating it. It’s a very pretty beaded, well fitted top with a gaping heart hole. There’s tiny red crystals, sequins and beads on the edges of the heart, cascading downwards like dripping blood, elegant and slightly unsettling. He even manages to make one for himself in the short time frame, making a matching one with a similar concept for himself. His featuring a similar heart motif, though slightly larger, with black crystal embellishments spreading across the chest like fractured veins.
Once everyone is done creating their pieces, there’s music playing on speakers as everybody shows off what they made, walking down the makeshift platformed stage acting as a runway, all the guests cheerfully, clapping and supporting each other, the lovely atmosphere is infectious. Yeonjun grabs your wrist to walk down the runway together, yeonjun ridiculously posing as guests scream and whistle so loud, losing their minds and you do the same, posing, actually having fun.
The aftermath of the event looks significantly less glamorous, the room is a beyond mess, looking like some sort of natural disaster had taken place in it, and unfortunately, both you and yeonjun have to be the ones to tidy and put everything away. The sewing machines nearly killing you off yet again when you have to return them all back to their home.
“Ice cream?” Yeonjun suggests once you’re finally done with clearing the room.
“Yes.” You immediately agree, tired eyes lighting up.
You don’t bring yourself to complain about getting yeonjun’s chauffeured car to the ice cream shop, despite how within walking distance it is, every muscle in your body so sore. You order the tiramisu flavour and yeonjun gets the strawberry cheesecake, swapping ice creams, having liked what the other got more last time.
Yeonjun jokingly offers you a scoop of his ice cream again to feed it to you, holding it out across the table for you. “Say ahh.”
You narrow your eyes, but challengingly accept, eating it just to watch the shocked expression appear on yeonjun’s face as he hadn’t expected you to actually let him feed you. But then, the stunned reaction changes, the idiot is glowing, widely smiling.
“You’re helping with soobin’s event tomorrow.” Yeonjun says after a bit, resting his chin in his hands and smiling at you across the table.
You had almost forgotten that this wasn’t the end, and only the start. Four more events remained, and four more hosts. The thought alone was exhausting. Tomorrow would be soobin's event and you had absolutely no idea what it would involve.
“Hopefully, you don’t like him as much as you like me.” Yeonjun jokes, but keeps his eyes still lingering on you, something almost faintly wistful about it, though he’s still smiling.
Now that you’ve come to think of it, you’ll never likely be working with yeonjun again after this, feeling the tiniest bit melancholic about it. But you snort anyway. “Who said I liked you?”
“You have to have liked me a little, otherwise sleeping with me would have been a very strange decision on your part.” Yeonjun raises a brow at you, grin only deepening.
You burst into laughter despite yourself and so does yeonjun.
“Unless,” he adds, placing a hand over his chest in wounded exaggeration, “the sex was bad and you like me even less now, which would be quite sad.” A dramatic pout pulls at yeonjun’s lips.
As bizzare as yeonjun is, you supposed you get how people can be charmed and pulled in by this man now, because you do find you’re no different than anybody else who likes him anymore.
Please actually reblog !!!!!! and leave comments !!!! guys if you like the fic. It’s really appreciated and so nice tysm !<3🙏💕🌷It’s incredibly discouraging and disappointing when fics have such little reblogs. At least send an anon in the inbox if you don’t want to rb, don’t just like. Feedback is always appreciated it makes writers want to actually write more :)
A/n: I’m so sorry if this is shit and everyone hates it 🤣🤣 Im too scared to read it all back and then change it all and never post it 🤣🤣 i kinda hate this sm. yes I am aware the ending is so poorly written 🤣 Ughh i do have a love hate relationship w this bc I do feel I could have done it wayy better but I just don’t think I would have ever actually posted it so I’m making my peace. but ayyy yeonjun debut on my blog ! I actually have another fic idea for jjun that I want to write so badly too
THE GIRLFRIEND CHRONICLES, ENHA HYUNG LINE SERIES - MASTERLIST
• SYNOPSIS: A university campus that doesn't know how to stop talking whether it is about who's dating who, who's faking it, and who's already fallen. Here secrets spread like wildfire, friendships get messy, and somehow, the chaos always leads to the same thing: love, whether you are ready for it or not.
🎧 A Campus Romance Series of Campus Boyband - HYPHENIX.
➻ Four boys, one band, and just too many love twists.
╭── 🎙 Setting:
│ University AU: Home of Hyphenix, the most popular campus boy band.
│ Status: On going... | Started: 19/06/2025 | End: TBD
╰───────────────────────────────────
🎸 𝗝𝗮𝘆 — The icy guitarist.
🎹 𝗦𝘂𝗻𝗴𝗵𝗼𝗼𝗻 — The silent keyboardist.
🎤 𝗛𝗲𝗲𝘀𝗲𝘂𝗻𝗴 — The golden voice frontman.
🥁 𝗝𝗮𝗸𝗲 — The golden retriever drummer.
⦿ VOLUME 1: PARK JONGSEONG (COMPLETED)
◇ I DON'T LIKE YOUR GIRLFRIEND | PART 2
• SYNOPSIS: A fleeting encounter with Park Jay at a high school party leaves a quiet imprint on your then broken heart. Years later, you find him again, now as an icy guitarist of the campus boy band, HYPHENIX. You never spoke again, but you remembered his eyes, his words, his presence and how he lingered at the back of your mind years after. You wanted to reach for him, but he was so far, popular, untouchable that you decided to pour your heart to him in secret, until the secret was revealed but someone else claimed it before you could.
Or in which you pour your heart into anonymous letters for the cold, distant guitarist, Jay, only to watch your best friend claim every word as her own.
⦿ VOLUME 2: PARK SUNGHOON (COMPLETED)
◇ I HAVE A GIRLFRIEND? | PART 2
• SYNOPSIS: Sunghoon thought nothing could make his life worse than the flood of anonymous love letters cramming his locker thanks to Jay and his girlfriend's legendary campus romance, until a rumor sparks that he's dating you, the campus's sharp-tongued, designer-draped cautionary tale he can't stand. The feelings? Entirely mutual. You're not sure why Park Sunghoon, the painfully breathtaking keyboardist of HYPHENIX, seems to have personal vendetta against you. Especially when you've never even had a proper conversation, you didn’t even know he had such an expressive talent for glaring. But if he wants to act cold, you aren't about to play nice either.
Now, in a twist neither of you saw coming, the rumor you were supposed to deny has turned into a full-blown fake relationship and it's spiraling way more than it should have.
⦿ VOLUME 3: LEE HEESEUNG (COMPLETED)
◇ WILL YOU BE MY GIRLFRIEND? | PART 2
• SYNOPSIS: Heeseung has always been the voice of HYPHENIX, the steady rhythm behind the chaos, the boy who hides his emotions while encouraging others to face theirs. For him, Ella is the memory that never faded, the first love he could never forget, the one that got away. When she returns, he refuses to let the chance pass without a confession. To bridge the years of distance, he turns to the one person she trusts most now: you. What begins as a simple favor draws you into late-night conversations, fragile secrets, and the slow, quiet ache of realization.
And when the moment comes for her to leave again, you are left to wonder which heartbreak will cut deeper: his, or yours.
⦿ VOLUME 4: SIM JAEYUN (TBD)
[This masterlist will be updated regularly, so if nothing is linked then be free to assume that part isn't out yet.]
──────── synopsis: a series of drabbles where a little piercing plays a big part in you and your boyfriend's sex life
୨୧◞ 。hyung line + won .ᐟ
genre: bf!enha, smut nsfw mdni , established relationship, romance, drabble/oneshot
warnings: piercing kink, smut, pinv, breeding, blowjob, cunnilingus, dirty talk/degradation/praise, nipple play, squirting, face riding, face fucking, deep throating, choking, body worship, hair pulling, cum eating, spit kink, yn's hands get tied with a belt, begging, orgasm denial, daddy kink, mommy kink, sloppy kissing, dom!heeseung, sub!jungwon, sub!jay, soft dom!jake, mean dom!sunghoon, profanity, 18+ not proofread
◜ ✧ ॱ𓏽 lee heeseung wc: 868 ₎₎
── ⟡ when you first started dating heeseung, he was a bit shy to tell you about his piercing. no, not the ones he's got dangling from his ear, but the metallic hoop he's got at the center of the tip of his cock like a halo overhead.
you could understand why heeseung was shy to tell you, maybe he would've thought you'd find it weird or someone in the past could've shamed him for it but you? well, it only made him 100x hotter to you. you loved it and loved the way it felt inside of you.
"fuck baby—" heeseung grunts from behind you, his hands digging into the flesh of your thighs as he fucks into you. he gives your ass a slap, making you jolt forward, body pressed into the mattress. "don't try to run now, baby." he grabs your hips even harder, pulling you back closer to him, ass pressed against his body.
his pace quickens when he hears the way your muffled whimpers have started to soften, unsatisfied with how you're not being your usual vocal self. "i don't hear you, baby. can hear this pussy but not that filthy mouth." heeseung stops fucking you in an act of protest to not hearing you. he grabs onto your waist and flips you over onto your back so that your face isn't buried into the bed.
"hee—" you whimper, pouting at him when he refuses to continue fucking you until you're louder for him.
"yes, baby?" he asks mockingly with a pout on his lips.
"ple— please keep going."
he laughs for a second, "you want me to keep fuckin' you? then let me hear you baby. i know you like it so why are you acting all shy? do i gotta remind you how much a whimpering mess you were the first time i fucked you with this dick?" he says, leaning forward with his cock still inside your cunt, throbbing and unmoving like a warning.
heeseung grabs the back of your neck to press your foreheads together.
"you just loved the way my piercing pressed against that— spot" he says with a grunt, giving you one harsh and deep thrust that forces your mouth open with a gasp.
"louder baby, can't hear you still." he says pounding into you harder.
his pace becomes relentless, balls slapping against your ass as your juices overflow with each thrust. your lips tremble as you try to bite back the moan but when heeseung's piercing pokes against the gummy and soft spot inside your pussy a loud whimper breaks through your chest and past your lips, making heeseung smile proudly.
"there she is— there's my pretty baby." his thrusts have the same controlled and determined pace to want to hear more of you. hands traveling across your body to squeeze and press in the right places to bring you over the edge. "hee— wanna cum please!" the words barely come out intelligible with how fucked out you're becoming.
"my baby wants to cum? i don't know if you deserve it baby— still can barely hear you."
"pl— please hee!" your voice coming out louder.
"love the way you fuck me love the way your cock fills me up so— so good!" a moan interrupts your sentence when heeseung bucks his hips just enough where his pierced cock head stretches you out even more. "yeah baby? keep going let me hear how bad you want it."
"lo— love your cock so much! i love the way you fuck me— love how the piercing pinches me inside love it s'much hee please please please"
his thrusts don't halt once as you're trying to beg for him to let you cum like he's trying to give you a challenge to get through your begging while he's relentlessly fucking his cock into your aching pussy, clenching and squeezing around him like a silent plea to let you cum.
"good girl— cum for me baby. cum all over this cock show me how much you love me." heeseung says with a low voice and hooded eyes, pure lust on his face.
the band in your stomach breaks and warmth washes over you as your pussy tightens around his cock. "that's right cum on this cock baby. it's all yours— cum for me."
your mouth is wide open as your orgasm waves through you— "fuck baby– m'gonna fill this pussy up til you can only feel me." heeseung says, pounding into you from above; hands still tightly gripped around your hips as he fucks into you until your cum gets creamy around his cock.
his cum fills your cunt with hot white cum, spilling from the sides from the sheer amount of cum filling your insides. heeseung's grunts are low and breathless in the silent victory of fucking you until you're a loud moaning mess, cumming on the cock you love so much.
"good job, baby." he says, pressing a kiss to your forehead before pulling out.
thick cum leaks from your pussy, practically coating everything; your folds, inner thighs, heeseung's cock and balls, and especially his cock piercing that's now dripping in a mixture of both your cum, like liquid gold.
◜ ✧ ॱ𓏽 park jongseong wc: 1009 ₎₎
── ⟡ jay loved his body, how could he not? confidence comes from within and he loved the way he looked— so did you. your favorite thing about jay's body however are the two metal rods that poke through his nipples.
god, did it make him irresistible.
you love the way his soft skin looked with the twinkling metal that's through his sensitive nipples. loved the way his chest would tighten and contract whenever you touched him and loved it even more when he got sensitive every time you touched them.
"fu— fuck baby. please don't stop it feels so fucking good." jay groans, hands gripping your ass as he bites down on his lip. you smile at him from above, grinding your ass into him as his cock thrusts into you from below. you loved riding jay not only because it gave you so much control over him but also because it drove him insane to be used like that.
"yeah? you like that, baby?" you say as you move your hips in circular motions, his thick cock has stretched you open to the point that you could feel him so far inside of you. jay whimpers and can only nod in response— in too much ecstasy from the way you're riding him that he can't even manage to get any words out, just broken whimpers and pitiful moans that slip past his saliva covered lips.
you laugh at him— half endearingly and half pathetically because you just loved the way he gets whenever the two of you fuck. such a big gentleman that people found intimidating on the street but in bed he crumbles under your touch and begs you to let him fuck; so desperate to bury himself into your cunt.
"such a good boy" you say mockingly, giving him one deep plunge as you lift your ass just enough so that only the tip of his cock is inside you, plowing down intensely so his cock surges up and into your throbbing pussy. skin slapping against skin, disgustingly pornographic wet sounds as you continue to grind yourself into jay's cock.
"fuck i'm getting so close— can i please cum baby please please please" jay begins begging, eyes glossy and lips parted to let him breathe easier as your pussy tightens around him. you can feel the way his cock throbs inside of you, stomach flexing and chest tight; he was close.
"i don't know— are you a good boy for me?" you ask, tilting you head to the side with a teasing grin.
"yes yes yes yes— fuck!" he says through gritted teeth but it wasn't quite enough for you.
"mmm i don't know if that's true jay… you haven't asked me to play with these pretty things." you say with a shrug as your fingers lightly graze over his nipples that have perked up instantly from your touch, piercings lightly coated in his sweat.
"m'sorry baby— please touch me- fuck! please please m'so fuckin' close please." his voice is whiny and honestly quite pathetic but it only made him so much hotter, you've long stopped grinding into him but that doesn't stop jay from bucking into you below with no problem of continuing it himself.
your fingers move agonizingly slow as they travel from his tummy and up to his chest. you give his sensitive nipples one squeeze and it makes jay buck his hips instinctively at the pressure, driving his cock into your cervix. "fuck! behave jay— you wanna cum don't you?"
"ye– yes. sorry baby sorry." he says, nodding eagerly.
"good boy."
you can feel the way his nipples get harder at the nickname.
"so tell me, jay. you wanna cum?" and he's instantly nodding, face flush with streaks of sweat, hips not once slowing down as he's pounding into you, your tits bouncing with each thrust.
"then beg for it."
"please let me cum, baby. please please please pleaaase"
"not good enough— i don't think you really wanna cum."
"no! fuck—"
"then be a good boy and tell me what i wanna hear and you cum in me all you want, kay?"
he whimpers for a second at the way your pussy clenched around him while saying that. "yes mommy.. i'll be a good boy for you! i can only cum when you play with my nipples— fuckin' love it so much please keep going i wanna cum inside you so bad please mommy." he's babbling strings of nonsensical pleads, tongue practically hanging past his lips at the way he's so fucked out.
"good boy— go ahead; cum in me all you want." you say as you continue pinching his nipples that have started to redden around the edge. you flick and poke at the way they've hardened like his cock and before you know it jay is grabbing your waist to hold you in place so he can fuck his cum into you.
"fuuuck" he groans, eyes closing in pleasure. you smile at the way he's in complete bliss, jay's hot cum shooting far inside of you as he plunges his cock deeper into your pussy. your orgasm comes shortly after and jay's thrusts don't stop similar to the way your fingers don't leave his nipples one bit. they're swollen, sensitive, and begging to be toyed with.
"s'that good?" jay asks as you fall onto him, his cock still inside of you. you can feel the way his nipple piercings poke into your breast as you lay on top of him. he can feel you nod against his chest and the two of you lay like that for a moment. jay wraps his arms around you and gives you a kiss on the temple.
"come on— we should get some ice for these poor guys." you say, referring to the way his nipples have gotten so red.
"eh— it's fine. i like when you torture them." he says with a grin.
"just like?"
"okay fine— i love it. happy?" the two of you laugh before you place a kiss onto his lips.
◜ ✧ ॱ𓏽 sim jaeyun wc: 893 ₎₎
── ⟡ the first time you showed jake your new belly button piercing his face cracked into the biggest smile you've ever seen. even bigger than when you took him to a puppy cafe on his birthday. the tiny silver jewelry that hung from your belly button— a small butterfly with a pink jewel that sparkled under the light always caught his eye.
jake loved when you wore crop tops or shirts that rode up your waist just enough to allow for your piercing to peek through. he always found himself staring at it, thinking about it— fantasizing about it. he doesn't know why he was so obsessed with the tiny piece of jewelry, maybe it was because it made you 100x hotter— or maybe it didn't have anything to do with the piercing at all.
maybe jake just loved you so much that modifications to it as simple as a belly button piercing drove him over the edge.
the edge being wanting to fuck your thighs and watch as his cum shoots all over you.
"shit baby— i'm in fucking heaven. you feel so fucking good my god!" jake says, head dropping backwards as his hands dig into your thighs, keeping your legs in place. jake's holding your legs up into the air, parallel to his body as he thrusts his hips in between the flesh of your thighs, your skin covered in his slick and sticky precum.
"just like that baby— stay just like that for me please." he grunts, biting onto his lip as presses wet kisses along your ankles. usually jake loves seeing you when he fucks you but th position he's got you in is too good that he doesn't mind not seeing your pretty face.
jake's grinding his hips into desperately, chasing the high of how amazing you feel against his cock; satisfied with just this even if he loves nothing more than being buried in your wet pussy. his body rolls rhythmically as he rests your legs onto his shoulder, your ankles on each side of his head.
he nibbles on your ankle and licks the bite mark just as his eyes fall to the way your belly button piercing shakes with each thrust. your tummy's glistening from the way he was licking and sucking on your skin just before fucking your thighs; your body sensitive and covered in his saliva and bite marks.
when the thought of cumming on your tummy and seeing the way his cum pools and leaks from your belly button gets into his head, there's no stopping jake from fucking your thighs until he's shooting all over you. "fuck— baby i'm getting close. gonna cum all over you okay? just lay pretty like that for me— just like that baby."
jakes moans are whiny and breathy, eyes rolling back in pleasure.
"jakey— i want you to cum all over me please.." your voice is high pitched as you try to hold back moans but the way he's kneading your thighs and biting your ankles, looking at you like you're the only girl to ever exist and the way the tip of his cock is throbbing and begging to release, your moans spill past your lips anyway.
"wanna see my cum all over you— cover you in my cum; you'll look so fuckin' pretty.
so fuckin' pretty for me. so perfect— shit baby. stay right there."
"please jakey, cum all over me i want it so bad please. i wanna feel your cum all over me."
"i will, pretty— be patient, ok?" you nod at him through wet lashes.
his thrusts get faster, grip on your thighs tighter, abs flexing and arms tense; "fuuuuck" he moans out. your legs are pressed against his body, calf to his chest as he holds you firmly.
hot white cum shoots out into ropes, landing across your tummy and pooling into your belly button. the way his milky and sticky cum covers the piercing and leaves just the shiny and sparkly pink crystal in view. jake licks his lips, "so fuckin' hot baby." he says, gently pulling your legs apart so he can get in between your thighs.
"let me clean you up, baby."
jake's mouth is back onto your tummy, tongue gliding across your skin as he collects his cum into his mouth; cleaning up his cum that's coated and clinging to your body. he moves his mouth over to your belly button, lips wrapped around it as he sucks up the cum that's pooling in your navel. he's lapping up his own cum and moaning at the way he tastes on your body.
his lips find your belly button once it's no longer floating in his cum, tongue swirling around the tiny piece of metal and he can feel each groove and divot of the jewelry. "taste good jakey?" you ask, looking down at him and he smiles into your tummy before placing a few more kisses.
"so good, baby. wanna taste?" he asks before crawling over to you and connecting your lips together. you can taste his salty cum on his lips as it mixes with your saliva. jake kisses you so sloppily as his tongue swipes across your lips. "you made me feel so good— now it's your turn.
just lay back all pretty again, ok? let me make you feel ever better."
◜ ✧ ॱ𓏽 park sunghoon wc: 1105 ₎₎
── ⟡ sunghoon's devotion to his pretty girlfriend was heavy. not in the overbearing type of way but in the way that his eyes are always on you, his hand glues to your body at all times, and you're on his mind 24/7. so when you got your tongue pierced, the healing period was the hardest thing to get through because you wanted for it to pass without sunghoon noticing, but he always notices.
when you got home after your piercing, you avoided kisses on the mouth because with sunghoon it's never just a small peck.
he devours.
you kept dodging his kisses and it irked him but he just let it slide because he didn't want to be pushy.
then when he tried feeding you something he cooked, you turned away from him to put the spoon in your mouth, afraid of him seeing it while you tried the food.
he just furrowed his brow at you.
then towards the end of the healing period when the swelling was finally going down and you were preparing to go back to the piercer to get the rod shortened— he stopped you just before you could leave. "are you mad at me?" he asks. it was simple yet powerful and when you turned around to face your boyfriend, your chest ached slightly when you saw his face. the down turned pout and slightly glassy eyes— your sweet boyfriend thought he did something wrong just because you were avoiding telling him about your tongue piercing.
"did i do something wrong? i'm sorry— why are you dodging my kisses?" he asks, slowly stepping closer to you. you shake your head with empathetic eyes; "no— baby i promise you did nothing wrong i just— shit i have somewhere to be but i promise when i get back we'll talk about this, ok?
i promise."
sunghoon simply nods and gives you a kiss on your temple with a gentle hug before you're slipping through the door, the unfinished conversation on your mind and how you're going to resolve all of this reeling in your head.
'all this over a stupid piercing' you thought to yourself, shaking your head in disappointment.
that's how you found yourself in the position you're in right now.
on your knees, hands tied behind your back with sunghoon's belt and his hands tightly gripped the sides of your head as he fucks his huge cock into your mouth. you gag and gurgle at the way his cock pokes at the back of your throat, sunghoon's intense glare boring into your wet eyes; a smug grin on his face.
"such a good mouth—" he says with a low grunt.
sunghoon's sitting at the edge of the couch, thick thighs trapping you close to his body as his hips rut into your warm mouth, nose pressed against his skin. your saliva leaks from the sides of your mouth, drooling onto his balls and inner thighs.
"avoided my kisses all week just to hide that fuckin' piercing— let me see that shit." he says, a desperate gasp for air rips through your chest when he pulls his cock out. he grabs a fist full of your hair to keep you in place as your mouth is wide open.
sunghoons bends down to get a closer look at the tiny silver ball at the center of your tongue.
"be a good girl and stick your tongue out for daddy." he says, giving your face a few taps and you follow his demands, afraid of defying him like you've already done all week. he's got a cocky smirk on his face and leans in even closer, nose grazing yours.
you thought he was going to give you a kiss— something he's been wanting for days but instead you're met with a glob of his spit dripping onto your tongue, bubbling around your piercing. "swallow it." he says, eyes burning into your face.
your lips close momentarily but it's hard with the way he's gripping your jaw. your lips part once again to show him that you've listened to him like a good girl and it makes him smile; "if i wasn't so pissed right now i'd kiss you— but you haven't been a very good girl." he clicks his tongue in a fake disappointment, shaking his head at you.
"you wanna be a good girl for daddy?" he asks and of course, you nod.
"then let me fuck your throat like a pussy, feel that piercing on my dick, and i'll see if you've been good enough, hm?"
he pushes his cock into your mouth again, stretching you open like he wasn't just lodged into your throat moments before. he thrusts his hips into your mouth like you don't need any air, tears rolling down your face that mix with the spit pooling on your chin.
"take this fucking dick for daddy—" he grunts with each thrust.
"can't believe you've been avoiding me all week just for that tiny piece of shit— i'll show you not to do that again; you're lucky i find it hot– shit! — and it feels fucking amazing" the tip of his cock throbs with each thrust, the metallic ball on your tongue vibrates against his dick whenever you gag and if sunghoon wasn't so pissed at you right now he'd be telling you just how good you were doing for him.
"fuck— baby m'gonna cum!" his moans are raspy and low, like an animal growling. he pushes his cock deep into your throat, holding you in place so that your face is pressed against his body, arms trapping you in place as he gives your throat a few last slow strokes.
sunghoon finally pulls his cock out past your swollen lips, your saliva stuck to his cock.
"let me see it baby" he says, grabbing your jaw to see how his thick cum puddles on your tongue just enough so that everything's covered besides the small silver ball at the center of his pool of cum.
"good job— you can swallow now, pretty girl." he lets your jaw go and your mouth closes so you can swallow all of it, warm cum filling your throat until your mouth's empty. he smiles proudly when you open your mouth once again that you've swallowed it all, grinning widely at how good you're being for him.
he finally places a kiss on your lips, one that you both have now been waiting for.
"my pretty girlfriend's such a good girl— next time just tell me ok? no need to hide it, you know i love anything and everything about you."
◜ ✧ ॱ𓏽 yang jungwon wc: 1295 ₎₎
── ⟡ if jungwon could and he didn't need air, he'd glue himself in between your thighs so that he could eat you out until the day he died. sometimes with how his tongue fucked into your sopping cunt you did feel like you were about to die— in a good way. like you were approaching heaven's pearly gates.
at least twice a day, usually in the morning and right before bed, jungwon leaves trails of wet kisses from your neck and down your body until he's face to face with your pussy. by now your panties have already started to create a wet spot on them and it makes him smile knowing that you're getting so wet for him.
"a few kisses get you this wet for me?" jungwon's got cockiness dripping from his tone and when he gets the slightest bit cocky— especially in bed— you know that it's time to put him in his place. like a good boy should be.
your moves to grip onto the back of his head— "not so fast. you wanna eat me out?" you ask and he nods like a puppy who has just been asked if he wants a treat. "then we're gonna do it on my terms." jungwon's lips slowly curve into a smile before his tongue darts out to wet his lips, tongue piercing glistening with his saliva.
that's how jungwon found himself on his back, arms hooked around your thighs as he fucks your soaking wet cunt with his tongue. you're riding his face, legs straddled tightly around his head like you could move off of him at any minute but jungwon wasn't going to allow that.
not even if there was a fire, an earthquake— no emergency was going to pry you off of him, especially with the grip he has on you. you'd think by the way jungwon's holding you close to him, pussy glued to his face, that he was the one in control but if you even stopped grinding against him for one second his eyes would soften in the type of way that's slightly pathetic but even more hot.
"don't mmph– stop." he moans into your pussy, tongue piercing flicking around your folds, the ball of his tongue piercing adding extra pleasure to the way he's eating you out. your grind yourself across his face and when you look down you can see the way jungwon almost goes cross eyed as he stares at the cute piece of jewelry dangling from your clit.
a silver hoop with a bright yellow gem in the center hangs from the top of your pussy like a halo.
if there were a few things jungwon's obsessed with it's you, eating you out, and your clit piercing. he loves the way it feels against his tongue, loved that sucking on it feels like a special reward that rings like a church bell— it was perfect. the way his tongue piercing would hook onto the ring of your clit piercing, chaining jungwon to your pussy like he's locked in place— not wanting to be let go. he loves hooking his tongue around the hoop and gives it gentle tugs that he knows feels good in all of the right places— sending overwhelming stimulation to the nerves on your clit.
"you love it when i ride your face so much i'm starting to think you like my pussy more than me." you breathe out, hands raking into his hair. jungwon whimpers into your cunt when you give his hair a light tug when you don't get an answer from him. you lift your hips lightly away from him to protest his silence but it's hard when his arms are gripped around your legs so tightly.
"mmph— don't move!" he says, groaning into your pussy and it only makes you glare at him when he's being defiant like he wouldn't start whining and complaining if you ever decided to never let him touch your pussy again.
"answer me or else i'm never letting you eat me out. ever. again." your voice is stern and jungwon would be lying if he said it didn't make his cock get even harder than it already was. his eyes narrow for a second before they soften again, "m'sorry mama. love this pussy but i love you more— promise."
his words come out muffled and when he pulls back slightly— just so that he can talk without sounding like he's being suffocated– even though he wouldn't mind be suffocated between your legs— he tells you that he can't live with you. "i love you so so so much. i promise i love you i can't live without you, okay?
can't live without you… this pussy— the way your piercing is like a halo. i love everything about you my sweet angel." he pauses for a second as he reaches over to wipe his chin from the mixture of his saliva and your juices that have soaked his face. "now please can i keep eating you out i swear im gonna die if i don't keep tasting you again please please pleaaase."
you giggle at how desperate he is. you've always loved that about jungwon. he's not afraid to show you how much he loves you and how you should be loved. his love for you is endless— like how he could endlessly eat you out until he's practically drowning in your cum. "go ahead, baby. make me feel good." you whisper and he's already latched himself to your pussy before you can finish your sentence.
tongue swiping up and down your leaking folds, nose bumping your clit where your piercing nudges his face, sometimes he'd even bite onto your pussy— nibbling at your sensitive folds so he can see the way your body tenses or how you clench around him.
"can you please cum for me? please mama i want it straight into my mouth— please!" he's even more desperate than before.
"i'm getting closer won— fuck keep going, make me cum." your hips grind faster against his face, lips sucking and tongue licking like your pussy's his lifeline. jungwon can feel how you're tightening just around his tongue— letting him know you're close to his orgasm and he's even closer to getting to swallow every part of you just how he's wanted.
"gonna cum!"
your boyfriend smiles when he hears those magic words. what he doesn't expect is the over pour of cum that squirts from your pussy that drenches– drowns– his face. jungwon's eyes widen in surprise but he's quick to compose himself and gets to work on lapping up your juices, not letting anything go to waste even if you're squirting past his face and onto the duvet.
you've never squirted before so you knew this was going to jungwon's ego but you didn't mind putting him in place, it was kind of your guys' thing.
"fuck—" he whispers when you're no longer squirting, scooting back so you're sitting on his chest.
"i– wow…" you breathe out and when you look down, you see that jungwon's got his eyes closed with his tongue out, swiping across his chin sloppily to lick up whatever excess is left of your cum on his face. there's even a smile on his lips like he's completely forgotten about everything else in the room.
it's just him and your sweet cunt that he's obsessed with— that and drowning in your cum.
"earth to won? hello?" you ask, still breathless.
"sorry, baby. that was so fuckin' hot. think you can do it again?" he says with a cocky grin, making you roll your eyes as he grabs you by the thighs and pulls you over his face again, placing a soft kiss on your clit.
SUMMARY: When L/N Jiwoo and Lee Sooah set foot into Evercore School, they became inseparable. At 4, they shared everything from crayons to secrets. At 18, they cried in each other's arms upon realizing they would attend Harvard together. At 25, they built their houses next to each other. So when Y/N and Heeseung were born, their friendship was inevitable. If their mothers had it their way, they would one day marry. Y/N and Heeseung were inseparable, and everyone knew they were in love—until the summer before 9th grade, when everything changed. Before Y/N could make sense of it, Heeseung went from the sweet, shy boy who never missed any of her recitals to one who skipped school to get high with his friends and joined the football team just to sleep with the cheerleaders. The same Evercore staircase where Y/N once bandaged his scraped knees and rested on his shoulder when she was too tired to play at recess had become the place they walked past each other without a single glance. Y/N thought she could leave that painful chapter behind after high school—until she finds out Heeseung would be at Harvard too—where the truth begins to unravel.
PAIRING: ex childhood best friend!heeseung x f!reader
WC: 29K
GENRE + WARNINGS: smut (mdni) ꩜ p in v ꩜ unprotected sex (don't) ꩜ oral (f receiving) ꩜ fingering ꩜ overstimulation ꩜ spit kink ꩜ ex-childhood friends ꩜ college au ꩜ high school to college timeline ꩜ rich kids ꩜ high society ꩜ elite private school ꩜ family business ꩜ cliques (heeseung joins the popular group) ꩜ angst ꩜ jealousy ꩜ yearning ꩜ a lot of resentment and anger from y/n ꩜ partying ꩜ alcohol ꩜ profanity ꩜ lack of communication
A/N: hey, loves! Break It is finally here! i'm so sorry for the wait — thank you for being so patient and for all the love and anticipation you've shown for this. it truly means everything to me. i hope you all enjoy it ꨄ︎
Seven Years Ago
Your hair is pulled into a bun so painfully tight it tugs at your scalp, stretching your eyes upward. Your limbs tremble and burn as your teacher has spent the last hour etching into your brain that, “Your toes curl like a damn gecko. How many times do I have to remind you to point them properly?” as if you're stupid. Your tutu is delicate and soft, a stark contrast to the bodice cinched so tightly you swear it's rearranging your ribs, forcing your posture straight and perfect. Always perfect.
Perfection extends beyond ballet. It’s your life. That's why you love ballet because as hectic and unforgiving as it is, it makes you feel instrumental, not ornamental. In the media, you’re reduced to a spoiled heiress of your father’s international conglomerate. And your mother? She's the granddaughter of the man who shaped modern Korea, controlling the land, the capital, and the industries that built it. Your family isn't just wealthy, they're ingrained into Korea's foundations and history.
So it's only natural that there are always people lurking, watching, waiting for you to slip. Even at fourteen, you’re expected to smile perfectly, speak perfectly, and dress perfectly. Mistakes are simply not allowed. You learned early on that you're not allowed to truly express yourself. Every word is analyzed. Every reaction is observed. Even now, it’s hard to tell whether someone wants to know you or if they just want access to your world. But in ballet class, your teachers are indifferent to your family’s status. They’ll still heckle you to your face when correcting your mistakes, and on stage, you’re not an accessory. You're an integral part of the art.
But most of all, it’s the way Heeseung looks at you when you’re pouring your heart into your performances. His gaze is undivided, conveying love, devotion, and something far more personal, far more intimate. It would be foolish to say you dance for him. You don't do anything for a man. Ugh, as if. Still, there's something ground about knowing he's there. Watching. Seeing you not as the heiress, not the legacy, not the expectation, but just Y/N, the talented, passionate ballerina.
Heeseung has never been late or missed a performance of yours. Until today. There are 10 minutes left before you go on stage, and you still haven’t seen him in the audience. Worse, you haven't heard from him in over a week. The frustration coils tight in your chest, tangled with confusion, adding to your nerves. Of all days, he chooses this one to be absent? Tonight, you're performing your solo at the Varna International Ballet Competition, one of the most selective ballet competitions in the world, inviting only the top companies to participate. To be chosen to represent your company at such a prestigious, career-defining competition is an honor few ever receive.
Maybe it’s childish to rely on Heeseung’s presence for reassurance, but if he can show up for every other performance, why on earth wouldn't he be here for this one? With all this added pressure from your teachers and teammates, you need his support more than ever.
As you begin to walk on stage, you scan the audience for him, but you only recognize your family and friends. Before the song plays, doubt creeps in. Then your eyes land on your parents and your mother’s best friend, Sooah, who also happens to be Heeseung’s mother. They're all perched at the edge of their seats, pride written all over their faces as they wait for your performance to begin. Your mother and Sooah wink at you, while your father gives you two enthusiastic thumbs up. Your parents have the biggest smiles on their faces, which immediately puts you at ease. God, you love them so much.
Then you spot your friends. Yunjin is already fiercely cheering you on, howling your name repeatedly as heads turn toward her in disbelief. You can’t blame the people who are baffled by her behavior. Ballet is meant to be graceful and refined, her behavior anything but. You shove down your laugh, but you love her anyway, even when she’s absolutely batshit crazy. Beside her sits Sunoo. As a model and actor, he always looks impossibly polished, yet he looks so exhausted today, but nonetheless excited to see you dance. You know why. He spent the entire week trying to track down Heeseung, making sure he’d show up today. Before your stomach can twist further at the thought of Heeseung’s absence, you notice Sunoo smacking Niki’s arm as Niki makes the most ridiculous, borderline grotesque expressions imaginable. Niki is a year younger than than the rest of you and definitely acts like it. He’s so silly and unserious, but you know he’s doing it to make you smile, to distract you from the pressure and Heeseung’s bizarre absence. Then you notice Jungwon recording you. It's touching, especially since he’s usually too lazy and busy with his side projects to leave his house at all. The fact that he's here feels like a miracle. Still, when it comes to you four, Jungwon always shows up.
Despite the anger and betrayal simmering and ready to burst, you remind yourself that you can't allow Heeseung’s absence to affect your performance, not when so many people believe in you. After all, you're one of the few dancers who got selected by your ballet company to represent them here. With that surge of confidence, you execute your routine flawlessly. And yes, you did point your feet exactly the way your teacher wanted. As cheers erupt when you finish your solo, you gaze immediately seeks out your family and friends. Still, even after dancing so well, you can’t stop thinking about Heeseung, about how he's usually first to stand, the loudest to cheer. You try to push these thoughts aside and exit the stage with practiced elegance. Once you're fully covered by the curtains backstage, you collapse into your teacher's and teammates’ arms.
When you reunite with your parents, Sooah, and your friends, they immediately surround you, showering you with praise. After handing you your favourite flowers, pink tulips, Sooah's expression softens with something unmistakably sad. “You did amazing, kiddo. Uncle Minsuk’s busy with work and couldn't make it… and I'm so sorry about Heeseung. I know how much you wanted him here, but he’s been so down lately—shutting everyone out, even his father and me. I know this doesn’t make it any less disappointing, but please don’t take it personally. You know how much he loves you.” You nod quickly, fighting the tears threatening to spill.
“God, he’s such a dick—oh. No offense, Mrs. Lee,” Yunjin blurts. Your parents facepalm. Sunoo shoots her the nastiest side eye imaginable. Jungwon shakes his head, and Niki starts cackling so loudly, drawing attention from others nearby. You shoot Yunjin a pointed look before nudging her, warning her to apologize to Sooah. Sooah just laughs. “Don’t apologize, Yunjin! I totally agree. Teenage boys can be a nightmare.”
After catching up with everyone, you head back toward the stage as the award ceremony is about to begin. As you’re walking away, you hear your mother’s concerned voice. “Sooah…what’s going on with Heeseung? He’s never been like this.”
“I don’t know what to do, Jiwon. He hasn’t left his room all week,” Sooah replies, completely tired and defeated.
—
You've never competed against this many high-caliber dancers before. Even though you know you’re one of the strongest dancers at your ballet company, the competition is brutal with talent everywhere you look. You're dedicated and disciplined, but not entirely certain you even want to become a professional ballerina. So, when it comes to placing, you don't let yourself hope too much.
As the judges begin announcing the top five solo performances in your age division, you start to drift off into your thoughts. Then—your teacher nudges you. Third place. You won third place!
Your parents, Sooah, and your friends are already on their feet, cheering. Applause fills the auditorium before the shock even registers. You stand, blinking as you walk up to accept your award. Still, your heart aches as you think about how Heeseung should’ve been here. He should've been the first one standing, the first one clapping—pink tulips in hand, smiling at you with that soft expression he only ever wore for you. Before hurt and resentment can twist your face, you force a smile and pose for photos with the judges.
—
Later, at home, exhaustion crashes over you. Your feet are filthy, coated in brown residue from hours of practicing backstage. Your hair is stiff with gel and hairspray. You’re aching all over, and you can barely keep your eyes open as you’ve been awake for 20 hours. You know you should shower and collapse into bed before you can get any more delirious.
But instead, you walk to your window. After both graduating from Harvard, your mother and Sooah bought houses right next to each other with Heeseung's bedroom window across from yours. Heeseung's window is closed with the blinds drawn. Just like it's been for the past week. Although you two live next door and see each other everyday, you and Heeseung made this makeshift telephone a couple years ago, connecting from your window to his with string and paper cups on each end because “you both wanted to stay connected even when you couldn’t be right beside each other”. You lift your mouth to the paper cup, but before you can say anything, your mouth quivers. You're about to cry again, except this time, you finally let the tears fall. You clear your throat to try to hide the fact that you’re practically sobbing at this point and call out to him softly.
No answer. You try one more time. No answer.
You remember the late night confessions, him telling you he loves you, and that he’ll always be there for you. You remember believing him. It makes you so resentful that you chuck your paper cup outside the window, leaving the makeshift telephone hanging entirely from Heeseung’s window now. You don’t understand why he’s doing this to you. A little over a week ago when summer break started, Heeseung dragged you out of your house to show you the new dual bike his parents gifted him. He’d been wanting it forever for the sole purpose of riding it with you. Now, he won’t even leave his house, answer his door, or respond to any calls or messages from your friends.
—
It’s been three weeks since summer break started, and you still haven’t left your house at all since the dance competition. You’ve spent everyday rotting in bed, replaying the same thoughts and memories. Today is no different as you lie in bed, flipping through the yearbook. Then you see it. A picture of you and Heeseung, both of you were smiling as he had his arm wrapped around you. You were voted “Best Duo” for the tenth year in a row. You and Heeseung have always won that title since you started at Evercore as kindergartners.
Tears begin to well in your eyes when someone starts pounding on your door non-stop. Sunoo’s sassy voice cuts through the noise. “Stop it Yunjin. We’re here for her, which means we wait until she’s ready,” followed by a loud yelp from Yunjin that you assume is Sunoo smacking her. Niki fails to stifle his cackles, and Jungwon sighs before his soft, concerned voice follows. “Y/N, are you okay? We’re really worried about you.”
But you stay quiet until Yunjin pleads, “Y/N, please let us in! You can’t spend your last summer break before high school curled up in bed when we need to be glowing up. Plus, Niki made himself useful for once and brought pad thai from your favourite Thai place.” Before Niki can start bickering with Yunjin, you open the door. “Holy shit—you look and smell like—OUCH,” Niki shrieks as Yunjin kicks his leg and Sunoo smacks his head. Niki rubs the spot while handing you the food. “Sorry, you know I’m joking, Y/N. Eat first, then talk if you want to.”
While you eat, they try to cheer you up. Yunjin and Sunoo offer to give you a manicure and a pedicure, Jungwon asks if you want him to grab anything else, and Niki recounts a disgusting story he thinks is hilarious, making you lose your apetite. You all end up laughing and gagging until you remember Heeseung should be here too, sitting right beside you like he always does. Your laughter fades, and your friends immediately notice.“I don’t understand. We never fought… unless I did something wrong, and I just don’t realize,” you whisper.
Yunjin scoffs, “You did nothing wrong, Y/N. He’s the asshole who left to go to football camp and hang with those pompous idiots, Ja—.” “Yunjin!” Sunoo, Jungwon, and Niki yell in unison. Your head jerks up so fast it spins, and your mouth goes dry. “Go on,” you say, eerily calm. Yunjin’s eyes widen. “Oh shit—I’m sorry Y/N. Maybe you’re not ready to hear this, but you deserve to know that Sunoo went to check on you and Heeseung last week and saw him walking home with Jake, Sunghoon, and Jay, in football gear,” she says gently, squeezing your hand.
Something in your chest sinks. Disappointment floods in, with hurt close behind. You can’t bring yourself to speak. You just sit there, frozen, as the pain slowly eats you alive.
—
It’s the first day back at school, and the first day without Heeseung by your side. You take extra long ironing your uniform so you have an excuse to leave a little later than usual and avoid running into him. When you arrive and walk towards Yunjin, Sunoo, Jungwon, and Niki, you can see the worry on their faces. Before they can say anything, you force an enthusiastic tone. “Wipe those glum looks off your faces. I’ll be fine. Don’t worry about me.”
As you head to your first class, you almost manage to forget about Heeseung—until you reach the same Evercore staircase where you once bandaged his scraped knees after a rough game of tag, where he used to let you rest on his shoulder when you were too tired to play at recess. You're lost in those memories when loud, obnoxious laughter cuts through them. You look up. The color drains from your face. Your body goes numb, and your heart shatters all over again.
Heeseung is laughing with Jake, Sunghoon, and Jay. You see him, but you don’t recognize the boy you fell in love with. Heeseung traded his glasses for contacts. His left ear is pierced, and his hair has grown into a curtain mullet. You remember how he used to keep it short and simple so it wouldn't distract him or tickle his face. The once quiet, sensitive boy who only ever laughed around you like it was meant for your ears only, like you owned his laughter,
now laughs in a way that didn’t belong to you anymore.
But that isn’t what makes your breakfast threaten to make a messy reappearance. It’s the way his newly muscular arm is wrapped around Giselle, who’s everything you’re not. Heeseung has been slipping away for months, but it doesn't fully hit until now, when he walks past you without sparing a single glance. No hesitation, and no flicker of recognition. Your vision blurs. Your ears ring, and heat floods your face.
—
You don’t even wait for the school bell to ring before bolting out of your class, sprinting home as fast as you can so he won't see you crying. You’re grateful your parents aren’t home to witness you choking on sobs and slamming your bedroom door so violently that one of the family portraits slips and hangs crooked from the impact.
All you feel is fury and disgust from Heeseung’s hypocrisy. He used to hate Jake Sim as much as you did. You joked about it, rolled your eyes together whenever Jake opened his entitled mouth. And now Heeseung’s hanging out with him? Jake Sim. The devils spawn. The most popular boy in school and an entitled aristocrat. He believes he owns Evercore since his great grandfather’s name is etched into a plaque in the main corridor as one of the founding fathers. He never misses a chance to point out when someone is wearing a luxury brand under his family’s conglomerate. You'll admit his family dominates most of the luxury market, but you go out of your way to avoid their brands. Dior is your safe haven. Thank god the Sim family hasn’t gotten their greedy hands on it.
Then there’s Giselle, the female version of Jake, except without the intellect. Jake is infuriatingly smart, which makes him worst. But Giselle? She's cruel, but clueless.
They’re exactly the kind of people Heeseung used to mock. Looking back, it makes you wonder if his disdain was ever real. Maybe it was jealousy, a desire to be a part their clique.
Although Evercore is one of the world's most elite private schools, with students coming from some of the wealthiest families in the world, cliques and hierarchies still exist. Old money, new money, political influence, and corporate power each carry a different weight at Evercore, and everyone knows where they stand on the hierarchy. Scholarship students are at the bottom of the food chain, at least to your snobby classmates. Not to you. Scholarships are given to the most exceptional applicants, but to Jake, Giselle, and their circle, they're an insult to Evercore’s prestige. They never miss a chance to make them feel small.
You still remember when you were six and Jake tried to make fun of Sunoo for appearing in the same popular kid shows of them watched. Before anyone could react, Yunjin kicked him somewhere she definitely shouldn’t have even known to kick, and he ran off crying for his mom. After that, Jake never bothered your friends again. Serves that bastard right.
So seeing Heeseung with them makes your stomach turn. You bite your lip hard enough to taste blood. You tear your room apart, removing any trace of him. Every photo is torn up, every note is shredded, and every birthday gift is tossed onto the growing pile of memories. When you reach his hoodies, your hands freeze. His scent still lingers, warm, familiar, and devastating. Even after everything he’s done to you, you still love him. You still want him. Your heart still aches for him, and it makes you feel pathetic.It doesn’t matter because your relationship is like the paper telephone you threw out the window. Once a precious lifeline between you two, now just trash lying on the pavement.
—
Three Years Ago
"I got my hands up, they're playin' my song. I know I'm gonna be okay. Yeah, it's a party in the U.S.A,” you and Yunjin half-sing, half-shout. “Miley Cyrus was such a bad bitch. Girl went from Disney to rocking a pixie cut and sticking up her middle finger every chance she got,” Yunjin says in awe.
You nod in agreement. “She really was ahead of her time.”
You apply one last coat of mascara, smooth out your skirt, and give yourself a final once-over in the mirror. “Are you ready for our last first day of high school, Yunnie?” Yunjin rolls her eyes so hard you thought they’d get stuck. “Let’s just get this over with,” she groans.
You grab your bags and head downstairs to eat something before leaving, but when you reach the dining room, you find your parents already seated at the table with Heeseung’s parents. “Good morning, mom, dad. Oh—good morning Auntie Sooah and Uncle Minsuk. I didn’t know you were over."
“Good morning, Auntie Jiwon, Uncle Sungmin. Good morning, Mrs. Lee and Mr. Lee,” Yunjin greets.
“Good morning my gorgeous girls,” Sooah beams. Yunjin, I already told you to call us Auntie Sooah and Uncle Minsuk. No more of that Mrs and Mr. Lee nonsense,” Sooah scolds.
“Sorry, Auntie Sooah. I’m still getting used to it,” Yunjin laughs.
“You girls look beautiful,” your mother says, setting down her fork. “Are you ready for your senior year? It’s a very important one.”
“I think so. I still can’t believe it’s our last year of high school, but it’s one step closer to being at Harvard… well, if I even get in,” you say.
“And I can’t wait to go home and sleep,” Yunjin mutters, earning a round of laughter.
“You will get into Harvard, honey. I’ve never been more certain. We’re so proud of you two,” your dad assures, smiling softly.
“I remember when Jiwon and I were at Evercore, stressing about our future just like you two,” Sooah adds, smiling at your mother. “When we found out we were going to spend the next four years together at Harvard, we broke down crying so hard in each other’s arms. It was one of the happiest moments of my life,” her voice hoarse as she tears up.
“I think the neighbours thought someone had been murdered with the way we were screaming and crying. It was one of the happiest moments of my life too,” your mother laughs softly, reaching across the table to squeeze Sooah’s hand.
Sooah wipes her eyes. “Sorry girls… I didn’t mean to get so emotional this early in the morning.”
Your father and Minsuk chuckle. “Moving on… ” your father chirps, then turns to Yunjin. “Aunt Sooah and I got you something.”
“You didn’t have to—now I feel bad,” Yunjin says, already unwrapping it anyway. “A Tiffany Notebook with a matching pen?” Yunjin screams. "Ah, thank you so much! I love you guys!"
You snort. Now she’s finally awake.
“We love you too, Yunjin. We know you're running out of pages in your old notebook. Now, you finally have more space to document your art,” your mother says as Yunjin embraces her and your father, cheeks turning pink. She always pretends her passion for art is just for fun, but everyone knows she’s a complete nerd for it. She’s quietly working towards Harvard’s Art History and Architecture program like her mother. Her parents are rarely home as their work moves them from city to city every so your parents stepped in. Somewhere along the way, Yunjin has her own bedroom in your house, her toothbrush found its place beside yours, and her shoes lined are up by the door. She isn’t just your best friend. She’s family.
Warmth spreads through your chest—until your mother suddenly asks, "How is Heeseung, by the way? We haven't seen him in so long. Is he ready for the first day?" The table stills. Sooah’s smile falters. Minsuk clears his throat and gives Sooah a look. You swallow hard, looking away. Even after four years, his name still feels like a dagger to your heart. You’d be lying if you said you were over what happened.
“H-he’s been staying at Jake’s house for the past couple of days,” Sooah mumbles, eyes lowered to her lap. “He didn’t answer my call this morning, but he said he was ready a few days ago,” Sooah adds disappointingly through her clenched teeth.
Your mother glances at you apologetically. She doesn’t have to explain. You know she asked out of politeness. Your family avoids mentioning Heeseung because they understand the scar is still fresh.
Your father clears his throat, attempting to change the suffocating atmosphere. “You girls should head to school before you’re late. Chef Kim made some breakfast burritos. Here—eat them on your way to school.” He hands one to you and Yunjin. Yunjin accepts her with an awkward smile.“Thanks, Uncle Sungmin.” You nod a quiet thank you as your mother stands to smooth your collar the same way she has done since you were little. “Have a good first day, sweetie. Keep doing your best."
Your father notices how sad you look so he grabs one of his many car keys and hands it to Yunjin. "Take my Porsche 991 today You'd better not dent it."
“What? Really?" Yunjin squeals. "I swear I will not fuck this up. I will drive like a senior citizen. A very respectful one."
“Language, Yunjin,” your mother giggles, kissing her cheek.
“Let’s go, Y/nnie,” Yunjin cheers, linking her arm through yours as she drags you out the door before you can respond. Somehow, she gets you to school in one piece without damaging your dad’s car. You meet up with the boys before class, and as you head toward your classroom, your principal walks straight toward you. “Hi, Y/N. It’s good to see you! How are you doing?”
You blink, confused. “Hello, Mrs. Brown. I’m doing well. How can I help you?”
“I have wonderful news regarding Harvard that I think you'll be very happy to hear. Let’s go to my office and talk more about it,” she exclaims, gesturing for you to follow her.
When you walk out of Mrs. Brown’s office, the world doesn't feel real as you're completely and utterly dazed. You’ve been invited to an exclusive coffee chat with Harvard’s dean?
"Congratulations, Miss Y/N! Although it’s not an official decision, an invitation like this indicates a high chance of acceptance, provided your conversation goes well." Your heartbeat accelerates as you replay the words, a mix of excitement and anxiety clouding your head. Then suddenly—you crash into a firm body.
“Watch where you’re fucking going,” a familiar voice grunts, making you freeze.
You look up instinctively, locking eyes with Heeseung's bloodshot ones. Then it hits you—the heavy stench of weed. Bile rises from your throat, partly from the nauseating smell and partly from a pang in your chest you refuse to acknowledge.
When Heeseung realizes it’s you, he backs away so fast, he practically trips over nothing. “Watch where you’re going next time,” he mutters, already walking away like he can’t stand your presence.
“Well maybe you shouldn’t get high before coming to school late and knocking people over,” you laugh bitterly, the words slipping out before you can stop.
Heeseung’s steps come to a halt. He turns his head just enough for you to see his jaw tighten before whipping back around. You almost miss it, but he shakes his head slightly and keeps walking, as if you’re not worth it.
Every time you see Heeseung, it makes your heart crack in ways you wish it didn’t. Seeing him high. Seeing him stumble into class late when he actually bothers to show up. Seeing his arms around the cheerleaders after a football game. Seeing girls boast about finally getting to spend a night with him. It's like a stranger wearing Heeseung’s face. You start to wonder if the long, buried memories were ever real at all. But what hurts the most is watching him drown while catching glimpses of the kid he used to be, the kid you can’t seem to forget no matter how hard you try. The worst part is, he won’t let you swim close enough to try and save him.
As you stand there frozen, the good news you heard a few minutes ago is replaced by a wave of humiliation and anger.
Prom
“Can you pass me the hair pins, Yunnie,” you ask, combing through your hair for what feels like the hundredth time.
“Here—oh my god, your makeup and hair looks so good! You’re gonna be the hottest bitch at prom,” Yunjin squeals.
“No way! We’re gonna be the hottest bitches at prom,” you giggle, bumping shoulders with your best friend.
“You’re not wrong,” she smirks, just as there's a knock at your bedroom door.
“Hi, my dears. Do you mind if we come in?” your mother asks.
“Yes, come in!” you call out.
“We have a gift for you, sweetheart. Here—open it,” your father says as your mother hands you a ribbon tied box.
You carefully unknot the bow and lift the lid, your breath catches instantly. “No… this isn’t what I think it is.”
“It is, honey,” your mother gushes.
“I—is this the custom pink Dior Venus gown I sketched when I was like ten?” you whisper in disbelief. “W—what? How did you guys know? And when did you guys even get this made?”
“We remember taking you to the de Young Museum. You kept circling back to the Venus gown. We practically had to drag you out of there to get home!” your mother laughs softly. “A week later, I went into your room and saw your your sketch. Oh—and let’s just say someone at Dior owes me big a favor,” your mother winks. “They started making this dress last year.”
“You remembered something like this from eight years ago?” you blink, stunned, though it shouldn’t surprise you. Your parents have always been impossibly perceptive, quietly taking notes of the things you love even when you forget them yourself.
“This must've been so hard to make. Thank you, thank you, thank you. I love you guys—ugh—I’m gonna cry,” you say, throwing your arms around them.
“You're welcome, dear, and don’t ruin your lovely makeup,” your dad murmurs.
“Wait—what do I do with my Atelier dress?” you ask, suddenly remembering your original prom dress.
“Wear it to the charity gala next month” your mother replies as if it’s obvious.
“Two couture dresses? This is why I always raid your closet,” Yunjin whispers, leaning closer to inspect the dress. “No, but this is seriously insane. You're going to look like a princess. Go put it on!”
After changing, your parents take far too many photos, sending them to Yunjin's parents as well. “You girls look so beautiful… and all grown up,” your mother says, voice wavering. “Please don’t cry, Auntie, or we’re gonna cry too,” Yunjin pouts. You pull them into a tight hug. “I love you guys so much.” “We love you too,” they say in unison.
Suddenly—a loud honk cuts through the moment from outside. “It’s probably Sunoo and Jungwon. Go have fun, but not too much fun,” your father says, directing the last part mostly at Yunjin.
You and Yunjin step outside to a ridiculously long limousine. The driver gets opens the door, and the moment you climb in—“I am gagged. You look like a literal princess, Y/N! Is that a custom Dior gown?” Sunoo gasps.
“Yes! It's a custom Venus gown,” you laugh.
“Girl, how—oh, and you cleaned up decently, Yunjin,” Sunoo teases. She flips him off. “I’m kidding! You look really hot!"
“You guys look very pretty,” Jungwon says genuinely.
“Of course we do. We always do!” Yunjin shoots back.
“And you boys look amazing too!” you smile, glancing around the limousine “Isn’t this limo a little too big for just four people? Maybe we should’ve joined the others?”
“I like when it’s just us. I wish Niki could’ve come though,” Sunoo frowns.
“It is a shame. Niki really wanted to give the seniors a proper sendoff to college by letting them see his ‘sexy figure’ in a fitted suit,” you snort. “He’s probably sulking at home right now." You FaceTime him immediately. After showing him all of your outfits, you bid him a dramatic farewell as the limousine rolls to a stop. The venue looks like a fairytale with a castle-like exterior, cherry blossom trees scattered across the front garden, lush flowers lining the bushes, and fountains framing either side of the grand entrance. Students who haven’t gone in yet are draped in designer gowns and tailored suits.
Sunoo’s jaw drops. “Okay, but why does this look like the Met Gala? Who on earth has taste this exquisite?”
“PTA moms trying to outdo last year,” Yunjin mutters, reapplying lip gloss.
The chauffeur opens the door, and Sunoo jumps out first. “Presenting Sunoo in Prada!” he announces with his hands on his hips. “Oh—Keeho. Be a peach and take some pictures for us, will you?” Sunoo says, shoving the camera into Keeho's hand.
Jungwon sighs, smoothing the front of his perfectly tailored black Armani suit. “I don’t do poses,” he insists, but does a subtle one anyway when Sunoo shoots him a deathly glare.
You lace your fingers with Yunjin’s and join them. Yunjin looks unbelievably sexy in the iconic Spring/Summer 2005 gold Versace dress that Daria Werbowy wore on the runway.
Sunoo claps dramatically. “You two are totally shutting this whole place down. These bitches are not ready.”
Inside, the music fades as heads turn when you walk in. You immediately hear the whispers.
“Is that vintage Dior? Y/N looks insane! That gown is unreal." The crystal light catches every curve of your gown; the silver detailing on the petals scatters soft reflections across the marble floor as you continue walking into the venue. Your fellow classmates pause mid-sentence just to stare.
Sunoo leans in and whispers, “Told you. You’re shutting the whole place down.”
You’re adjusting the hem when suddenly—you collide with a solid body. You gasp, stumbling forward until a hand shoots out, catching your waist before you can fall. The cologne hits you first, familiar and painfully nostalgic—Heeseung. When you look up, he’s already staring. His eyes drag over you slowly, from the neckline to your face. “Watch where you’re going,” he says, but his voice isn’t annoyed like last time. It’s strained.
“Seriously?” Giselle cuts in, heels clicking. “You just got here, and you're already causing problems.” Her eyes skim your gown with a tight smile, trying to be discreet, but failing miserably.
Yunjin mutters under her breath, “She’s fuming. I love it.”
Despite his date’s fuss, Heeseung doesn’t look at Giselle. Not once. You pull away from his arm, breaking his hold. “Sorry,” you say softly. Heeseung’s lips part like he wants to say something, but Giselle steps closer, tugging at his sleeve. “Come on, We’re leaving.” He hesitates for a second, long enough to make your chest tighten, then he drops his gaze and follows Giselle, jaw tight and shoulders stiff.
Before you turn towards your friends, you catch Giselle shooting one last glare your way. “If envy was a person, Giselle would be the human form,” Sunoo says, trying to stifle his laugh as Jungwon nods, agreeing. “And did you see Heeseung? He was totally in awe,” Yunjin adds, linking arms with you. But you can’t. All you can think about is the way Heeseung looked at you—like the memories were never buried at all.
You continue dancing for the next three hours, screaming along to songs while Yunjin drags you around to take pictures with different circles. Your feet feel like they’re being stabbed through your heels. You lean in and whisper into Yunjin’s ear, “My feet are going to fall off if I keep dancing. Can we please go home?” Yunjin nods and waves Sunoo and Jungwon over.
As the two boys approach, Sunoo suddenly lights up. ‘Let’s have an after-party sleepover at someone’s place. I volunteer Y/N because her house is the closest.”
“Fine—but we have to leave now then,” you demand.
“I’ll tell Niki to come,” Jungwon adds.
Yunjin links her arm through yours as you head toward the exit. “Our sleepover is going to be way better than prom, but please tell me you finally have access to your parents’ alcohol cabinet."
“Yunjin, I literally saw you taking way too many swigs from Lara’s ‘secret’ flask—but yes, I do,” you laugh softly, glancing over your shoulder. You take one last look at prom, the night everyone swears is unforgettable. But you don’t see him. Not Heeseung. Not her. Not his rowdy football team that's usually hard to miss.
Yunjin nudges you gently. “Come on. Niki’s already on his way.”
You take one last look at where he caught you before turning around and following your friends into the cool night, leaving prom and whatever Heeseung was thinking behind.
When you get home, you immediately change into comfy pajamas and wash your makeup off while your friends argue downstairs about whether to watch She’s the Man or The Notebook. Before you head down to join them, something makes you pause. A stupid, instinctive pull. You walk to your window and glance across the yard toward the house you’ve avoided looking at for far too long. Heeseung’s room is dim, lit only by the warm glow of his lamp. Your breath catches—his blinds facing directly toward your window are open for the first time in years. You don’t even know what you expect to see. Maybe nothing. Maybe him hunched over this desk. Maybe him still in the suit that made your stomach twist at prom. But when your eyes shift slightly to the left—the sight knocks the air right out of you. Giselle’s hands are tangled in his hair. Their bodies are pressed together. His mouth is on hers, the kiss hungry, messy, and careless.
You freeze, heart dropping into your stomach. You can't stop staring at the scene that's unfolding right before you—and then meets your gaze. His expression is cold again, indifferent, a cruel contrast to the way he looked at you at prom. Strangely, his eyes flick downward, toward your cheeks. You lift your fingers and only realize they're wet. You're crying. Mortified, you turn away immediately, wiping your face with trembling hands. You force a deep breath, to steady your heart, to pretend it didn't just split open all over again.
When you look back, Giselle is gone. Heeseung stands alone, buttoning up his shirt. What you don't see is how abruptly he pulled away from her, making her jerk back startled. How his hands dropped from her like they burned him. How their kiss ended without any hesitation. How she stormed off, furious and humiliated. But you were too busy trying to control your breathing. Too busy blinking away tears. You reach out to shut your blinds, but before you do, you see him drag a hand through his hair, his other fist clenched so tightly his knuckles turn white.
—
Graduation
“Yunjin Huh will be attending Harvard, studying Art History and Architecture. Elizabeth Irvine will be attending Yale, studying English Language and Literature. Sunoo Kim will be attending Harvard, studying Theatre, Dance, and Media. Sebastian Miller will be attending Oxford, studying Biomedical Sciences. Lara Raj will be attending NYU, studying Vocal Performance. Jungwon Yang will be attending MIT, studying Electrical Engineering and Computer Science.” As your Principal continues down the list, the crowd claps politely during each name.
“Finally, our Valedictorian, Y/N L/N.” Mrs. Brown pauses, allowing the audience to applaud. “Y/N is our Class President and President of the National Honor Society, among various other extracurricular activities. She graduates with the highest academic standing among the Class of 2023 and will be attending Harvard, studying Economics.” Cheers erupt even louder than before. “I will now turn it over to Y/N for her valedictorian speech.” You rise from your chair and walk across the podium towards Mrs. Brown. Mrs. Brown shakes your hand firmly before handing you the microphone. “Congratulations, Y/N” she whispers, smiling warmly. “Thank you, Mrs. Brown.”
As you begin your speech, your other hand hidden behind the lectern is balled into a tight fist. Your nails dig into your palm, carving crescent moons into your skin. Because what the audience doesn’t know is that one of the names called before yours nearly knocked the air from your lungs. “Heeseung Lee will be attending Harvard University, studying History.” You had to clap along with everyone else. Professional. Poised. Unbothered.
When you deliver your final line, the auditorium explodes with cheers, whistles, and applause. Mrs. Brown dismisses Evercore’s Class of 2023 for the last time. Caps go flying and navy tassels spin through the air like confetti. The sound is deafening with laughter, screams, and the scrape of chairs fill the room.
You step down from the stage, immediately jumping into your friends’ arms. All around you are the classmates you’ve known since you were four. The same kids who once sat cross-legged together in Mrs. Jones's class, sounding out the alphabet. Now they cling to one another, crying, laughing, and taking final photos. Hugs linger longer than they used to. Goodbyes sound heavier. This is the last time most of you will ever stand in the same room together. A chapter ends right here and a new one begins, pushing all of you towards futures that seem thrilling and terrifying at the same time. And out of all the things you imagined about that future, you never once pictured that Heeseung would be coming with you.
—
Present
It’s the first day of your Corporate Finance class, a notorious course at Harvard for aspiring business students. Not because the professor has a 1.0 on Rate My Professors. Not because the class is impossible to pass. But because of the final project, a case analysis for Goldman Sachs, where students are grouped into pairs. The professor selects the student with the better grade from the highest-scoring pair for a summer internship at Goldman. One spot. One career-defining opportunity. It’s brutal. Students show up twenty minutes early to claim a front-row seat as if it’s a battlefield. Goldman is nearly impossible to break into, and every student in this room would sell their soul for this internship.
After introductions, the professor is about to go over the syllabus when the door opens. You glance back without thinking like you always do when someone walks in late. Jake Sim walks in first and right behind him is—Heeseung. What? He shouldn’t be here. Jake is practically in all of your classes as he's also an Econ student (unfortunately), but Heeseung is a history major. This class has absolutely nothing to do with his track. For the first two years of college, you’ve managed to avoid Heeseung surprisingly well. Although it’s a relatively small school, your paths didn’t intertwine as much as you feared it would. Your schedules only overlapped once in a mandatory first-year economics course that both Econ and History students had to take. That lecture was massive, and you could barely find your own friends, let alone Heeseung. Assignments were all individual, so avoiding him was effortless. Occasionally, you’d catch glimpses of him around campus, usually with Jay, Jake, Sunghoon, or the Harvard Football team. You'd see him at crowded study spaces, popular hangouts spots, and even at parties, but you never spoke, and you were perfectly fine with that.
Your shoulders stiffen and your breath catches as you hear Heeseung trudging down the steps with a faint jingle of his backpack.His footsteps slow, then stop. You don't need to look, you can feel him behind you. You don't dare to move as he settles into the seat directly behind, creaking as he pulls the desk out. The air around you shifts. Every sound is sharper and your pulse is suddenly too loud in your ears. Why did he choose to sit right behind you? You glance around the lecture hall to check for empty seats, but of course, this class is packed with every row nearly filled. It means nothing. Once again, you feel pathetic at how you heart lurches at the smallest proximity, overthinking every situation you two end up in together while he's probably not thinking about you at all. You grip your pen a little too tightly as you remind yourself that it's been years and you're no longer fazed when your professor proceeds with explaining the syllabus after the brief interruption.
"As you may already know, the case makes up a significant portion of your grade. 60% of your final mark comes from your case project and the remaining 40% is from your midterm grade. I'm aware that most of you are here for the internship opportunity, so I won't waste time on anything unnecessary. You'll be working in pairs for the case and each team will have to submit a written report detailing your analysis and proposed solution. You'll also deliver a 10 minute presentation followed by a 10 minute Q&A session. Two representatives from Goldman and I will evaluate your cases. From the highest scoring pair, we will select the student with the higher midterm grade for the internship. I recommend all of you begin early. With that said, I'll be announcing the pairs."
This is your chance. The one opportunity to prove you got here on your own. You refuse to follow in your parents' footsteps, refuse to have your last name dismissed as nothing more than a spoiled, nepo baby who only got in because of her daddy. You're walking a path that's entirely yours. As your professor moves down the list, you silently hope for Sophia, your roommate who isn't back from summer vacation. She's smart, reliable, and professional, which is exactly what you need for this project.
"Y/N L/N and Heeseung Lee." The words hit you before you can even process them. Behind you, you hear his breath hitch, quiet, but unmistakable. Your heart is stuck in your throat as you're rooted in you're seat. You just stare straight ahead, refusing to turn around and give him even a slightest bit of reaction. How is this even fair? You know almost everyone in this class, countless people you'd rather be paired with, and yet the moment Heeseung walks in, you get partnered with him? You're fuming at how the universe has a proven track record of torturing you with the one person that had your whole heart and crushed it.
"I'll let everyone exchange contact information with their partners. You're dismissed early today," your professor says.
You don't move an inch until you hear Heeseung clear his throat behind you. "Hey," he hesitates before continuing, "What's your number or has it changed after all these years?" You scoff. "No, let's just communicate with our school emails." But the question lands harder than it should. Has it changed after all these years?A simple, practical question that needed to be asked, and yet it feels like a reminder. A reminder that maybe you're still the same girl you were seven years ago. The girl who still searched for him in the hallways when he was skipping school to hookup with other girls. The girl who cried too easily when he was involved. The girl who never mattered to him as much as he mattered to you.
"You want us to communicate through email? No one checks their email as much as their messages," Heeseung says, already annoyed, clicking his tongue. "Look, I'm going to be late for football practice. Let's not make this any harder than it has to be, Y/N," he sighs as he reaches for his phone. Your nostrils flare at his tone. It's condescending as if he's explaining something to a toddler. "How dare I waste the star quarterback's time," your sneer, voice dripping with sarcasm. Heeseung clicks his tongue once again, and you swear you almost lunged forward to rip his obnoxious tongue out. "Yeah, okay… real funny," he says, bored.
The urge to strangle him is so strong, but you force yourself to take a deep breath. You're better than this. You're not fourteen anymore, waiting for him at your recital with pink tulips in his hands. You're not seventeen anymore, waiting for him to come back to you, hoping he'd finally choose you over all those girls and the partying. You're not that girl anymore and once this project is over, your life will go back to normal. Back to the version of yourself you've been rebuilding all these years, one that doesn't flinch at the sight of him around campus. "Fine. It's the same number." you mutter, meeting his eyes for a second before lowering your gaze to the floor. Before he can say anything else, you turn around and head towards the exit.
You're almost at the door when Jake's obnoxiously loud voice cuts in. "Bro, what's her problem? She's hot though—if she wasn't so annoying, I'd probably—" Before you can turn back around and strangle the shit out of him, his words are cut off abruptly, but you don't turn around. You don't want to know if it was Heeseung who stopped him. You don't want to get your hopes up. Not again. Not like that night at prom. Because Heeseung doesn't care about you. He never did.
—
As you open the door to your apartment, you find Yunjin and Manon sprawled on the couch, watching The Summer I Turned Pretty. "Did she seriously just accept his proposal after finding out he cheated?" Yunjin gasps. "He could've at least gotten her a ring with a rock that wasn't as nonexistent as my love life." "Ugh, I'm so done with this show, Yun. Please stop making me watch this shit with you," Manon groans, horrified at the scene on the TV.
Sophia is on the floor beside the couch, unpacking her luggage. Her eyes go wide when she sees you. "Oh my god, Y/N. I missed you so much!" she squeals, attempting to launch herself in your arms for a hug, but you dodge it. "You traitorous hoe… I thought you were supposed to be back yesterday," you sulk, sporting an exaggerated pout. "I'm sorry, love. I was so jet lagged after my flight, so I ended up staying the night at home," she laughs softly, mirroring your pout. "Will you forgive me if I told you I got you a bunch of gifts," Sophia says with a sly smirk, knowing you too well. "Fine, but don't ever leave me alone in class again," you mutter. "I want someone to hit my head really hard so I can forget about what happened today," you groan.
Yunjin and Manon wander over after Manon aggressively shuts off the TV, completely over the show. "Whoa—what happened?" Yunjin asks, raising her brows. "How do you already look so annoyed this early in the morning," she chuckles. "Oh please, you're one to talk," Manon cuts in. "This is you literally everyday." Yunjin gasps as she smacks Manon's arm, offended. "Hey! I'm a ray of sunshine."
Yunjin, Sophia, and Manon are your roommates. You met Sophia in first year when you realized you both had the same classes as a fellow Econ major. You two instantly clicked over your shared love for overpriced matcha lattes, complaining about your 8 AM tutorials, and absolutely crushing the arrogant guys in your class discussions. She's outspoken, witty, and impossible not to love. You and Yunjin met Manon in a Psych elective. She boldly walked up to the two of you, dropped her backpack onto the desk, and asked, "So when are we meeting?" "For the group project," she clarified, unfazed when the two of you stared at her like she was crazy. "It's a group of five, and I'm guessing your group isn't full yet." Manon is laid back and effortlessly confident until there are flashing lights, booming music, and drinks involved. Then she becomes completely unhinged, the kind of chaotic energy and passion for partying that is frighteningly similar to Yunjin.
Somehow, the four of you have settled into each other's lives without even noticing. You know each other's habits, late night cravings, and academic breaking points. You know who shuts down during exam season, who stress-eats (Yunjin), who stress-cleans (Sophia), who stress-smokes (Manon), and who stress-bakes (you).
They also know about your history with Heeseung. You were completely blindsided when you found out he was also attending Harvard. You never thought he would even end up here with you. Not with how often he skipped school. But being born into an elite family with a Harvard-educated mother has its perks. He was practically guaranteed an acceptance. And it certainly didn't hurt that he was one of the best high school football players in the country, recruited to play for Harvard's team.
During your freshman year, the entire campus scrambled to get tickets for the first football game of the year. Most of the excitement centered around the new players, Heeseung, Jake, and Sunghoon. During orientation, girls were already following them on Instagram, memorizing their practice schedules, and every dining hall sighting turned into gossip. Sophia and Manon were no exception. Although they weren't nearly as obsessed as the other girls, they were still drawn to the trio's so-called charm. "I want to ride Sunghoon's abs," Manon smirked, scrolling through a photo of him at practice. "I wish I were the ball," Sophia sighed dramatically. You practically had to pinch Yunjin to stop her from shouting obscenities every time the two of them thirsted over the boys.
They tried numerous times to drag you to the ticket booth, but Manon and Sophia grew confused by your unwavering protests. You eventually told them the truth and they immediately understood why watching Harvard's newest star quarterback wasn't exactly on your bucket list. Their excitement dimmed, replaced with protective looks. "We're definitely not going then, babe," Manon said gently, squeezing you hand. "He's not even hot anyway." "And we're so sorry for talking about him in front of you this whole time. I swear I'll throw my matcha latte at him the next time I see him," Sophia added, her face morphed into disgust. "I'm totally on board with that!" Yunjin cheered. "It's about time you guys realized how fucking ugly those assholes are." She gagged so dramatically you'd think she was more furious than you. But then again, Yunjin always has your back.
"No no no… there's no need for that, but I love you guys to death for being so understanding," you chuckle, waving your hand dismissively. "And seriously, go to the football game if you want. I don't want to stop you guys just because of our history. Plus—I really don't mind." "What do you take us for?" Sophia gasped dramatically, hand flying to her chest like you just insulted her. "We want nothing to do with Heesuck now. You come first before all these boys."
The memory fades when you realize the three of them are staring at you impatiently like hungry kittens waiting to be fed."I got paired with… him for the case project," you swallow harshly, dropping your gaze to the floor. "I've been looking forward to this since forever ago, and now it feels like everything is crashing down. Am I dramatic for letting this get to me? I mean, I thought I moved on from everything that happened, but it's feels like—" You cut yourself off because if you continue your words, saying it will make your feelings real.
Manon's jaw drops first. "You're kidding, right?" she breathes. "Harvard has like thousands of business student—hell, half the student body is practically in business, and they still paired you with Heesuck, a random History major? Why is he even in this class? That's actually criminal." Sophia slams her hands against the kitchen counter. "I knew Dr. Schmidt was evil all along. Nobody should trust a man who wears loafers without socks. Nobody," she emphasizes for the second time. Yunjin's eyes are already blazing by this point. "Dramatic? You? No. If anything, you're being too calm about this. I would've packed my bags and dropped the class immediately after catching wind of his face," She huffs. "Actually, give me like five minutes, and I'll write the email." Their protective reactions almost make you laugh, but the tightness in your chest doesn't subside, and they notice.
Sophia immediately softens, pulling you to the couch. "Hey," she murmurs, nudging your shoulder gently. "You don't have to pretend this doesn't hurt." Manon nods vigorously. "Yeah, this isn't typical boy drama. It's much deeper than that, and you have every right to feel this way." Yunjin immediately melts into your side, wrapping her arm around you. "Exactly. Besides, I was joking about dropping the class. You've worked so hard for this, and you're genuinely the smartest person I know. Don't give up just because of him. He doesn't deserve the satisfaction of ruining something you've wanted for years." She squeezes your shoulders, her voice soft but firm. "He's just an inconvenience, but if you put everything aside, you'll get the internship for sure. Without a doubt." Yunjin reassures.
"Hey! What about me?" Sophia feigns hurt with an exaggerated pout, clearly just trying to cheer you up. "You'd better watch out, Sophia because I'm not holding back," you stick out your tongue, finally laughing. "Thank you. I mean it. I'm not sure what I'd do without you guys," your mouth quivers, and you lean your head on Yunjin's shoulder. The weight of everything easing a little. "I think I'm going to take a nap before dinner with the boy," you say, tired from waking up at the crack of dawn and your unexpected reunion with Heeseung.
"Sure, babe," Yunjin nods gently, giving you a soft smile. "Do you guys want to come? Jay's making steak to celebrate him and Jungwon landing venture capital for their startup," Yunjin asks, turning to Sophia and Manon. "Nah, it's a special moment you should enjoy alone. Besides, I convinced Sophia to come with me to a frat party at Northeastern tonight," Manon smirks, proud of herself for convincing Sophia to come, who absolutely hates frat bros with every fiber of her being. "I swear to god, if any frat bro tries to press up against me like last time, I'm fucking knocking his teeth out," Sophia threatens, already regretting her decision. You shake your head and laugh at how Sophia will probably end up punching one anyway with her short-temper before heading into your room.
As you try to fall asleep, your mind constantly drifts back to Heeseung, wondering what you should do. The last thing you want is it be stuck in a tiny room with him for the entire semester, pretending the past doesn't exist while you work on a project that decides your future. You toss and turn in your bed at the unpleasant memories you haven't thought about in years until your eyes finally grow heavy.
—
You and Yunjin arrive at the boys' doorstep, each of you holding warm, freshly made side dishes even though Jay told you not to bother. Compared to your cozy, homey, brownstone, Sunoo, Jungwon, and Niki live in a sleek modern condo with floor-to-ceiling windows. They live about a ten minute walk from your place, making sure you all live in close proximity to each other. It's not hard considering you all go to school in Cambridge with Sunoo and Niki both attending Harvard for Theatre, Dance, and Media. Jungwon is effortlessly brilliant, accepted to MIT's Electrical Engineering and Computer Science program. Since MIT is practically next door to Harvard, it only made sense for him to live with the boys.
Jay also goes to Harvard for Computer Science but lives with Heeseung, Jake, and Sunghoon. Technically, anyway because he's basically living with Jungwon since they're always holed up working on their growing startup, Pathify. The two of them became close due to their shared passion for tech and eventually started Pathify together. Jay is like the older brother you've always wished for. Thankfully, he's completely different from Jake and Sunghoon. He doesn't go around acting like a pompous asshole who's still clinging to his high school ways—constantly partying and sleeping around as if it's some kind of extracurricular activity. When Jay's not too busy with Pathify, he spends his days cooking, experimenting with new recipes, taking photos of literally anything that catches his eye, and talking endlessly about Max Verstappen, the Dutch F1 Driver who he's obsessed with.
Yunjin has interrogated him countless times about why he still hangs out with them. But he always gives the same answer. "Our fathers were best friends growing up, so naturally we are too. You know how it works with people like us. You grow up together your whole lives, tolerate their flaws, and make excuses for them." As much as you hate to admit it, you know Jay's right. People like you didn't always choose your childhood friends. You inherited them. You grew up side by side, learned to overlook their worst qualities, and convinced yourself it wasn't worth the drama to question any of it. So you stick by these people because they're the only ones who truly understand your world or because parents insists these connections are good for business. Thankfully, your parents never cared about any of that.
The door swings open, and you're greeted by Jay , still wearing his apron and a pair of cooking gloves. Yunjin snorts. "Wow, look at you. Gordon Ramsay would be shaking in his boots." Jay rolls his eyes but steps aside to let you both in. "Oh please, Ramsay wishes he had my knife skills." Yunjin leans in and whispers loudly, "I've seen toddlers with Play-Doh who chop straighter." "Alright, cut it out, Yunjin," you chuckle, nudging her shoulder. "Thank you for having us and making dinner, Jay! Congratulations on the venture capital! Pathify is going to be huge." Jay's expression softens immediately with pride. "Thank you, Y/N. I'll give you access to unlimited pro features," he winks. "And I told you guys not to bring anything. You should be more like the guys who contributed absolutely nothing," Jay snickers, taking the mashed potatoes from you and the bread from Yunjin as you both slip off your shoes.
"Hey! You're using our kitchen by the way," Niki heckles from the dining room. You shake your head at the chaos. "You know we could never show up empty handed." You all settle into the dining room as Jay finishes plating the food."Enjoy, everyone," Jay announces as he sets the final dish in the center of the table. The aroma alone makes you feel more at ease compared to this morning.
"Wait!" Sunoo interjects. "We need to make a toast to Jungwon and Jay for their success with Pathify! To Pathify," He beams proudly as he raises his glass of wine. "To Pathify!" you all repeat in unison. "Thank you, guys," Jungwon and Jay say, exchanging proud glances before lifting their own glasses.
As everyone digs into the Michelin Star level food, you all update each other on recent events—Yunjin recounting how someone tried to plagiarize her artwork. Sunoo complaining that his skin has been breaking out ever since he got back to Cambridge. Niki ranting about how stinky his dance partner smells after rehearsal. Jungwon explaining what happened during their latest investor meeting, and Jay interrupting every few minutes to ask if the seasoning is good. It feels warm and familiar, enough to make you forget about the stress sitting at the back of your mind—until you're asked about your classes. "Oh—Y/N, how's that finance class going? Are you ready for the case?" Sunoo asks suddenly, looking at you with innocent curiosity as he pops a roasted carrot into his mouth. The question makes you freeze mid-bite, your fork hovering halfway to your mouth as the piece of steak feels heavy in your hand. "I—I don't know. I'm not sure if it'll go well with… my partner," you say quietly.
Yunjin clears her throat, trying to change the topic. "Maybe we should talk about something else." "Why? Who is it?" Niki asks as everyone looks at you curiously, waiting for an answer. "Uh… it's H—Heeseung," you mutter, chest tightening at the reminder. Everyone's eyes and mouth drop at the same time. Sunoo's fork drops against the table, Niki looks offended on your behalf, Jungwon's brows knit in concern, and Jay chokes on his whine. "Whoa, are you okay, Y/N? He's a History major… what is he even doing in your class. Have you tried switching partners?" These questions are thrown at you all at once, overlapping so fast you can't even tell who's speaking. "It's whatever… I don't really care," you lie, shrugging like it's nothing. "But, I'd prefer not to talk about it if that's alright. You know… because we shouldn't be talking too much about school during this celebration," you say, setting down your fork.
The table goes unusually quiet. Yunjin's hand immediately finds your knee under the table and gives it a gentle, reassuring squeeze. "Of course," Jungwon says gently, breaking the awkward silence. "Let's not talk about school when we're here to celebrate."Everyone nods in agreement. Just like that, the conversation shifts and everyone steers away from the topic."It's been a while since we've all taken a group photo. Shall we take one?" you ask, trying not to spoil the dinner any further. "Yes, of course," Sunoo immediately agrees, practically squealing. Afterward, you flop back into your seats, posting the pictures on Instagram. There are chaotic pictures with Yunjin flipping off the camera, Niki blinking, and Sunoo looking beyond annoyed at the two. Jay, quite the minimalist, posts a clean group photo (without Yunjin's middle finger of course).
At their shared apartment, Heeseung sees the notification while sprawled lazily on the couch after practice. He taps it without much interest, expecting another Pathify update. But instead, he sees you. Right there in the center, smiling with your friends who used to be his too. Heeseung holds his thumb against the Instagram story, stopping it from skipping ahead. He just stares at the photo… at you. Something prickles under his skin. It's unsettling, almost irritating because he shouldn't be looking. He tells himself it's just because he's exhausted from practice and that seeing you again up close after all these years probably just threw him off. And yet he doesn't move an inch. Not for a minute. Not for two.
He's still staring blankly at the photo with a weird feeling gnawing at his chest when the front door bursts open. "BROOO, WE'RE HOOOME," Jake shouts, tripping over his own feet as Sunghoon stumbles in right behind, equally wasted. "HEEESEUNGGG—YOU SHOULD'VE COME, YOU FUCKING PUSSYYY," Sunghoon yells, clutching his stomach like he's about to projectile vomit all over the expensive rug. They're too loud. An absolute disaster at their big grown age. Heeseung clears his throat, finally locking his phone before tossing it onto the cushion beside him like it was suddenly too heavy. Whatever that moment was, whatever he felt, he shuts it down before it even forms because he's not allowed to.
The next morning, your alarm goes off far too early for someone who stayed up drinking with their friends until 2 a.m. You groan into your pillow, smashing the snooze button before finally dragging yourself out of your soft, warm bed. Your head is foggy, not from drinking, just from thinking. Specifically, about how you're going to start working on the case with the person you refused to talk about at dinner. You rub your eyes and glance at your phone. Of course your friends are blowing up your phone in the group chat.
yunjin's hoes:
yunnie: someone pls send the photos of Niki drooling on the couch, passed out with his ass up in the air
niki minaj: FLAT??? be serious bro… my ass is THICCC AND PLUMPPP
wonnie: Disgusting. You're cleaning up your drool stains, Niki.
verstappen's bf: LOL also pls remember to heat up the leftovers on the stove or in the oven… NOT THE MICROWAVE
sunsun: why do sound like a dad rn
verstappen's bf: because last time YOU microwaved it for 10 minutes and it came out looking like my shit after eating taco bell…
niki minaj: OKAY I WAS DRUNK
yunnie: nah you're just an idiot LOL
niki minaj: Y/N pls get in here and defend me
You: naur… you drool on shared couches and can't even reheat food at 20…
After replying to the group chat, which always seems to end with everyone targeting Niki (lovingly and jokingly of course), you move on to your morning routine. You pull on the softest, warmest sweater you own now that the weather's getting colder and make yourself a warm cup of coffee. With no classes today, you decide to stay in, settle at your desk, and finally start working on the case. If you're going to be stuck working with Heeseung, you're at least determined to do most of the work without relying on him. You reread the entire case brief, highlight key points, and start building an outline. You dive into research, pulling academic journals, financial data, and comparable models. The document is filled with bullet points and research notes. You've been typing away in the document for two hour—until your phone vibrates beside your laptop. It's a text from an unknown number.
Unknown Number: hey we need to talk about the case. it's heeseung btw
Your fingers tighten slightly around your phone. You never asked for his number. Then it hits you—his number changed. You know this not because you memorized his stupid number, but because the area code is different. His number has a Cambridge area code rather than one from back home. Wait—you only told him your number was the same. You never actually gave it to him. You didn't text it to him. You didn't read it to him. You didn't write it for him. Which could only mean one thing—did he really memorize your number after all these years? Even through high school and college. Even through a new carrier and a new phone. Even after everything that happened. Your pulse quickens and your stomach twists at the thought of it. No. You refuse to believe that. You refuse to let yourself entertain the idea that he might care, that Lee Heeseung, of all people, would hold onto something as small and insignificant as your phone number. You won't allow yourself to go there. Not after everything.You scoff and shake your head, forcing yourself back into reality and reply to his texts.
You: i'll send an outline with everything i have so far.
Unknown Number: alright i'll work on it right now
You: no need to. you can just work on the presentation once i'm done with the research and proposal.
You've already decided you want to avoid Heeseung as much possible until the presentation, so you'll do most of the work. It's safer that way. Besides, he'll only hinder your chances of getting the internship. He's probably more focused on football and girls rather than his GPA anyway.
Your phone buzzes again.
Unknown Number: ???
Unknown Number: the report is the hardest part… we're in pairs for a reason
The typing bubble appears again, disappears, then reappears like he's trying to figure what he should and shouldn't say. You exhale sharply, irritation rising in your chest. Fine.
You: look, let's not make this any harder than it has to be.
The exact same line he threw at you in class. A beat of silence follows. Then the typing bubble appears.
Unknown Number: don't. i'm trying to make this easier, not harder. you're the one fighting me on everything
He's unmistakeably annoyed and for some reason that only irritates you more. You should be the only one annoyed and furious. The audacity of it makes your jaw clench so tightly aches. You want to slap him across the face because he has no right, no right at all to sound frustrated with you when you're the one who was wronged. Not him.
Unknown Number: just meet me at the library please, Y/N
Your breath hitches. Of course he's fine with meeting. Of course he thinks this is nothing but a normal discussion between classmates. Of course it doesn't affect him the way it affects you—sitting alone with him, pretending nothing ever happened between you two.
You: 6:00. don't be late.
You agree anyway. You tell yourself it's only for the project, and you're mature enough to speak to him without slapping the shit out of him. You tell yourself it's fine and that you can treat him like any other classmate. You tell yourself a lot things, but none of them feel true.
You're supposed to meet at 6, which means you have to leave your place by 5:50 to get there on time, but it's 5:55, and you just got out of bed. You've finally accepted the plan that you've been thinking of doing for the last hour. You're making him wait for you. Not too long, just enough to feel like you have even the slightest bit of control in this damning situation. It's petty, immature, and exactly the kind of thing you swore you wouldn't do. You snort to yourself as you slip on your shoes. "Sure. Mature. Very adult of me."
It's 6:00 when you grab your bag. You take one deep breath, and walk out the door. You arrive at the library at 6:10, feeling the tiniest spark of satisfaction curling in your chest. Ten minutes late—it's not enough to be rude, but just enough to make him wait. And he did. Heeseung is already there, leaning against his chair on the second floor where he told you he found a table. His head is tilted slightly like he's been scanning the crowd for you. Good. Let him wait, you think, with a victorious gleam in your eye—until you see her. A really pretty girl walks up to Heeseung. Like really pretty. The kind of pretty that looks like she just stepped off the Victoria's Secret runway. She's effortlessly stunning with silky, perfectly blown-out hair, and legs for days. She laughs at something he says, her hand landing on his chest like there's no personal space between the two of them. Her touch lingers there, softly gripping the fabric of his hoodie.
And he lets her. He just sits there, letting her giggle at whatever bland joke he made, letting her invade his space. Of course this jerk is flirting with a ridiculously hot girl at the library he practically begged you to meet him at. Absolutely typical. You scowl, agitated by him once again. You straighten your shoulder, smooth your sweater, and walk toward the table with your chin up, expression dry, and stride calm and collected. Once you reach the table, you clear your throat loud enough to cut through her laughter. "I have to go in an hour. Can we get this over with?" you lie. You actually have no where else to be after this. The girl's laughter dies instantly, and she drops her hand from his chest, stepping back slightly as she gives you a once over with a piercing glare.
Heeseung straightens in his chair, expression flickering with surprise and something else that you can't exactly place. Weird… you expected him to look more annoyed. "Yeah," he says a little too quickly. "I'll see you later, Emily." The girl squeezes his arm lightly. "Text me later?" she asks, sending him a smile sweet enough to rot his teeth. You roll your eyes and drop into the chair across from him, your bag hitting the table harder than intended. The truth is, Heeseung saw you before she even walked over. He'd been waiting for you nervously, feet bouncing against the floor, and his eyes flicking toward the entrance every time he heard footsteps. He noticed you the moment you stepped onto the second floor, ten minutes late, eyes scanning the tables with the guarded look you always wear when you're bracing for something. God, he still knows everything about you.
He noticed Emily hovering too, the girl who's practically been stalking him since freshman year. He could've ignored her or shut the conversation down before it even started like he usually does, but he didn't this time. Heeseung let her talk, laugh at some meaningless comment, and touch his chest with her bony fingers pricking through his hoodie. And he did it because he knew you were watching. Heeseung wasn't interested, flirting, or even listening. He was waiting for you to walk up, waiting to see if you'd react, waiting to confirm something he shouldn't want to know. The moment he saw your face tighten, something ugly settled in his chest. Satisfaction. It lasted half a second before the guilt slammed into him. What the hell is he doing? Hasn't he hurt you enough?
By the time you sit down, he's already running a hand over his jaw, regret coiling inside his stomach. God, he is such an ass. You don't give him time to speak. "Let's go over what I've found," you say flatly, opening your laptop. You explain your outline without looking at him once, but you can feel his eyes on you, heat crawling up the back of your neck. Why is he looking at you like that? He should be looking at the screen, not you. You swallow hard, trying to keep your eyes on the outline. "I'll keep researching until I have enough to build a solid recommendation with supporting evidences," you murmur. "This case needs a defensible analysis. Dr. Schmidt is going to tear our work apart if my research isn't thorough enough. No wonder they gave us the whole semester."
"You're still planning on doing all of this by yourself?" His voice is low, with an edge to it.
"Yes." You don't even look up. "We only need to meet to prepare for the presentation."
There's a long pause before he finally lets out a sigh. "I know you wish you were paired with literally anyone else, but we don't have a choice," he says quietly.
Your fingers freeze above the keyboard. You hate that your body always seems to react before your mind does when it comes to him. You hate that your heart always fucking hurts because of him. Because hate isn't entirely it. It was never that simple, and he has no idea. If you just hated him, this would be easier. You could face him without your heart cracking every time he looks at you. But there's too much history wrapped up in him. Too many things left unsaid. Too many versions of him layered over each other in your memory for it to be easy for you.
He continues, jaw tightening. "This is my grade too." You finally lift your eyes, meeting his stare. He's right. He is supposed to do this with you, and you know that. But it doesn't stop the irritation you feel at his sudden insistence on being involved, such a sharp contrast to how he was in high school. It makes you almost scoff out loud. "I'm not hurting your grade," you say through gritted teeth. "I'm putting my all into this because I want the internship more than anything, and I'm not letting anyone, especially you, ruin it for me."
You have to set these boundaries. As stupid as it is, you still can't trust yourself around him even after all these years. "I'll handle the analysis and report. You can take the presentation." Heeseung watches you for a moment longer like he wants to argue, like there's something on the tip of his tongue, but the look on your face makes him stop. "Okay," he says finally, resigned.
But he doesn't listen. Heeseung works on the case over the next couple of weeks despite your wish. Instead of letting the boys drag him to frat parties and bars, Heeseung shows up to the library alone, usually late at night after football practice, still sweaty, hair damp, and body aching, which he tries to ignore. Throughout college, this being his third year, Heeseung has never spent as much time in the library as he has over these past few weeks. It's honestly diabolical. He rereads the case brief until it finally clicks, highlighting key information, and jotting down notes. He pulls financial statements, industry reports, academic journals, and forms valuations, seeing if his research can support your proposed solution and running the numbers to see if they line up with yours.
Truthfully, Heeseung has been struggling. Struggling would be an understatement, but it's not that he's stupid. This class just has nothing to do with his major. He ends up asking Jake for help, a decision he almost regrets when Jake never lets him hear the end of it, but Heeseung takes it. All of it. Because he knows how much this means to you. How hard you've been working for it . He refuses to be careless when your future depends on it. Eventually, Heeseung opens the shared document. He's careful about, not daring to touch your work, but he adds his beneath it. He leaves comments, resources, clarifying questions that Dr. Schmidt might ask, and notes in the margin, pointing out potential risks and strengthening the argument. When Heeseung's done for the night, he saves the document and closes his laptop, rubbing a hand over his face, thinking about what you might say.
You refuse to work with him or even be in the same vicinity as him, so Heeseung keeps showing up in the only way he can—quietly, carefully, and without asking for permission. You immediately notice his work the moment you open the document the next morning. New text beneath yours, comments in the margins, and timestamps that stretch late into the night. Your jaw tightens. Of course he didn't listen. Your phone is already in your hand before you even finish scrolling, fingers practically flying as you type a sharp, angry text about boundaries, touching the report, and doing exactly what you asked him not to do, but then you pause and actually read it. You skim through at first, quick and irritated, looking for anything to justify snapping at him. Maybe a wrong assumption, a sloppy calculation, or a comment that oversteps. Instead, you find citations you hadn't come across yet as well as evidences and risks you mentioned briefly that he expanded on with thoughtful insights. You scroll slower. Heeseung's work isn't half-assed or contradicting. They actually support and strengthen your analysis and proposal. He fixes the weak spots in your work that have been causing you so much stress.
Your drafted text sits unsent as you lean back in your chair, exhaling through your nose. This isn't what you wanted or asked for, but it's also good. Very good. You lock your phone without sending the explosive message, eyes drifting back to the document. For the first time since being paired with Heeseung, you feel something other than angry. You feel relieved and grateful. Your mind eases for the first time in weeks with Heeseung's help that you so stubbornly refused at first. Embarrassment trickles in along with a faint of guilt at how immature you've been, so determined to shut him out even when he was only trying to help.
You don't like admitting it, even to yourself, but you were wrong to doubt Heeseung. He actually made this lighter and manageable in a way it hadn't been before. Maybe you owe Heeseung an apology or at least a thank you, but before you can spiral over that too, you finally decide to take a break from this grueling case you've been buried in. You end up at one of the dance studios on campus. You haven't been here for far too long.
Although you quit ballet midway through high school to focus on your studies, you always find yourself back in the studio every once in a while. You truly love ballet, and you've never really stopped dancing. It's the one thing that still helps quiet your mind. The studio is empty and quiet, sunlight spilling in through the windows, and mirrors lining the walls. You change into your leotard, tights, and point shoes, stepping onto the floor as Swan Lake begins to play. Your body remembers before your mind does. And for the first time in weeks, you're not thinking about the case, the internship, or Heeseung. Just the quiet comfort of returning to something no one can take away from you.
Heeseung is on his way to class when the music nearby stops him. He freezes. Swan Lake. The sound leaks through the studio door. It's unmistakable. It's the same song you used to practice to over and over again when he'd be sitting off to the side, watching you intently with a brownie stuffed in his pocket, saving it for you. It's the one song you always chose because you said it helped you focus and it made everything else disappear. His chest tightens. For a moment, he just stands there, staring at the closed studio door like it might disappear if he looks away. He hasn't heard this song in years, not since before everything fell apart.
Heeseung swallows, hesitating before taking a careful step closer. Through the narrow window in the door, he sees you. You're moving with such an angelic grace that steals the air from his lungs. It's familiar and effortless, like your body never forgot even if life forced you to step away. Each movement is precise, controlled, and achingly beautiful. He forces himself not to breathe too loudly, afraid that even the smallest sound might shatter what's unfolding in front of him. So he just watches, rooted in place, heart heavy with a realization he doesn't know how to carry. You never stopped being this person. But somewhere along the way, he became something ugly. Maybe he always has been. He shouldn't be here. He shouldn't be near you. He would only taint you, ruin you like he was told. And they were right. But Heeseung lets himself be selfish one last time. Because seeing you like this, alone, focused, untouched by everything between you, feels like stumbling upon something sacred, precious. Something you once shared with him.
But the guilt tears him apart when he remembers the morning he was supposed to go the Varna Ballet Competition. The one you wouldn't stop talking about for months. The one that actually mattered. You told him it was the most important recital of your life, the kind dancers trained years for. You didn't even have to make him promise he'd be there because he always was. Until he wasn't.
He had been pacing in his room that morning, fingers fumbling with the top button of his dress shirt, heart pounding as the promises he made twisted tighter and tighter in his chest when Sooah knocked on his door. She didn't yell or scold, but she was tired, confused, and disappointed. Disappointed by the sudden distance he'd put between himself and you, the girl who was like a daughter to her. The girl who used to be the only person capable of pulling a smile out of her son when no one else could. "Come with me, honey." she pleaded, voice strained. "She needs you there."
But he hesitated too long. By the time he stepped into the hallway, Sooah was already heading for the door. When he reached it, she was pulling out of the driveway, the red glow of her taillights disappearing into the dark. Panic had hit him all at once. "Wait—" he shouted as tears spilled out of his eyes, throwing the door open and bolting outside with his mismatch shoes stomping against the pavement.
But he didn't make it past the porch. Minsuk latched onto his arm firmly, pulling him back inside. "You can't go," he said quietly. "I'm sorry, son." Heeseung fought him. Well at least he tried to. Thrashing in his father's arms and yelling as if he could still catch up to his mother. Like he could still make it in time if he just ran fast enough. But he couldn't. The driveway was empty, the house was quiet, and the bouquet of pink tulips he was supposed to give you sat abandoned on his desk, slowly wilting beneath the weight of one of the promises he couldn't keep.
He let you believe he simply didn't care enough to show up. Now, standing in the hallway outside the studio as Swan Lake fills the air again, the same helplessness crashes into him. The same regret. The same sick understanding that maybe he did have a choice after all. And for the first time in a long time, he's close enough to see it. Close enough to know exactly what he lost. Break it. That's what he should've done.
You hold your last pose, arms extended, chin lifted, and body perfectly still during the final notes of Swan Lake. You don't rush it. You never do, but this time, you really want to. Heeseung watches through the narrow window, breath shallow, afraid that if he moves, the moment will break. But you already know he's there. You caught his reflection in the mirror mid-pirouette, a figure at the door that didn't belong to the empty studio you thought you had to yourself.
The music fades. You remain frozen for a beat longer than necessary, muscles burning, heart racing, not just from the dance, but from the weight of Heeseung watching you. Slowly, you lower your arms and exhale, the room settling into silence. You straighten your shoulders, gaze fixed on your reflection in the mirror, and force your voice to stay calm. "I know you've been standing there… so just come in," you say, unsure of your invitation. You should've just ignored him. Fuck.
Heeseung hesitates before pulling the door open. His face is flushed, embarrassed now that he knows you caught him watching. He steps inside carefully, unsure if he's even allowed to exist in this space with you at all. He looks dazed like he hasn't fully caught up to what's happening. "I didn't mean to—" he starts, then stops. "I heard the music on my way to class."
You wipe the sweat from your neck before turning to face him, your expression unreadable. "It's Swan Lake," you say simply. "But you already know that." His jaw tightens at that. He nods, eyes dropping to the floor. "I remember," he says quietly. After a pause, he adds, "You were amazing by the way—the dance I mean." His face turns even redder like he regrets saying anything at all now.
The air between you shifts, growing heavier. "Thanks… and for helping with the research," you mutter. "Nah," Heeseung says quickly. "I couldn't let you carry it all alone." Silence stretches between you. Thick and uncomfortable until you're fed up again. What the hell is his problem? He's been showing up, helping, watching you dance like it means something, and acting like he cares after all this time. He doesn't get to do that. You clench your fists, frustration boiling over too fast before you can stop it. "Why are you doing this?" you snap. He looks up, startled. "All of it," you continue, voice tight. "The help. The concern. The pretending like none of this is fucking weird." You're so angry and exhausted. After all these years, he still won't tell you why he left. But you've decided it makes no sense. There has to be a reason. A bigger one. Because he's been looking at you the way he looked at you during prom, like someone who wants you, but is restraining themselves. Not someone who doesn't care. Not someone who moved on.
Heeseung swallows hard, bracing himself before taking a small step closer, afraid you might vanish if he doesn't. "I'm sorry," he says, rough and unfinished. "For the project. For before. For everything. I know apologies won't fix what I did, but I need you to know I never meant to hurt you." You let out a humorless laugh as you cross your arms. He's seven years too late. "Why?" you press. The single word stops him cold. "Why did you do all of it?" your voice trembles as tears blur your vision. Your cries hit him like a punch to the gut.
His chest tightens painfully, breath catching as he watches your face crumble in front of him. Every instinct in him screams for him to close the distance, to reach out and wipe your tears away the way he used to, to hold you until the shaking stops, but he doesn't move. He knows he doesn't deserve that kind of closeness anymore. Not after everything he's done. Not when he's the reason you're crying in the first place. So he stays rooted where he is, hands clenched at his sides, forcing himself to watch as the only girl he's ever loved breaks apart because of him, again.
"Why show up now? Why help when I told you not to? Why pretend you care after years of abandoning me?" He looks up at you again, and for a split second, you think he's finally going to say it. Whatever truth that's been sitting between you all this time. "I disappeared," he says instead, voice shaking despite his effort to keep it steady. "I stopped showing up. I stopped being there when you needed me, and I hate myself for that. You deserved better than that."
"That's not an answer," you say flatly.
"I know. I was stupid, alright?" he starts, shaking his head in frustration. "I thought you were too good for me. No, you are too good for me." He's not lying, but he's not telling you the entire truth. "You were doing everything right," he continues, shoulders shaking as he cries. "You were disciplined, focused, and talented. You were going somewhere, and I would've only dragged you down."
"That's such bullshit," you scream.
He flinches.
"You don't get to use self-pity as an excuse," you say, tears spilling freely now. "You didn't disappear because I was 'too good' for you. You disappeared because you were a coward." His lips part, but nothing comes out. You let out a bitter laugh. "You think I can't make decisions for myself? It's wasn't your place to decide for me. You don't get to shut me out and call it noble instead of being honest." His eyes flicker with panic, shame, and guilt all tangled together. "You think I wouldn't have stayed?" you ask, voice breaking. "You think I wouldn't have fought for you if you'd just told me the truth?"
He doesn't answer because he can't, and you see it. That's what hurts the most. All the lies. "You're apologizing," you say quietly "but you're still hiding." You grab your bag, hands shaking. "I don't need excuses," you say. "I need the truth, and you still won't give it to me. I can't do this again." He steps forward instinctively. "Please—" "Don't," you snap, wiping your tears. "Don't apologize if you're still going to lie to my face." You turn and walk out of the studio, the door slamming shut behind you, the echo louder than the music.
Heeseung stays rooted to the floor because the truth is sitting heavy in his chest, suffocating, unspeakable. Because he promised he would never tell you. Because telling you would destroy everything. Because he'll do anything just to protect you, even if it means keeping you far away. Even if you hate him for it.
—
Over the next couple of weeks, you lock yourself in your room with the excuse of studying for midterm exams. You tell yourself you focus better there, but the truth is, you don't want to run into Heeseung. You skip the library, avoid popular cafes around campus, order in food, and keep your door shut. You study late into the night, flashcards and notes spread across your desk, forcing your mind to stay busy so it doesn't drift back to the studio, to his face, to the way he cried.
It works… mostly, but every time your phone lights up, your chest tightens anyway because some part of you is still bracing for him even when you're doing everything you can to avoid him.
The girls notice. They always do. You start turning down plans. You stop showing up to group study sessions, late-night food runs, and anything that requires you to leave your room. You tell them it's because of midterms, and you're exhausted. That you just want to be alone. They don't push at first, but then midterms end. The campus breathes a sigh of relief and suddenly, Thanksgiving break is looming with everyone counting down the days until they can go home. That's when they intervene.
You're rotting in your bed, mindlessly scrolling through TikTok when there's a gentle knock at your door. "You're going out with us tonight," Sophia declares, already halfway through your door before you even get the chance to respond. "No excuses this time," Manon adds, raising an eyebrow. "We're dragging you to the club if we have to." Yunjin lingers by the doorframe, watching you carefully with concern softening her expression. You feel a pang of guilt for worrying her so much. Normally, she would've already barged in. "You've been holed up here for weeks, Y/N. You need a break," she says gently. You hesitate. The thought of loud music and swarms of drunken, sweaty bodies feels overwhelming, but maybe this is good for you. Maybe it'll distract you. Numb the pain you've been carrying inside.
They girls have already planned your outfit, hyping you up like it's a done deal. "It's almost Thanksgiving break," Manon continues. "We have to hangout before everyone goes back home." "One night won't kill you, and if it sucks, we'll leave early," Sophia reassures. "Come on, please!" Yunjin adds as the three of them get down on their knees and beg dramatically. You glance at your desk, the finished notes, and you realize there's nothing left to hide behind. You've finished your exams. Maybe one night out will help you forget everything, even if it's just for a few hours. "Fine," you sigh. "But I'm not getting wasted."
They cheer like you've just won the Nobel Prize, immediately ushering you towards the bathroom. It's honestly embarrassing how you barely remember the last time you showered properly. You're not allowing yourself to rot away in bed over Heeseung any longer. No, you absolutely refuse. For the first time in weeks, you let yourself be pulled out of your room, away from your thoughts, away from the silence, and into the night meant to distract you from him.
You arrive to the bar in a black lace corset that snatches your waist, squeezes your breasts too tightly as they're practically spilling out of the neck line, and it's sheer in all the right places. You pair it with tiny black leather shorts, sitting dangerously low on your hips. It's risque and bold, making you reluctant to leave the house in, but the girls insisted on you wearing it since they spent 'so much time' picking it out. You look unapologetic, untouchable, and that's exactly what you need for tonight.
You start the night at the bar. "Gin and tonic please," you tell the bartender. You don't want to get drunk. Just enough to take the edge off. Enough to quiet the noises in your head. The glass is cool in your hand when it's set down. You take a small sip, barely tasting it when Sophia interjects. "Okay, now let's get on the dance floor.: "Come on," Manon whines, already bouncing to the beat. "We didn't get dressed like this to stand around."
You shake your head. "You guys go first. I'll join in a bit." Yunjin frowns, tilting her head. "Are you sure? We can just wait for you then." "No way!" you insist, forcing a smile. "Go. I promise I'll come join you in a minute." They hesitate, exchanging looks like they're unsure about leaving you alone. "We'll stay near the bar then," Sophia says gently through the booming music, knowing you need some time alone. Manon nods in agreement, squeezing your hand. "Join us soon, okay?" Yunjin lingers the longest, searching your face before nodding. "Text us immediately if anything happens." "I will," you promise.
Reluctantly, they disappear into the crowd, swallowed by flashing lights, mingling bodies, and music. You exhale once they're gone, shoulders dropping just slightly. That's when James slides into the empty space beside you. "Hey," he says, smiling down at you in that familiar way, warm and tender, like he's genuinely happy to see you. It's not new, the way James looks at you. It started back in freshman year in ways that made it clear he actually cared, not just passing interest, not just convenience. He always chooses a seat near you when there are plenty of others. He lingers after lectures just to keep talking even when his friends are already halfway down the hall. Conversations with him are thoughtful, unhurried like he never minds being late if it means hearing you finish a thought.
He flirts, yes, but softly with sincerity. You've always been aware you're pretty, People have a way of making it obvious, but James never made it feel like it was the only thing worthwhile about you. He's like a golden retriever, kind without trying, the type of guy who checks in, remembers details, and never makes you feel like you owe him anything. Still, he's undeniably handsome. Broad shoulders, dark hair that falls naturally out of place, a face that softens the moment he smiles. Nothing forced. Nothing arrogant. Just easy, natural charm.
But despite all of that, you're not interested in him beyond being friends. Not because he's lacking, but because your heart has been tied up elsewhere for far too long even when you don't realize it. Still bruised. Still loyal to something that you haven't fully let go. And that's just not fair to James. He's too good for that.
"Hey," you respond, returning a small, genuine smile. "You look really beautiful tonight," James says, shyly. "I mean, you always do. But tonight? Yeah, I had to say something." There's no hunger. No lust. Just pure admiration. "And you don't look too bad yourself, James," you grin, flashing him a wink. And for the first time tonight, you feel more relaxed.
James' ears immediately turn red at that before continuing, "Thank you, but I have to say, you're the last person I'd expect to see here." He's not wrong. You attend the occasional house parties, but the club? It's not really your thing. More like it's not your thing at all. You'd rather spend the night tucked in your warm couch, a glass of wine in hand while the girls talk over one another with soft melodies playing in the background.
"My friends dragged me here. What about you?"
"Same with me," he says, tilting his head towards his familiar friends. For a moment, neither of you speaks as you take slow sips of your drink, the bass vibrating through the counter, the lights washing over the glass in flickers of red and blue. It isn't awkward, just quiet. James glances at you from the corner of his eye. "Hey," he says gently. "I can tell you've got a lot on your mind tonight." He hesitates, then adds, "If you want to be left alone, I can go." You melt at how sweet he is and slightly panic at his polite offer. "No," you say quickly before softening your tone. "Please stay." You really want James to stay. His presence has been comforting. His smile returns immediately, relieved. "Of course."
You fully turn towards him now, ready to say something else to keep the moment steady, and then—you see him. Near the edge of the dance floor, Heeseung stands beneath the strobe lights. But next to him is—Giselle. Your body shakes, your nostrils flare, and your fingers curl into your palms so tightly it stings, threatening to draw blood. After everything, after the apology, the quiet voice, the look in his eyes when he begged you to stay, this is where he is, with her. The anger rushes straight to your chest. You're not just upset, you're livid. So livid your vision blurs, so livid you could cross the room and punch him in the face. Maybe her too. For all the times she was a raging bitch. They're standing too close. Not touching, but close enough to make your skin crawl.
Before you can look away, James follows your line of sight, brows furrowed at your deathly glare. "Oh—that's Heeseung right?" he says, not really asking . He already knows. Everyone does. "Dude's a football legend. He could go pro, but my friend told me he wants to be a lawyer. They're in an LSAT study group with him and—"
Your brows furrow. A lawyer? The word hits you harder than the bass vibrating through the floor. The club blurs for a second, the strobe lights melting into something distant as memories immediately rush in uninvited. You're twelve again, sitting cross-legged on Sooah's home office floor, papers scattered everywhere. Court documents. Contracts. Affidavits. Things you were explicitly told not to touch. Heeseung grins like he always did when talking about his mother, eyes bright and earnest as he rifled through them anyway. "My mom is the best lawyer ever," he declared with pride. "I'm gonna be like her one day." You remember how serious he sounded even back then. Like it was already decided. Your throat tightens.
James is still talking, oblivious. "I heard he always does well on the practice tests too. He lowkey carries the whole group." You let out a quiet, laugh that doesn't quite reach your eyes. You didn't know Heeseung was still chasing that dream, but you don't know anything about him. Not anymore.
"James, will you dance with me?"
Across the club, Heeseung stands there with his jaw locked, eyes dull with pure irritation as Giselle keeps inching closer. Her shoulder brushes his arm, her hip bumping his leg every time she laughs, fingers grazing his sleeves. He tried shifting away—multiple times, but Giselle closes the gap right back up each time. Her tacky perfume hits his nose with every inhale, sharp and nauseating, and it makes his skin crawl.
Why am I even here, he thinks. Jake. Fucking Jake. He insisted on Heeseung coming out with 'the boys', telling him he "needed a night off," promising it would be low-key. and then, without asking, he invites Giselle. If he knew Giselle would be here, he wouldn't have come. Hell, he would've lock his door, turned off his phone, knowing Giselle came to track him down. "Can you not?" Heeseung finally snaps, stepping sideways to put space between them. But she just laughs and leans in again, brushing against him, and Heeseung swears his jaw is going to break with how hard he's clenching it to avoid snapping even further. "I'm serious, Giselle," he says, voice low and sharp, turning fully toward her now. "Back the hell off." She scoffs, clearly offended, but he's already done with her. His attention drifts across the room despite Giselle's annoying complaints, then—he sees you.
His stomach drops as he feels something ugly and possessive tighten in his chest. Jealousy. You're not alone. You're with some guy, way too close, way too relaxed. Jack. James. Jacob. Whatever the hell his name is. It doesn't matter right now because the only thing that does is the way you're looking at the guy. You're smiling up at him, fingers laced with his as he gently pulls you toward the dance floor. You're so close to him now, hands around his neck, his hands on your bare waist. Heeseung almost lunges forward, hands balled into fists, jaw tight, but he stops himself before he can reach you. "Don't," he tells himself. He has no right to feel this way. No right to watch you like that. No right to interfere with your date, your choices. He told himself he'd stay out of it. He told himself he'd keep his distance.
As you dance, you rest your head against the guy's shoulder, comfortable, unguarded. He leans down, mouth close to your ear, and whispers something you nod at. He's leans in and kisses you, and that's when Heeseung finally snaps. His chest feels tight, breath shallow, vision narrowing until all he can see is you pressed against someone else. Someone who's not him. That's it. Heeseung doesn't think. He doesn't weigh the consequences. He just moves. He cuts through the crowd, ignoring the heads swiveling towards him, the way Giselle calls his name from behind. His hand closes around your wrist.
"What—?" you start, stumbling slightly as he drags you toward his chest. "We're leaving," he says, voice rough, already hauling you toward the exit."Heeseung, let go—" But he doesn't stop. Doesn't slow. Doesn't look back because if he sees you with him again, he knows he'll lose control completely whether it's his place or not.
Outside, the music is muffled. Distant. The streetlights hum overhead. You rip your arm back. "Are you fucking insane?" Your cheeks burn with embarrassment, your eyes blazing as you glare at him. He hasn't looked away once since dragging you out of the club. His eyes are dark, chest heaving. "What are you doing with him?" You let out a sharp, humorless laugh. "It's not of your business," you snap. "You don't get to drag me out like that."
"You need to be fucking careful," he fires back, taking a step closer. "You don't know his intentions." The audacity of it. After seeing him cozying up to Giselle not even two minutes ago, something in you snap. Before you can stop yourself, your hand connects with his face. "Clearly you're fucking deranged because I feel way safer with James than I'd ever feel around you," you scream. Heeseung's eyes flash with hurt. For a moment, neither of you speaks as you're both reeling from the fact that you just slapped him. The tension between you is electric, dangerous, and unresolved in every possible way. "You don't get to do this," you say again, quieter now. "Not when you're inside with Giselle on your arm." He looks surprised for a second before his gaze softens. "It's not—"
Then—"Hey!" James voices cuts through the tension. He jogs out of the club, eyes immediately scanning you, concern written all over his face. "What's going on? Why did he just pull you out like that?" Out of the corner of your eye, you see Heeseung stiffen, jaw locking as fury creeps back in. "This doesn't involve you," he snaps. "So leave us the fuck alone." James steps closer anyway, placing himself in front of you, shielding you from Heeseung. "Actually, it does. You think I'm going to stand around after you dragged her out like that." "I'm fine," you say quickly, though your heart is still racing. James studies Heeseung for a moment before turning back to you. "Are you sure, Y/N?" he asks gently. "I can take you home." Before you can even answer, Heeseung lets out a bitter laugh. "Like hell you are." James stiffens. "Excuse me?"
"She's coming with me," Heeseung says, voice dangerously calm like he's not giving James any room to argue. "It's your choice, Y/N, but I don't like the way he grabbed you," James says before adding, "Just because you're the reigning football champion doesn't mean you get to put your hands on girls however you—" That's it. Heeseung's restraint finally snaps. The punch lands with a sharp crack, his fist connecting with James's jaw, sending him stumbling back. "What the fuck is wrong with you?" you shout, horror slicing through the anger as you rush towards James. "Oh my god—James, are you okay?" you cup his face without thinking, fingers gentle as you check his jaw, his cheekbone. 'I'm so sorry, I didn't know he'd—"
"I'm okay," James says quickly, steadying you. He winces a little then gives you a reassuring nod. "I'm fine. Really. You don't need to apologize." Heeseung stands there frozen, chest rising and falling, knuckles already red and split. His are eyes wild—half disbelief at what he's done, half something uglier as he watches the way your hands linger on James's face. The way you're close. The softness in your voice. His jaw tightens, jealousy flashing hot and ugly across his face even now. Everything else fades, the club, Giselle. The realization settles heavy in your chest. This has gone too far.
Then—you hear sirens. Faint at first. Distant but unmistakable. You don't know if they're for something else or if someone saw the fight and called the police, but you don't wait to find out. "We have to leave. Now," you say urgently. "I'm not leaving without you, Y/N," Heeseung says immediately. You consider screaming at him, telling him to fuck off, but the last thing you want is to draw even more attention. "I'm so sorry, James," you say, guilt flooding your chest. "We have to go before the police get here."
James nods, understanding. "I'll be fine." "I'll be okay with him," you add quickly. "Please just head home. I'll text you later, okay?" Heeseung grunts at that. James hesitates, then says quietly, "Understood, but contact me if anything happens." He shoots Heeseung one last warning look before climbing into a taxi.
You quickly text the girls in the group chat to let them know you're going home first and to not worry before grabbing Heeseung by the sleeve. "Come on," you snap. "We're leaving. Now." He lets you pull him down the sidewalk, away from the club, away from the mess he created. Once you're far enough where there's no one else around, you stop abruptly and unleash your frustration on him. "What the hell is wrong with you?" you explode. "Do you have any idea how that could've ended? You punched him. In public. Over nothing, you freak!" "It wasn't nothing," he fires back. "Oh my god, are you serious right now?" your laugh is sharp. "You have no right to act like that."
He runs a hand through his hair, pacing once before stopping in front of you. "I don't like seeing him that close to you." Your eyes narrow. Is this asshole serious? "First off, it none of your concern who I'm with. Second, you think that gives you the right to lose control and hurt him?" "I know, but I couldn't help it, okay?" he says, voice strained. "He had his hands on you. You were laughing—"
"And you were inside with Giselle," you cut in immediately. "So don't even start. Don't you dare act jealous when you were doing the exact same thing." His mouth opens, then shuts. He exhales hard. "I wasn't with her because I wanted to be." "You were literally standing with her," you snap. "After everything you said to me. After you begged in the studio."
He flinches, but pushes on. "She showed up without telling me. Jake called her and didn't even ask me. If I knew she was going to come, I wouldn't have come." You don't say anything for a second, so he seizes it. "I told her to back off multiple times, but she wouldn't listen." You fold your arms, still furious. "And your solution was to stand there and let her?" "I wasn't trying to make a scene," he says softly.
You scoff. "Yet you made a scene with James and I?" "Giselle's not worth it," he says, inching closer to you. "I lost it, and I'm sorry," he admits finally, quieter now. "Seeing him touch you. Seeing you look at him like that. It messed with my head." You shake your head, voice firm. "Your jealousy doesn't excuse what you did."
"I know," he says immediately. "I know. I fucked up." The adrenaline drains, leaving behind something more complicated than anger—hurt, exhaustion, and disappointment. "You don't get to decide who stands next to me," you say. "Not after everything. Not after I gave you my heart, and you just left me without a word." He meets your eyes, no defensiveness left this time. Just regret and fear. "I still love—"
You feel like throwing up. "No," you cut him off. "Not like this. Not now. Not ever." You raise your hand, flag down a cab, and climb inside without looking back. As the car pulls away, you finally let yourself breathe as Heeseung's figures gets smaller and smaller in the rearview mirror until he disappears completely. Truthfully, you're not sure what to believe anymore, but you know one thing for certain. Staying would've broken you all over again, and choosing yourself hurts less than letting him do it again.
The next day feels strangely quiet. Too quiet. You don't tell anyone what happened—not even Yunjin. When the girls interrogate you over breakfast, asking you why you left early, you shrug it off with something vague. Headache. Tired. Overstimulated. They exchange looks, clearly unconvinced, but they let it go. You keep it all to yourself—the fight, the punch, the way you walked away after he almost said those three words, eight letters.
And Heeseung. You don't know what to do with him. You don't answer any of his eight missed calls or the twenty messages. Everything feels unfinished and raw like when you were fourteen. Maybe it's always been that way.
But you focus on the one thing you do know you need to do. James. The guilt sits heavy in your chest. You've been replaying the night over and over—how you asked him to dance, how you let him kiss you. A part of you hates yourself for it. Not because James did anything wrong—he didn't—but because you know why you did all of that. You needed a distraction. You didn't mean to use him or lead him on, but you also weren't honest with yourself about why you asked him to dance. And that realization stings.
So you text him.
You: hey, are you feeling better?
He responds almost immediately.
James: yeah, don't worry :)
You: no, I owe you a big apology! are you free to grab coffee?
James: i'm free. you don't owe me anything though, but coffee sounds great
The cafe is warm and quiet, sunlight filtering through the windows in a way that feels undeserved considering what you've done. You make sure to arrive early and buy him a drink. It's the least you can do. James looks the same as he did last night—gentle, sweet, but there's a faint bruise along his jaw that makes your stomach twist.
"I'm really sorry," you say before he even sits down. "About everything."
He shakes his head. "You don't need to apologize for his actions."
"Still, I feel responsible," you admit quietly as you look down to your lap shamefully. "I dragged you into something messy."
James studies you for a moment before he raises your chin with his hand. "You didn't ask for that to happen," he says softly.
You nod, fingers curling around your cup. You consider telling him everything, how part of you asked him to dance because you wanted Heeseung to see, how desperately you wanted to feel seen by someone who didn't hurt you before. The truth sits right on the tip of your tongue. But it's like James can read your mind. "I'm guessing you and Heeseung have history," he says, raising one brow. "Is that why you seemed so… down last night? And maybe why you asked me to dance?"
Your heart shutters. You close your eyes for a brief moment, inhaling slowly, choosing your words carefully. "Yes," you admit, opening your eyes again. "But not entirely." James waits. He doesn't rush you. "We grew up together," you continue, voice steady but quiet. "Our mothers are best friends. So naturally we were best friends… until we weren't." Something soft crosses his expression. Understanding. Not judgment. You take a breath, then push on, choosing honesty even though it stings. "The least I could do is be honest," you say. "So yes, part of me wanted him to see. But mostly, I needed a distraction. I needed something that felt safe." Your fingers tighten slightly around the cup before you meet James's eyes again. "And you're that for me."
The words hang between you, vulnerable and unpolished, but true. You swallow, then add quickly, "And I understand that it's wrong. If you're upset or uncomfortable, you have every right to walk out or be mad at me." You brace yourself, eyes dropping to the table for a second, ready for disappointment or distance.
"I'm not mad, Y/N," he says gently. "Really."
You look up, surprised.
"If you needed me as a distraction, if you needed someone to lean on, use me," he continues. He meets your eyes, honest and calm. "I think you probably realize that I like you. I guess I'm not exactly subtle." Your chest tightens. "But you don't owe me anything," he adds quickly. "If right now I'm just a friend you can use or sit with when things get messy… I'm okay with that. We're nothing more than friends if that makes you feel comfortable," he reassures, smiling softly.
The tension you were holding onto finally loosens. "Thank you, James," you say, giving him the biggest, most genuine smile. "For being so understanding."
"Anytime," he nods. There's a beat of quiet before you speak again. "Do you want to come to my place for Thanksgiving?" James blinks, caught off guard. "Thanksgiving?"
"Yeah," you say, quickly adding, "Only if you want to. No pressure. It's just my mom makes the best turkey and—" You stop and exhale. "I'd like you there.
He considers it for a moment, then smiles again. Warmer this time. "I'd love to."
"Awesome," you grin, then notice something else. "Your bandage is falling off, by the way. Here—let me fix it." You lean in, carefully adjusting the bandage on his jaw. He watches you with amused eyes before flashing a crooked smile and winking. "I still look handsome, even after getting beaten to a pulp." You laugh the loudest you've laughed in weeks. "Yes, James. You look very dashing."
—
The drive from Cambridge to your house is long, exactly five hours long, but somehow, it doesn't feel daunting. You and James both prepare like it's a mission. You both bring a ridiculous amount of snacks, pillows and blankets are stuffed into the backseat, and extra hoodies just in case. James insists on driving, nudging you toward the passenger seat when you try to grab your keys. "Get some rest," he says easily. "If I feel tired, we can switch." You both know he won't ask you to switch, but you don't argue. You curl up instead, tucking a pillow against the door, watching the campus fade in the rearview mirror as you drive away.
A couple minutes in, you start talking. "This is the first Thanksgiving without Yunjin," you say quietly, starting out the window. "She's in France with her parents."
James glances over briefly. "That must feel weird. You two are practically attached by the hip." You chuckle at that because that's what everyone says. "Yeah," you admit. "We've never spent it apart, but I'm glad you're coming!" He laughs softly. "I am too."
You trade playlists after that. James reveals that his music taste is all over the place. He loves rap, r&b, and the occasional country music, which you never would've guessed. You end up teasing him for it. You also tell him how you swear by r&b. You find out PND is both of your favourite artist, and you bond over that for half an hour.
At some point, you start playing I Spy. It lasts exactly ten minutes. "You can't say 'gray' when literally everything on the highway is gray," you accuse. "You can't accuse me of cheating just because you're losing," he shoots back, wiggling his brows. "You're impossible." "And you're dangerously competitive, he says." You both laugh and agree to stop before James swerves out of spite. The road stretches on, quieter now, but still comfortable.
After a while, James asks causally, "So… who's going to be there?"
"Some family and friends, you say. "Oh—and Heeseung's parents."
James nods. "Don't worry," you add quickly. "He never celebrates with us anymore. He usually stays at Jake's place." You glance at him, gauging his reaction.
James hums thoughtfully. "Jake and…?" "Sunghoon," you supply. "The golden football trio." You sigh, already annoyed. "That's not why I invited you, by the way." He finally looks over, a small smile tugging at his lips. "I know."
"You do?"
"I trust you," he says simply. Your heart feels content at that. Eventually drift off to the peaceful, comfortable silence.
The car barely comes to a full stop before your front door swings open. "Y/N!" Your mom squeal, pulling you into a hug so tight it knocks the breath out of you. She smells like home—a mix of her sweet Coco Mademoiselle perfume, laundry detergent, and something simmering on the stove. "You look so skinny, honey," she declares immediately, hands on your shoulders, scanning you from head to toe. "Have you been eating properly? Come inside, I made food already."
"Hi, mom," you laugh, already being dragged towards the kitchen. Your father follows, smiling as he pulls you into a long hug. Then his gaze shifts—sharp, assessing as he sees James. "And you must be…?" he asks.
"Hello, Mr. L/N. My name is James," he says, stepping forward and offering a firm handshake. "Thank you for having me."
"Honey, I already told you Y/N invited a friend," your mother scolds. "Hello, dear. You must be very hungry after such a long drive. Come sit down." Your mother peers at James like she's inspecting a purchase she's already decided she likes. Her eyes light up. "He's a very handsome friend, Y/N." You groan. "Mom."
James laughs, his ears turning red. "It's very nice to meet you, Mrs. L/N! I've heard amazing things about your famous turkey."
"Well, I take my cooking very seriously when it comes to Thanksgiving," your mother laughs. "I'll cut you a piece right now!"
Your dad clears his throat. "Just so we're clear, you'll be sleeping in the guest room at the end of the hall. Very far away. On the opposite side of the house from Y/N." Everyone laughs. "Dad!" you protest. "Just establishing boundaries," he says, deadpan.
Sooah appears from the kitchen, already grinning. "You must be James." She looks between you and him, eyes sparkling with curiosity. "Do you know my son Heeseung? He also goes to Harvard." You and James glance at each other, both stifling a laugh. "Yes," James says easily, nodding. "I do, ma'am.
Sooah's grin widens. "Great! This is the first Thanksgiving he's joining in years. You all can catch up!" The words land like broken shards of glass. You freeze.
"I didn't know Heeseung was coming?" your father asks. Weird. He never cares about who comes.
"He is, and Jay is joining us as well!" Sooah clarifies.
Minsuk clears his throat. "Let's go help Jiwoo plate the food and set the table." One by one, everyone drifts toward the dining room, footsteps echoing down the hall, leaving you and James alone in the entryway.
He turns to you immediately. "Are you okay, Y/N?" he asks, concerned etched all over his face.
You force a breath, your fingers curling into the fabric of your sweater. "Yeah," you lie, the word coming out a little too quickly. You swallow. "I swear I didn't know he was coming."
"Don't worry. I know," he reassures. "I'm right by your side." You meet his eyes and despite everything twisting in your chest, you manage a small smile. "Yeah," you say quietly. "Thank you, James."
As you follow him toward the dining room, you brace yourself because now, there's no avoiding what you thought you left behind. Right when you and James take your seats, the doorbell rings, and your heart skips a beat. "Oh—it must be Heeseung and Jay! I'll get the door," Sooah exclaims, already halfway to the door. You barely have time to brace yourself before you hear the front door open. Jay walks in first, smiling, carrying a bottle of wine, and already greeting your parents. And then—Heeseung. The moment he steps inside, his eyes search the room for you. When you meet his eyes, your breath hitches. For a second, everything else seems to fade away, then he sees James… sitting next to you. That should be his seat, but it's not anymore, and it hasn't been for a long time. His jaw tightens. You notice even as you pretend not to.
"Y/N!" Jay beams when he spots you. "It's been forever." You hug him immediately, holding on just a second longer than necessary.
"I missed you," you say honestly.
"Same," he grins, ruffling your hair before pulling away. "You look good." When you sit back down, Jay takes the seat beside you, and Heeseung ends up at the end of the table. Relief washes through you as you're not sitting beside him. Your eyes flick toward Heeseung's for a moment. He gives you an small, awkward nod. You return it. Nothing more.
Jay, blissfully unaware, launches into small talk with James about school. James answers easily, relaxed, smiling in that effortless way that makes him likeable without trying.
Eventually, plates are passed and food is served, but you barely eat. You push your food around more than you actually take bites, nodding along when spoken to, smiling when expected. The smell of everything, turkey, stuffing, and gravy, feels too heavy right now. Every time you lift your fork, your appetite disappears.
Your mom and Sooah stand, gathering plates. "Let's get dessert ready," your mother says brightly. "Y/N, would you like to help us?"
"Sure… I'll be there in a minute," you nod. As they head off, James leans in. "Are you okay? You haven't been eating much."
"Yeah, I'm probably not that hungry after all the snacks we had in the car," you force a laugh.
He chuckles softly. "That'll do it."
"I'm going to help my mom," you say, pushing your chair back. "I'll be right back." Before you head to the kitchen, you take a detour to the bathroom, needing a moment to breathe. When you reach the bathroom, you hear voices coming from inside. It's Jay. "Bro, you have to tell her the truth," Jay says urgently. "You can't let her keep resenting you for something you had no control over." Your breath catches, feet planted into the floor in front of the bathroom.
"I'm serious," Jay continues. "She thinks—"
"Jay, drop it," Heeseung cuts in, hushed and firm.
"She doesn't need you protecting her anymore if you're going to lie," Jay presses. "She deserves the truth."
"Enough," Heeseung snaps under his breath. "Not here."
Your hands are trembling. You run to the nearest room before they come out. Your mind races as you latch onto fragments of their conversation—something you had no control over. Resenting you. The truth. Your chest feels tight, your heart is pounding too loudly in your ears. Whatever it is they're talking about, you know one thing with chilling certainty—you've been lied to for seven years, and you're going to find out what it is.
After you help your mom and Sooah plate the dessert, you finally excuse yourself again. This time, you're not looking for a moment to breathe. You're looking for answers. You see Jay near the staircase, phone pressed to his ear as he seems to be answering a work call. He turns around when the call ends, and his eyes land on you. Before he can say a word, you grab his wrist. "Hey—" he starts.
"Come with me and be quiet," you say sternly, already pulling him up the stairs.
"Y/N, wait—"
You don't. You drag him down the hallway and into your bedroom, closing the door behind you. Only then do you turn to face him, arms crossed, heart pounding. "What is he hiding from me?" you demand.
Jay blinks. Then he finally laughs lightly like he's confused, feigning innocence. "I have no idea what you're talking about."
"Don't," you say sharply. "I heard you. Downstairs. You told him he had to tell me the truth. That I'm resenting him for something he had no choice over."
Jay exhales slowly, rubbing the back of his neck. "You must've misheard. We were talking about how people shouldn't judge the age gap between Max Verstappen and his girlfriend," he laughs awkwardly. "Like come on! It's 2026."
"Jay," you warn. "I swear I'm going to call Yunjin, and she's going to drop everything, fly back, and kick your ass. Do you want to be beaten up on Thanksgiving."
His smile falters. He studies your face for a long moment, like he's weighing his options. Then he signs, shoulder slumping, the act finally dropping. "Okay," he admits. "There is something."
Your heart pounds even louder. "What is it?"
He shakes his head immediately. "I can't tell you."
"Why not?" you groan. "Because it's not for me to tell. You deserve to hear it from him, not me," he says firmly, though his voice softens. "And because there's things he needs to say that I can't. It'll hurt you more coming from me."
You laugh bitterly. "You think this doesn't already hurt?"
Jay winces. "I know, but you need to hear it from him… you know I just want you to both be happy again."
"I don't know if that's possible," you say quietly, tears threatening to spill. Jay doesn't argue. He just looks at you for a moment, eyes heavy with something like regret before handing you a tissue. "Maybe not right away," he says. "But whatever happens, you should know it's been eating him alive for years. And it's been hurting you without you even knowing why."
Your throat tightens. "Then why does he keep hurting me?"
"Because sometimes," Jay says carefully, "people think they have to shoulder everything quietly to protect the person they love, even when it does the opposite." The room feels too small. Too warm. Jay continues, "I'm not trying to tell you how you should feel, but he's terrified that telling you will be the thing that finally makes him lose you for good."
That hits harder than you expect. Your heart aches at the thought of him being scared. Because no matter how badly Heeseung has hurt you, no matter how many times you've told yourself you're done with him, you know the truth you've never been able to say out loud. Truthfully, he could never lose you for good. Not completely. Not really. And that's what makes all of this unbearable.
Jay steps back toward the door. "I'm going to drag his ass up here, even by the ear if I have to." You nod as he slips out, leaving you alone in your childhood bedroom, surrounded by memories that suddenly feel too painful.
You barely have time to wipe your face before footsteps pound up the stairs. Your door bursts opens as Heeseung rushes in, breathless, like he just dropped everything and ran up here as fast as he could. His eyes are frantic as he sees your red-rimmed eyes. "Jay said you were crying," he says immediately. "What happened?"
You get straight to the point because you're just tired. Tired of all the lies and deception. "I heard you," you say, voice raw. "I heard Jay say I'm resenting you for something you had no control over. So stop lying lying to my face and tell me the truth." He freezes. For a long moment, he just stares at you like this is the moment he's been dreading for seven years. And you realize how tired and scared he looks.
He exhales, slowly and shaky, and closes the door behind him. "You should sit down first," he says quietly, but you don't. He swallows roughly. "Seven years ago," he begins, voice barely louder than a whisper, "the summer before high school started, my dad did something unforgivable."
Your stomach twists.
"He embezzled money from his clients," Heeseung reveals. "Millions, and he hid them in offshore accounts. Someone found out," he continues. "They blackmailed my dad and threatened to expose everything unless my dad paid them fifty million dollars."
"That's—" you choke on your works. How did you not know? "That's impossible."
"I wish it was…" he mutters. "He barely had any liquid assets, and he couldn't move the stolen funds without alarming the banks. They would've flagged it immediately."
Your knees feel weak, so you finally take a seat.
"But he was desperate, and my mom panicked. She didn't know what to do. So she went to your mom. My mother didn't know the full story and neither did your mom," he adds quickly. "They thought my dad's company was struggling financially. Your mother just knew my mom needed help, so she went to your father," his voice cracks. "He agreed to pay it."
Your hands curl into fists. "Why didn't I know?"
"Because he had two conditions," Heeseung says, tears flowing freely down his face.
You're not ready to hear this, but you have to. You need the truth.
"One, I had to stay away from you completely," he chokes out. "Your dad was worried the scandal would resurface, that I'd ruin your reputation. And two, we could never tell you. Not you. Not your mother. Not my mother. Ever." He breaks. Heeseung collapses on his knees, hands gripping the fabric of his jeans like it's the only thing keeping him upright. His shoulders shake violently, sobs tearing out of him in a way you've never seen before. Not once in all the years you've known him.
You thought you could handle whatever he did, but your father? The betrayal slams into you so hard it steals the air from your lungs. The man who raised you. Protected you. The man you trusted with your whole life. How could he do this to you? The ache in your heart is so overwhelming that you just can't take it anymore, so you let yourself cry. The kind that wracks your whole body. You cry harder than the time you hurled your paper telephone out the window when Heeseung didn't answered you. Harder than prom night, when you stood frozen in your room, watching him and Giselle together. This hurts worse than everything combined.
"You didn't think to tell me?" you gasp through your sobs, clutching your bed like it might keep your heart from splitting open.
"I thought about it every day," he says hoarsely. "Every single day."
"Then why didn't you?" you cry.
He squeezes his eyes shut. "Because I believed your dad," he says. "I believed him when he said I'd ruin you. That being with me would destroy your future, everything you were going to become, and I could never do that to you." His voice shakes harder now, words spilling out like he's been holding them in for years. "So I did the only thing I thought would protect you," he continues. "I kept the promise and distanced myself. I surrounded myself with people you hated, who would destroy the old image of me."
You clutch your chest, shaking your head repeatedly, refusing to accept this. The lies. The stupid promise.
"I knew if I told you, you wouldn't have cared," he whispers. "You would've stayed. You would've fought, and I couldn't let you do that." He lifts his head to look at you. "So I had to make you hate me because I'd rather live with you hating me than hold on to you selfishly. I love you too much to let my father's selfishness tarnish you."
This time, you allow him to tell you he loves you. Because you believe him, and that's what hurts the most. Because believing him means accepting that for seven years, he let you think he was cruel. That he was careless. That he chose the girls, the partying over you. He let your anger rot inside of you, let resentment consume you, let you mourn something that apparently never stopped existing for him. He lied to protect you, but it only destroyed you as well.
You sink down in front of him, knees brushing his, breath shaking violently. And then you just lose it. Your fists slam into his chest. Once. Twice. Again. Each hit is messy, desperate, and powerless. "I could've dealt with it!" you scream, tears blinding you. "I could've dealt with my dad, dealt with the blackmailer, dealt with all of it!" You hit him again, harder. He doesn't stop you. Doesn't raise his hands. He just takes it, choking on sobs. "You don't get to decide that for me!" you cry. Your fists keep pounding. "I would've fought! I would've chosen you! You should've broken it—" Your voice cracks completely as you scream.
"Break it!" Another punch. "Break the fucking promise!" Another punch. "You let me believe you were the villain!" you sob. "You let me rot in hatred while you stood there loving me in silence like that was noble." Your hands fall uselessly against his chest, your strength finally gone. He grabs your wrist gently, not to stop you, but to hold you, grounding you, forehead pressing into yours as your tears mix together. "I know… I'm sorry. I'm so fucking sorry, Y/N," he pleads.
"I think you should go, Heeseung," you whisper. "I just… I can't right now." He freezes. For a moment, it looks like he might argue. Like he might beg, but he nods, slowly, painfully.
"Okay," he whispers. "I understand." He stands, wiping his face with the back of his sleeve, not trusting himself to look at you for too long. When he reaches the door, his hand lingers on the handle. "I"ll wait," he says quietly. "I'll for whenever you're ready."
You don't answer. The door closes softly behind him. And you're left alone in your childhood bedroom, surrounded by memories that you begin to question.
After everyone leaves, the house goes quiet. You're curled on your bed when your phone buzzes. It's James. Shit, you forgot about him.
James: jay said you weren't feeling well. are you okay?
You stare at the screen longer than necessary before you reply.
You: omg i'm so sorry james!!! my stomach hurts, so I'm trying to sleep it off
You lie.
James: again, don't apologize! get some rest, and text me if you need anything! goodnight Y/N
You: thank you, james! good night<3
You set your phone down, and wait a little longer for him to fall asleep before you confront your father. The kitchen lights are still on. Your father is wiping down the counter, and your mother is stacking the dishes.
"Dad," you say. They both look up. "I know about the money, about the blackmailer, and about the conditions you forced Heeseung follow," you say, trying to steady your voice.
The room stills. Your father's face goes pale. Your mom frowns, confused. "What are you talking about, honey?"
"Dad paid fifty million dollars to the people who were blackmailing Minsuk," you say, eyes never leaving your father. "And in return, he forced Heeseung to cut contact with me and never tell you, Sooah, or me.
"Your mother's hand flies to her mouth. "Sungmin…?"
Your father sighs. "I did what I had to do, Y/N," he says, defensive. "What if the blackmailers decide they want more money one day? You would get dragged into their family's mess," your dad shakes his head. "No, I'm not taking any chances."
"You don't get to decide that for me," you cry.
"Yes I do!" your father says, raising his voice, but not loud enough for James to hear. "You're my only child, and I'll do whatever it takes to protect you even if you're not happy with my choices."
Your mother sinks into a chair, shaking. "You never told me," she whispers. "You let me believe—"
"I didn't want to burden you," he says.
"You wouldn't have," she says, tears spilling freely. "You betrayed her. You betrayed me!"
She looks at you then, heartbreak written all over her face. "I swear I didn't know, honey. I wouldn't have allowed your father to do that if I did." You nod, tears slipping silently down your cheeks. "I know mom."
Your dad steps toward you. "Y/N—"
"Don't," you say firmly. "It's seven years too late for you to tell me the truth or to apologize." Before your parents can say anything else, you run away to your room and lock the door quickly.
—
It's barely six in the morning when you knock softly on James's door. The house is still asleep—no voices, no movement, just the low hum of the heater and the faint light creeping in through the windows. James opens the door, hair messy, eyes still heavy with sleep. "Y/N?" he murmurs, blinking at the time on his phone. "Is everything—?"
"We have to leave," you whisper. "Now and quietly." That wakes him up. He straightens immediately, concerning shaping his features. "Okay," he says without hesitation. "What do you need?"
"Just grab your things," you say as quietly as possible so your parents don't wake up. "I'll explain later." He doesn't ask questions. Doesn't push. He nods and disappears back into the room, moving quickly, deliberately. You wait in the hallway, heart pounding, listening for any sound coming from your parents' bedroom. A few minutes later, he's back, backpack slung over one shoulder. "Ready," he whispers. You lead the way, careful with each step. The front door opens with a soft click, and the cold morning air hits your face.
Once you're outside, James finally speaks. "Where are we going?"
You exhale shakily. "Back. I just can't be around my parents right now."
He studies you for a second, then nods. "Alright."
You barely make it ten minutes onto the highway before exhaustion finally catches up to you after staying up all night, unable to sleep from all the thoughts and truth consuming your mind. When you wake up, the car is slowing as you recognize the familiar campus. Your eyes sting immediately, throat tight as you sit up, disoriented and embarrassed all at once. "I know i've been saying this a lot lately, but I'm sorry," you whisper. "For everything."
James glances at you, then back at the road. "I've been saying this a lot lately, but you don't need to keep apologizing," he laughs softly, flashing you a genuine smile.
"I do," you insist. "I ruined your Thanksgiving break, and I dragged you into my mess. I—"
"Y/N," he says gently, cutting you off. "I could see the tears on your pillow while I was driving."
Oh god… that's so embarrassing. You just want to jump out the car at this point.
"The last thing you should be worrying about right now is my feelings," he reassures, gently ruffling your hair.
The car comes to a stop. You barely make it out of the car before tears spill as you lean into James. He lets you cry against his shoulder, your sobs soft and exhausted as he rubs your back. He doesn't say anything. He just steadies you with his warm hand on your back. "I'll walk you up," he says quietly.
You nod. The morning air is cold and pale as he walks you to your door, neither of you rushing. When you stop, he pulls your keys from his pockets and places them gently in your hand. "Thank you for driving," you murmur.
"No problem. We would've crashed if you drove," he laughs, trying to cheer you up. You swat his arm gently. "Hey! I'll have you know I'm an awesome driver!" When the laughter fades, you pull him into a tight hug. "Thank you," you say, voice small but sincere. "For everything."
He just smiles. "That's what friends are for, aren't they?" You nod against his shoulder. " Yeah," you say softly. "It is."
—
Over the next few days, your phone becomes unbearable, a word you never thought you'd use to describe it. Your dad calls. Again and again. Missed calls pile up until the notification feels permanent. Voicemails follows, each one getting longer than the last, but you don't listen to any of them. Your mom texts too. You answer hers. Short replies at first, then slightly longer ones. She tells you she's staying with Sooah for now. She tells you she's sorry, and she loves you. You tell her you love her back. That's all you can manage right now. But you know it's not her fault. Sooah knows because her messages come late one night, careful and heavy, apologizing for not knowing. For not being a better mother. For letting you and Heeseung drift apart. You also tell her it's not her fault. Uncle Minsuk apologizes as well for how selfish he's been. For ruining Heeseung's life. For letting you down. but you don't respond to him.
The girls' group chat has been exploding the second Thanksgiving break started. Messages pile in faster than you can open them. Airport selfies. Outfit debates. Complaints about family dinners and relatives. Hometown gossip. Yunjin sends videos of all the designer gifts her parents got her in Paris. Sophia sends a blurry, shaky video of her dog stealing food off the table, and Manon sends incoherent drunk messages about family drama. In another group chat, Sunoo sends behind the scene snippets of his photo shoots. Niki sends a bunch of random memes to which Yunjin complains about it not being funny. Jungwon sends updates on Pathify, and Jay complains about how he has to do all the cooking for Thanksgiving dinner. You're present. You respond. Just less.
And then—Heeseung. He floods your phone non-stop with calls. Voicemails. Long messages. Emails. Your screen becomes a wall of notifications from him, apology after apology stacking on top of each other until it feels like you can't breathe. You just stare at his name until your heart can't take it anymore, so you block him. Eventually, a message comes in from Jay, but it's Heeseung. You type out a quick apology to Jay before blocking his number. Then Sunghoon. Blocked. Then Jake. You block his number too, which you have no problem doing.
You're curled up on the couch in your shared apartment, surrounded by endless McDonald's takeout. Half-melted ice cream on the coffee table. Buldak noodles getting cold in the bowl you forgot about half an hour ago. Yeah… you've hit rock bottom. You barely register the sound of the door opening. "Okay," Yunjin says, voice echoing through the apartment. "Why does it smell like Niki's fart in here?"
You look up. She's standing there, suitcase abandoned by the door behind her, coat still on, eyes already scanning you. The second she sees you, her expression softens. "You flew back," you say weakly. "Early…"
"Obviously," she replies, kicking the door shut. "You didn't send the turkey video."
You blink. "The what?"
"The video," she says like it's sacred. "Every Thanksgiving? Your mom's turkey. The slow pan. The aggressive zoom. You didn't send it."
You swallow. Of course Yunjin remembers.
"And," she continues, quieter now, "this is the first Thanksgiving we've ever spent apart. I hated it."
You laugh weakly. "I'm sorry I made you come back."
She drops her bag and crosses the room in three strides. "You didn't make me do anything. I wanted to. Besides my parents were acting like lovesick seventeen year olds, and I was losing my mind," she gags. She sits beside you, flicking a fry off your leg. "So what happened?" she says gently.
You try to answer, but nothing comes out. Your throat tightens. Your vision blurs. The weight of everything crashes down all at once. Yunjin doesn't ask again. She doesn't press. She just pulls you into her arms, holding you while you fall apart against her shoulder.
"I know," she whispers, rocking you slightly. "It's him." For the first time in days, you don't have to pretend you're okay.
—
Ever since Yunjin got back, she refuses to let you rot inside the apartment. She drags you out of bed in the mornings, opens the curtains even when you groan, and insists on at least one reason a day to step outside. Today, that reason is your favourite bagel place. You complain the entire walk there, even though your mouth is already watering at the thought of a smoked salmon bagel overloaded with cream cheese. You tell yourself you're only going because Yunjin insisted, not because you've been craving a bagel, and the shop doesn't offer delivery.
The bell above the door jingles as you step inside. And then—you freeze. Your parents are sitting at one of the tables by the window. Your heart drops, and you immediately turn to Yunjin, eyes wide. "You didn't—" She shakes her head quickly. "I swear, I didn't agree at first," she says desperately. "But your dad insisted on meeting here."
You swallow hard. Yunjin softens, squeezing your hand. "Look, we can make a run for it if that's what you want, but I know you need this," she adds quietly. "You've never gone a day without calling them. Not even once." You stand there frozen for a second longer, torn between walking right out and giving your father a chance. The smell of toasted bagels fill the air, warm and familiar, pulling you forward even as your chest tightens because no matter how angry you are, no matter how hurt you are, he's still your father. The man who has always done right by you up until now.
Yunjin squeezes your hand once again before stepping back. "I'll wait outside," she says quietly. You nod, then turn to sit down. Your mom doesn't even give you a chance to speak as she instantly pulls you into a hug so tight it almost knocks the air right from your lungs. Her arms shake as she holds you, her face buried in your hair.
"I'm sorry, Y/N," she whispers, over and over. "I'm so sorry. I should've known. I should've protected you."
"Mom," you murmur, gently pulling back. "It's okay. It's not your fault." She wipes her eyes, nodding, though she clearly doesn't believe that.
When you finally turn to your father, your hear breaks. He looks smaller. His eyes are puffy and red, dark circles etched below his eyes. His beard has grown out unevenly like you've never seen before. Your father has always upheld a polished appearance until now. Still, he hasn't looked at you yet as he keeps his head down. "I had no right," he says finally, voice rough. "None. I took something from you that wasn't mine to take."
You hands ball into a tight fist. "Why didn't you trust me?"
He looks up then, startled. "I do," he says immediately. "Of course I do. This was never about not trusting you."
"Then what was it?"
He exhales, hands clasped tightly on the table. "The public. The world. The cruel people who don't forgive, who don't forget. I was terrified they'd tear you apart for being with him if Minsuk's scandal ever got out."
Your anger subsides, replaced with guilt. Guilt for not trying to understand him just a little.
"I apologized to your mother," he continues. "To Sooah. I know sorry doesn't fix anything, but I needed you and them to hear it."
You nod slowly.
"And I want to apologize to Heeseung too," he says, eyes shining. "When the time is right. When you allow him to be near you again. I owe him that. I ruined him too. I ruined both of you."
Silence settles between you. You stare down at your hands, then back up at him. "You hurt me," you say honestly. "Really badly."
"I know," he whispers.
"But I also know you did it because you love me," you add quietly. "And because you were trying to protecting me."
Tears spill down his face. "I forgive you," you say.
He breaks completely, shoulders sagging in relief and grief all at once. Your mom reaches for his hand and squeezes it tightly. You sniff, grabbing a napkin. "Also," you add, "if your plan was to eat the best bagels in Massachusetts, there were easier ways to do it than staging an emotion breakdown in public." Thankfully, most students haven't returned from Thanksgiving break otherwise this shop would've been packed with people watching you and your parents crying like babies.
Your mom lets out a laugh. Your dad exhales shakily, a small smile tugging at his lips. "Order whatever you want," he says hoarsely. "My treat."
You glance at the menu. "Good," you say. "Because I'm getting extra salmon." As your bagel arrives and the tension eases, it feels like things are finally back on track.
—
Thanksgiving break ends, and students flood back into the city with over packed suitcases and complaints about early lectures. Campus is lively again and school resumes its usual pace, indifferent to whatever fell apart over the holidays. You're on your way to class when you stop short at your front door—there's a bouquet sitting there. Not just a bouquet, a ridiculously huge one. Pink tulips spilling everywhere, petals layered and lush, wrapped so carefully it feels like Valentines day. You have to put your bag down just to lift it.
"This is… for me?" you mutter. A small card is tucked into the ribbon. You hesitate before opening it. It's from Heeseung. Your chest tightens, but you don't throw it away either.
From that day on, there's always a bouquet waiting at your front door, and each day, it gets bigger. More tulips. More space taken up in your entryway until it feels impossible to ignore. Soon, there are gifts placed beside them. Very extravagant gifts. A Birkin bag. Bulgari diamond tennis bracelet. But what makes your stomach flutter just a little (a lot) are the same brownies he used to save for you after dance practice, overflowing in a a basket in between the bouquet and gifts.
The girls tell you not to fall for it. They say it firmly, but you still catch them whispering about the gifts when they think you can't hear. Fingers brushing over the petals. Eyes widening at the insanely expensive gifts. Awe slipping into their voices despite their advice.
Yunjin, though? She's furious. After you've already left for class, she catches him. Heeseung is crouched in front of the door, adjusting another bouquet, and setting a basket of brownies and a huge box beside it carefully like he's afraid it might be crooked.
Yunjin yanks the door open. "What the hell do you think you're doing?" Yunjin snaps. Before he can even react, she yanks him by the ear and drags him toward the alley beside the apartment building.
"Ouch—Yunjin—w—wait!"
She releases him only to immediately square up, fists raised, bouncing slightly on the balls of her feet. "I swear to god, if you think you can buy your way back into her life—"
"Wait," he blurts again. "Please. Let me explain."
"I don't want to hear it," she fires back. "Do you have any idea how much you've hurt her? When are you going to leave her the hell alone?"
Heeseung swallows hard. "There are things you don't know," he says desperately. "Please. Just let me explain."
Yunjin hesitates, fists still clenched, jaw tight. She looks like she wants to hit him anyway. "Make it fast," she snaps.
As Heeseung stumbles through explanations, words tripping over each other, Yunjin freezes. Her expression shifts from fury to disbelief. "What?" she says slowly. He keeps talking, a little slower now. She holds up a hand. "Stop." She studies him for a long moment, then asks gently, "Are you… okay?"
He blinks, clearly not expecting that. "I—yeah. No. I don't know."
She exhales, hard, then reaches out, and pats his back awkwardly and reluctantly. "I missed you," she mutters. "You were my friend too, idiot."
Relief flickers across his face before grinning.
She immediately smacks the back of his head. "Don't get cocky."
"Ow," he mutters, rubbing it. "I've missed you and the boys as well."
"You better have, bitch," Yunjin mutters.
The two burst into laughter before Heeseung reaches into his bag and pulls out two paper cups attached by a string. "Can you help me with something?" he asks, offering a sheepish smile.
She stares at him for a long moment, then groans. "You are so unbelievable, dork face." But she doesn't walk away.
—
You get home from class, completely drained and exhausted. You don't even bother closing your door all the way. You drop your bag, and collapse face-first onto your bed. For a few quiet seconds, you stay like that before shifting on your side. Your eyes are about to close when they shoot open. You notice a paper cup dangling into your window. "What the hell…" you murmur, pushing yourself up. You move closer, fingers grazing the cup. It's real. You weren't hallucinating. There's a red string attached, disappearing past the edge of your window. Confused, you lean out. The string runs down to the window directly below yours. Yunjin's room. Before you can make sense of it, a voice vibrates through the cup, soft and hesitant. "Hey, Y/N."
Your heart lurches violently.
"Hello?" Heeseung tries again. "Y/N? I know you're there."
You stare at the cup, frozen in shock. You slowly lift it to your mouth. "Hello?" you say, unsure if your voice is even working.
There's a pause. A breath. "It worked," he says quietly. "Okay. Good."
You don't respond right away.
"I've been thinking about that day you came back from the Varna Competition," he continues, carefully. "The day you called me through this thing."
Your grip tightens around the cup.
"I heard you," he admits. "I was holding the cup, but I just… couldn't answer."
Your chest aches.
"I stood in my room staring at the blinds, listening to you try again," he says. "Listening to your voice shake, and when you threw it out… I deserved that, but it hurt so much."
You don't say anything.
"I was too scared to break the promise," he adds softly. "I should've answered. I'm sorry, Y/N. I'm so sorry."
You turn away from the cup for a brief moment, trying to blink away the tears.
"I know it's too late, but I won't be a coward anymore," he says firmly. "I promise."
Your hands are shaking now. Without saying another word, you drop the cup and turn for the door. Yunjin's door is already open when you reach it. Heeseung is standing there, awkward and unsure as if he's afraid one wrong move will send you running. You don't yell. You don't hit. You just step forward and pull him into a hug so sudden it leaves you both holding your breaths. "I hated you," you say quietly into his shoulder. "For so long."
"I know," he whispers.
"But I still love you," you add, voice cracking.
His arms tighten around you, no longer afraid you'll run. "I never stopped loving you," he says.
"Don't disappear again," you say.
"I won't," he promises. "Never again until the day I die."
Heeseung leans in to kiss you. It's soft at first, but it quickly turns frantic and hungry in that aching way that comes from wanting something for far too long.
You pull back. "Wait. Not here." You two barely make it to your room before your lips connect again. Heeseung presses you against the wall, hand up your shirt, grazing the small of your back. His soft lips make your head spin, your hand lacing into his other hand for support.
You both pull back breathless, foreheads press together. "Please don't stop," you whine.
"Are you sure?" Heeseung asks, afraid of pushing the relationship faster than you're ready for.
"Yes, Hee. Please!" The nickname leaves your lips, breathless and warm against his mouth. Something in him snaps at the nickname only you ever called him. Heeseung barely lifts you to the bed before smashing his lips into yours. The kiss is messy and sloppy with spit running down both of your chins, but it only turns you on even more. You clench your thighs, seeking some friction. Heeseung smirks into your lips before pulling away, a string of spit connecting your lips. “Be patient, baby,” he teases, putting his knee between your thighs.
This time, his lips move to your neck, somehow finding your sweet spot immediately. Freak. At this rate, none of your tops can hide the blooming purple mark on your neck. “Ah, Heeseung, you’re going to leave a mark.”
“That's the point, baby,” he mutters, groaning into your neck. “Everyone needs to know you’re mine.”
You roll your eyes. “Ha, seriously-“ but you’re cut off when Heeseung practically rips your shirt off. “No bra, huh?” he growls, spitting on both of your nipples before lathering it into your breasts. You’ve never felt so exposed around anyone before, so you can’t help but cover your face, embarrassed. But Heeseung gently pries your hands away. “You look so beautiful,” he says tenderly. “Don’t hide from me.”
You gasp when he latches his mouth onto one of your breasts while massaging the other. Heeseung can’t help but unleash a string of desperate sounds at how soft your breasts are, which barely fits in his mouth and hand. The pleasure is so intense, you feel like you can cum just from this, but you can feel how hard his cock is against your clothed mound. “Hee, let me-“ Before you can reach his zipper, he blocks your hand. “No, I want to make you feel good.” You want to protest, but suddenly—Heeseung pulls down your pants and panties in one motion. The cold air hits your wet cunt, sending shivers down your spine. "I've barely done anything, and you're already dripping," he hisses in satisfaction.
He trails hot, wet kisses down your stomach and stops right above your cunt before quickly stripping himself bare. You gasp at how big he is—so big you're not sure if he'll even fit. His tip is angry, red, and leaking with precum. He gives it a brief rub before smearing his precum on your slick folds. You moan at how lewd it is, grinding desperately against his hand. "Please, Hee" you cry out.
"I already told you to be patient, baby," Heeseung chuckles, slapping your cunt. Soon, he replaces his hand with his mouth, tongue lapping over your sweet folds, then your clit, causing you to yelp in pleasure. As Heeseung sucks on your clit, he pushes two fingers deep inside you. The sensation becomes so overwhelming you feel like you're going to cum, but he removes his fingers.
"Fuck, why'd you stop—" Before you can finish your desperate plea, he teases your entrance with his cock. He must know what you're thinking because he reassures you. "Don't worry. I'll go slow, love," he says, kissing you sweetly before pushing in slowly. Tears well in your eyes as you try to adjust to his size, even though less than half of his cock is inside you. Heeseung immediately stops, afraid that he'll hurt you. "We can stop right now if it hurts."
"No!" you say quickly. "Please keep going."
Heeseung hesitates before pushing his cock in further, bottoming out. He doesn't move, letting you adjust to his size. You can feel every vein and ridge on his cock, making you clench desperately around him. "You can move now. Please." Heeseung thrust slowly, but his thrusts quickly become deep and fast. "Fuck, baby. You're so fucking tight," he moans. "Feel how deep I am?"
"Oh god… yes! Don't stop!" you pant, both of you moans filling the room.
Heeseung kisses you sloppily as his movements become more frantic and desperate. "I'm gonna fill you full of my cum."
A scream rips from your throat as you feel a knot in your stomach forming. "I'm gonna cum, Hee!"
"Cum for me baby! Please," he begs. You clench even tighter around him as you cum, making Heeseung cum right after. "Fuck, yes!" he moans, cum shooting deep inside you, painting your walls.
Heeseung kisses you on your forehead before running downstairs. "Hee?" you call out, confused.
"I'm here baby! I just need to grab some things," Heeseung shouts back from downstairs before quickly returning with a glass of water and a warm towel.
"Are you okay, baby?" Heeseung asks worriedly as he hands you the glass of water. "Was I too rough?"
"No! It was perfect, Hee," you say shyly. "But you made quite a mess," you laugh, wiggling your eyes as you point to your thigh.
"Sorry," he says with a boyish grin. "Let me clean that up for you." He gently wipes your thigh with the towel before collapsing into bed with you. You two lie there in each others, engulfed in the peaceful silence as Heeseung rubs your back. "I love you, Y/N. I love you so much," he says earnestly.
"I love you too, Hee."
"By the way, you're my first," he says shyly.
You raise an eyebrow, clearly not believing him. "Yeah, right! The girls in high school would brag whenever they got to sleep with you," you grunt, slapping his arm.
"Ouch!" Heeseung pouts. "It was all a lie, baby! They were competing to see who could sleep with me first. You have to believe me," he whines like a child.
"Fine! Stop whining," you huff. "Wait—what about that night after prom?" you seethe.
"We were playing seven minutes in heaven," he frowns, fake gagging. "I was going to use the washroom when she slammed me against the wall…scariest moment of my life!"
You can't help but laugh. Now that you think about it, Giselle really did have crazy obsessive behaviour. She literally ran a kid out of Evercore. He transferred before grade nine.
"Oh—what about James—ouch!" he yelps. "Stop slapping me, baby!"
"You need to apologize to James," you scold, slapping him again despite the smile you're trying to hide.
"Fine," he mutters, rubbing his arm where you slapped him for the second time.
Then his eyes narrow. "Wait… did you at least like the gifts?"
You shrug, pretending to inspect your nails. "I guess."
"You guess?" Heeseung looks around your room. "Where are they?"
You hesitate. "I might've… given them to the girls."
He stares at you, horrified. "All of them?"
"Don't worry! I'll get them back," you chime.
"I spent my entire trust fund on all those gifts," he groans.
You climb into his lap, laughing. "You still won."
His pout disappears instantly. "Yeah," he says softly. "I did."
—
Epilogue
"I can't believe McCain got traded, son," your dad says, shaking his head at the TV like someone personally betrayed him.
"I know," Heeseung sighs beside him on the couch, just as invested. "But at least he went to a better team that knows how to utilize his skills."
You stop in the doorway, holding two glasses of water, watching them discuss basketball trades like it's been their routine for years. "Dad," you try. "I'm home too?"
"Not now, sweetie," he waves you off without looking. "Poor Heeseung hasn't been able to watch basketball because of finals."
You gasp. "Wow. You like him than me now?"
Heeseung tries to hide his smug smile, but fails miserably. Your mom walks in, and grabs your father by the sleeve. "Come help me in the kitchen and leave the kids alone."
"Wait—honey! It's the fourth quarter—" your father complains as he's being dragged to the kitchen.
The living room finally quiets. You sit beside Heeseung, shoulder brushing his. "Your stealing my dad."
"Your heard him! He called me son," he says proudly. "Sorry, but he loves me more."
You huff, but the smile tugging at your lips gives you away. After a moment, you add, "Can I ask you something?"
He turns toward you immediately. "Always."
"Why did you join my class?" you ask. "Corporate Finance has nothing to do with your major.
For a second, he just looks at you, something tender and a little shy flickering across his face. "I heard about the internship opportunity from Jake," he admits. "Not that you needed my help or anything, but I knew you'd take the course, so I enrolled to see you win. He pauses. "Admit it, though… I helped a lot didn't I?" he smirks.
Warmth floods your chest, but before you can respond, both of your phones buzz. It's an email from your professor. You open it—and freeze. "We won," you whisper. Then louder, "Heeseung—we won the case comp. And—"
Your voice breaks. "I got the internship."
He's on his feet in a second, pulling you into a hug so tight you start laughing.
From the kitchen your dad yells, "What happened?"
"We won the case comp, and I got the internship!"
"That's my daughter," he shouts back. A beat. "And my future son-in-law!"
"DAD!"
You're surrounded by the noise of your family and the steady beat of his heart against yours.
“You don’t get to promise me things,” he whispered, “the day before you marry him.”
He’s the florist for your wedding.
Also your first love.
Also the reason you can’t breathe.
Genre: romance, exes to lovers, love triangle, hurt/comfort, angst, fluff
Trigger Warnings: emotional infidelity, heartbreak, implied sexual content, minor injury
WC: 24.1k
Mon‘s Note: this one is a part of @everyonewooeverywhere valentine’s day fic exchange, dj thank you so much for hosting! it was my first time participating in such exchange and i had lots of fun! and now drumrolls!! i was @yeonlymine ’s secret cupid!! i hope this little story won’t disappoint you, writing for you was a pleasure! 🤍
dearest Mau, happy valentine’s day 🤍
The bell above the door gave a soft, tired jingle when you pushed inside. The scent hit you first—a heavy, intoxicating mix of eucalyptus, damp earth, and sweet lilies. It was a sharp contrast to the sterile, air-conditioned chill of the bridal planner’s office you had just come from.
You adjusted your grip on your bag, stepping fully inside. The shop was quaint, cluttered in an intentional, artistic way. Buckets of hydrangeas lined the floor, and dried herbs hung from the exposed wooden beams. It was the kind of place that felt like a secret.
“Just a moment,” a voice called out from the back room.
Your breath hitched. The voice was deep—baritone and smooth, vibrating through the quiet hum of the refrigerator units. It sounded like warm honey. It sounded like late-night phone calls under comforter covers. It sounded like him.
It can’t be, you told yourself, shaking your head slightly to dispel the ghost. He got the scholarship. He went to Seoul. He’s probably an architect or a designer by now. He didn’t stay here.
You stared at a bucket of white roses, trying to focus on why you were here. The wedding. The comfortable, sensible wedding to a man who checked every box on a list. You needed bouquets. You needed to be a bride.
The curtain to the back room swept aside.
“Sorry about the wait, I was just finishing up a—”
The apology died in the air and for a beat, the whole place seemed to tilt. Time didn’t just stop; it collapsed. The years of university, the long-distance drift, the polite breakup that masked how much it actually hurt—it all vanished. You were just two kids who had promised forever, standing in a room full of flowers meant for someone else’s forever.
He was different, yet devastatingly the same. His hair was blonde now, a soft halo under the shop lights that made his dark eyes look like pools of ink. He wore a beige apron stained with chlorophyll and water spots. He looked broader, older, but his posture—that reserved, slightly curled-in stance of someone who tries to take up less space—was identical to the boy you had loved at sixteen.
Kang Yeosang.
Your lungs forgot their job. Your chest tightened so fast it was almost humiliating, like your body had been waiting for this moment and didn’t care about the ring on your finger or the life you’d built somewhere else.
Yeosang didn’t move. He just stared at you like you were something he’d dreamed up on accident.
Then his throat worked once. A swallow.
When he spoke, his voice was lower than it used to be. Not the soft boy from the back row. Not the laugh you could pull out of him with one look. It was deep now, controlled, carefully placed.
“Welcome,” he said, and the word was polite. Neat. Professional. Like he could set it down between you and keep it from shattering. “How can I help you?”
Your mouth went dry.
“I… I’m here because,” you managed, and you hated how small you sounded. “Your shop has really good reviews. People said you’re the best in town. Especially for weddings.”
His gaze flicked once, just briefly, to the binder on the counter. To the order forms. To the pen lined up perfectly with the edge like he’d put it there to give his hands something to obey.
He nodded, slow.
“I can do wedding work,” he said. “Yes.” The pause after it was wrong. Too long. Like there was a different sentence he’d almost said and forced himself not to.
You swallowed, throat burning.
“Yeosang,” you whispered.
“I didn't know you were back in town,” he said before you could ask him any question. His voice was polite. Terrifyingly polite.
“I... I didn’t know you were still here,” you stammered, your heart hammering against your ribs so hard it hurt. “I thought you left for university. I thought you moved away.”
“Plans change,” two words. Flat. Contained. Like the rest was locked in a drawer you didn’t have the right to open anymore. He didn’t mention his mother. He didn’t mention the funeral you missed because you were halfway across the world. He just wiped his hands on a rag, avoiding your eyes. “You’re here for an order?”
The professional mask was up. He was the owner of ‘Ethereal Blooms’, and you were just another client.
Your heart hurt in a way that didn’t make sense, except it did, because it was Yeosang.
His dark eyes scanned your face, searching for something. For a second, you saw the softness there, the kindness that used to be yours. You saw the boy who used to walk you home. But then, you saw his gaze drop to your left hand.
To the diamond ring catching the light.
Yeosang blinked, and the shutter came down. His jaw tightened, a muscle feathering near his ear. He set the shears down on the counter with a deliberate, heavy clack. When he looked up again, his face was smooth. impassive.
“Congratulations,” he said.
His voice didn’t break.
It would’ve been easier if it had.
You cleared your throat. “Yeosang, I didn’t— I didn’t come here to—”
“Wedding date?” he cut in immediately, not looking at you as he opened a binder and reached for the pen. His fingers wrapped around it with that careful, controlled grip, like he was afraid of what his hands might do if he let them float.
The word was a period. Not a question. A full stop.
You stood there with the binder open between you like a shield, the glossy pages too bright under the warm shop lights. Your ring caught again—another cruel little flash—and you hated that you couldn’t stop noticing how his eyes didn’t.
You blinked. “Yes. It’s in a bit over three weeks—”
“Specific date?” he asked, finally lifting his gaze, expression smooth in a way that didn’t match the tension in his jaw.
“May fifteenth,” you answered automatically. “It’s on a Saturday.”
He wrote it down in neat, small lettering. The scratch of the pen felt too loud in the quiet. “And the venue?” he continued.
You swallowed. “It’s at— it’s at the The Orangery. You know, the old—”
“Outdoor ceremony, indoor reception?”
“Outdoor ceremony,” you murmured, because he was giving you no space to breathe around the words. “Reception inside, yes.”
He nodded once. The motion was minimal. Efficient. Like he was conserving energy. “Guest count?”
“About two hundred and twenty,” you said. Then, because you couldn’t help yourself, because you were standing in front of the boy who used to count the stars with you from the hood of his mom’s car, you added softly, “I didn’t know you opened a shop. It’s really beautiful. I—”
“Bridesmaids?” he interrupted, pen already moving again.
Your heart stuttered, irritation and grief tangling into something hot and ugly in your chest. “Four. Four bridesmaids.”
“Groom’s side?” he asked.
You flinched at the word groom like it was a slap. “Four as well.”
He hummed a single note, more reflex than sound. “Colour palette?”
You glanced down at the binder, at the rows of bouquets photographed in perfect lighting, each one captioned with a name that sounded like a promise. Moonlit Cream. Antique Blush. Summer Silence.
“White,” you started. “And—um. Green. Maybe some pale—”
“Any accent colour?” he cut in.
You felt yourself clench. “Blue,” you said, sharper than you meant. Then your voice faltered. “Seonghwa likes— he likes—”
Yeosang’s pen paused.
It wasn’t dramatic. It wasn’t obvious. It was just… the tiniest hitch. Like a machine catching on grit.
“Noted,” he said, and started writing again, like your fiancée’s name was just another line item. “Do you still hate gerbera daisy?”
You let out a breath you hadn’t realised you’d been holding. “I—” Your laugh came out wrong, too thin. “Yeah.”
“Good,” he said, still not smiling. “Me too.”
The words landed like a ghost of familiarity.
“You do? You used to—”
“Seasonal availability,” he cut in, voice even. “May is peony season. Ranunculus starts tapering. You can do roses year-round.”
“And you don’t want lilies inside the venue,” he added after a second.
Your heart lurched. “I didn’t say—”
“You get headaches,” he continued, still calm, still professional. “You always did. You’ll think you can handle it because you’re stressed and trying to be easy, but the smell will sit behind your eyes and you’ll spend the reception smiling through pain.”
Your breath caught because that wasn’t a florist talking. That was Yeosang, sixteen, tilting your chin in his hands and telling you you looked like moonlight. Every time you tried to step closer, he moved the counter higher. He slid the clipboard between you and made it official. He kept you on the safe side of his life.
You swallowed, throat raw. “Yeosang.”
He didn’t react.
You tried again, softer, like you could sneak your way past his walls. “Can we… can we talk for a second? Not about the— not about the wedding. Just—”
“Budget range,” he interrupted, and this time he finally looked at you fully. His eyes were dark and unreadable, but there was something in them—something tight, exhausted, buried under years of being good and quiet and responsible.
You stared back, anger flickering because it hurt, because it was unfair, because you were the one who left and somehow you were still the one bleeding.
“Yeosang,” you said, your voice trembling now, “please.”
For a second, his expression shifted. Not softness exactly—something worse. Something like restraint cracking at the edges.
Then he inhaled. Slow. Controlled.
And his face smoothed again.
“Tell me your budget,” he repeated, voice lower, almost gentle. Almost kind. Like he was offering you an exit that wouldn’t shatter either of you. “So I can tell you what’s possible.”
“I don’t know,” you admitted. “I— Seonghwa’s handling most of the payments. I just… I wanted it to be— I wanted it to be pretty.”
Yeosang’s jaw flexed once, a small muscle feathering near his ear like it did when he used to hold back words. “Everything is pretty,” he said.
And the way he said it—flat, controlled—made it sound like an accusation. He flipped to a fresh page in the binder and slid it toward you with two fingers, careful not to touch your hand.
“Okay,” he continued, voice steady again. “Ceremony arch. Aisle markers. Bride bouquet. Bridesmaids. Boutonnières. Table centerpieces. Sweetheart table. Any installations.”
You stared at the list and the words swam. Because all you could think about was how he’d said “Everything is pretty,” like you’d walked in and asked him to decorate the knife you were going to bury in his chest.
You forced your voice to work. “Do you— do you ever—”
“Do you want the bouquet round or cascading,” he interrupted, not even blinking. “And do you want it looser, garden-style, or structured?”
“Why are you doing this?” you whispered.
The pen stopped. Yeosang’s eyes lifted to yours, and for the first time since he’d walked out from the back room, the professional distance faltered. Just a fraction. Enough for you to see the boy underneath—tired, stubborn, too kind for his own good.
His voice, when it came, was so quiet you almost didn’t hear it over the hum of the refrigerators. “Because you asked,” he said.
Then, like he hated himself for letting even that much slip, he straightened.
“Round or cascading?” he repeated, polite to the point of cruelty.
And your mouth opened—
because you didn’t have an answer about flowers.
Because you had a thousand questions about him.
And you didn’t know which one would destroy you first.
So you stood there, your mouth parted, the silence stretching so tight it felt like it might snap and take both of your heads off.
Round or cascading? Structured or loose?
You couldn’t answer. The words were stuck in your throat, thick and suffocating and Yeosang watched you struggle. He watched the way your hands trembled where they gripped the edge of his counter. He let out a breath—a quiet, ragged sound that sounded too much like defeat. He looked away, his eyes dropping to the blank line on the order form.
“Wisteria,” he said. The word was quiet. It wasn’t a question this time.
You blinked, startled by the sudden shift in his tone. “What?”
“You'll want white wisteria,” Yeosang murmured, his pen hovering over the paper. He wasn’t looking at you. He was looking at the wood grain of the counter. “For the sweetheart table.”
He remembered.
“I...” You swallowed hard. “Yes. I do want those.”
Yeosang nodded slowly. His jaw tightened again, the muscle feathering. He finally clicked the pen, writing the word down in harsh, sharp strokes. “I don't have them,” he said flatly.
You frowned, confusion piercing through the heavy emotional fog in your head. “You don’t have wisteria? Yeosang, they’re... they’re one of the most common flowers for weddings. Every florist has them.”
“I don’t,” he countered, his voice snapping back to that rigid, icy professionalism. He didn’t elaborate. He didn’t need to.
Yeosang didn’t stock them. He didn’t stock the universally requested flower in the wedding industry because of you. Because working with it every day for other people weddings meant looking at the ghost of a girl who left.
He would never admit that out loud.
“It’s a business decision,” he lied. It was a terrible lie. “I can ask my supplier,” he added loudly so you would’t ask any further questions. “I’ll call her in the morning. I can get them for you.”
He was offering to work with the one flower he couldn’t bear to look at, just so your table would be exactly the way you wanted when you sat next to another man.
“Moving on,” he said, louder than necessary, as if volume could drown you out. He dragged the binder closer and flipped a page so hard the laminated paper snapped. “Bouquet. Round or cascading?”
You blinked, pulling in a breath that tasted like eucalyptus and apology. “I don’t— I don’t know. I hadn’t—”
“Garden-style or structured,” he cut in, pen poised again. His hand was steady. His voice was not.
You tried to find the bride inside you. The sensible one. The one who nodded and smiled and made decisions. But the girl you used to be kept pressing her palms against your ribs from the inside, begging to be let out.
“Yeosang,” you said again, softer, because you couldn’t help it. Because his name had always tasted like home but now it tasted like grief. “Why did you— why don’t you carry—”
Then he spoke without looking up, voice flat like a line drawn in ink.
“And your fiancé’s boutonnière,” Yeosang said. “Does he like white roses, or does he prefer something more… restrained?”
Your stomach dropped because you heard it, suddenly, underneath the professionalism.
Does he like what you like? Does he know you? Does he deserve you?
And before you could answer, Yeosang clicked his pen again and whispered—
“Don’t look at me like that,” the words teared out of his throat.
“Like what?”
“Like you're sorry,” his dark eyes were frantic, searching your face, dropping to your lips, and then darting back up to your eyes. “Because if you’re sorry, Y/N... if you’re actually sorry, then why are you—”
Ding-dong.
The bell above the door chimed—cheerful, sharp, and entirely out of place. Yeosang flinched violently as if he had been burned. The air in the shop, which had been thick and electric a second ago, shattered like glass.
Seonghwa stepped inside and took in the shop in one quick glance. Then his eyes find you and his smile deepened like the most natural thing in the world. “Hi love,” his voice was smooth, melodic, and perfectly composed. “I’m sorry for running late, the fitting took longer than expected.”
You turned too slowly. Or maybe you turned at the right speed and it still felt wrong, because Yeosang was right there. Because the counter was right there. Because the binder was still between you like a barrier that had started to feel less like paper and more like stone.
Seonghwa stepped closer, naturally, like he’d done it a thousand times before. His hand landed at your lower back, light pressure. A small, steadying touch. Not possessive. Not performative.
Just familiar.
You felt it anyway like a stamp.
He looked immaculate, as he always did. He wore a tailored charcoal coat over a black turtleneck, his dark hair perfectly styled, bringing with him the scent of spring air and expensive, subtle cologne. It completely overpowered the smell of damp earth and eucalyptus.
Seonghwa’s gaze shifted. Not dramatic. Not hostile. Just a politely, the way kind people do when they realise someone else exists in the room and deserves recognition. His smile didn’t vanish. It simply adjusted—smoother, more formal, the curve you wore for strangers you wanted to like you.
“Hi,” Seonghwa said, and he offered his hand across the counter without hesitation. “I’m Park Seonghwa, the lucky groom. Thank you for fitting us in on short notice.”
Yeosang stared at that hand. You watched the exact moment the life drained out of his eyes. The raw, desperate boy from three seconds ago vanished, locked away behind a fortress of ice. His jaw clenched so hard you thought his teeth might crack. For a terrifying second, you thought he wasn’t going to take it. You thought he might vault over the counter or tell Seonghwa to get out.
But Yeosang was always the one who endured so he slowly reached out and gripped Seonghwa’s hand.
“Kang Yeosang. Welcome to ‘Eternal Blooms’,” he said. The words came out perfect and polished. The exact tone you used when you were trying to keep something from shaking. Then his gaze slid back to the order form like it was the only safe thing left in the universe.
Seonghwa’s eyes drifted over the shop—over the hydrangeas, the orchids, the expensive, absurd blue delphiniums—honest appreciation in the lift of his brows. “This place is beautiful,” he said, smiling again. “Your work is really stunning.”
Yeosang didn’t smile nor he said thank you. He just nodded once, short and efficient, and said, “We were discussing bouquet style.”
You swallowed and it felt like trying to swallow a blade. Seonghwa leaned slightly closer to the counter, still gentle. His attention moved to the binder, the numbers, the blank lines waiting to be filled. He read quickly. You’d always loved that about him—the way he could process details without making it feel like work. The way he could turn chaos into a checklist.
Seonghwa looked up at Yeosang, his expression shifting easily into the relaxed, confident demeanour of a man who was used to paying for the best. “I want to make sure she has exactly what she envisions, Yeosang-ssi. Spare no expense.”
Yeosang didn’t blink. He just stared at the space on the counter between them. “Of course.”
“Excellent,” Seonghwa said. He reached inside his tailored coat. The sound of the leather wallet sliding free seemed too loud in the quiet shop.
You felt a cold knot form in your stomach as Seonghwa opened the wallet.
“We haven't finished the consultation yet, Hwa,” you said quickly, your voice higher than normal. “We don’t even have a total. We can just pay the invoice when he emails it—”
“Nonsense,” Seonghwa said warmly, pulling out a heavy, matte-black credit card. He didn’t hand it to Yeosang but placed it flat on the wooden counter and slid it forward with two fingers. The metal card made a dull, heavy snick against the wood. “Let’s secure the date now.”
Yeosang stared at the black card. It sat there on the counter, a sleek, undeniable symbol of everything Seonghwa was and everything Yeosang wasn’t. It was security. It was status. It was a man saying, I take care of what is mine.
Something in Yeosang’s chest went painfully, stupidly soft—like his ribs remembered a different kind of counter. A different kind of you.
His fingers tightened around the pen.
Ink didn’t come.
Memory did.
In his head, the florist shop lights flickered out and the world rewound into fluorescent hum and dusty sunbeams, into a hallway that always smelled faintly of floor cleaner and somebody’s ham sandwich.
First year of high school.
Back when his hands still shook openly. Back when he didn’t know how to hide it.
He’d been holding the bouquet behind his back so long his wrist ached.
It was small—embarrassingly small compared to what he could make now, compared to what he’d made for strangers with big budgets and neat timelines. Back then, it was something scraped together from what he could afford and what he could steal without getting caught.
A few pale pink carnations.
A sprig of baby’s breath that made his nose itch.
One stupid little white ribbon he’d bought from the craft aisle, fingers sweaty on the roll while the cashier stared at him like he was buying contraband.
He’d wrapped it too tight. Then too loose. Then too tight again. He’d watched three YouTube tutorials the night before with his phone brightness turned all the way down under his blanket, heart battering his ribs every time the video said “now secure the stems” like he had any idea what he was doing.
His palms had been damp when he finally shoved the bouquet behind his back and waited for you in a park in front of your house, pretending the cold was the reason he couldn’t stop shaking.
He told himself it was nothing.
He told himself it was just flowers.
He told himself he wasn’t about to hand his whole heart to the person who’d been holding it casually for years without even realising.
You were his best friend.
You were the person who stole bites of his lunch and leaned your shoulder into his when you laughed and said his name like it was the safest sound in the world. The idea of ruining that—of saying the wrong thing, of making you look at him differently—had made his stomach feel like it was full of live wires.
He’d tried to practice.
I like you.
Too small. Cowardly.
I love you.
Too big. Too sharp. Like stepping off a roof.
He’d arrived with his throat full of cotton and his brain full of disasters. You rejecting him. You getting awkward. You walking away. You telling someone. You laughing.
You leaving.
He’d been standing there, hands clenched behind his back so tight his knuckles hurt, when he saw you jogging toward him across the sidewalk—hair messy from the wind, cheeks pink, smiling like you’d been excited just to exist in the same space as him.
It almost killed him.
You slowed in front of him, breath fogging, eyes bright. “You’ve been waiting long?”
Yeosang’s mouth opened.
Nothing came out.
You tilted your head, and the way you looked at him—like you expected kindness from him, like you’d never once had to doubt it—made his chest ache so hard he thought he might throw up.
“Sangie?” you asked, softer. Concern threaded through your voice. “Are you okay?”
He nodded too quickly. Then shook his head. Then nodded again like an idiot. And because you were you, because you always made room for him without demanding he fill it perfectly, you stepped closer until the tips of your shoes almost touched his.
You smelled like coconut shampoo and winter air.
He swallowed. “I… I did something,” he managed, voice cracking on the last word.
“Did you get in trouble?”
“No.” He sounded offended at the idea, which was ridiculous because he absolutely looked guilty. His ears were burning so hot he thought they might melt off.
You smiled anyway. “Then what is it?”
He stared at your mouth.
Then your eyes.
Then down at the slush on the pavement because the world was too bright.
His fingers tightened around the stems behind his back. The ribbon cut into his skin. “I just—” he started, and his voice betrayed him again, soft and wrecked. “I just wanted to… give you something.”
You waited.
God, you waited so patiently.
He pulled the bouquet out from behind him like he was confessing to a crime. The carnations were slightly crushed from how hard he’d been gripping them. The ribbon was uneven. The baby’s breath was shedding tiny white flecks onto his sleeve.
For a horrible second, he thought you’d laugh.
For a horrible second, he thought he’d ruined everything.
Then your eyes widened. And your face—your whole face—shifted like the sun had found you.
“Oh Sangie…” you breathed, and your hands came up carefully, like you were afraid touching it too fast might break it. “You made this?”
He nodded once, small. Humiliated. Hopeful.
“It’s not—” He tried to apologise. He tried to preempt the rejection. “It’s not good, I just—”
You cut him off without meaning to, because your smile got too big for your mouth. “I love it,” you said, instantly, fiercely. Like it was obvious. Like it was always going to be obvious.
Yeosang froze.
Because you didn’t mean the flowers.
Not really.
Your fingers brushed his as you took the bouquet, and you looked up at him—still smiling, still bright, still you—and said it again, quieter this time, like it was just the truth and not a weapon.
“I love it.”
The world narrowed to the space between your hands.
His throat burned. He’d meant to be careful. He’d meant to protect you from the weight of it. He’d meant to keep being your best friend and nothing more if that was all you’d ever let him be.
But you were holding what he’d made for you like it mattered.
And his chest—his stupid, unguarded chest—gave up.
“I love you,” he said.
It came out like a fall. Not practiced. Not pretty. Just honest.
Your smile stuttered, just for a second, like your heart had tripped over the words. Then your eyes softened in a way that made his whole body go loose, like he’d been clenching for years and didn’t realise it.
You stepped closer. So close your breath warmed his chin.
“I know,” you whispered, and it wasn’t smug. It was tender. It was awe. Like you’d been waiting for him to catch up to something you’d already been carrying. “I’ve been trying not to say it first.”
Yeosang let out a sound that wasn’t a laugh, wasn’t a sob, something broken and relieved. “What?”
You lifted the bouquet, carnations brushing his chest, and you looked up at him like he was the only person on earth.
“I love you too,” you said.
His hands came up without thinking, fingers hovering at your sleeves like he didn’t know where he was allowed to touch. Like he was terrified that if he held you wrong, you’d vanish.
You solved it for him and leaned in, pressing your forehead to his. And you just stayed there, both of you shaking, both of you breathing like you’d just outrun something enormous.
His first love you.
Your first I love you.
And the bouquet between you—slightly crushed, imperfect, real—smelled like carnations and winter and the beginning of a life he thought he was allowed to have.
“I don’t have an itemised quote prepared,” Yeosang said snapping back to reality. He sounded like a machine. “Company policy requires a signed contract before I can take a deposit.”
“Consider it a retainer, then,” Seonghwa offered easily, completely missing the suffocating tension radiating from the other side of the counter. “Put five million won down. That should more than cover the initial procurement and secure your time for the fifteenth. We can settle the rest later.”
Five million won just dropped on the counter for some wedding flowers that Yeosang was going to have to look at while he built the arrangements for the girl who was his first and only love.
“Seonghwa, please,” you whispered, the plea slipping out before you could catch it. You couldn’t watch this. You couldn’t watch Yeosang be reduced to hired help by the man you were supposed to marry. “Let’s just go. We’re going to be late for the caterer.”
“It will only take a second, love,” Seonghwa murmured, patting your arm. He looked back at Yeosang, offering an encouraging, polite smile. “Go ahead, Yeosang-ssi. Run it.”
Yeosang didn’t look at you. If he looked at you, he would break. Slowly, agonisingly slowly, he reached out. His fingers, stained with dirt and chlorophyll from working with his hands all day, picked up the pristine black card. He didn’t say a word. He turned to the register. He punched in the numbers on the keypad. Each aggressive, sharp tap echoed in the quiet shop.
Five. Zero. Zero. Zero. Zero. Zero. Zero.
He inserted the card into the terminal.
The machine let out a cheerful, chirping beep. Approved.
It was the sound of Yeosang selling his own heartbreak.
The receipt printer whirred to life, spitting out the paper. Yeosang ripped it off the machine. He took the black card and placed it on top of the receipt. He didn’t hand it back to Seonghwa. He slid it across the counter, stopping exactly halfway.
“Thank you for choosing our service,” Yeosang said. He lifted his eyes then. But he didn’t look at Seonghwa. He looked directly at you. His dark eyes were utterly hollow, stripped of the anger, the desperation, and the raw longing from just five minutes ago. There was nothing left but a devastating, quiet acceptance.
He can buy the flowers, that look said. He can buy you.
You felt like you were going to be sick.
“Perfect,” Seonghwa said, slipping the card and the receipt back into his wallet, oblivious to the silent execution that had just taken place. He turned to you, his arm wrapping securely around your waist. “Shall we? We don’t want to keep the chef waiting.”
“Yeah,” you forced out. Your voice sounded like it belonged to someone else. “Let’s go.”
Seonghwa guided you toward the door. You couldn’t stop yourself from looking back over your shoulder. Yeosang was still standing behind the counter. He hadn’t moved. He was just staring at the blank order form, his hands resting flat on the wood, the pen discarded beside it. He looked like a ghost in his own shop.
The door chimed. The heavy glass shut behind you, cutting off the scent of damp earth and eucalyptus, replacing it with the cold, sterile air of the city. Seonghwa was talking—something about the venue, the seating arrangements, how the chef had promised to prepare a tasting menu—but his voice felt like it was coming from underwater. You nodded mechanically, your hand limp in his as he led you down the pavement. Inside your chest, something cracked clean in half, and you wondered distantly if Yeosang could still see you through the shop window, or if he’d already turned away.
The brass bell above the door settled into silence, but to Yeosang, it sounded like a ringing in his ears that wouldn’t stop. The heavy glass door clicked shut.
You were gone.
Yeosang stood completely frozen behind the counter. He didn’t breathe. He didn’t blink. He just stared at the order form sitting perfectly square on the wood, right next to the carbon copy of a receipt for five million won.
Park Seonghwa. The name on the receipt.
Y/N. The name he had carefully written at the top of the form, his handwriting neat and precise, hiding the way his hand had been shaking so hard his wrist ached.
The curtain to the back room swept open with a loud, metallic scrape of rings against the rod.
“Hey, did the compressor on the back fridge sound weird to you?” Wooyoung asked, his loud, boisterous voice shattering the fragile quiet of the shop. He walked out wiping his wet hands on his own dark green apron, entirely oblivious. “Because it’s making this awful rattling noise, and if we lose that batch of white roses before Saturday, I swear to God I’m going to—”
Wooyoung stopped. He had known Yeosang since they were kids. He knew Yeosang’s quiet moods, his stressed moods, his focused moods. But the man standing behind the counter right now didn’t look like any of those.
Yeosang looked hollowed out. His skin was pale, his shoulders hunched, and his hands—still pressed flat against the wood of the counter—were trembling violently.
“Yeo?” Wooyoung’s voice dropped, the teasing completely gone. He tossed the towel onto a bucket and hurried over. “Hey, what’s wrong? Are you sick? You look like you’re going to pass out.”
Yeosang didn’t answer. His throat felt like it had been packed with glass. He just stared at the receipt.
Wooyoung stepped behind the counter, following Yeosang’s blank, devastated gaze. He looked down at the clipboard. He saw the massive deposit amount first. Then, he saw the name written at the top of the page.
Wooyoung inhaled sharply, the air hissing through his teeth.
“No,” Wooyoung whispered, his eyes flying up to Yeosang’s face. “Tell me that’s a coincidence. Tell me it’s a different girl.”
Yeosang finally blinked. A single, heavy tear broke loose, tracking silently down his cheek, catching in the harsh light of the overhead bulbs.
“She brought him, Woo,” Yeosang rasped. His voice sounded wrecked, as if he hadn't spoken in days. “She brought him in here.”
“Oh my god,” Wooyoung breathed. The protective anger flared instantly, hot and sharp. “I’ll cancel it. I’ll call them right now and say we’re overbooked. You are not doing this. I’m ripping up this check—”
Wooyoung reached for the receipt, but Yeosang’s hand snapped out, his fingers wrapping around Wooyoung’s wrist like a vice.
“Don't,” Yeosang said, his voice cracking.
“Yeosang, are you actually insane?” Wooyoung demanded, trying to pull his arm back, but Yeosang’s grip was desperate. “You can’t do the flowers for her wedding! Do you have any idea what that’s going to do to you? You just spent the last eight years trying to scrape yourself off the pavement after she left, and now you’re going to arrange her bridal bouquet?!”
“I have to order wisterias,” Yeosang whispered.
Wooyoung froze. The fight completely drained out of him at the word. He looked at Yeosang, his heart breaking for his best friend.
“Yeosang...” Wooyoung said softly, his voice thick with pity.
“She asked for them,” Yeosang choked out, his grip on Wooyoung’s wrist finally failing. His hand dropped to his side. The dam broke. The professional, contained owner of ‘Ethereal Blooms’ completely collapsed. “She looked right at me, Woo, and she knew I didn’t have them. She knew why I didn’t have them. And he... he just threw his black card on the counter like I was... like I was nothing.”
Yeosang turned away from the counter, pressing the heels of his hands hard against his eyes. A ragged, ugly sob tore its way out of his chest, echoing in the quiet shop. “He’s perfect for her,” Yeosang wept, the humiliation and the grief finally spilling over. “He has the money. He has the coat. He has the ring. And I’m just standing here with dirt under my fingernails, charging him five million won to watch him marry the only person I’ve ever loved.”
Wooyoung didn’t say anything else. There was nothing to say. He just stepped forward and pulled Yeosang into a fierce, tight hug. Yeosang buried his face in Wooyoung’s shoulder, his hands gripping the back of his friend’s apron like it was a lifeline, crying for the girl who had just walked out the door with another man’s ring on her finger.
On the counter, the receipt for five million won sat perfectly still, securing a date that was going to destroy him.
The penthouse was too quiet.
Seonghwa’s bedroom was a masterclass in modern, minimalist design. The air was temperature-controlled to a perfect, crisp twenty one degrees. The sheets were high-thread-count Egyptian cotton, cool and smooth against your skin. Beside you, Seonghwa breathed in a steady, rhythmic cadence, completely at peace in the life he had built.
You lay flat on your back, staring at the ceiling, feeling like you were suffocating. Every time you closed your eyes, you didn’t see the cascading orchids or the elegant table settings you were supposed to be dreaming about. You saw the dark, hollowed-out look in Yeosang’s eyes when he handed back that receipt. You heard the dead, mechanical tone of his voice.
You lifted your left hand in the dark. The streetlights from the city below filtered through the expensive sheer blinds, catching the facets of the heavy diamond on your ring finger. It flashed, sharp and clean, a tiny star trapped in metal. It was beautiful in the way money was beautiful. Heavy. Certain. Designed to last longer than feelings.
It sat on your ring finger like it had always belonged there.
It didn’t.
You rotated your hand slowly, watching the facets flare and die.
This is what you chose.
Safe. Sturdy. Predictable.
A ring that said I’ll take care of you in a language that didn’t require tenderness.
Your throat tightened because the flash of the diamond didn’t make you think of vows or dresses or May fifteenth. It made you think of a stairwell that smelled like concrete and dust. It made you think of fluorescent lights that buzzed like a trapped insect. It made you think of Yeosang’s hands—warm and careful like he was holding something breakable.
You blinked, and the ceiling above you wasn’t a ceiling anymore. It was peeling paint. It was a metal handrail cold under your palm. It was the soft, awful quiet of a school stairwell where the rest of the world couldn’t reach you.
And Yeosang was there.
Last year of high school.
Last year of waiting.
You’d been counting down to graduation like it was a door you could finally open. University, freedom, the future that felt like it was hovering just out of reach. Everybody talked about it like this huge, sparkling “after.”
But with Yeosang, it felt like there was an “always,” too.
He didn’t look at you at first. Yeosang never did when he was about to do something reckless. He stared straight ahead, jaw set, the soft curve of his mouth pulled into that not-quite-pout he got when he was trying to be serious and failing.
You bumped your shoulder against his, playful. “You’re doing it again.”
“Doing what.” Deadpan. Offended. The audacity that you had noticed him existing.
“That thing where you act like you’re not about to say something stupid.”
Yeosang’s eyes finally flicked to you, dark and flat in that way that always made people underestimate him. Like he wasn’t quietly paying attention to everything. Like he wasn’t keeping a whole secret world inside his chest. He didn’t answer. Just slowed down a little, guiding you toward the side stairwell like it was an accident, like it wasn’t the place you always ended up when you wanted to be alone without saying you wanted to be alone.
The stairwell door creaked when he pushed it open.
Inside, it was cooler. Dustier. The noise from the hallway dulled immediately, like the whole school had been muted.
Yeosang let the door swing shut behind you.
You turned to him, eyebrows raised. “Okay. Suspicious.”
“I’m not suspicious.”
“You’re literally radiating guilty energy.”
He exhaled through his nose, almost a laugh, almost not. His shoulders were tense, but his hands were steady when he reached into his pocket. And you expected, for a second, something dumb. A candy. A note. One of those tiny paper stars he used to fold when he was bored in class, the ones he’d flick at you until you got annoyed and then you’d keep them anyway.
Instead, he pulled out a flower. Not a bouquet. Just one small thing, delicate and fresh like he’d stolen it from the universe five minutes ago. A tiny white blossom, petals soft as breath. The stem looked like it had been snapped off with fingers, not cut. Improvised. Personal.
You stared.
Yeosang held it out in front of him like it weighed more than it should. “Before you say something,” he muttered, eyes fixed on the flower like it was safer than your face, “it’s not— it’s not a big deal.”
“That’s what people say when it’s a big deal,” you whispered.
His ears went pink instantly. “Shut up.”
You smiled so hard your cheeks hurt. “No.”
Yeosang’s gaze finally snapped up to yours, and there it was. That soft, lethal sincerity. The thing he tried to hide behind sarcasm and silence because if he let it show too much, it would spill everywhere.
He swallowed. Then, with a stubborn little frown like he was mad at himself for being like this, he reached for your hand. Your skin tingled the second he touched you. He didn’t lace your fingers together. Didn’t hold your hand the normal way. He just turned your palm upward, like he needed to see it. Like he needed to convince himself you were real.
“Yeosang,” you said, softer now, “what are you—”
“Stop talking,” he said, not mean. Just… desperate. Like if you kept talking, he might lose the nerve.
Your mouth snapped shut.
Yeosang lifted your left hand and stared at it for a long moment, his thumb brushing over your ring finger like he was mapping it. Then he took the little flower and—carefully, ridiculously carefully—tucked the thin stem against your finger, folding it in a loose loop so the blossom rested on top, right where a ring would sit.
A fake ring.
A stupid one.
A perfect one.
It looked so fragile you were afraid breathing too hard might break it.
Your throat closed up. “Oh my god,” you breathed, the words coming out like a laugh and a sob had met in the middle and decided to ruin you together.
He still wouldn’t look at you. His voice came out low, rough around the edges. “There.”
You stared at your hand. At the flower sitting on your ring finger like it belonged there. Like it had always belonged there. Your eyes burned.
Yeosang finally looked up, and when he saw your expression, he flinched like he’d been hit. “What,” he said quickly, alarmed. “What. Is it bad? I told you it’s not a big deal, it’s just—”
You shook your head hard enough your hair slapped your cheeks. “No. No, it’s not bad.” Your voice cracked on the next word. “It’s… Yeosang, it’s—”
His mouth twisted, defensive. “It’s stupid.”
“It’s not stupid.”
“It’s literally a flower ring,” he argued, like that was evidence he could put into a court and win. “It’s biodegradable. It’s— it’s the opposite of practical.”
You laughed, wet and breathless. “You’re the opposite of practical.”
“I am extremely practical,” he snapped automatically, then hesitated, eyes dropping back to your hand. The flower trembled slightly with the movement. His voice softened when he added, “I just… wanted to see it.”
“See what?”
He pressed his lips together. You watched him fight with himself in real time, like he was trying to decide if it was safer to make a joke or tell the truth. Yeosang chose both.
“I wanted to see what it would look like when I finally put a ring on you,” he said, then immediately grimaced like the words tasted too honest. “But not like— not like soon. Not like right now. We’re kids. We’re literally in school. You still can’t even decide what you want to major in without changing your mind every—”
“Every hour,” you finished, smiling through your tears.
“Exactly.” He nodded once, grateful for the lifeline. “So it’s not— it’s not serious. It’s just…”
He trailed off. The silence swelled in the stairwell, thick and warm and terrifying.
You lifted your hand slightly, watching the petals catch the weak stairwell light. It was so small. But it felt like a promise.
“Sangie,” you whispered, “are you joking?”
His eyes flashed up. “Of course I’m joking.”
“You’re not.”
“I am.”
“You’re not.”
He stared at you, jaw tense, and then his shoulders sank like he’d lost the strength to pretend. “I’m joking,” Yeosang said, voice quieter now, “because if I don’t joke, I’ll—” He stopped, swallowed, tried again. “I’ll say something that makes it real.”
Your heart kicked hard. You stepped closer. Close enough to smell his laundry detergent and the faint sweetness of whatever he’d eaten at lunch. Close enough that your breath brushed his chin when you spoke.
“Make it real,” you said.
Yeosang’s eyes widened, panicked for half a second, like he hadn’t expected you to say yes.
Then his gaze dropped to the flower on your finger again. And his voice came out raw. “I’m not going anywhere,” he said. “Okay?”
Your chest tightened.
He kept talking, fast now, like he had to get it out before fear could grab it back. “We just… have to wait a little longer,” Yeosang said, and his throat bobbed. “Just until graduation. Just until we’re not stuck in this place. Just until I can actually—” His mouth tightened, frustration flickering. “Until I can actually give you something that isn’t going to die in, like, an hour.”
You laughed again, shaking.
“I mean it,” he insisted, eyes dark, steady. “I’m serious. I know you want big things. I know you want out. I know you’re scared that if you leave first, I won’t follow, and if I don’t land the scholarship you’ll leave without—” He stopped like the thought hurt. Like he couldn’t even say it out loud.
You reached up and grabbed his sleeve, fingers curling into the fabric. “I won’t,” you whispered.
Yeosang’s breath stuttered. He leaned forward before he could stop himself, forehead almost touching yours. His voice dropped to something barely there. “Forever,” he said, like it was a word he didn’t trust the world with. “Yeah?”
You lifted your hand between you, the little flower-ring trembling. “Forever,” you echoed, and your voice didn’t shake on it. “But we just need to wait a little longer.”
Yeosang’s eyes flicked to your mouth.
Then back to your eyes.
His hands hovered at your waist, unsure, like he was still learning where he was allowed to touch.
You made the decision for him, like you always did.
You stepped in. And Yeosang finally held you like he’d been starving for it—careful, but so tight it made your ribs ache. Like he wanted to fuse you to him and call it a solution. His mouth pressed against your temple for a second, a kiss so soft it almost didn’t count as one, except it did. It counted like everything.
“Don’t laugh at me,” he murmured.
You pulled back just enough to look at him. “I’m literally going to marry you.”
Yeosang’s eyes went wide. “You can’t just say things like that.”
“Why?”
“Because then I’ll believe it.”
You smiled, tears slipping down your cheeks anyway. “Then believe it.”
Yeosang stared at you like you were sunlight. Like you were something too bright to be safe. His thumb brushed the inside of your wrist, right over your pulse. “Okay,” he whispered.
And then, because he couldn’t stand the tenderness without trying to hide inside a joke, he nodded at your hand and said, very seriously, “You better take care of that ring.”
You raised an eyebrow. “Or what?”
Yeosang’s mouth quirked. “Or I’ll buy you a real one and make it your problem.”
Your laugh broke wide open and Yeosang smiled like he’d just admitted the entire universe lived inside your hands.
Right as the stairwell door creaked.
A shadow fell across the concrete.
Footsteps.
A voice, muffled through the door: “Hello? Anyone in there?”
Yeosang froze with you in his arms, eyes flashing like a startled cat—caught, guilty, and still refusing to let go.
You lifted your flower-ringed hand between you, breath caught in your throat, and Yeosang’s gaze locked on it like it was the only thing keeping him brave.
“Hey,” you whispered, barely moving your lips. “Sangie.”
His eyes flicked to yours. And for one terrifying, perfect second, you both knew: this wasn’t a joke.
Not really.
The bell above the door chimed, bright and cheerful.
It was wrong in this light. The morning was the colour of dishwater, the sky pressed low over the city like a lid, and the shop smelled like wet stems and cold metal and something sweet that kept trying to turn into a memory in the back of your throat.
Yeosang was at the stainless steel prep table in the middle of the room, sleeves pushed up, hands moving with that brutal, efficient rhythm—click, clack, click—as he stripped thorns from a dozen white roses. Like if he kept his hands busy enough, his heart wouldn’t get any ideas.
He froze the second he saw you.
For one split, disorienting moment, the shears hung in the air. Then his jaw locked, and the motion started again as if nothing had happened. As if you were just a delivery. As if you hadn’t once been the center of his entire universe.
“We’re closed for walk-ins until eleven,” he said, not looking up.
“I know,” you managed. Your fingers tightened around your bag strap until the leather bit into your palm. “I didn’t come to buy anything. I came to talk to you.”
Click, clack, click.
He didn’t even blink. “If you want to change anything about the order, email the shop to book an appointment.”
“Stop,” you said, stepping closer. The scent of roses hit you hard and stupidly familiar, like a punch to the ribs. “Stop talking like I’m— like I’m a stranger.”
Snap.
The shears slipped, and he cut a stem clean in half. The ruined rose rolled, soft and helpless, across the metal surface. Yeosang stared at it for a second too long, like he could see something else bleeding out there instead of a flower. Then he scooped it up and threw it into the waste bin without looking.
“There’s nothing to talk about,” he said, too even. Too practiced. “The wisteria is secured. You’ll have it for your wedding.”
“Why did you take his money?” you blurted out, the question that had kept you awake finally tearing free. “Why did you let him do that to you? You should have told us to leave. You should have thrown us out!”
Yeosang finally stopped. He set the shears down on the metal table. The sound rang out, sharp and final. He braced his hands on the edge of the table and slowly lifted his head. His eyes were exhausted. There were dark circles bruised into the skin beneath them, evidence of his own sleepless night. He didn’t look angry; he just looked incredibly, profoundly tired.
“Because I am a florist,” Yeosang said, his voice dropping to a harsh whisper. “And you walked into my shop and asked for my services. What did you want me to do, Y/N? Throw a tantrum? Beg you to take the ring off in front of your fiancé?”
“No! I wanted you to... to not let me hurt you like that!” you cried, gripping the edge of the table. “I didn’t know you owned the shop. If I had known, I never would have brought him—”
“But you did bring him,” Yeosang cut in, his voice rising just a fraction, the control finally slipping. “You brought him, and you stood there, and you let him drop five million won on my counter to buy the flower I had to throw away years ago because I couldn’t look at it without thinking about you.”
The tears spilled over, hot and fast.
“Yeosang, I’m so sorry.”
“Don’t,” he breathed, shaking his head, taking a step back from the table. He looked at your tears, and you could see the exact moment it killed him to not reach across and wipe them away. “You don’t get to do this. You don’t get to come in here and cry because you feel guilty. You have what you wanted. The big ring and the black card and the outdoor ceremony.”
“It’s not that simple,” you choked out.
“Yes, it is,” Yeosang said softly. The fight drained out of him, leaving only that devastating, hollow acceptance. “It is that simple. You are marrying him. And I am doing the flowers. That is the reality we live in now.” He picked up the shears again, though his hands were trembling so badly he could barely hold them. “If you came here to absolve your guilt, I forgive you,” he said to the roses. “But if you have any mercy left in you at all... let me just be the florist. Please. Go home to your fiancé, Y/N.”
“Don’t do that,” you whispered.
His hands didn’t stop moving, but his knuckles were white around the shears. “Do what?”
“Pretend you don’t remember.” You swallowed hard, heart hammering while you looked around the shop. “You still hate marigolds,” you said, voice wobbling. “Just like I do.” Your throat seized. “There’s not a single marigold here.”
Yeosang’s jaw jumped. His eyes stayed on the roses.
“You still line up the tools,” you pushed, because the words wouldn’t stop now that they’d started. Because the silence in Seonghwa’s bed had cracked something open inside you. “Parallel. The way you used to line up your pencils in class. You’d get mad if I took one.”
Click, clack, click.
“You still call me—” your voice broke. “You still call me by that silly nickname in your head, don’t you?”
The shears stopped. The quiet that followed was so loud it rang. Yeosang set the shears down on the table with a careful, deliberate clink—like if he did it gently enough, nothing else would shatter. He braced both palms on the steel, shoulders tense, head bowed.
When he finally spoke, his voice was flat, but it wasn’t calm. It was the voice of someone holding a scream between their teeth. “Don’t.”
You stepped closer anyway, until the edge of the prep table pressed into your hips. “Do you remember,” you whispered, eyes stinging, “when you put that stupid little flower on my ring finger in the stairwell? And you joked about it like it was nothing, but your hands were shaking so bad I thought you were going to drop it—”
“Stop.”
You didn’t. You couldn’t.
“You said ‘wait for me,’” you said, tears spilling hot and fast now. “You said just a little longer and then it would be real.”
His head lifted, slow.
His eyes were exhausted. Bruised underneath. Devastatingly awake.
“Is this why you’re here?” he asked quietly. “To recite my own memories back to me like I haven’t been choking on them for eight years?”
“I’m here because you looked at me yesterday like—” Your voice turned thin, ugly with panic. “Like I killed you.”
Yeosang’s laugh came out once. Not humour. Just air scraping past broken glass. “You didn’t kill me,” he said. “You left me alive. Which was somehow worse.”
You went still. He stared at you for a long moment, and you saw it—how badly he wanted to be gentle. How badly he was fighting it.
“You don’t get to do this,” he said, voice low. “You don’t get to walk into my shop, in your coat that probably costs more than my first year’s rent, wearing a ring that could buy my mother’s—” He stopped. Swallowed hard. His throat worked like he was forcing something back down. “You don’t get to come in here and start talking about stairwells.”
“I didn’t know it was your shop. I didn’t think—”
“No,” Yeosang cut in, eyes burning now, finally looking at you like you deserved the truth. “That’s the problem. You didn’t think. You never stopped to look at me and think, ‘He’s still in this town. He’s still breathing. He still has to wake up and live in the aftermath of what I did.’”
You shook your head hard. “Yeosang, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”
“Don’t,” the word was so soft it almost sounded like it hurt him more than shouting. He took a step back from the table, like distance could keep him from reaching for you. Like he was scared his hands would betray him. “Don’t come in here with tears and call it love.”
“It was love,” you choked.
Yeosang’s mouth twisted, something sharp and wounded flashing across his face. “It was,” he said. “It was the only real thing I’ve ever had.”
“Do you want to know why I can’t look at you?” he asked.
You barely managed a nod.
Yeosang’s eyes flicked to your ring finger. Just once. Like touching a bruise. “Because you left,” he said, each word measured like he was placing stones on your chest. “You left, and you didn’t even have the decency to tell me the truth about why.”
Your breath caught. “I— I did tell you.”
“You told me it was ‘for the best,’” Yeosang spat, and the bitterness in his mouth finally showed. “You told me you were ‘being practical.’ You told me you ‘didn’t want to hold me back.’” His laugh broke again, ugly this time. “As if I wasn’t already behind. As if I wasn’t already drowning.”
He stepped closer, and the air tightened.
“You know what you didn’t tell me?” Yeosang asked, voice shaking now. “You didn’t tell me you were ashamed.”
Your stomach dropped.
Yeosang’s eyes were glossy, furious, wrecked. “You looked at my life and decided it was too small,” he said. “You looked at my hands—hands that were stained with dirt and flower sap and cheap soap from the school bathroom because I was working after class—and you decided you didn’t want that.”
“No,” you whispered, horrified. “That’s not—”
“Yes, it is,” Yeosang said, voice cracking. “Because if it wasn’t, you would’ve stayed. Or you would’ve taken me to London with you. Or you would’ve fought your parents to stay here. You would’ve done anything except disappear and leave me holding the shape of you like a fucking ghost.”
“You didn’t leave because you had to. You left because you finally believed everyone who told you I wasn’t enough.”
Tears blurred your vision. “I was young. I was scared.”
“Of what?” he demanded, and his voice dropped into something raw, almost pleading. “Of struggling? Of being broke? Of your parents being right about me? Of loving me and still not getting the life you wanted?”
He shook his head once, fast, like he couldn’t stand the thought.
“I didn’t get to be scared,” Yeosang said, and his voice went quiet in a way that was worse than shouting. “I didn’t get to leave. I didn’t get to start over. You went to university and built a new life, and I stayed here and watched the seasons change through the same window, waiting for a text that never came.”
His throat bobbed.
“I threw away wisteria,” he whispered, eyes shining with something devastated. “It was supposed to decorate the entrance of this shop. Do you understand how insane that is? I threw it away because I couldn’t look at it without seeing your stupid little flower ring on your finger. And then you walk in here years later and ask me for it like it’s nothing.”
His voice cracked on the last word.
“Like I’m nothing.”
Your hands were shaking. Your chest felt split open.
“Yeosang,” you whispered, and his name tasted like blood.
He looked at you like he hated how much he still loved you.
“If you have any mercy left,” he said, not looking up, “let me just be the florist. Please.” His voice went softer, almost gentle, like he was offering you a way out that wouldn’t destroy you both in public. “Go home to your fiancé.”
He lifted the shears.
Click, clack, click.
And you stood there with your throat full of everything you should’ve said eight years ago, realising with a sick, cold clarity that you didn’t just leave Yeosang.
You left him behind to pay for it alone.
The bridal shower was a curated kind of joy. Everything was pale and pretty and intentionally effortless—white linen, champagne flutes, a balloon arch that looked like it had been breathed into existence by someone who’d never struggled a day in their life. The room smelled like vanilla candles and expensive perfume, sugar-sweet to the point of nausea.
You stood in the middle of it with a plastic smile glued to your face, accepting compliments.
“Look at you,” someone cooed, pressing a hand to your arm. “You’re glowing.”
You wanted to laugh. You wanted to scream. You lifted your left hand on instinct, like the diamond was a script you could follow when you didn’t know what else to do. The ring flashed under the warm light and everyone sighed like it was the most romantic thing they’d ever seen.
Across the room, Seonghwa’s friends were talking about venues and menus and photographers, all confident voices and clean laughter. The kind of people who said things like “investment” and meant it.
You kept nodding.
Kept smiling.
Kept pretending your chest wasn’t packed with wet cement.
Then the door opened. A gust of cold air slipped in, sharp and real, cutting through the room’s perfumed softness like a blade.
And Wooyoung walked in carrying flowers. Not a cute little bouquet. Not a polite arrangement. A whole statement—buckets and boxes, greenery spilling over the edges, white blooms wrapped in crisp paper. He looked like he’d wrestled a garden and won. Black jeans, dark jacket, hair a little messy from the wind, cheeks pink from the evening cold.
He didn’t look like he belonged here.
One of Seonghwa’s friends, bright smile, perfect nails—clapped her hands. “Oh! You must be the florist delivery! Hi!”
Wooyoung gave a quick, friendly smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Hi,” he said, voice easy. Warm. Professional. Like he’d practiced it.
“I’m Wooyoung, I work for ‘Eternal Blooms’” he added, and his gaze cut across the room and landed on you. It was like someone had snapped a rubber band against your skin. His smile faded immediately not into anger but into something worse.
Recognition.
He set the boxes down carefully on a side table, moving with the kind of precise restraint that screamed I’m holding myself back from doing something stupid. He started unpacking. White roses. Greenery. Soft baby’s breath. Cream peonies that looked like they’d never known dirt. Everything expensive. Everything perfect.
“Wow,” someone breathed. “These are gorgeous!”
Wooyoung hummed politely. “Thank you.”
He didn’t look up again.
Not until you moved.
You didn’t mean to. It just happened. Your feet carried you toward the side table like you didn’t have control over them. Like the scent of those flowers—wet stems, sap, something green and alive—was a rope tied around your ribs. Wooyoung’s hands kept working as you approached, arranging with quick, practiced movements. He didn’t need to think. He was doing the job with his body while his mind was somewhere else.
When you got close, you realised his fingers had tiny scratches on them. Small red lines.
Thorns.
You remembered Yeosang’s hands.
You remembered dirt under his nails.
“Hi, it’s good to see you,” you said, softly, because you didn’t know what else to say.
Wooyoung finally looked up with sharp eyes. “Hi,” he echoed.
The air between you felt electric. Dangerous.
You tried again. “Is… is Yeosang okay?”
Wooyoung’s laugh came out under his breath, short and humourless. “Wow.”
You flinched. “I’m serious.”
Wooyoung leaned closer to the table, tucking greenery into a vase like he needed to keep his hands busy so he wouldn’t put them on you. “You’re asking me if he’s okay,” he said quietly, “while you’re standing in a room full of people playing ‘guess the lingerie’ and sipping champagne through a straw.”
Heat rose in your face. “This isn’t—”
“What,” Wooyoung cut in, still quiet, still controlled. “What is it, then?”
You opened your mouth. Closed it.
Wooyoung’s eyes flicked to your ring. He stared at it like it was a weapon. Then he looked back up at you and something in his expression shifted—anger, yes, but also grief. Like he was mad at you and mad at the universe and mad at Yeosang for still loving you.
“Come here,” Wooyoung said, voice tight.
You blinked. “What?”
He nodded toward the hallway. Toward the coat closet. Toward a door leading to the quieter side of the house. “Now. Before I say something insane in front of all these rich people.”
You swallowed hard, pulse tripping. “Wooyoung—”
“Y/N.” He said your name like it was a warning.
You followed him. The hallway was dimmer. Cooler. The noise from the party dulled behind you, muffled by expensive walls. You stopped near a framed photo of Seonghwa and you—engagement shoot—both of you smiling like a magazine cover.
Wooyoung turned to face you. Up close, you could see it—he was shaking a little. Not fear. Adrenaline. Rage held in a careful fist.
“You don’t get to ask if he’s okay,” Wooyoung said. His voice didn’t rise. It didn’t need to. The quiet was more brutal than shouting. “You don’t get to say his name like you didn’t carve a crater in him.”
Your breath hitched. “I didn’t—”
“Yes, you did,” Wooyoung snapped, and the control cracked for half a second. “You left, and you acted like it was… like it was a normal breakup. Like you two were just some high school couple who grew apart.”
Your throat went tight. “We were kids.”
Wooyoung’s mouth twisted. “Yeah. And Yeosang loved you like he was already an adult.” Wooyoung took a step closer, lowering his voice even further, like he didn’t trust himself with volume. “Do you know what he did after you left?” he demanded. “Do you know what it looked like? Because I do. I watched it.”
“I didn’t— I didn’t know—”
“No,” Wooyoung cut in. “You didn’t want to know.” The words landed like a slap. He pointed, sharp and furious, toward your ring hand. “That thing on your finger? That’s not just a ring to him. That’s proof.”
“Proof of what?” you whispered, voice breaking.
Wooyoung’s laugh came out again, bitter. “Proof that he was right.”
Your stomach dropped. “Right about—”
“About why you left,” Wooyoung said, and now his eyes were wet. He looked angry about the tears, too, like they were another betrayal. “You left because you were scared. But not the cute kind of scared. Not the ‘we’re too young to be this much in love’ scared.”
He leaned in, and his voice went razor-thin.
“You left because you looked at Yeosang’s life and you decided it wasn’t enough for you.”
“No,” you choked out, horrified. “That’s not true. That’s not—”
Wooyoung shook his head once, hard. “Don’t lie to me,” he snapped. “I’ve heard every version of your ‘it was for the best.’ I’ve heard the ‘I didn’t want to hold him back.’” He mimicked the words with a cruel softness that made your skin crawl, because it sounded too much like you. “Do you know what he heard?” Wooyoung demanded. “He heard, ‘I’m embarrassed of you.’ He heard, ‘I don’t want to struggle with you.’ He heard, ‘I want a life where love is optional as long as the countertops are marble.’”
Your eyes burned. “That’s not what I meant.”
“But it’s what happened,” Wooyoung said, voice breaking on the edge of fury. “And you know what’s fucking insane? He still never hated you.”
You swallowed. Your lungs wouldn’t work right. “Wooyoung…”
Wooyoung’s gaze flicked toward the party. Toward the laughter. The clinking glasses. The soft, shiny world where everyone was congratulating you for being “lucky.”
Then he looked back at you like you were the only person he could hold accountable.
“He didn’t stay in this town because he wanted to,” Wooyoung said. “He stayed because life happened to him. Because responsibility happened to him. Because grief happened to him. And through all of that, he still loved you.”
His voice went quieter. Deadlier.
“And then you walked back in with him. With the ring. With the black card. With the date. And you didn’t just reopen the wound.”
Wooyoung stepped even closer. His eyes were blazing now.
“You made him package it up,” he whispered. “Wrap it in ribbon. Put a price tag on it. And hand it back to you with a smile.”
Your chin trembled. “I didn’t ask him to—”
“You asked him to do the flowers for your wedding,” Wooyoung cut in, sharp. “You asked him to build the prettiest version of the worst day of his life.”
A sob climbed up your throat like acid.
Wooyoung’s expression flickered—something like pity, something like disgust, something like I hate that you’re crying because it makes me feel bad for you.
He took a breath. His shoulders rose. Fell.
Then he said it—slow, cruel, and heartbreakingly simple.
“Do you know what you’re doing to him?” Wooyoung whispered. “You’re making him prove he’s still good. You’re making him show you he can be gracious. Professional. Talented. Quiet. You’re making him swallow it. You’re making him be the kind of man who doesn’t fall apart—” his voice cracked “—because if he falls apart, then you get to tell yourself you were right to leave.”
The words hit so hard you felt dizzy.
“No,” you breathed, barely audible. “No, I don’t— I don’t want that.”
Wooyoung held your gaze, relentless.
“Then stop,” he said.
The simplicity of it was brutal.
You blinked, tears spilling. “I can’t just— it’s all booked, and Seonghwa—”
Wooyoung’s eyes flashed. “There it is,” he said, voice sharp. “Seonghwa. Seonghwa’s schedule. Seonghwa’s money. Seonghwa’s wedding.”
He pointed at your ring again.
“You know what Yeosang had?” Wooyoung demanded. “He had a fucking flower on your finger and a promise you made in a stairwell. And he treated it like it was sacred.”
His voice dropped, wrecked.
“And you traded it for a diamond.”
Your breath hitched so hard it hurt.
Wooyoung looked away for a second, like he couldn’t stand seeing you cry.
When he looked back, his voice was low. Final. “I took this delivery because Yeosang couldn’t,” he said. “He smiled and said he was busy. He said it was fine. But his hands were shaking so bad he kept cutting himself instead of the thorns, and he didn’t even notice until the blood hit the sink.”
Your stomach turned.
“He’s not okay,” Wooyoung whispered. “And if you leave him to do that wedding… you’re going to watch him die on his feet and call it ‘beautiful.’”
The party noise swelled suddenly behind you—someone laughing loudly, a chorus of “Awwww!” as a gift was opened.
Wooyoung turned slightly, ready to go back out there, to put the mask back on. Then he paused. He glanced at you one last time, voice quiet enough it felt like it was meant for only you.
“And the worst part?” he said. “He’ll still do it. He’ll still make it perfect. Because he loves you. And because he’s too fucking good.”
He opened the door.
Light spilled in.
Laughter.
Perfume.
Pretty.
Wooyoung looked back over his shoulder, eyes sharp as a blade.
“So what are you going to do about it?”
And you stood there in the dim hallway with your hands shaking and your diamond ring flashing like a threat, realising the next move was yours.
It was two days before the wedding, and the city was caught in the grip of a spring rain. You huddled under the awning of ‘Ethereal Blooms’, staring down at your phone.
Seonghwa: Stuck in a board meeting, love. Running late. Can you approve the final bridal bouquet mockup without me? Put it on the black card. Love you.
You locked the screen, the glowing rectangle mirroring the hollow pit in your stomach. Not anger, just a terrifying, familiar relief.
You pushed the door open. The brass bell chimed softly, a cheerful sound that felt entirely out of place against the low thrum of anxiety in your chest.
Yeosang was standing behind the stainless steel prep table.
He froze when the bell rang, his hands pausing over a massive bucket of imported white orchids. His gaze flicked past you, waiting for the tall, immaculate figure of your fiancé to step through the door behind you. When the door clicked shut and it was just you, the air in the room instantly thickened, heavy with unspoken things.
“He couldn’t make it,” you said, your voice sounding entirely too loud in the sudden quiet. “Work.”
Yeosang’s jaw tightened, a hard line etched into his profile. He didn’t say anything. He just reached for a towel, wiping the water and soil from his hands with slow, deliberate movements, like each gesture was carefully measured to prevent a tremor.
“I have the mockup ready,” he said quietly, his voice perfectly polite. Perfectly distant.
He stepped into the back cooler, the heavy door hissing shut behind him, leaving you alone for a few agonising seconds. He emerged a moment later, holding a bridal bouquet.
It was stunning. It was exactly what you and the wedding planner had designed—a cascading waterfall of pristine white orchids, heavy white roses, and silver-dusted greenery. It looked flawless. It looked expensive. It looked exactly like the life Seonghwa was offering you.
Yeosang walked around the counter and held it out to you.
You reached for it. As your fingers closed around the thick bundle of stems wrapped in heavy white satin, Yeosang didn’t immediately let go. His hand was warm beneath yours, a familiar, electric current that shot straight up your arm.
“Look down,” Yeosang murmured, his dark eyes fixed on your face, not on the bouquet. His voice was a low, rough whisper that barely carried over the drumming of rain against the window.
You blinked, confused, and slowly lowered your gaze to the top of the bouquet.
From the outside, it was a solid wall of perfect white. But buried deep in the absolute middle of the arrangement—tucked so perfectly that it was only visible if you were the one holding it, cradling it close—was a single, soft pink camellia.
“The planner said Mr. Park wanted pure white,” Yeosang continued, his voice dropping even lower, laced with a familiar, aching tenderness. “But I remember you told me once that all-white arrangements… they look like apologies.”
A cold shockwave ripped straight through your chest, stealing the air from your lungs.
“I tucked it deep,” Yeosang said, his gaze finally dropping from your face to the bouquet between your hands. “No one will see it in the photos. He won’t notice. But I thought… if your hands started shaking, if you looked down… you could see it. So you wouldn’t feel so alone up there.”
Your vision blurred instantly. The delicate pink camellia swam in your tears.
You looked up at him.
Yeosang was standing so close, his body radiating a heat that was both comforting and terrifying. The polite, professional mask he had been wearing all the time had completely fractured. He was looking at you with such profound, unguarded agony that it made your ribs ache, a physical manifestation of his own heartbreak.
You wanted to drop the flowers. You wanted to close the two inches of space separating your bodies, fist your hands in his dark apron, and pull him down into a kiss that would erase the last eight years entirely. Your body was screaming for him, violently rejecting the heavy diamond weighing down your left hand.
Yeosang’s eyes flared, he felt it. He felt the shift in the air, the way you leaned into his space, the way your breath hitched when his thumb unconsciously, almost imperceptibly, twitched against your knuckles.
He didn’t pull away. He didn't break eye contact.
His thumb moved again. Not a full stroke. Just a ghost of a touch, a whisper of pressure against the back of your hand, tracing the skin right next to your diamond ring. It was a feather-light brush, barely there, but it was enough. It was an almost-too-brave touch, a subtle claim that bypassed every logical thought in your head.
Your entire body convulsed. The physical contact, so fleeting yet so charged, bypassed your brain entirely, going straight for the part of you that remembered him. It was a memory of being twenty, pressed against him in the rain, his hands holding yours.
“Sangie,” you whimpered, the sound breaking from your lips, completely undone. Your voice was a plea, a question, a desperate confirmation that your body had entirely betrayed your carefully constructed life.
His gaze dropped to your lips, dark and hungry.
The bell above the door chimed loudly.
“Delivery!” a loud voice called out from the entryway.
You both jumped apart as if you had been burned.
The cold air rushed back into the space between you. The spell shattered, leaving behind a sharp, terrifying reality.
“I— I love it,” you stammered blindly, clutching the heavy orchids to your chest, your heart hammering a frantic, sickly rhythm against your ribs. You couldn’t look him in the eye anymore. If you looked at him again, you wouldn’t leave. “It’s perfect. Thank you.”
You turned and practically ran for the door, brushing past the delivery driver, pushing out into the spring rain.
You stood on the sidewalk, the rain soaking into your coat, entirely unable to breathe.
You had almost kissed him. You had almost thrown away your entire future.
But as you stood there, trembling on the street corner, the truth settled into your bones like lead. You were going to marry a man who looked right past you, while the man who had memorised your heart was arranging the flowers for your altar.
You were still in love with Kang Yeosang.
The garden outside the venue smelled like fresh-cut wood, cooling glue, and the faint green bite of crushed stems. Rows of white chairs sat perfectly aligned like teeth. The aisle runner was taped down at the corners, edges still curling slightly where the adhesive hadn’t fully set.
You stood at the altar with a stack of vows in your hand that felt like paper and lead at the same time.
You cleared your throat, forcing air into your lungs like you could bully your body into cooperating. “Seonghwa,” you began out loud, and your voice sounded too formal.
The words on the page were beautiful. They were the kind of vows that made people cry and whisper “they’re perfect for each other” into champagne glasses. They were full of stability and gratitude and a lifetime of choosing each other.
But when you tried to push them past your teeth, they caught.
They tasted like nothing.
You tried again, voice quieter, like softness would make it more believable. “Seonghwa… you are my safest place,” you read. Your throat tightened immediately, betrayed by the sentence.
Safest. Like a locked door.
Like a padded room.
Like a life you could survive even if you never truly lived inside it.
You blinked hard. Your eyes stung.
“From the moment you—” you forced out, but the words blurred. The ink on the page seemed to swim, slipping away from you like it didn’t want to be said either. Your hand trembled. You curled your fingers tighter around the paper until the edge crumpled.
A laugh tried to scrape up your throat but it came out as a strangled breath instead. You lowered the vows, pressing them to your stomach as if they could hold you together.
The garden was silent. And in that silence, the hollowness became undeniable. Not a dramatic realisation. Not a thunderclap. Just the slow, sick certainty that you could stand in front of a hundred people tomorrow and say all of this—
—and it would still be a performance.
You stared down the aisle. It was gorgeous already, even half-finished. Greenery draped along the edges. White blooms set in clusters like fallen stars. Someone had laid out the beginning of an arrangement at the front—loose stems, unopened buds, florist tape, a pair of shears resting on a cloth.
You hadn’t looked too closely when you came here.
You hadn’t asked who was doing the last-minute touch-ups.
A sound came from around the corner near the side entrance to the venue—soft, precise. A faint snip. Then the whisper of leaves sliding against one another. Someone exhaled, slow and controlled, as if they were trying not to be noticed.
You froze.
Your pulse kicked.
You moved to the side to see better and your eyes lifted.
Yeosang.
He wasn’t wearing the apron. Just a black shirt, sleeves pushed up, forearms bare, hands marked with faint scratches that looked too new. His hair was a little messy, like he’d been running his fingers through it without realising. He held a handful of greenery in one hand and his shears in the other. He stopped the second he realised you’d finally noticed him.
The empty air between you tightened, electric and fragile.
For a beat, neither of you spoke.
Your throat locked around his name, around every year you’d swallowed.
Yeosang’s gaze flicked to the vows in your hand. Then to your face. To the wet shine in your eyes you couldn’t hide fast enough.
His expression shifted—something tight in his jaw, something wounded and soft beneath it, like he’d been bracing for this kind of moment his whole life and still hadn’t learned how to survive it. “I didn’t mean to—” Yeosang started, voice low, roughened at the edges.
You shook your head too quickly. “Why are you here?”
It wasn’t an accusation. It was panic. It was grief trying to pretend it was anger.
Yeosang glanced down at the greenery like it could answer for him. “The aisle pieces weren’t done,” he said. “There was an issue with one of the foam bases. Wooyoung—” He stopped like saying Wooyoung’s name made him remember the whole ugly chain of protection and hurt. “I came to fix it.”
You stared at him, breathing too shallow. “You weren’t supposed to—”
“I know.” Yeosang’s voice sharpened, but not with cruelty. With restraint. With exhaustion. “I know what I’m ‘supposed’ to do.”
The word hung there, bitter.
Your fingers crushed the paper a little more.
You tried to speak again, but your voice shook. “You… you heard that.”
Yeosang didn’t answer at first. His gaze stayed on your face like it was painful. Like it was impossible not to look.
Then he nodded once. Small. Honest.
“Yes,” he said quietly. “I heard.”
Heat rushed up your neck. Shame, humiliation, something rawer. “I was just practicing.”
Yeosang’s mouth twitched, not quite a smile, not quite anything. “Yeah,” he said. “I noticed.”
The silence that followed was unbearable. You blinked and another tear slipped free, hot and stupid. You swiped at it angrily with the back of your hand, like you could erase the evidence.
Yeosang flinched at the motion, just a little.
Like he wanted to step forward.
Like he forced himself not to.
“You’re not… you’re not ready,” Yeosang said, and his voice wasn’t judgmental. It was wrecked. Like he was naming a bruise.
Your breath caught. “Don’t,” you whispered. “Don’t say it like that.”
“Like what?”
“Like you—” Your voice cracked. You lifted the vows slightly, helpless. “Like you can tell.”
Yeosang’s eyes dropped to the paper again. The edge was crumpled where your fingers had been crushing it. The ink was smudged by the sweat of your palm. Then his gaze lifted back to yours, too steady, too gentle.
“You’re crying,” he said simply. “In an empty garden.”
The words hit you right in the chest. Your body betrayed you completely—your chin trembled, your mouth opened, and the first real sob you’d been holding back tried to break loose.
You swallowed it down hard, shaking your head. “It’s just stress,” you lied.
Yeosang stared at you for a long moment. Then he set the greenery down on the nearest chair with hands that were too careful. He kept the shears in his right hand, but his grip loosened entirely, the heavy metal blades pointing toward the floor. It didn’t look like a tool anymore. It looked like he simply didn’t know what else to do with his hands.
He took a step closer.
Then another.
It wasn’t enough to touch you. It was just enough to make the air between you tighten, pulling taut like a wire right before it snaps. The sunlight caught him as he moved—illuminating his dark lashes, the sharp, rigid line of his jaw, and the faint, fresh scratches on his knuckles from working with the thorns. He swallowed hard, his throat bobbing, looking at you like he hated his own courage.
You couldn’t breathe. Your vows hung limp at your side, the heavy cardstock crumpled where your fingers had crushed it in frustration. You stared at him, entirely helpless, your eyes burning with the kind of tears you hated because they were too honest to hide.
“Say it to me,” Yeosang whispered.
“What?” you rasped, the word tearing out of your dry throat.
Yeosang’s eyes didn’t flinch away this time. They didn’t drop to the floor or seek the safety of the floral arrangements. They stayed locked on you, dark and open in the most terrifying way you had ever seen.
“Your vows,” he said, his voice carrying perfectly in the cavernous room. “Practise them with me.”
A cold wave washed through your chest, freezing the blood in your veins. “I can’t—”
“Yes, you can.” His voice cracked just slightly on the vowel, and in that tiny fracture, you heard the monumental effort it took him to stand in this aisle without falling apart. “No one’s here, Y/N. It’s just… chairs. Flowers.”
He swallowed again, his chest rising with a shaky breath.
Then, softer, like it physically hurt him to offer himself up: “And me.”
Your throat burned with sudden, fierce acidity. “Why would you want that?”
Yeosang’s jaw tightened hard enough that you saw the muscle jump beneath his skin. “Because I heard you choking on them,” he said, his voice dropping low, brutal with honesty. “And I know you’re trying to force something out of your mouth that your body doesn’t believe.”
You flinched as if he had struck you.
Yeosang took another half-step forward—still agonisingly careful.
“Just read them,” he urged quietly. “If they’re true, you’ll be able to say them.”
Your vision blurred entirely, the perfectly aligned rows of chairs melting into a sea of white. “That’s not fair,” you whispered, a tear breaking free and cutting a hot path down your cheek.
Yeosang’s laugh came out dark and hollow, sounding like a bruise being pressed too hard. “Yeah,” he agreed quietly. “No shit.”
The words hung between you, heavy with the weight of the last eight years, thick with everything else he’d never gotten to say.
Your hands shook violently as you lifted the crumpled paper again.
The empty chairs watched you like ghosts waiting for a confession.
You stared at the first line until the letters stopped swimming in your tears. Then, you forced air into your tight lungs and tried. “Seonghwa,” you began, your voice trembling so badly it echoed off the glass ceiling.
Yeosang didn’t move. He didn’t interrupt. He just watched you, his posture rigid, like a man bracing for an inevitable impact.
You swallowed the lump in your throat. “From the moment I met you…” The words came out, but they felt entirely foreign on your tongue, like you were reading someone else’s script in a language you barely understood. Your voice echoed back at you, flat. Hollow. Unconvincing.
Your breath hitched.
You tried again, pushing harder, desperate to make it sound real. “You are my safest place.”
Your eyes stung instantly with fresh tears. Yeosang’s gaze flicked away for a fraction of a second—almost imperceptible—but you caught it. He looked away like the word safest had cut him, hurting him for reasons you didn’t even deserve to understand.
He turned his head back to you and said, very quietly, “Don’t read it.”
You looked up at him, absolute panic seizing your chest.
“Say what you actually mean.”
Your mouth opened to argue, to defend the vows, but nothing came out. Instead, a ragged sob tore its way up your throat.
“I— I don’t know how.”
Yeosang’s expression softened then, melting into something devastating. It wasn’t pity. It wasn’t the bitter anger he had shown in the shop. It was just profound, quiet understanding—an understanding that looked like it had cost him everything he had left.
“Yes, you do,” he whispered softly. “You just don’t want to admit it out loud.”
Your whole body shook. You stared at him through the blur of your tears, and the words came out before you could stop them—ragged, broken, and terrifyingly real.
“I can’t promise him forever,” you choked out, the confession shattering the quiet of the hall. “I can’t— when I say it, it feels like I'm lying.”
Yeosang went very, very still. You watched his face change like a storm passing over a dark lake—shock, sharp pain, and then something dangerously close to relief that made him look sick with himself for feeling it.
Your chest heaved as you tried to catch your breath. You wiped frantically at your face with the back of your hand, smearing tears across your cheek. “I’m trying,” you whispered, pleading with him to understand. “I swear I’m trying, Yeosang. I just— I keep opening my mouth, and it’s like… it won’t come out. Like my body is refusing to do it.”
Yeosang stared at you, his breathing turning shallow and fast.Then he spoke, his voice rough, scraping against his throat, yet almost unbearably gentle. “Okay,” he hesitated. “Then don’t say it to... him.”
Your heart lurched against your ribs. “What?”
Yeosang’s dark eyes held yours, entirely unflinching. “Say it to me,” he repeated. His throat bobbed. “Not because I want you to,” he said, his hands flexing at his sides. “Not because I—” His jaw clenched tight, and he swallowed hard, forcing himself to push through the lie. “Because I want to help you. Because I can take it.”
You shook your head, crying harder at the sheer cruelty of his offer. “No—”
“I’m serious.” His voice cracked again, just once, and the sound made your ribs ache with phantom pain. “If you’re going to practice a lie, don’t practice it on someone who thinks it’s true love. Practice it on someone who already knows exactly what it costs.”
Your knees felt weak.
The entire garden seemed to tilt on its axis.
Your trembling fingers crumpled the heavy cardstock of the vows one last time, and then, slowly, you let your grip loosen. The paper fluttered to the ground between you, landing with a soft, dismissive tap.
You lifted your chin—shaking, sobbing, absolutely furious with yourself for letting it get this far—and you looked straight into Yeosang’s eyes.
He looked back.
He didn’t blink.
He didn’t let you look away to hide.
And the second you truly held his gaze, standing there in the ruins of your own wedding rehearsal, something inside you finally, irreversibly snapped into place.
Your voice came out shredded, barely recognisable. “I—” You swallowed, a sob punching its way out of your chest. “I promise to choose you.”
Yeosang didn’t move. But his eyes went glossy immediately, shining like you’d struck him somewhere incredibly soft and vital.
“I promise to— to keep choosing you even when it’s hard,” you choked out, and the words weren’t coming from a script. They were being pulled directly from your bones. “Even when I’m terrified. Even when I want to run away. Even when everyone in the world tells me what I should want instead.”
“I promise to stop looking for you in every other person I meet.”
Yeosang’s breath hitched loudly.
“I promise to remember the boy who used to stay on the phone with me until 2 AM just so I wouldn’t have to listen to the thunderstorms,” you wept, the memories spilling out of you, painting the empty space between you with the ghosts of who you used to be. “The boy who mapped out the stars with me on the hood of his mother’s car. The boy who knew exactly how to make me laugh when I was trying so hard to be perfect.”
Yeosang went entirely still. His eyes widened, shining as the words struck him right in his chest.
“I spent years trying to build a life that felt safe,” you sobbed, taking a tiny, agonising step toward him. “I thought safe meant sturdy. I thought it meant predictability, and a man who never made a mess. But I was wrong.”
You shook your head.
“You are my safe place, Yeosang,” you choked out. “You always were. You’re the one who remembers my favourite flower even when it breaks your own heart to look at them. You’re the one standing here, bleeding yourself dry, just to give me the beautiful things I asked for.”
Yeosang’s jaw trembled violently. A single, heavy tear finally broke free, cutting a hot path down his cheek, betraying the iron will he had held onto for days.
“So I promise to love you,” you cried, the words tearing out of your throat like a desperate, holy confession. “I promise to love you when it’s messy. I promise to love you when it ruins the plan. I promise to love you even when I’m terrified, even when everyone in the world tells me I should want something easier.”
“I promise I won’t leave you behind again,” you whispered, your voice breaking violently. “I promise I’ll stop pretending I can survive this life without you. I love you. I never, ever stopped.”
Yeosang’s face broke.
It didn't happen loudly. It wasn't dramatic. It was just the smallest, most devastating fracture—his dark lashes lowering, his rigid jaw trembling, and a single, heavy tear slipping down his cheek as if his body had finally betrayed his iron will, too.
He whispered your name, the sound caught somewhere between a desperate warning and a holy prayer.
And then—like he simply couldn’t help it anymore, like eight years of restraint had finally, spectacularly lost the fight—Yeosang stepped in.
It was slow. Agonisingly careful.
Like he was asking for permission with every inch he crossed.
His fingers brushed the back of your hand first. A feather-light, electric touch. Then, his hand slid down and closed completely around yours, his grip warm, calloused, and shaking, grounding you instantly. His thumb slid over your knuckles, one soft, reverent stroke—then moved lower, tracking slowly toward your ring finger.
The heavy diamond caught the light between you, flashing brilliantly.
Yeosang’s breath hitched again. His thumb paused right beside the platinum band, hovering just over the metal, not touching it, acting as if the stone itself might burn him to ash.
He swallowed hard.
His voice came out entirely wrecked.
“You don’t get to promise me things,” he whispered, his eyes shining bright with unshed tears, “the day before you marry him.”
And still—despite the ring, despite the venue, despite the reality of tomorrow—he didn’t let go.
His grip tightened around your hand, just enough to say, I’m here. I caught you.
“Say it again,” he breathed, the words sounding like they physically hurt him to ask. Like he needed them to survive the night. “Look at me and say it again.”
You looked straight into his dark, desperate eyes and you meant it so fiercely it felt like it might actually kill you.
“I love you,” you whispered.
Yeosang squeezed your hand, the pressure as gentle and permanent as a vow. And you stood there in the quiet garden, shaking violently, your ring finger throbbing under the weight of a diamond that suddenly felt like a massive, heavy lie you couldn’t bear to wear for another second—
—when the sharp echo of footsteps sounded at the entrance to the venue.
The heavy double doors clicked open.
“Love? Are you still in here?”
Panic, cold and sharp, flooded your veins. Your breath hitched violently in your chest. Yeosang’s eyes snapped from the double doors back to your face. He felt the violent flinch of your hand inside his. He saw the sheer, unadulterated terror crash over your features. You were caught. You had just confessed your soul to the florist standing at your wedding altar, and the man who bought the flowers was walking right toward you.
You opened your mouth, but no sound came out. You didn’t know what to do. You didn’t know how to detonate your entire life in the next ten seconds.
But Yeosang knew.
He looked at you, his dark eyes softening into something so profoundly selfless and agonising that it stole the rest of your breath.
I’ve got you, that look said. I’ve always got you.
And then, he let you go.
The loss of his warmth was so sudden and absolute that you almost stumbled forward. Yeosang took a massive, deliberate step backward, putting a safe, sterile chasm of space between you.
In the blink of an eye, the man who had just looked at you like you were his entire world vanished. Yeosang turned away, his shoulders pulling back into that rigid, perfectly contained posture. He bent down, scooped up his wire cutters from the chair, and seamlessly grabbed a heavy trailing branch of eucalyptus.
The metal shears snapped with a loud, mechanical clack.
“There you are,” Seonghwa said, stepping out from behind the rows of white satin chairs. He looked immaculate in a dark navy shirt, his hair perfectly swept back. “The planner said you came back in here to practice your...”
Seonghwa’s voice trailed off as he noticed you standing perfectly still in the middle of the aisle.
He walked up, closing the distance, and casually draped his arm around your waist. His hand rested heavily against the curve of your hip—a physical, undeniable claim.
“Are you alright, Y/N?” Seonghwa murmured, his brow furrowing slightly as he looked at your face. “Your eyes are completely red. Have you been crying?”
You couldn’t speak. Your vocal cords felt like they had been severed. You could still feel the phantom pressure of Yeosang’s thumb tracing the skin right next to your diamond ring.
Before you could force a lie out of your mouth, Yeosang answered for you.
“The pollen from the lilies,” Yeosang said smoothly.
You flinched.
Yeosang didn’t turn around. He kept his back to both of you, aggressively wiring the eucalyptus to the copper frame of the archway. His voice was completely flat. Dead. The perfect, polite tone of a hired vendor addressing a wealthy client.
“I had to unpack a fresh crate of stargazers about ten minutes ago,” Yeosang continued, his hands moving with mechanical precision. “The pollen count is exceptionally high right now. It usually causes severe eye irritation and watering if you aren’t used to it. I apologise, Mr. Park. I should have warned her.”
Seonghwa’s expression cleared instantly, shifting from concerned fiancé to understanding.
“Ah, I see,” Seonghwa said easily, pulling you a fraction closer to his side. “No harm done, Yeosang-ssi. I appreciate you working after hours to get the archway perfect for tomorrow.”
“It’s my job,” Yeosang replied.
He snapped the wire cutters again. The sound was deafening.
As he shifted his weight to reach higher on the arch, his heavy work boot slid subtly across the ground. With one smooth, invisible motion, he kicked the crumpled ball of cardstock—your discarded, hollow wedding vows—completely under the nearest chair, hiding the evidence of your breakdown from Seonghwa’s line of sight.
He was protecting you. He was swallowing his own pride, acting like the hired help, and cleaning up your mess so you wouldn’t have to face Seonghwa’s anger before you were ready.
It was the most beautiful, devastating act of love you had ever witnessed. And it made you sick.
“Well, we should get out of here before your allergies get any worse, love,” Seonghwa said, completely oblivious to the massacre that had just occurred in this garden. He looked down at you, his smile perfectly kind. “We have an early morning tomorrow. It’s the big day.”
“Yes,” you whispered, your voice sounding like dry leaves. “The big day.”
Seonghwa gently turned you around, guiding you back up the aisle, away from the altar.
You couldn’t stop yourself, you looked back over your shoulder. Yeosang had finally stopped working. He was standing perfectly still beneath the massive canopy of white flowers he had built for you. He was watching you walk away with another man, his hands gripping the metal shears so tightly his knuckles were bone-white.
He didn’t look angry. He just looked like a man who had survived the blast, only to realise he was going to bleed out in the rubble.
“Have a good evening, Yeosang-ssi,” Seonghwa called out politely over his shoulder.
“Congratulations on your wedding, Mr. Park,” Yeosang’s voice drifted back, echoing like a ghost.
The bridal suite was a suffocating blur of motion, noise, and pastel silk. Someone popped a bottle of champagne, the cork hitting the ceiling with a sharp crack that made you flinch. Laughter bubbled up around you. Three of your bridesmaids were crowded by the massive floor-to-ceiling windows, adjusting their dresses, while the makeup artist hovered over you with a setting spray.
“Close your eyes, sweetie,” the artist cooed, her hands smelling like lavender.
You closed your eyes. The cool mist hit your face, locking your makeup into place. It felt like a final seal.
When you opened your eyes again and looked in the massive gilded mirror, a stranger looked back at you. Your hair was pinned into an immaculate, flawless updo. Your skin glowed. You were wearing heavy, white, designer gown. You looked exactly like the bride Park Seonghwa deserved.
You looked like a ghost.
Your heart was hammering a frantic, sickly rhythm against your ribs. Every time the heavy wooden door to the suite shifted, your breath caught.
You were waiting for him.
You needed Yeosang to walk through that door. After last night, after the way he had stepped back and swallowed his own agony just to shield you from Seonghwa’s presence, you needed to see him. You needed him to look at you in all this white and tell you it was okay. Or, God help you, you needed him to look at you and tell you not to do it.
Knock. Knock.
The sound cut through the chatter of the room.
“Oh, that must be the florist!” your maid of honour gasped, rushing to the door. “Finally! We need the bouquets for the photos!”
Your lungs seized entirely. You stared at the reflection of the door in the mirror, waiting for the blonde hair, the broad shoulders, the dark green apron.
The door swung open.
It wasn’t him.
A kid stood in the hallway. He couldn’t have been older than nineteen, wearing a faded denim jacket and a baseball cap pulled low over his forehead. He looked entirely out of place in the opulent hotel hallway, shifting awkwardly from foot to foot as he balanced two boxes in his arms.
“Delivery for the bride?” the kid mumbled, looking overwhelmed by the room full of women.
The air rushed out of your lungs in a silent, devastating exhale.
Yeosang didn’t come.
He had packed the van. He had built the altar. But he couldn’t walk into this room and hand you the flowers you were going to hold when you married another man. He couldn’t look at you in the white dress. It was the one boundary his broken heart simply couldn’t cross.
“Bring them in, bring them in!” your maid of honour ushered the boy inside, pointing to the table.
The kid set a massive, temperature-controlled white box down on the glass table. He popped the lid off, and the bridesmaids immediately let out a collective gasp of awe.
“Oh, Y/N,” one of your friends breathed, lifting the main bouquet out of the box. “It’s absolutely breathtaking.”
It was flawless. It was expensive. It was heavy enough to make your wrists ache, and it smelled exactly like the cold, sterile perfection of the life you were about to step into.
You stared at it, feeling entirely numb.
“Wait,” the delivery kid said, digging into the smaller, second box he had tucked under his arm. “The boss said... uh, he said this one has to go directly to you. He was really specific about it.”
The chatter in the room died down. Your maid of honour frowned, lowering the massive bouquet. “A second one? For what, the toss?”
The kid didn’t answer her. He just walked around the table, holding out a much smaller bundle wrapped in simple brown craft paper.
You reached out with trembling hands and pulled the brown paper back.
It wasn’t orchids. It wasn’t lilies.
It was a small, humble cluster of light pink carnations. The petals were soft, with those frayed, crushed-velvet edges Yeosang remembered you loved. They were tucked between fragile, cheap sprigs of baby’s breath. And binding the stems together was a single, plain white ribbon, tied in a slightly messy bow.
The floor dropped out from under you.
You were high school freshman again.
“I love you,” Yeosang said.
“I know,” you whispered, “I’ve been trying not to say it first.”
“What?”
You lifted the bouquet, carnations brushing his chest, and you looked up at him like he was the only person on earth.
“I love you too,” you said.
A violent sob ripped out of your throat.
It was so loud, so guttural and broken, that the delivery kid took a step back in alarm.
“Y/N?!” one of the bridesmaids rushed toward you. “Oh my god, what’s wrong? Are you okay?”
You couldn’t answer her. You pulled the small bouquet of carnations tight against your chest, burying your face in the soft pink petals. They smelled like damp earth. They smelled like the truth.
This wasn’t just a memory. It was his final goodbye.
Yeosang was returning your vow from the night before. I love you, this little bouquet said. I love you enough to let you walk away. I love you enough to give you exactly what you asked for, even if it kills me.
“Don’t cry, sweetie, please, your lashes are going to unglue!” the makeup artist shrieked, hovering around you with a tissue. “Look up! Look at the ceiling!”
But you couldn’t look at the ceiling. You looked at yourself in the mirror. You looked at the heavy diamond on your finger, the white dress, and the terrified, weeping girl holding a bodega-style bouquet of carnations against her heart as if it were a life jacket.
You were lying. To Seonghwa, to your family, and to yourself.
And Yeosang was currently somewhere in this city, bleeding out in silence, because he loved you too much to stop you from making the biggest mistake of your life.
You lowered the flowers. Your tears were falling freely now.
“Y/N, you’re shaking,” the maid of honour said, her voice dropping into a panicked whisper as she grabbed your arms. “Hey, look at me. It’s just nerves. Everyone gets cold feet, okay? Seonghwa is waiting downstairs. He loves you.”
You looked at her. The absolute, undeniable clarity of the moment hit you with the force of a freight train.
“I can’t,” you whispered, your voice shredded, but steady for the first time in eight years.
She froze. “What?”
“I can’t do this,” you said louder, stepping back, pulling out of her grip. You looked down at the massive, expensive bouquet on the table, and then down at the pink carnations in your hand. “I can’t walk down that aisle. I can’t marry him.”
The room went dead silent. The only sound was the ticking of the clock on the wall, counting down to a wedding that was never going to happen. The heavy silk of the designer gown was laced tight against your ribs, a beautiful, suffocating cage. The massive train pooled around your feet.
“Y/N, you’re not making any sense,” your maid of honour panicked, stepping forward with her hands raised as if to physically hold you in place. “You just have cold feet—”
“No,” you said, your voice entirely steady, cutting through the frantic noise of the bridal suite. “I have been entirely numb for eight years. I am just finally waking up.”
You looked down at the floor. The expensive, crystal-embellished heels strapped to your feet felt like lead weights. You didn’t hesitate. You reached down, your fingers fumbling blindly with the delicate silver clasps, and tore them off.
You kicked the shoes away and they clattered uselessly. The cold marble floor sent a sharp, grounding shock up through your bare soles. You were done playing a part. You were done wearing the costume of a woman who cared more about a pristine aesthetic than the man who held her heart.
“Y/N, what are you doing?!” the makeup artist shrieked as you grabbed the fistfuls of heavy white tulle and hiked the massive skirt up to your knees.
“Tell Seonghwa I am so incredibly sorry,” you said, looking at your maid of honour with pleading, desperate eyes. “Tell him he deserves a woman who looks at him the way I look at Yeosang. Because I can’t be her.”
And then you took of the diamond ring, giving it to one of the bridesmaids and you ran.
You grabbed your purse and didn’t look back. You burst out of the heavy wooden doors of the bridal suite, your bare feet slapping hard against the carpeted hallway.
“Y/N! Wait!”
The voices of your bridesmaids faded behind you as you hit the elevator bank. You slammed your palm against the button, your chest heaving, the small bouquet of pink carnations clutched so tightly to your chest that the delicate stems threatened to snap.
When the doors opened to the lobby, the entire room stopped. Guests in tailored suits and elegant dresses froze, staring in absolute shock as a bride in a breathtaking, custom white gown sprinted through the lobby entirely barefoot. You didn’t care. You didn’t care about the stares, the whispers, or the absolute spectacle you were making.
You hit the heavy revolving doors and spilled out onto the sidewalk.
The rough asphalt bit into your bare feet. You didn’t stop. You ran to the edge of the curb and threw your free hand out at a passing taxi.
The cab screeched to a halt.
The driver’s eyes went wide in the rearview mirror as you threw the back door open and shoved the massive, obnoxious volume of white tulle into the backseat, climbing in after it.
“Where to, miss?” the driver stammered, staring at your tear-streaked, frantic face.
You gasped the address, completely breathless, looking down at the crushed pink petals in your hands. “Please. Drive as fast as you can. Please.”
The city rushed by in a blur of grey and silver. Every red light felt like an eternity. Every stopped car felt like a physical barrier keeping you from breathing. You looked down at your feet—the pristine white hem of the designer gown was already stained grey with street dirt, and there was a small scrape on your ankle.
The cab slammed to a halt at the curb. The street was quiet. The sign in the window of ‘Ethereal Blooms’ was flipped to the dark side. CLOSED.
Panic seized your throat. What if he was at the venue? What if you had broken him so badly that he couldn’t even stand to be in the shop where you had handed him that black card?
You rushed the door and grabbed the heavy brass handle.
You pulled. The door yielded. The cheerful, sharp ding-dong of the brass bell shattered the heavy silence of the street. You stepped inside, the humid air wrapping around you. The shop was empty. The lights were off, save for the single bulb hanging over the stainless steel prep table in the back.
And then, you saw him.
Yeosang was sitting on the floor behind the counter, his back pressed hard against the wooden cabinets. His knees were pulled up, his arms resting on them, his head bowed so low you could only see his messy blonde hair. He was absolutely, entirely still. He looked like a man who had just returned from a funeral.
The soft rustle of your heavy dress dragged through the quiet shop.
Yeosang flinched. He thought the shop was locked. Slowly, as if the physical movement caused him excruciating pain, he lifted his head.
His eyes were completely red, rimmed with dark, bruised exhaustion.
When he saw you standing there, the breath left his lungs in a sharp, audible rush. He stared at you. He stared at the massive, ridiculous white gown taking up all the space in his small, earthy shop.
And then, his dark, devastated eyes dropped to the floor.
He saw your bare feet.
He saw the dirty hem of the dress.
Yeosang scrambled to his feet so fast he knocked a plastic bucket of water over. It crashed to the floor, spilling across the tiles, but neither of you looked at it.
He gripped the edge of the wooden counter, his knuckles stark white, his chest heaving as if he had been the one running. He looked terrified. He looked like his mind couldn’t comprehend the hallucination standing in front of him.
“Y/N,” Yeosang breathed, his voice cracking violently, sounding utterly wrecked. “What are you doing here? You’re supposed to be… you’re supposed to be walking down the aisle right now.”
You took a step toward the counter. The silk rustled loudly.
“I am,” you sobbed, the tears spilling over your lashes, blurring your vision.
You lifted your hands. Your fingers were trembling violently as you held out the small, bundle of pink carnations, the cheap white ribbon hanging loose from the stems.
“I just had to find the right altar,” you wept.
Yeosang looked from the crushed pink petals up to your face, searching your eyes with a desperate, agonising hope that he was entirely afraid to believe.
“I couldn’t do it,” you choked out, taking another step, bringing you right to the edge of the wooden counter. “I didn't say the vows, Yeosang. I left the ring. I left the bouquet in the box.”
Yeosang’s hands let go of the counter. He was shaking. His entire body was trembling as he stepped around the register, closing the physical distance between you until there was nothing left but the heavy tulle of your dress.
“You ran,” Yeosang whispered, staring down at your bare, dirt-smudged feet. A broken, breathless sound escaped his throat—a laugh that sounded exactly like a sob. “You ran through the city barefoot.”
“I would have run through fire,” you cried, looking up into his dark, beautiful eyes. “I love you. I love you, and I am so entirely sorry it took me eight years to come back and realise that safe isn’t a place. It’s you. It was always you.”
Yeosang didn’t say another word. He didn’t need to.
He reached out, his dirt-stained hands grabbing the pristine white silk of your waist, and hauled you flush against his chest. He didn’t care about the dress. He didn’t care about the mess. He crushed his mouth down onto yours, swallowing the rest of your apologies in a kiss that tasted like salt, tears, and absolute, undeniable salvation.
You dropped the carnations. They tumbled to the floor, landing in the spilled water, perfectly safe.
You threw your arms around his neck, tangling your fingers in his hair, kissing him back with all the desperate, starving grief of the last eight years. Yeosang’s arms wrapped around you like a vice, holding you so tightly it knocked the air from your lungs.
He was holding you. He was finally, truly holding you.
You were standing barefoot in a puddle of water, ruining a designer gown against a florist’s dirty apron, and for the first time in your entire life, everything was exactly where it belonged.
The kiss broke, but neither of you pulled away.
You stayed pressed together, your foreheads resting against each other, both of you gasping for air in the quiet, damp sanctuary of the shop. Yeosang’s hands were still locked around your waist, his grip bruising and desperate, as if he was entirely convinced that if he let go for even a fraction of a second, he would wake up from this dream.
“You’re here,” Yeosang whispered into the space between you, his voice thick with tears and sheer, unfiltered disbelief. “You’re actually here.”
“I’m here,” you promised, your hands sliding up from his neck to cradle his face. Your thumbs brushed over his cheekbones, wiping away the tear tracks that had fallen there. “I’m not going anywhere. I’m never leaving you again.”
Yeosang opened his eyes. They were dark, shining, and entirely undone. He pulled back just an inch to look at you. His gaze swept over your beautifully styled hair, the slightly ruined makeup on your cheeks, and the absolute, ridiculous volume of the designer wedding gown taking up half the floor space in his small shop.
Then, he looked down at his own hands. His fingers were stained with chlorophyll and potting soil from working through the night. Where he was holding you, dark handprints were pressed starkly into the immaculate, pearl-white silk of your waistline.
Yeosang flinched. The ghost of his insecurity—the boy who couldn’t afford the imported flowers, the man who had been handed a black card over this very counter—flared up.
“Oh god,” Yeosang breathed, immediately trying to pull his hands back. “Y/N, the dress. I’m ruining it. I’ve got dirt all over—”
“Don't,” you commanded softly, your hands shooting down to catch his wrists before he could drop his arms.
You pulled his dirty hands right back to your waist, pressing them firmly against the expensive silk. You held his gaze, fiercely, undeniably certain.
“Ruin it,” you whispered, a watery smile breaking across your face. “Please. Ruin it, Yeosang. I never want to be perfectly clean without you again.”
Yeosang stared at you, his breath catching in his throat. The last wall guarding his heart completely collapsed. A stunning, devastatingly beautiful smile broke across his face—the first real, genuine smile you had seen from him in eight years. It reached his eyes, bright and blinding, entirely washing away the hollow ghost he had been since you walked into his shop.
He let out a wet, breathless laugh, his hands tightening on your waist, uncaring of the mud or the silk. “You are absolutely insane,” Yeosang murmured, shaking his head in awe.
“I know,” you laughed, a sob catching in your throat as the sheer adrenaline of the run finally began to fade, leaving you trembling.
Yeosang felt the tremor run through your body. His smile softened into something deeply tender and protective. He looked down at the floor, his eyes landing on your bare, freezing feet. The scrape on your ankle was bleeding slightly, and your soles were black from the city asphalt.
“Come here,” Yeosang said quietly, his voice shifting into a steady, grounding warmth.
He carefully disentangled himself from your arms and stepped back. He reached down and gently picked up the crushed bouquet of pink carnations from the puddle on the floor. He didn’t throw them away. He walked over to the stainless steel prep table, picked up a beautiful, expensive crystal vase that was supposed to hold imported lilies, and placed your humble carnations inside it instead.
Then he walked past the counter, guiding you by the hand toward the back corner of the shop, where a worn, dark green velvet armchair sat half-hidden behind a massive Monstera plant.
“Sit,” he instructed gently, pressing on your shoulders until you sank into the soft velvet. The heavy tulle of your skirt spilled out around the chair like a massive white cloud, completely ridiculous in the earthy, rustic space of the flower shop. Yeosang didn’t seem to care. He walked over to a small sink in the corner, grabbed a clean white towel, and ran it under the warm water.
When he came back, he didn’t stand over you.
The man who had been forced to play the polite, invisible vendor dropped directly to his knees on the hard tile floor.
“Yeosang, you don’t have to—” you started, instinctively trying to pull your dirty feet back under the enormous skirt.
“Shh,” Yeosang interrupted softly, his hands catching your ankles. His touch was incredibly gentle. “Let me take care of you.”
You fell silent, the tears welling up in your eyes all over again.
Yeosang knelt before you in his apron, the warm, damp towel in his hands. With excruciating care, he began to wipe the cold city street dirt away from the soles of your feet. He cleaned the small scrape on your ankle with the quiet, reverent devotion of a man handling something infinitely precious.
It was the exact opposite of Seonghwa throwing a black card on a counter to buy a solution. This was Yeosang offering you the only thing he had ever had to give: his time, his hands, and his absolute, unwavering care.
“Seonghwa is going to kill me,” Yeosang murmured into the quiet shop, keeping his eyes on his task, carefully wiping away a smudge of grease from your heel.
You let your head fall back against the velvet chair, staring at the ceiling, feeling lighter than you had in years. “He’s going to have to get in line behind my parents.”
Yeosang let out a low, genuine laugh. The sound sent a warm shiver straight down your spine.
You looked down at him. You looked at his face, the messy blonde hair, and the way he was kneeling in a puddle of water just to make sure you weren’t cold. You thought about the penthouse, the perfectly controlled temperature, and the suffocating, predictable safety of the life you had just outrun.
Yeosang got up and his hands found your waist, hauling you up from the velvet cushions until you were standing flush against his chest.
And his lips pressed into yours.
Yeosang’s mouth was desperate, his lips parted yours, his tongue sweeping in, hot and demanding, swallowing the soft gasp that tore out of your throat.
Your hands tangled in his hair, holding him to you as tightly as you could. You kissed him back with all the violent, pent-up yearning that had been quietly suffocating you.
“Yeosang,” you whimpered against his mouth, your knees going weak as his hands slid down to grip your hips, holding you steady against him.
“I’ve got you,” Yeosang breathed roughly against your lips. He pressed his forehead against yours, his chest heaving. “I’ve got you. I’m not letting go.”
But the dress was in the way. The heavy material and the ridiculous layers of stiff tulle were a suffocating barrier between you. It belonged to a life you had just killed. It belonged to the man standing alone at an empty altar.
“Take it off,” you whispered, your voice trembling with a terrifying, beautiful certainty. You stepped closer, the tulle crushing between your legs. “Take this dress off me. I don’t want it anymore. I don’t want any of it.”
Yeosang’s didn't hesitate. His hands, still stained with the earth from the flowers he had built for your wedding, went straight to the back of the gown. His calloused fingers found the delicate, hidden zipper buried beneath the row of pearl buttons.
He unzipped it. The sound was loud in the quiet shop—a single, smooth rip that tore the cage entirely open.
The heavy bodice immediately loosened, the suffocating pressure falling away from your ribs. You let out a deep, shuddering gasp of real air.
Yeosang’s hands slid over your bare shoulders, pushing the heavy silk straps down your arms. His touch was incredibly reverent, almost trembling, as if he couldn’t believe you were finally real and pliant beneath his hands. The expensive gown slid down your body, the heavy tulle pooling uselessly on the damp tile floor around your bare feet, mixing with the spilled water and the dirt.
You stood before him in nothing but the delicate white lace of your undergarments, entirely stripped of the bride you were supposed to be.
Yeosang looked at you. The absolute, unadulterated worship in his gaze made your breath catch in your throat. He wasn’t looking at a pristine aesthetic. He was looking at the woman he loved, messy, bare, and entirely his.
“You are so beautiful,” Yeosang whispered. He reached out, his warm, rough fingertips tracing the line of your collarbone, sending a violent shiver crashing through your nervous system. “It killed me, Y/N. Every single day, it killed me to look at you and not be able to do this.”
“You don't have to look from a distance anymore,” you breathed, stepping out of the puddle of ruined white silk.
You reached for him this time. Your hands found the hem of his apron, pulling it up and over his head. He helped you, tossing the shirt and the dirty apron blindly over his shoulder. They landed somewhere in the dark shadows of the shop, entirely forgotten.
His chest was bare, warm, and rising rapidly. You pressed your palms flat against his skin, feeling the frantic, hammering rhythm of his heart beneath your fingertips. It was beating entirely for you.
Outside, the sky broke. A heavy rain began to fall, drumming a soft, rhythmic hum against the large glass windows of the storefront, isolating the two of you entirely from the rest of the world.
Yeosang moved forward, his arms wrapping around your bare waist. He lifted you effortlessly, your legs wrapping instinctively around his hips. You gasped, burying your face in the crook of his neck, breathing in the scent of his skin—rain, clean sweat, and the faint, sweet ghost of eucalyptus.
He carried you through the dark, humid shop, past the buckets of hydrangeas and the cooler full of the white roses. He walked through the curtain into the small, private back room of the shop, where a worn, velvet sofa sat under a single, dim lamp.
He laid you down against the dark velvet, following you down immediately, his body pressing a heavy, grounding weight over yours.
When Yeosang kissed you this time, it was a brand-new vow. It was slow, deliberate, and fiercely devoted. His hands mapped the curves of your body, learning the shape of you all over again, his calloused thumbs brushing over your skin with a tenderness that brought fresh, hot tears to your eyes.
Every touch was a confession. Every kiss was an apology for the time you had wasted.
“I love you,” Yeosang murmured against your skin, his lips trailing down your jaw, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses to the sensitive column of your neck. “Only you. Always you.”
You gasped his name, your back arching off the velvet as his hands slid lower, tracing the dip of your waist, leaving a trail of fire everywhere he touched.
You pulled him closer, your nails digging lightly into his shoulders, anchoring him to you. The damp, earthy air of the flower shop wrapped around you both, thick and suffocatingly intimate.
There was no hesitation left. There was no fear of making a mistake. As the rain beat heavily against the roof, drowning out the noise of the city.
His hands were rough from years of working with soil and thorns, but the way they moved over your skin was painfully gentle, as if he were handling the most delicate bloom in his shop. He kissed away the tears that finally slipped free from the corners of your eyes—tears not of grief, but of absolute, overwhelming relief.
“You’re mine,” Yeosang whispered fiercely, his voice a ragged rasp against your collarbone, his breathing just as unsteady as yours. “Tell me you’re mine.”
“I’m yours,” you choked out, pulling him down, entirely desperate for the heavy, grounding weight of him against you. “I always was.”
The rest of the delicate white lace was discarded into the shadows. In the dim, golden light of the back room, there was nothing left to hide, no more roles to play. There was only the slide of his feverish skin against yours, the desperate tangle of your limbs, and the release of years of starvation.
He didn’t rush. Despite the frantic pounding of his heart against your chest, he loved you with a devastating, breathtaking patience. Every brush of his lips, every agonisingly slow drag of his hands down your thighs, was designed to make you feel exactly how deeply you were worshipped. He moved with a rhythm that matched the rain pounding against the roof, drowning out the world you had left behind.
You were completely consumed by the heat of him, the intoxicating scent of eucalyptus and rain, and the blinding, undeniable certainty that you were finally exactly where you were always meant to be.
The brass bell above the door of ‘Ethereal Blooms’ chimed, a cheerful, bright sound that cut through the warm, humid air of the shop. You didn’t flinch at the sound anymore. You just smiled, reaching up to push a stray lock of hair out of your face with the back of your wrist.
“Have a wonderful afternoon!” you called out over the counter, handing a wrapped bundle of bright yellow sunflowers to a smiling customer. “Make sure to trim the stems at an angle when you put them in water!”
The customer waved, the heavy glass door clicking shut behind them, leaving the shop bathed in the quiet, golden light of late afternoon.
You let out a happy sigh, leaning against the wooden counter. You looked down at your hands. Your fingernails were clipped short, and there was a faint smudge of dark potting soil on your left thumb.
There was no massive, heavy diamond weighing down your ring finger anymore. In its place sat a simple diamond on a thin band of silver. It wasn’t loud. It wasn’t a status symbol meant to be flashed at dinners. It was just a quiet, permanent promise that Yeosang had slipped onto your finger few months ago, standing right here in the middle of the shop.
You wiped your hands on the front of your dark green canvas apron—your apron—and turned around. The shop looked different than it had a year ago. It was still earthy, still filled with the intoxicating scent of damp soil and crushed eucalyptus, but it was warmer now. The heavy, suffocating shadows that used to cling to the corners were entirely gone.
Footsteps sounded from the back room. Yeosang pushed through the heavy canvas curtain, carrying a fresh galvanised bucket of water. He was wearing his usual faded t-shirt and work boots, his now dark cherry hair pushed back from his forehead.
When he looked up and saw you standing at the register, he stopped.
The profound, heavy exhaustion that had haunted his dark eyes a year ago had completely vanished. He looked healthy. He looked lighter. The sharp, rigid tension that used to lock his jaw had melted away, replaced by a soft, permanent warmth that only ever belonged to you.
He set the heavy bucket down on the floor and walked straight toward you.
Yeosang stepped behind the counter, wrapping his arms around your waist from behind. He pulled your back flush against his chest, burying his face in the curve of your neck with a contented, heavy sigh.
“You smell like vanilla and fertiliser,” Yeosang murmured against your skin, his voice a low, vibrating hum that sent a familiar shiver down your spine.
“It’s a new perfume,” you laughed, tilting your head to give him better access. “I’m calling it The Florist’s Fiancée. Very exclusive.”
Yeosang chuckled, a warm, genuine sound that you never, ever got tired of hearing. He pressed a soft, lingering kiss to the pulse point just beneath your ear.
“Are the stargazers processed?” he asked lazily, his hands resting comfortably over your stomach.
“Yes, boss,” you teased, leaning your weight entirely against him. “Stripped, trimmed, and in the cooler. Though I still think we should have ordered more hydrangeas for the Kim wedding this weekend.”
Yeosang turned you around in his arms so you were facing him. He looked down at you, his dark eyes crinkling at the corners with pure affection. He reached up, his thumb gently wiping a stray smudge of dirt off your cheekbone.
“You know,” Yeosang said softly, his gaze dropping to your lips. “Exactly one year ago today, a very beautiful, very terrified woman ran into this shop barefoot and completely ruined my floor with a wet wedding dress.”
You smiled, looping your arms loosely around his neck. “I seem to recall you being the one who threw the dress on the floor, Kang Yeosang-ssi.”
“I had to,” Yeosang whispered, stepping into your space until there was no distance left between you. His hands slid down to rest on your hips. “It was in my way.”
You let out a soft breath as he leaned down, capturing your lips in a slow, impossibly tender kiss. It wasn’t desperate anymore. It wasn’t fueled by fear or the ticking clock of a wedding you didn’t want. It was just deep, steady, and entirely secure.
It was the kiss of a man who knew he got to wake up next to you tomorrow, and the day after that, and every day for the rest of his life.
When he finally pulled back, he rested his forehead against yours, his thumbs drawing slow, soothing circles on your hips through the canvas apron.
“Any regrets?” Yeosang asked quietly. He didn’t ask it out of insecurity anymore. He asked it because he loved hearing the answer.
You looked around the messy, beautiful shop. You thought of the penthouse you had left behind, the cold marble floors, and the life of perfect, sterile predictability that had almost suffocated you. Then, you looked at the man holding you—the man who knew the exact fraying edges of your heart and loved them anyway.
“Only one,” you whispered, rising up on your toes to press a final, feather-light kiss to his jaw. “I wish I had run to this shop sooner.”
Yeosang smiled, gathering you tighter against his chest as the afternoon rain began to gently tap against the storefront windows.
pairing: serval hybrid!Yeosang x fem human!reader (feat. white tiger hybrid!Mingi and bsf raccoon hybrid!Wooyoung) (what a mouthful Imao)
genre: fluff, some angst if you squint?
word count: 10.5k (this got so out of hand-)
summary: you've always kept your head down at work, only caring to get your check and then go back home and repeat. But that changes one day, when you return from lunch to a gift on your desk with no idea who left it there. Your best friend, Wooyoung, is convinced you have a secret admirer, and you're both left trying to figure out who it may be that's made your days feel lighter with these anonymous gestures.
warnings: non-idol au, office au, hybrid au, strangers/coworkers to lovers, miscommunication, some angst toward the end, (yeosang struggles with insecurities), potentially incorrect office shit idk all my offices were virtual, i think that's it? If i missed something lmk!
author's note: sooo this is my exchange fic for @everyonewooeverywhere's secret admirer fic exchange! this is undoubtedly the hardest fic i've written so far because i wanted to make it perfect. At first, because my giftee was part of the reason I started writing for Ateez in the first place, and then because she became such a dear friend to me. So to my sweet @stxrrywoo, surprise! It's me, I'm your gifter :) and it was so hard keeping it from you Imao. I plotted myself into a corner so this will be a multi-part fic, but worth it for you my lovely Kay <3 I really really really hope you enjoy this fic :) (thank you so fucking much to @chimivx @redemptions @minkieater and @yeonlymine for keeping me sane while I was making this, I was so close to scrapping it like 73828 times, but they kept me going and I couldn't have done it without y'all! kisses for all of u!) Pardon any typos, I'm human!
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It had been a day like any other.
You were returning from lunch to your cubicle, ready to crack into some work at your computer until the clock decided to finally drag its hands to 5PM. Then you can go home and repeat the same drab routine tomorrow until finally— the sweet reprieve of the weekend came round again. You were already dreading the emails you likely had received while chowing down on a sandwich, but when you reach your cubicle, something small and black catches your eye.
A mini figurine was placed on your desk. One that was most certainly not there when you powered down your PC to go on lunch. You look around the office, as if you'd be able to nail the culprit with a single glance, but everyone has their heads down, doing their own work or slacking off in their own ways.
Your eyes go back to the figurine and a glimpse of red makes you realize the figure on the stand was something very familiar to you. You pick it up and look closer, biting back an excited squeal as you realize in your hand was a miniature version of a black cat. Not just any black cat, a special black cat that belongs to a line of toys named Aniteez. Someone— no, an angel had left a little Wooyonyang on your desk.
Your brain immediately picked out the likely culprit behind this sweet gift and you quickly walk a few cubicles down toward your work (and overall) best friend, a raccoon hybrid named Wooyoung.
He was sitting in his cubicle, headphones in his ears and one of his many scratching fidget toys in his hands. His claws were slightly extended, scratching at the heavily reinforced sides to ease his animalistic urges and spare himself from having to pay his employer $500 for a new desk. His sensitive ears twitch to the beat of the song that plays, a habit you noticed he had when he helped you clean your house and music was blasting in the background.
He had a lot of little quirks thanks to his animal side, but by far your favorite is his permanent eye bags. Instead of the well-known 'bandit mask' raccoons have, he just had darkened eye bags that never go away no matter how much sleep he gets. In your opinion, it gave him that tired look a lot of people found attractive— if you asked Wooyoung he'd tell you he disliked it, but slowly he's learning to accept it as part of his animal side. Just like he had to learn to accept his brain's persistent need to wash all his snacks before he eats them.
Knowing Wooyoung's guard was entirely down, you creep up on him slowly. There was no way he'd hear you anyway with headphones in, but you still took immense joy in 'hunting' Wooyoung before pouncing on him with a hug.
Wooyoung jumps a bit, pulling his headphones out and turning to face you, his ears perking up as he registers who has popped up in his space.
"You scared the shit out of me," Wooyoung huffs out a laugh as he sets his headphones and cube aside, turning his chair to face you head-on, "You bored already? Water cooler break?"
You shake your head as you smile. Typical Woo, ready to abandon work if you gave him a reason to.
"Not this time, I'm here to thank you."
You expect the proud, compliment-loving hybrid to puff up his chest and wait for a shower of affections that you know he loves— but instead, Wooyoung furrows his brows.
"For...?" He replies, confusion clear in his tone.
"For...the gift? On my desk?" Your own reply comes out slow as you start questioning the conclusion your brain jumped to.
"Yeah, you got the wrong guy. I haven't been to your desk all day."
You narrow your eyes at your friend, but his usual tells are absent: no excited ear twitches, no fighting back a smirk, no tail swishes of excitement that usually appear when he's up to something.
"But..." You deflate a bit as you look at the Wooyonyang figurine in your hand, "I was just telling you on Monday how I loved Aniteez and Wooyonyang was one of my favorites."
"We did, but I didn't buy that." He nods to the little gift that now held more questions than answers for you, "I would've given something like that to you at your place, not work."
Wooyoung did make a good point, now that you think about it. Your gaze flickers between him and the figurine for a moment.
"Then, who put this on my desk?" You whisper to yourself, though Wooyoung can still hear you.
"Oooo wait, you must have a secret admirer." Wooyoung's rounded, gray-brown fur-covered ears stand at attention, a wide smile spreading on his face as the realization hits him.
"No, no, there's no way." You dismiss the idea immediately.
You were just one of many people working here; you didn't stick out purposely. You kept your head low and did your work so you could get your paycheck and go home.
"There's no other answer here, love. If I didn't put it there, and you didn't put it there, someone else had to. Someone you don't know. Hence, a secret admirer!"
The explanation is simple enough, but it still didn't make sense to you. Who would go out of their way to buy something like this and then give it to you and not leave even a note behind? You ponder that a bit more as you stare down at your newest addition to your cubicle.
This question floats in your mind as you continue your workday, eyes flickering from your little black cat figure and your computer screen constantly. Your thoughts drift to the mystery gift giver, gaze jumping from one co-worker to another, looking for any tell that may expose your mystery person— but no one stood out.
So you shut down and went home for the day once 6PM hits, looking at the mini Wooyonyang one last time before you make your way to the elevator.
The next day you come in, mind still spinning with thoughts of the gift you had been surprised with post-lunch. Would it happen again today? What would you do if it did? Was it a mistake? You were determined to find out.
The day drags on, as if it knows you're waiting for your lunch hour to hit, taunting you by never being where you want it to be— but 2 meetings later, your clock finally reads 1PM. You power down and swiftly head to the elevators. After pushing the down button, you look over your shoulder at the office space, noting how slowly everyone was trickling out to grab their lunch.
So many people. But one of them had to be your admirer.
The ding of the elevator shakes you out of your thoughts and you quickly enter it, squeezing in alongside far too many people who were eager to get some fresh air.
As you exit the building, you try your best to ignore the excitement beginning to turn in your stomach. Each bite of your sandwich seems muted, your mind and body too occupied with thoughts of what could be going on in the office building down the street. Just 33 more minutes and you'd be back to work. Back to your cubicle where maybe, just maybe, another little gift is waiting.
You write off the flips in your tummy as a fluke. You weren't looking forward to this, not even a little. If nothing is there, you'd be fine. It wouldn't make your heart drop one bit. At least that's what you tell yourself as you enter the building with 5 minutes left on your break. You fiddle with the bottom of your skirt as the elevator ascends to the 17th floor, tuning out the sounds of light chatter behind your foot taps on the white tiled floor.
The familiar ding sets you in motion, strides a little longer than normal as you make your way to your cubicle. You round the corner, eyes darting right to your desk and to your delight, you see something small and purple sitting next to your keyboard. Knowing that shade anywhere, you pick up your pace just a little and snatch up what is indeed a Sandeoki figure. The little purple cat smiles at you the same way you smile at it as you clutch it in your hand like an airloom.
Remembering you're indeed still at work, you quickly glance around to make sure no one sees you geeking out over a 5-inch-tall figure. Thankfully, everyone is too into their own world to notice you standing there. Your smile slowly comes back as you walk off with a pep in your step to Wooyoung's cubicle.
Your ring-tailed best friend had a spreadsheet open, but his eyes were on his phone— sitting back in his chair with his top button undone. You pop up on his left, dangling the figurine in his vision. Wooyoung glances up at it before tilting his head back to look at you.
"Secret admirer strikes again, huh?" He asks, a small smile spreading on his face as he notes the excitement swirling in your eyes.
"Mhm! Sandeoki is now mine." You chirp happily as you set the figurine on his desk.
Wooyoung picks it up and looks over the figurine before sniffing at it.
"Hey!" You slap his arm lightly and he glances your way.
"Just checking something!" He laughs, putting the figurine away from his twitching nose.
As you go into a ramble about the second gift from your mystery person, Wooyoung is going through his mental rolodex. He's always been keen to scents and able to log a scent to a person pretty fast. You have a scent of lemon and sea breeze. His manager, San, always smelled like cinnamon. This scent reminded him of a bonfire, and it's one he is certain he's come across, but he can't remember where.
You slowly go quiet as you realize Wooyoung had spaced out on you. His ears twitch with his racing thoughts as he tries to pinpoint who left this scent behind and where. It was on the tip of his tongue, slipping through his fingers the longer he dwelled on it.
"Woo!"
Your voice brings him back to Earth and he blinks twice before his focus really settles on the woman standing in front of him.
"Where did you go?" You ask, curiosity clear in your eyes.
"Nowhere, sorry. Just had a thought." He dismisses your question as he crosses his legs, "but I'd like to say, told you so. This is the second time, it's an admirer. Someone has eyes for you."
You blush at the notion of someone having a crush on you, but it does fill your tummy with a warm feeling when you think about it. Someone who knew you well enough to get you figurines from your favorite collection. The only question is, who?
"I can't think of anyone who would know this except you, though. I don't really talk to anyone at work about this stuff." You speak your thoughts slowly, hoping an idea of an explanation may hit you, but nothing comes to mind.
"Quietly admiring you from afar then." Wooyoung hums, "It's like some cheesy office rom-com shit."
You roll your eyes despite that idea making your cheeks heat up ever so slightly. You wondered what this admirer could be like. What department did they work in? When did they first notice you? What made them decide to do this for you out of everyone in the office?
"I gotta vet them first though, make sure they're not some weirdo. I'll claw their eyes out."
Wooyoung's words are meant to be playful, but they make your thoughts take a turn you hadn't considered yet. You had been perhaps naively optimistic about this entire situation, but what if this mystery person was obnoxious and you two were incompatible beyond belief? What if they were a creep, or a weirdo who felt entitled to you since they got you gifts?
Your facial expression was a clear indicator of how sour your thoughts had gone, and Wooyoung is quick to quell the new worries swirling in your head.
"I'm sure they're nice! Or else why would they care to give you something you specifically mentioned liking? These figurines aren't the cheapest either, you know?" His eyes drift to the figure in your hand.
This was something that didn't happen often. If anyone deserved something positive to look forward to every day, it's you. He's determined to keep the mood light and have this experience be a positive one.
"Why don't we both try to feel them out a bit?" He suggests after a moment of silence.
You try to shake off the negativity that slipped into your brain by rubbing your thumb over the smooth plastic of Sandeoki's face.
"How do we feel out someone we literally don't know the identity of?" You lean on Wooyoung's desk, resting your hip on it.
"Me? I have my ways. You, however, aren't as cunning and innovative as me-"
"Oh, go to hell-" You interject, but Wooyoung continues as if you said nothing.
"If they're checking your desk every day, leave something behind for them. Maybe a note of some sort? Right where they leave the gift, if there is a common spot. They're sure to read it." He suggests.
You let the idea sit in your head for a while. It's simple, direct, but it could work. How someone speaks is as big an indicator as how they act. The more you can gauge, the better you can try to place a finger on this person and if they're actually someone you'd like to get to know.
"I'll admit, not a bad idea. Maybe I will." You reply, putting a finger to your chin as you think of what you could write.
Wooyoung smiles, watching the gears turn in your mind in real time.
"Well, think it over in your own cubicle? Some of us have work to do." He gently nudges your hip with a pen.
"You're gonna type maybe 5 entries in that Excel sheet before you pull out your phone to go on TikTok." You deadpan as you straighten up your posture.
"Whatttt? No, I'm employee of the month." Wooyoung's fluffy tail flicks behind him as he hides his smile by facing his PC.
"If you ever got employee of the month, it's because the rest of us got fired." You say as you turn and walk off.
Wooyoung throws a paper clip at you, but misses and you bite back a laugh as you return to your cubicle.
You set Wooyonyang's new bestfriend next to him, smiling as your little family grows. You force yourself back into work mode, opening up your emails to see what's been going on while you've been gone— but every once in a while your eyes drift to the little figurines in your peripheral and you can't help your small smile.
A full set feels like a bit of a stretch, but you'd be lying if you weren't inwardly hoping for it. So the next day when you shut down to go to lunch, you let yourself hope just a little to find a small friend on your desk when you return.
As the office gets emptier, most leaving around the same time for lunch, a certain hybrid sticks around to keep an eye on your desk. Far too curious to not figure out who your mystery suitor is, Wooyoung finds himself curled up under a nearby desk, snug and hidden behind the rolling chair that's entirely tucked under the desk. One more positive about his raccoon side is that he's able to fit into some pretty small spaces, and he actually enjoyed it. For a moment his eyes start to flutter shut, the comfort of the small, dark space making him want to take a nap.
He manages to snap himself awake using sheer willpower. He wasn't on this dusty floor hidden under his friend, Jongho's, desk for no reason. It was for the greater good of his best friend's heart! So he stays alert, his eyes attentive and listening out for any sound.
One thing Wooyoung didn't account for, is how boring it gets when you're stuck under a desk with nothing to keep you entertained. He's resorted to counting the loose threads on his shirt when he hears it.
Footsteps, coming down the very aisle he was hiding in. Wooyoung holds his breath, not wanting anything to give him away. Soon, a pair of black boots comes into view, along with black jeans that lead up to a button-up. Wooyoung sniffs at the air quietly, the smoky bonfire smell was starting to permeate the air and he knows for sure, this is your admirer.
At this angle Wooyoung couldn't see the head of whomever was hovering over your desk, so as quietly as he can he leans forward to get a glimpse of who had their eye on you.
He's welcomed with the sight of dark red hair with a tall, round pair of ears lined with golden yellow fur and black stripes. Considering he's looking at the back of this person's head, it takes a few moments before it hits him. He knows exactly who this is.
Kang Yeosang.
Wooyoung tried to rack his mind for things he knew about Yeosang. He comes up with a few: Serval cat hybrid, works in the IT department, a quiet type that only speaks when spoken to. Not much else to know about the man. Servals are typically solitary creatures, so it isn't shocking. What is shocking to Wooyoung is the fact that you caught his eye. The chances of you two crossing paths are pretty minimal unless you had consistent computer issues, so how did you catch his attention?
The raccoon hybrid's nails dig into the cushion of the chair he's hiding behind as the need to know everything burns in his chest, but the only way to know is to confront Yeosang. Was the knowledge worth putting himself in the middle of what seemed to be an innocent and sweet situation?
Absolutely. If this guy wanted to get you, as your best friend, he'd have to pass Wooyoung's strict test. But not now. Not here. Wooyoung simply notes it and waits until the footsteps entirely disappear before crawling out of his hiding space and wiping his pants clean. He looks off toward the hall that Yeosang had to go down to get back to the IT office and smirks to himself.
This was very interesting indeed, and he planned to get to the bottom of things for your sake and his.
28 minutes later, you're following your usual route back to your desk with a pep in your step. You round that corner for what's likely the 2000th time, eager to see if a new friend awaits you. Your wish comes true in the form of a pink bunny figurine sitting next to your mousepad. You quickly put it right next to Sandeoki with a small happy hop in your chair. You decide then and there you'd take Wooyoung's suggestion and leave a note for your secret suitor tomorrow. Whether they responded or not was up to them, but you hoped they did.
It was strange having something to look forward to on a day-to-day basis in a place you usually hate returning to. Yet as your clock nears 1PM the next day, you grab a sharpie and a piece of paper with your heart racing. The blank sheet of printer paper stares at you, mirroring your current thoughts as you try to think of what you want to leave for your suitor to find.
"Thank you for the figurines" doesn't really invite a response. A question would work better. "Do you like Aniteez?" isn't a bad option, but that also didn't feel right for some reason. You bounce your knee with a soft groan, frustration starting to build as an answer continues to evade you.
Why couldn't they just reveal themselves, and you could just talk to them face to face and figure it out from there? Who were you even trying to connect with?
That's when it hit you. An answer so simple you wonder why you hadn't thought of it already. You notice the close hit 12:58 and quickly write down your question.
"Who are you?"
Not wanting to give yourself the chance to chicken out, you place your message on your keyboard, leave a pen nearby, and head to lunch. Much like your previous lunch hours for the last 3 days, you find your thoughts tethered to your secret suitor and what they were doing right now. Had they left your gift today? Did they see your note? Would they care to respond? The anxiety and excitement mixing in your stomach is a new but welcome feeling. One that made the 45-minute commute to work worth it for the past few days.
You had to hand it to your suitor; they were getting some brownie points before they even showed their face.
This time, an orange, furry-tailed friend greeted you at your desk alongside your pen now being back in the little cup on your desk containing all your pens and pencils. You forgo picking up Jjoongrami in favor of checking your note first for a reply.
Underneath your message is: "No one. Do you like the figurines?"
You tilt your head a bit, a laugh bubbling out of you before you can stop it. What an odd reply. Sure, you didn't expect them to drop their name and address, but saying they were no one was certainly a choice.
You gingerly pick up the little squirrel figurine along with your note and take it to Wooyoung's cubicle where he's actually working for once. You almost consider leaving him to it, but you know there's no use when his furry ears lightly pivot toward you.
"Yes, doll?" Wooyoung asks, eyes still on his PC as he continues typing in formulas and parsing through data.
"It could've been San for all you know." You respond, walking into his space and sitting on his desk to his left.
Wooyoung's fingers pause to look over at you, his lips quirking into a smirk.
"San doesn't walk; he borderline stomps first of all. I could hear your heels clicking, as low as you may keep them. You also have a certain…rhythm to your walk. No matter what shoes you're in, I know you're walking when I hear it." Wooyoung explains, folding his hands over his stomach as he leans back in his office chair.
You stare at him for a moment, not expecting such an in-depth analysis of something as simple as approaching him.
"Is this a hybrid thing or…?"
"Yeah, though I'm sure humans could too if they locked in." Wooyoung says flippantly as he spins to face you.
You roll your eyes despite the smile on your face and Wooyoung's smirk turns into a full-blown smile, his small fangs on display now.
Despite being best friends for years, you still found yourself intrigued by his hybrid characteristics. It felt so foreign yet cool, like when you used to envy kids who had Heelys in elementary school because your parents wouldn't let you have a pair.
"Oh! I came for a reason. Look." You hold out the Jjoongrami figurine and the note you left.
Wooyoung looks at the figurine first before the note, but when he reads Yeosang's response, he has to stop himself from pinching the bridge of his nose.
This man had 0 game. That much was clear from his stiff response.
"He must be the shy type," You say as Wooyoung looks at the sheet of paper in his hands.
'Shy and bitchless type for sure.' Wooyoung thinks to himself with a mental sigh.
At this rate, Yeosang had little to no chance of actually getting with you. Wooyoung would know, considering he's been there for multiple situationships and a partner or two. Shy was cute, but he would have to woo you somehow to catch your heart and interest in a way that mattered. Yeosang was adrift at sea with no oars or even a map to direct him where he needed to go.
Time for what the raccoon hybrid did best, inserting himself into the picture.
"Yeah, definitely shy." Wooyoung agrees, handing the gift and paper back to you.
"But I don't know what to say now besides yes."
You twist your lips in thought as Wooyoung watches.
"Why don't you sleep on it and see if something comes to you by the time the weekend is out?" Your furry-eared friend suggests and you ultimately agree with him, deciding to let yourself have some time to think it over.
What a week this has been.
"I will, thanks Woo!" You ruffle his hair and he fusses at you, pushing your hands away as you duck out of his cubicle and go back to your own.
Wooyoung watches you go for a minute before his mind goes back to the situation at hand.
Yeosang was hopeless at this. Utterly hopeless. He couldn't exactly blame him for being an awkward type, but Wooyoung knew guidance was needed if Yeosang was to have a chance with you.
So as the day comes to an end, Wooyoung tells you to leave without him, saying he needed to finish up a last-minute assignment before he went home. You whined about it, but didn't want to spend even a second longer than needed in that godforsaken office, so you left shortly after.
Once the elevator doors close and Wooyoung knows you're gone, he beelines it right to the IT office. He pokes his head inside and sees the room half empty. A few stragglers are at their desks, faces drained of life in a way only a job can achieve. Wooyoung looks around and his ears perk up as he finds his target.
Yeosang stood by his desk, clad in a button-up, jeans, and sneakers. His head was down, dark red hair falling over his face as he packed his leather messenger bag to head home like everyone else around him. Wooyoung enters the space with the confidence of someone on a mission. A confidence that the serval hybrid immediately notices when the sound of approaching footsteps catches his attention. On instinct, his large, rounded ears flatten a bit— tail puffing up lightly as he's approached by someone not only after hours but after he's shut down his computer for the day.
"Any computer issue will have to wait until Monday." Yeosang's voice is flat, golden eyes narrowing ever so slightly as he prepares for push back of some sort.
The audacity of some of his fellow coworkers drove him up the wall, and usually those encounters began with someone who approached him with the energy Wooyoung exuded in abundance.
Wooyoung furrows his brows, ears tilting with his head as he registers the gently aggressive stance Yeosang has gone into. His eyes flicker to Yeosang's hands, noting his claws having slightly extended and digging into the leather of his bag.
"Oh!" Wooyoung says, now understanding the disconnect, "I'm not here for IT, I'm here for you." He clarifies, hoping to relax the man in front of him.
Unfortunately, his reply did the exact opposite. Yeosang's ears lower even more, gripping his bag tighter as his eyes flit around the room to his colleagues. None of them spare him a glance, too worried about leaving the building themselves to care about any sort of holdup that would get between them and freedom.
Yeosang realizes he's stuck in this conversation, and that makes his guard come up even more.
"Goodness— look, I just want to ask you something. We can talk on the way out. Please? It won't take long." Wooyoung reassures him, hands in the air in a surrender stance.
Yeosang considers the proposition for a few seconds, ears returning to their upright state as his internal assessment tells him Wooyoung isn't a threat.
"Okay…sure." Yeosang agrees, sliding his bag onto his shoulder. "As long as it's short."
Wooyoung nods and leads the way out, purposely taking a path that leads past the main area. He passes through the cubicles but when he gets to yours, which is naturally on the way to the elevator, he stops. Yeosang stops quickly as well, making sure not to crash into Wooyoung. Wooyoung turns around to meet Yeosang's confused eyes as the serval fidgets with the bag strap on his chest. Wooyoung pointedly turns his head to look at your family of figurines, half completed from this week alone. He waits for Yeosang to follow his gaze and soon enough, they're both staring at the little plastic figures kept neatly under your monitor. The raccoon hybrid's eyes are quick to pick up on the smaller tells. Yeosang's face stays stoic, but his ears twitch, and though short, his tail curves downward toward his legs.
"It's you." Wooyoung says softly, eyes boring into the side of Yeosang's face as he waits for a reply.
Yeosang's hands grip his bag strap tighter, jaw tightening as anxiety claws at his chest. In his mind, he had been so careful. How could Wooyoung have known?
"I'm not here to expose you. Like I said, I just want to talk. About this." Wooyoung continues once it's clear Yeosang wasn't going to speak.
The serval hybrid's eyes lower to the ground, cheeks turning a light pink as he realizes he's been caught. By his crush's best friend, no less. The usually reserved recluse feels like a spotlight is on him, one of his worst fears.
"Okay." Yeosang's voice is quiet, ears completely downturning as he accepts defeat in the moment.
Wooyoung knew Yeosang was the shy type, but his body language oozed nervousness and anxiety. If he were a meaner hybrid, he would be all over the cracks in his demeanor, animal side itching to assert some form of dominance despite him not even being a predator type hybrid— but he fights off the urge. That's not why he was here.
"Ever been to The White Whistle?" Wooyoung asks, continuing to lead the way to the elevator.
Yeosang blinks in shock, not expecting that to be what comes out of the younger man's mouth.
"Oh. You mean the pub?" He asks, trailing behind Wooyoung, still gripping onto his bag strap.
"Yeah. Let's go there. Get a drink." Wooyoung pushes the down button for the elevator and looks over his shoulder with a smile.
Yeosang blinks a few times, the serval and human side of him at odds with what's happening. His cat side tells him to say no and run. It tells him to keep his guard up and that Wooyoung can't be trusted at all. Yet his human side is shocked to have been given an invitation, and wanted to accept it. He wanted to believe Wooyoung meant well in his choice to approach him, but he's met some cruel people in his time.
What matters most is Wooyoung knows his secret. He knows about the crush, he knows about the gift giving. That alone is enough to get Yeosang to nod his head in agreement.
It's a quiet and tense trek to the pub just two blocks down. Wooyoung was trying to figure out how to address this best, not wanting to scare Yeosang before he could finish his evaluation of sorts. The silence was welcome by the serval hybrid, but at the same time, each quiet moment made his stomach flip with anxiety.
They sit down at a table in the back, setting their bags aside before finally locking eyes again. Wooyoung smiles, but Yeosang speaks before he can get a word out.
"Did you tell her?" He asks, a desperation in his tone that takes Wooyoung by surprise.
It's clear that Yeosang was horrified by the idea of you knowing he was your admirer.
"No, no I didn't. I wanted to talk to you first."
Yeosang's body relaxes at that, eyes slipping shut for a moment as his heart finally slows down its rapid beating.
"Thank you. I'm not ready to tell her yet." Yeosang says, looking at the menu before him.
"First round's on me." Wooyoung says when he notices where the serval hybrid is looking.
Wooyoung calls a waiter over and orders two beers before turning back to Yeosang.
"So, Y/N." Wooyoung starts, not missing how Yeosang's ears perk up at the mere mention of your name, "Why the figurines?"
Yeosang pauses as a beer is set in front of him, taking sudden interest in its nutritional information instead of the raccoon hybrid currently staring at him.
"I…may have heard you guys when you were talking about them in the break room." Yeosang confesses before sipping his beer.
The chill is welcomed and he takes a calming breath as Wooyoung nods.
"So you decided the best way to shoot your shot was to just leave figures on her desk? How does that translate into you getting closer to her?" Wooyoung asks.
Yeosang's nails lightly tap on the glass in front of him as he keeps skimming the ingredients in his beer.
"I…haven't thought that far ahead." Yeosang's ears flatten in embarrassment as his head drops lightly.
"So you burn a hole in your pockets buying these because…?"
"She likes them. I hung around to see her reaction and she…" Yeosang trails off, and for the first time since Wooyoung approaches him, he cracks a smile. A genuine smile.
"She?" Wooyoung gently encourages him to continue and Yeosang snaps out of his stupor, schooling his expression fast.
"Sorry. This must be weird since you guys are so close." Yeosang drinks more of his beer as Wooyoung shakes his head no.
"Not at all. Just say what comes to mind. I'm not going to tell her, and I'm not going to cut your head off or something. I came to you to talk about this, and that includes her."
The table is silent as Wooyoung's words sink into the air around them. Yeosang considers them, and perhaps it's his lightweightedness kicking in, but he's been bottling up his thoughts for so long and he wanted to let it out for once. Wooyoung can sense Yeosang's resolve weakening and decides to sweeten the deal to get the tight-lipped serval to give in.
"How about this? You answer my questions, and I'll tell you things about her that you wanna know, as long as it's nothing weird." Wooyoung offers, an easygoing smile on his face.
One that he knows disarms those around him easily. Raccoons are cute. Wooyoung is cute. When you combine them? He can be downright adorable in ways that make even the coldest hearts melt— and he can tell it's working on Yeosang the moment he bites the corner of his lip in thought.
"Deal." Yeosang nods, "Just, don't be an ass about it. I'm…not used to feeling things like this. It's been something trying to figure out how to work this stuff out."
Wooyoung watches the serval shift in his seat, eyes fixed on a point on the wall as he starts lightly chewing on the lip caught between his teeth. Wooyoung's eyes soften with sympathy.
Something most humans don't consider is how deeply embedded some animal instincts can be, especially when it comes to mates. Humans had feelings, but most were able to keep them as just that, feelings. Hybrids had a different struggle which is thanks to their animal DNA. Certain rituals, urges, cravings to claim were hard to ignore depending on which animal you shared DNA with. Certain predator types, like wolves, could experience physical pain when they deny those base instincts.
This fact was one of the main issues that led to humans seeing hybrids as lesser than. Human side ignored entirely and called animals despite having many similar features to those who talk down to them. Wooyoung knew all too well how hard it could be with his own animal being one to become very territorial during mating season.
"You don't want to scare her." Wooyoung says, voice gentle with understanding that made Yeosang feel seen for the first time since these feelings began.
"Terrified of it." Yeosang admits. "May sound bad, but I'm not one to really like people. Especially humans with how complicated it can get, but then here comes this girl who just…"
Yeosang groans, flustered and lightly irritated with the feelings you've caused in his chest. It wasn't close to mating season at all, so this was him. No instincts, no animal urges— just raw, heart-stopping, chest-clenching feelings from his human side that have been driving him wild.
"Tell me about it." Wooyoung encourages, even more curious to hear the serval's internal feelings if it was winding him up this much.
Yeosang takes a moment to force some clarity into his mind, not wanting to embarrass himself any further than he already has.
"She gets so excited when she sees the figurines. Her smile gets all wide, and her eyes light up, and then she goes to show you, and it's just…" Yeosang trails off, his cheeks flushing again as he pictures your bright face animatedly talking to Wooyoung after he's left a gift on your desk.
"It feels good. To make her happy, I mean. So that's why I've just kept doing it. No harm in that, right?" Yeosang finishes his thoughts, a casualness in his words that doesn't match the nervous twitching of his ears.
"Not at all." Wooyoung agrees, "It has been something she's looking forward to when she comes in."
Yeosang's smile widens at that, and Wooyoung can't help how his smile mirrors Yeosang's. The joy of seeing you happy was something they both found pleasure in.
"How long have you liked her?" Wooyoung asks, getting back into an interrogation mindset.
The irony of this question doesn't go unnoticed by Wooyoung. Just a year ago, when you two landed your current jobs, he found himself having a similar conversation with you about a 'really cute hybrid' that helped with account setup during your onboarding week. The first week of shared lunch hours were spent partially talking about pretty cheekbones, fair skin, feline-like eyes that somehow were still round and cute, belonging to the very hybrid who was currently shyly confessing to a similar attraction you held for him. Over time, as you realized you'd barely see the 'eye candy' of the IT department, you shelved your interest and focused on your work instead, having mostly forgotten about your first work crush by now.
Ironic how you'd caught Yeosang's eye too, but had no clue.
"A while now." Yeosang replies cryptically, not wanting to out himself entirely.
"A while." Wooyoung repeats, clearly unimpressed with the vagueness, "Weeks? Months? Years?"
"Months."
"Months? But you barely interact with anyone outside of IT issues, and the last time we had anything like that was-" Wooyoung's words cut short as a thought hits him.
"The shared network outage." Yeosang finishes the thought, sighing as he remembers the chaos of that day, "Someone fucked with the permissions and everybody's machines were having problems connecting. We had every department on our line, higher-ups up on our asses to fix it fast since time is money. I think I skipped lunch just to handle the inflow of tickets. So many people were being the fucking worst that day. Treating me like shit and I just had to take it."
Wooyoung gives Yeosang a moment to guzzle down more beer. The memory alone was enough to make Yeosang's fur puff up.
"It was one of those days that makes you contemplate quitting on the spot. Then, around 3PM, I was sent to a desk to help with a password reset. I was ready to get bitched out again honestly, but no. Y/N was sitting at her desk, and maybe it was just because everyone was being so nasty, but she smiled and said hi, asked me how I was doing. Something so simple, but it caught me off guard I just…stared at her like an idiot." Yeosang's hands come up to cover his face as he remembers it crystal clear.
You sitting at your desk, chair turned to face him, a friendly smile on your face. You were wearing clear lip gloss that day, and it framed your smile in such a way that Yeosang found himself immediately enamored.
"If I'm being honest, I don't even remember what the hell I said, but it made her laugh." Yeosang continues, corners of his lips still quirked up, "She was kind and patient as I led her through the steps, then at the end she offered me a candy she had as a thank you. It's stupid, I know, but I couldn't stop thinking about it after that. She was just being nice, but being nice isn't something I get much being a hybrid in a human-dominated space."
Wooyoung gives an empathetic nod, letting Yeosang know he hears him without cutting him off.
"Then it was just seeing her around the office, mostly with you in the break room. Sometimes at company lunches. Hiding her giggles behind her hand, smiling at something you said, rolling her eyes when the CEO gives his 'we're a family' speech. I just found myself looking for her when there was a chance she'd be around and well..." Yeosang sets his empty beer bottle aside, ears relaxed, "You see where I ended up."
Wooyoung sips his own beer, letting Yeosang's words hang in the air for a moment before a wide grin breaks out on his face.
"You're whipped."
"Fuck you." Yeosang grumbles, ears flattening as he glares at Wooyoung with no real heat behind his eyes.
Wooyoung laughs, setting his bottle down as he shifts in his seat, eyes gleaming with amusement but no judgment.
"Don't be like that, I'm just telling the truth! Honestly, it's cute."
"I am not cute." Yeosang snarls, cheeks turning an even darker shade of red as his fur puffs up again.
"Ah yes, sorry, predator hybrid." Wooyoung smirks, "Your actions and words are cute, Yeosang."
The raccoon hybrid's assessment was done. That explanation gave him everything he needed to know.
Once you get past the standoffish awkwardness, the hybrid in front of him was actually thoughtful, kind, and head over heels despite only speaking to you for work reasons. Wooyoung found himself strangely invested in this situation now, wanting a happy ending for both you and Yeosang.
"So you want to ask her out then?" Wooyoung asks.
Yeosang nods as he clears his throat, trying to hide how much he wanted to but Wooyoung could read him like a book. However guarded the serval thought he was, he was transparent as glass to someone who prided himself on noticing the little things.
"And when will you be asking her out?"
Wooyoung's question is met with silence that lasts quite a while. Yeosang peels the label off his empty beer bottle, slicing through it with his claws with ease, not wanting to look the glaring issue he's having in the eye.
"You will be asking her out, right…?" Wooyoung tries again, leaning forward in his chair expectantly.
Yeosang meets Wooyoung's eyes for a millisecond before averting his eyes back to the tattered paper he was leaving on the table.
"You gotta be—" Wooyoung groans, head falling to the table, "Yeosang, you're aware you have to speak to her to date her, right?"
"Yes, I know that!" He snaps lowly, but his anger isn't with Wooyoung; it's with himself, "I just can't right now. I still got some stuff left to give her. I'll build up the nerve, I just need time."
Wooyoung lifts his head, giving his new friend another once over. Tense shoulders, claws extended, ears uneven, fur puffing up again.
Defensive stance. He would get nowhere pushing now. So Wooyoung acquiesces and sighs, sitting up straight again.
"Alright, man. Just don't take too long." Wooyoung advises, reaching into his pocket and taking out his phone, "Give me your number. You're gonna need all the help you can get."
"You're…gonna help me?" The serval hybrid's eyebrows raise toward his hairline, skepticism in his voice.
Wooyoung hums affirmatively and Yeosang looks at the phone in front of him like it's booby-trapped.
"You want guidance from someone who knows her like the back of their hand, or do you want to keep fumbling around with no clue how to approach her?"
Yeosang ponders the posed question, and he realizes quickly that Wooyoung approaching him was one of the best things he could've asked for. He puts his number in and gives it back. The raccoon hybrid puts some money on the table before picking up his bag.
"Good talk." He says, a teasing smile on his face as he turns around, "I'll text you. Later."
With those words, Wooyoung leaves the pub and heads home.
The familiar sounds of the city streets allow his thoughts to flow a bit and the surplus of information he's received in the last hour from an unlikely new friend. He finds Yeosang awkward but well-meaning. Shy, standoffish, but the thought and care behind his actions is undeniable. Something you've been missing from your past partners, in Wooyoung's opinion, was someone who actually kept you in mind consistently. Something Yeosang is showing to do before he's even spoken to you on a casual basis.
Yeosang's blushing face flashes in Wooyoung's mind as he gets to his car and he huffs a small laugh. From what he's seen tonight, there's little doubt in Wooyoung's mind that you two would be a cute pair. You helping Yeosang out of his shell with kindness. Yeosang showing you a level of care and thought you deserve, making you feel appreciated. In theory, this could work out well— and call it a hunch, but Wooyoung found himself hoping in favor of his new friend.
At least he'd wingman to the point of seeing if your initial interest pokes its head again and something can truly bloom from there.
Meanwhile, Yeosang sits there for a few minutes after Wooyoung's departure, processing everything that's happened. His phone vibrates with a text from an unknown number, and it sinks in that he now has the support of his crush's best friend.
He slowly stands up, throwing his bag on and welcoming the cool evening air hitting his flushed face. This wasn't an outcome he saw coming, but he wasn't upset about it either. In fact, there's a small pep in his step as his sneakers hit the pavement in a beat that his head nods to despite no music being around.
Maybe he actually had a chance with you. At least that's what he's starting to believe as he makes his way to his bus stop.
Monday comes and like clockwork, at 12:58PM you find yourself with a smile on your face as you write a new note for your admirer.
"I do like the figurines! Why don't you let me thank you in person?"
You cap the pen, hoping you weren't being too bold but the need to know who this is was eating at you bad by this point.
Another uneventful lunch passes by and you're speedwalking to your desk a little under an hour later, moments away from checking the note and forgetting to even look for a new gift on your desk.
Then you hear your name being called from behind.
You grab the note, hiding it behind your back before whipping around and seeing a face you hadn't seen in a while.
Song Mingi. A white tiger hybrid you've worked with a few times on various projects. His round white ears are perked up, a wide smile that shows his canines, and rolled up sleeves that show off the dark brown tiger stripes that line his strong arms.
"Mingi! Hey! How have you been?" You ask, genuinely curious but also gently annoyed he stopped you from checking your note.
"Pretty alright! What about you? It's been a bit—" Mingi cuts himself short when he looks down and sees the figurine you had overlooked, "Is that Bbyongming?"
You look to your right and only now notice the figurine sitting by your keyboard. It was indeed a yellow little chick on a standee.
"Oh! Yes, it is— wait, you like Aniteez?" Your eyebrows furrow, not suspecting Mingi of all people to know about them.
The big, beefy tiger hybrid liked a line of cute little animals?
Mingi nodded his head quickly, ears flopping as he pulls out a yellow pen and holds it out to you. You noticed Bbyongming's head on the top of it staring back at you.
"Bbyongming is my favorite!" He says, enthusiasm coming off him in waves.
It was infectious and you found yourself smiling back at him as you sidestepped to show him your little collection under your monitor.
"Oh my god, those are so cute!" Mingi steps closer, hunching over lightly to look closer at them.
You get a whiff of his cologne as he steps closer, his large frame brushing yours as he approaches your desk. He smelled really nice, a mix of bourbon and something else you can't place. That was something you noticed when you first met Mingi. He had a certain scent he always wore, one that didn't send his sensitive nose into a frenzy and many seemed to enjoy. Despite being mixed with a solitary type animal, Mingi was pretty sociable and everyone on the floor knew of him to some capacity. A ray of sunshine in a rather meek office.
"These are a new drop, right?" He asked, his hand dwarfing the small figurine as he put Ddeongbyeoli into his palm and smiled at it.
"Yeah! Came out like three weeks ago, I think." You confirm, watching Mingi admire the smooth plastic before setting it back down gingerly.
Mingi opens his mouth to reply but then he sees the time on your computer screen and his eyes widen, fluffy ears standing at attention.
"Shit. I got to go, but let's talk Aniteez again soon, yeah?" He starts walking backwards, waiting for your reply with hopeful eyes.
"Yeah, for sure! See you!" You nod in agreement and Mingi smiles before spinning around and continuing on his way.
You watch him for a moment, admiring his broad back and how his muscles ripple under the cotton of his button-up. He made for really good eye candy, plus he likes Aniteez? What are the odds?
It's then you remember the piece of paper you had hidden behind your back. You pull it from hiding and quickly look over the note.
Under your message was: "Maybe soon."
You smile to yourself at the idea of your admirer coming forward and revealing themselves. Did they have a favorite Aniteez member too? There weren't many who showed an interest in little fuzzy animals around here, but—
Your train of thought comes to a screeching halt as an inkling of an idea suddenly hits you full force.
It was so obvious that you almost laugh in disbelief as you look at the little yellow chick sitting by your keyboard. You figured it out. You know exactly who this has to be.
With that thought you race over to Wooyoung's cubicle and grab his shoulders, excitement oozing off you as you shake him.
"I figured it out!"
Wooyoung turns to you, confused and slightly freaked out by the sudden hands on him, but he relaxes quickly when he sees it's you.
"Well, look at you. You seem pleased with yourself. Did you finally figure out why your PC keeps turning on randomly at night? I'm telling you your apartment is haunted-"
"No, dumbass. And stop saying my apartment is haunted before I move in with you!" You slap his arm and Wooyoung stifles a laugh.
"You'd be sleeping on my floor if you tried it, but what are you talking about now?"
"I know who my admirer is." You say with so much confidence it makes all playfulness drain from Wooyoung's face.
Warning bells go off in his head. There's no way you could know, but he doesn't say that, instead he straightens in his office chair.
"Oh? Who?" He asks, feigning nonchalance.
"So get this, I was about to check my note when Mingi— remember him? Tall white tiger hybrid with the stupid big shoulders? Anyway, he stopped by my desk to talk about the figurines and guess what? He also likes Aniteez! On top of that," You show him the note, "What are the odds of my admirer saying he may see me soon and all of a sudden Mingi stops by and talks to me about Aniteez after we haven't spoken in months? It can't be a coincidence! It has to be Mingi, right?"
Your explanation had turned into white noise in Wooyoung's head as soon as you said Mingi's name.
It wasn't Mingi. Wooyoung knew that without a doubt, but that fact is stuck in his throat, held back by his promise to Yeosang not to out him.
He didn't realize it until this very moment, but he was rooting for Yeosang and his plans ever since their talk at the pub after work. He'd even texted Yeosang over the weekend with some encouragement to come forward sooner rather than later. Going back and forth with ideas of how Yeosang could approach you and ask you out on a date. The standard of a flower or chocolates, maybe something more modern like making you a playlist or making his own valentines-esque card to leave on your desk, they'd even entertained the idea of trying to set up a dinner at the pub if Yeosang could find the courage.
Now here you were, eyes bright and smile wide for the wrong person— and it made his stomach turn.
This was bad.
"-ung, are you even listening?"
Wooyoung blinks out of his thoughts and tunes in just as you're questioning him. He looks at you, a flurry of emotions flowing through him but none being ones he can show without being suspicious. So he paints on his best smile.
"Yeah, sorry, I just started feeling a little sick. I need to run to the bathroom. Let's talk later! Love you!"
You watch Wooyoung step around you and walk quickly down the aisle with a confused furrow of your brows.
"Okay…see you…" You say quietly, mostly to yourself since Wooyoung was long gone.
You slowly go back to your desk, looking at the note in your hands and smiling a little.
"Song Mingi, huh?" You murmur to yourself, a feeling blossoming in your chest that felt warm and satisfying after being left in the dark for what felt like forever.
Meanwhile, Wooyoung pulls out his cellphone as soon as he's in the bathroom and texts Yeosang.
"We got a fucking problem. White Whistle after work."
Wooyoung's foot taps on the tiled floors impatiently as he waits for a reply from the serval hybrid. After a few minutes with no reply, he gives up, going back to his desk and praying you weren't there waiting. Yeosang would likely be caught up in work until closer to clock-out time.
Yeosang replies at 4:45 with a thumbs up but nothing else, and Wooyoung feels his agitation rising ever so slightly— but he tries to calm himself down. Yeosang had no idea what was going on so his nonchalance wasn't exactly unwarranted.
Wooyoung finishes the day on autopilot. running on muscle memory until he finds himself sitting across from Yeosang at the pub again.
"What's wrong?" The serval hybrid asks, noticing how tense Wooyoung was.
Wooyoung takes a moment to reply, trying to figure out the best way to approach it. The urgency poking at his nerves makes him cut right to the chase.
"She thinks it's Mingi. Giving her the figurines."
Yeosang blinks once, twice, the information running through his head on a loop but it wasn't sinking in just yet.
"Apparently, Mingi and her had a chat today after lunch about Aniteez. She's certain. The type of certain I know means she won't think she's wrong until proven otherwise." Wooyoung continues, leaning forward on the table, hoping Yeosang understands his underlying message.
"You want to tell her it's me?" Yeosang whispers, his voice soft as he realizes the position he's in.
His efforts were being awarded to someone else entirely.
"No. I want you to approach her." Wooyoung corrects him.
Yeosang shakes his head before Wooyoung even finishes his sentence.
"I can't. I already told you that I'm not ready—"
"Ready or not, the longer you wait, the more she's gonna fixate on Mingi, and you really won't have a chance with her." Wooyoung cuts him off, an intensity in his tone that makes Yeosang go quiet.
Mingi was big, beefy, friendly, a known face around the office. He was the exact antithesis of Yeosang and deep down, Yeosang was envious of that fact. If he were more like Mingi, he'd be able to confront you easily and just ask you out normally. He wouldn't have to scrape up courage just to reply to a note you left for him.
Alas, Yeosang was a slimmer build, muscular but not as broad as Mingi, awkward at best, easily faded into the background. In all ways that mattered in his mind, he lost in comparison to someone like Song Mingi.
Yeosang looks down, ears drooping as he battles between not wanting his efforts to benefit someone else and his fear of you potentially being let down now that you think it may be Mingi. It was easier when you had no expectations, but now you were expecting someone like Mingi to be your prince charming, not the quiet nerd in IT.
"You can't seriously be considering not saying shit." Wooyoung deadpans, staring at Yeosang who just drops his head into his hands, "Really? Even when you risk losing your chance, you're gonna be a coward?"
Yeosang's head snaps up at that.
"Excuse me? Pardon me for not moving at your pace. We can't all be as unfortunately forward as you, Wooyoung." Yeosang frowns, getting defensive.
"Unfortunately forward? I sure as hell wouldn't let myself get cucked out of a chance with a girl I like at least." Wooyoung fires back.
"You know why I don't want to tell her yet!"
"There's no time for that! I know Y/N. I know how her brain works. She's gonna hyperfocus on Mingi anytime she gets anything from you now, and she's gonna develop a crush that you yourself are cultivating because you're hiding in the shadows."
Yeosang finds himself growling, ears flattening as he feels backed into a corner.
"It's different now. She thinks it's Mingi. What if she gets disappointed if she finds out it's me? Look at Mingi and look at me, two entirely different types. I can't just—"
"You won't even try! That's what's killing me. You're giving brownie points to another man who isn't even aware he's in the race to begin with. You're going to lose to someone who isn't even trying. Is that really what you want?" Wooyoung hisses, a venom in his tone Yeosang has never heard from the otherwise friendly raccoon hybrid.
But Wooyoung's annoyance had peaked, and it made his tongue fly without his brain kicking in to filter for him. Wooyoung couldn't think to stop himself before he let his heightened emotions win.
"Whatever, man. If you don't care enough to put up a fight then why the fuck am I even here?" Wooyoung gets up, his stool scraping the floor harshly, "Maybe she is better off with Mingi."
Yeosang's retort dies in his throat at that, shoulders deflating as Wooyoung's words hit him right in a sore spot. He just stares at Wooyoung, not quick enough to mask the pain that settles into his eyes before he casts them downward.
Wooyoung throws his bag onto his shoulder before storming out of the pub, irritation leading his actions as he leaves Yeosang with his thoughts.
Thoughts that were eating at him even more now that Wooyoung voiced his insecurity unknowingly.
She's better off with someone like Mingi. Mingi is everything you're not. You're a letdown compared to him.
Yeosang slowly gets off his stool, pulling his messenger bag over his shoulder as he bites down on his tongue. He exits into the chilly autumn evening, the back of his eyes burning as he makes his way to the bus stop down the block.
He wouldn't cry. Not now. Not in public.
But as he sits and waits for the bus, he finds himself flipping his hood up to hide his turmoil from the world. His hand shakes as he puts it into his hoodie pocket to fish out his headphones. He pops in his buds, putting on a song that usually soothes his anxiety, but even that doesn't seem to be working. The familiar melody that felt like a hug most days was more akin to an itchy sweater in this moment. He bites down harder on his tongue, a familiar iron taste settling in as he splits his tongue open— but the alternative of crying in public was far worse than some spilt blood.
It felt like an eternity had passed by the time he finally got into his car at a local car park by the bus station, but it had only been half an hour of feeling like a pressure cooker on the brink of exploding. Finally within four metal walls he's familiar with, the outside world muffled by thick doors, Yeosang lets the dam break and the first tears flow down his face.
He cries in anger for feeling so inferior. He cries in mourning for a friendship he thought was blooming between him and Wooyoung. He cries in anguish at the thought of his carefully formulated plan leading you into someone else's arms.
And again, that voice in his head speaks to him.
"You didn't really expect a happy ending, did you?"
Perhaps naively, he did. He let himself have hope for a future where he could have you. Now he finds himself feeling more alone than he's ever been before.
But that's just life, isn't it?
Please do not translate, upload, or repost my works anywhere. Thank you for reading!
You're in love with your coworker Hongjoong. Sort of. Not really. But, you like him, and your friends, San, Jongho, and Yunho, they hate him. They really hate him. He lives in a constant repetitive pursuit of stringing you along just to drop you all over again. When a company gala is announced, you're certain he'll ask you... Until you catch him with another girl. Again. Summer in the city, your friends form a plan, a fake boyfriend plan to make Hongjoong jealous, leaving you and Yunho to trudge around Manhattan under the sun to make it believable. Unspoken boundaries set in place six years ago get tested. Are you making it out of this with your best friend?
⋆✴︎˚｡⋆ yunho x fem!reader - {30.8k words} don't read the warnings if you don't want spoilers! fake dating, idiots friends to lovers, enormous sweet tooth rotting plot, explicit sexual content, alcohol consumption, cigarette smoking, cussing, dirty talk, some of these guys are kind of mean at work, yunho's a sweetie, san and jongho are funny, smut warnings; p in v, oral if you squint, biting, spit if you squint, dom!jyh, cum inside, nip play, accidental exhibitionism, unprotected (do not do!)
⋆✴︎˚｡⋆ happy valentines day mon! ✿ it's me, your secret valentine fic giver! i had so much fun writing this piece, and i had so much fun secretly learning about you (totally not creepy). you inspire originality, and i hope i conveyed a tiny bit of what you inspire others to invoke within themselves. you're so cool! (you'll get this after you read hehe). i'm so grateful to have become moots, friends, and to experience your art, your writing. you're truly an artist, and you bring so much joy here to the tumble community, i hope you never forget how loved and wanted you are here! hugs & kisses cool kid ✿ @03jyh23
thank you @everyonewooeverywhere for putting this event together ✿
✿ this is also a love letter to my favorite series created by my best friend @minkieater ✿ the city holds a very special place in my heart for a plethora of reasons i'll take up too much text space trying to explain. some of her characters pop up here, please go check out their story! i highly recommend it and all of it's mini spin off shotties. ily, t.
yun: JUST CAME ON.. I think the lady next to me on the subway can hear it ‘cause I turned it up all the way and she gave me this crazy look.. This music though.. Maybe it’ll help you feel better about your meeting.. Good luck……… See you at Dante’s later
*yun sent a song*
[ I Melt with You - Modern English ]
Finishing your hair in the foot long mirror above your bathroom sink, you tapped on the song with your pinky and tucked one more pin into the bun on your head. Whimsey filled the quiet where the only sound to be heard was the lullaby of the city outside of the cracked bathroom window. Open barely three inches, as far as it allowed, fresh summer air blew in with the pop of a siren, a car horn, people chattering below on the streets, above on their balcony.
Wiping your fingers under your eyes, settling on light makeup for the work day, your hips rocked to the beat, a poppy type song dipped in something angsty, teenage rebellion. You’ve heard this before, in some movie, you think, the two of you probably watched at some point which is how it came to circle through his music library.
A song for every mood, a song for every occasion, a song no matter the cause- Yunho had one for everything. You could see him now, headphones covering his ears, wrapping over his head, the wire tangling with his leather bag that hung over his shoulder and sat on his lap, a bag too frail and too old, but one he won’t rid of because it’s from the seventies.
Listen, Shug, you don’t get it…
He worked downtown at a record store part time when he wasn’t on the clock and running errands for his big named producer boss, Jag, the coolest, the raddest, most amazing Jag. After sorting records and analyzing set lists for local bands big and small, Yunho answered Jag’s calls, his messages, his damn pages, and disappeared for a few hours, returning with insane lore drops on the latest albums close to release, and who he caught kissing who in the lounge of Republic Records.
Capping the mascara tube, twisting it shut, you blinked at yourself in the mirror just as old as Yunho’s bag and groaned. Pursing your lips, longing to paint on a fun color, one the company you worked for wouldn’t allow, you took a deep breath and blew a raspberry.
Yunho could wear whatever he wanted. Yunho could dress like himself, he could wear the patterned sweaters you thrifted together, the crappy sneakers he’s certain John Lennon owned, ripped denim, silky slacks, he could wear it all and accessorize the crap out of himself. Earrings, layered necklaces, leather or braided bracelets, unique glasses changing each day, a hat or two somewhere in the rotation.
Trudging into your bedroom, not even two feet from the bathroom door, you reached into your shoebox of a closet and pulled out a grey pantsuit, one that hugged you in all the right places but killed the part of you that longed to wrap yourself in color.
Bopping your head to the song that repeated from the edge of the bathroom sink, you hummed along to the lyrics you half knew while you dressed yourself, ignoring the belts hanging around the bed post, or the funky sunglasses you bought several pairs of from a street festival last summer with Yunho and San.
Grey corduroy slacks, a white button down, and a grey vest concealing your chest. Fastening each button, securing the details in place, not that there were many, you twisted side to side in the full-length mirror you found on the street leaning against a mailbox, one San hung up for you, and loosed a breath.
“You’ve seen the difference and it’s getting better all the time,” you sang to yourself, quietly, not wanting your neighbor to bang on his wall again, and picked up your phone.
Tapping out a message, letting your knees bounce to the music, a smile pricked onto your bare lips.
you: I know this song??? How am I singing this right now???
yun: It was in Valley Girl
Giving yourself a look in the mirror, you rolled your eyes and typed back.
you: That movie sucked, Yunho
He answered quick.
yun: ‘Cause you don’t have taste, Shug
you: I know the song!!!!!!
yun: Doesn’t count, you hate Valley Girl, grow a pair and watch it again, this time we’ll drink, then you’ll love it..
Pocketing your phone, the clock up in the corner taunting you as it ticked down to the minute you had to part with your sanctuary, you slipped into black heels two inches tall and slung your work appropriate purse over your shoulder, one that matched the olive of another suit you could’ve worn, the only color they’ve allowed you to toy with.
“There’s nothing you and I won’t do,” you sang, pulling a lip gloss from the pocket on the side, slicking it on while you bounced a bit more. Capping it, feeling your phone vibrate, you exchanged the lip gloss for your cell.
yun: Did it help.. The song..
Your smile grew.
you: Yes… it did, thank you
yun: :) :) :) :) :) :) the future’s open wide
A giggle escaped you, reading the lyrics he sent just as they came out of your phone. Swiping out of open apps, you silenced your phone and popped it back into your pocket. Sucking in a deep breath, the slightest bit of nerves making themselves known in your stomach, you hummed to yourself, the song he’d sent, the one you just shut off.
Every morning song he’s sent you, you’ve had to turn it off before leaving the apartment, to not disturb your neighbors, to not be a nuisance on the street though every corner came with at least three. You tucked him into your pocket, with your cell phone, with the song, and you became someone else entirely, someone he didn’t know, someone he didn’t get to see. A girl who wouldn’t listen to the songs he sent, and certainly not a girl who would enjoy them.
You became one he’d look at. One that he’d shoot subtle smirks at when the boss tripped over a word or two. A girl that laughed at every joke he told, even if it fell flat with whoever else stood around you. Hongjoong, he worked in the office beside yours, an assistant to a manager who worked beside a manager you assisted. Too often, since starting, the two of you had been assigned the same task at the same time. A coffee run, a folder to file, an exchange of documents for the others’ boss to look over.
From day one, Hongjoong in black, his slicked back hair, his perfectly pristine suits ironed and hung daily… You liked him. With his shoulders rolled backward, his posture uptight, he oozed charisma, a confidence that would certainly skyrocket him forward in no time. Graduating from NYU, pursuing post-grad degrees, some you didn’t understand, he walked and talked with a gust incomparable to most. A boss. A leader. The type of guy to lower his brows, soften his eyes, give you a reassuring smile and shake of the shoulder, and suddenly you’d feel as though you could take on the world as well.
Career wise, you knew it’d be best to keep him on your side, however…
With the mess of time and endless hours you spent together, you didn’t account that falling for the guy would ever become a possibility.
Yet here you were, wearing pantsuits you had to take a loan out to afford, and pinning your hair back in ways you’ve only seen older women in movies pull off. Another corporate daisy in the garden that was the office he frolicked about, dancing his fingers over the edges, the petals of each one, appeasing them all with that god damned wicked smile that came out with a wink.
Accidentally. Sometimes. You think. You hoped.
He drank champagne at corporate parties. A pocket watch hung from his slacks, and he’d sling his jacket over his shoulder to reveal what he’d been wearing was a tailored three piece he copped from Rodeo on vacation with his sister and her car company owning husband. With a pinky in the air he laughed in singular syllables as the department heads cracked their jokes you didn’t understand, most likely a guy thing, and he made sure to compliment every woman that breezed past him.
The kind of girls that had legs miles long, hair blown out and bouncing at their shoulders or below, low cut dresses front and back, diamonds dripping in the plunges front and back. They’d give a tight lipped smile, one you’ve practiced in the mirror before feeling utterly ridiculous, and he’d end up coercing one into the back of a car with a driver provided by the company. A car you arrived in together. A car you’ve never been the girl to go home in after the party was over.
You’d catch a cab, tipsy and groveling, and meet up with Yunho and San at Dante NYC, your favorite bar on MacDougal, the street of all things food and drinks. The owner knew the three of you, you’ve frequented Dante’s since your days at Columbia, escaping back down to the Village once the classes in Harlem were through.
Small, as places in the city were, Dante’s had a vibe none other could replicate. Tiny plates of just enough food to each order on your own and pass around to share, bartenders on shift before they scurried off to audition for a Broadway show that worked and lived for tips, offering heavy pours if you offered up your cash, an old Italian energy, a type of culture that Manhattan yearned to hold onto. It’s where you were off to tonight, Yunho and San in attendance, along with Jongho, another co-worker of yours, if you could convince him.
One of the last times he ended up at Dante’s with you three he drank his body weight in whiskey and sang a Celine Dion duet with the bartender, stripping down to his undershirt beneath his button down. San has the videos to prove it, and he isn’t afraid to use them if Jongho is acting snippy in the groupchat.
You’d be there in mere hours, drinking and singing along to the music Yunho would be in charge of, ordering plate after plate of whatever the chef felt like cooking up, hanging off of San’s broad shoulders and groaning about your boss with Jongho. You just had to make it through this mandatory meeting your entire branch was required to attend.
Slipping into a cab headed uptown, city sights whizzing by the window in the blink of an eye, you’re dropped off in front of a skyscraper, one unlabeled, but drilling into the fluffy summer clouds. Swiping your card, bidding your driver a good day, you stepped onto the concrete and smoothed out your shirt. Just as you were headed to grab the golden door handle that stretched across half the glass, a beefy bicep hooked into your elbow and yanked you backward.
“Ladies should never open the door for themselves,” his melodic voice tickled your skin.
Shooting him a tight smile, a slight roll of your eyes, you met his milk chocolate gaze and said, “Jongho, you are much too kind.”
Pulling the door open for you, he leaned down to mutter, “Just showing you how a gentleman should act towards a lady.” Guiding you inside, he ushered you through the lobby, throwing an inconspicuous wave toward the receptionist you’re pretty sure he’s slept with. “Holding doors, never letting them navigate uncharted territory on their own.”
“Pretty sure I’ve worked here for two and a half years,” you giggled, nodding toward a group of employees chatting by the elevators.
Heels clicking on the tiled floor, the sound echoing up into the tall ceilings carved with marble and painted like the sistine chapel, you took in everyone's appearance, them having done pretty much the same as you, taking themselves a bit more seriously this morning.
“This meeting is uncharted territory,” you mumbled, meeting eyes with a few colleagues plagued with tunnel vision. Jongho sighed, glancing about the room.
“I haven’t seen anyone this paranoid since- Ah! Mr. Song,” he cut himself off as the two of you turned a corner, running into a man in a tuxedo fit for a royal wedding. Bending in half some, a bow of sorts, you panicked and copied him, having no idea how to act in front of the man who traveled across the country to speak with your company.
Mr. Song gave you both a light smile, acknowledging the way Jongho held onto you, the way he escorted you through the building. Giving him a short look, one with a bit of pride, he said, “Good morning. I’ll see you soon.”
Jongho beamed. “Prompt as usual, Mr. Song.”
The older man flickered his gaze toward you, his eyes glazing over your body, ending on your hair. His smile had somewhat faded, and he didn’t give you as much as a sigh before he turned to continue his pursuit over the tile.
Scoffing to yourself, so Jongho could hear you, you shot him a glare as he slipped his arm out of yours. “Did you know he was going to be down here?” He nibbled the insides of his cheeks. “You asshole, you used me.” Situating your purse over your shoulder, you shoved him like a child and bounded ahead of him, straight for the stairs.
“Hey,” he spat, hurrying after you. Long strides brought you far, but he was quicker, catching onto the strap of your purse with the curl of a finger. “Hey, Shug,” he teased, pulling you to a complete stop.
Whirling around, you narrowed your eyes. “You can’t call me that.”
He smiled. “What’s it even mean? I’ve listened to him call you that for a year.”
Shrugging, you jiggled your head around. “Shug, like sugar, I dunno, you know him, it’s vintage,” you drug out in a deep voice to mimic Yunho’s.
Jongho eyed you curiously, how you fidgeted with your bag, how you glanced around like you were sharing a secret. “Okay,” he said softly with the smallest nod, gesturing toward the stairwell, “After you, y/n.”
“And after these are filed, we have to get those into his mailbox, and then Seonghwa has to sign these for you, I’ll get Wooyoung to sign these for me, and then we’re set,” Hongjoong flashed a dazzling smile your way, buckling your knees. He oozed charisma. He smelled of something musky and dark, something you yearned to taste on his smooth skin adorned with silver jewelry hanging off of him.
Taking the folder from his nimble fingers he wore rings on, you smirked. “And then we have to sit through that meeting.”
Hongjoong rolled his eyes and leaned forward on the counter, dipping his shoulder toward you to nudge you. “Did you get a look at Mr. Song? I don't know whether or not to expect anything good from this.”
Inching closer to him, you narrowed your eyes. “You think we’re all fired? Forever?”
Matching your energy, a wickedness flashed in his eyes. “We’re gonna have to work the corners, he’ll rip everything away from us.”
“In that suit, with that attitude, he will,” you said, and he laughed.
He tapped you with a fist, sliding over more papers across the counter before reaching for two coffee cups. “We’re gonna be fine,” he mumbled, shaking his head as his smile softened, “I have an in.” Wiggling his brows, he flashed you a wink.
Gulping, keeping the heat that longed to rise to your cheeks at bay, you tilted your head. “Of course you do, Joong, I expected nothing less.”
He laughed again, filling up the cups in front of him. “It’s gonna be good, I was just messing with you.” Raising his gaze, intense and disarming, he winked again. “Hope you’ve got a dress that drips off of you like those pants, y/n.”
Jaw popping open, blinking entirely flustered, you took the coffee cup he held out for you as he passed by, and didn’t say much else aside from, “I-I do,” and you watched him strut away wearing that goddamn smirk. I do?
You thought to yourself, tearing through your closet in your brain. Dresses you owned, sure, but nothing compared to what you wore today– bland, grey, itchy fabric. A dress? You were going to need a dress? After today's meeting?
“Shit,” you whispered, collecting yourself, bounding for your boss’s office.
For hours you worked beside Seonghwa, Mr. Park, a tall man with broad yet slender shoulders and clean cut black hair pushed backward off of his forehead. In a sleek black suit, his jacket hanging on the back of his door, he wore the top two buttons of his shirt undone, giving you a peek of the chain that hung beneath the collar. Utterly stunning, but too old for you, you adored watching him subdue clients that sat in the chairs in front of his desk, both women and men falling under his spell, dazed by his beauty.
He treated you fairly, like anyone else in the office. Though you were his assistant, and you answered to his commands, you were his equal in a sense, and you felt nothing but comfortable in his presence.
Wooyoung on the other hand, Hongjoong's boss, he’s one to watch out for. Handsy after a glass of whiskey, married for what seems like a billion years, his wandering eyes have caught you in quiet hallways on the way back from the restroom more than once.
“Tell me, y/n,” Seonghwa sang from his chair, sitting back against the leather, tapping his hundred dollar pen on his desk, “What keeps you at this company?”
You puttered about his office, straightening books, organizing filing cabinets. Glancing at him over your shoulder, his gaze locked in on yours, curious, you hummed and brushed your hands against your pants. Itchy fabric.
“Pay is good,” you said, and he let out a loose laugh. Stepping toward his desk, you leaned over the back of one of the two chairs facing him. Eyes drawing over the nameplate in front of him, you smiled. “The people are fun.”
Seonghwa lowered his brows. “Are they?”
“Why do you ask?” Twisting your fingers together, you copied his face.
He sucked in a breath and let out a guttural sigh, surprising you. Standing to his feet, you stood up straight as well. “I’ve been thinking some thoughts.”
“As one does,” you joked, watching him pace along the back part of his office, staring out the floor length windows.
Turning to you, he sat down on the edge of a cabinet and flicked the pen between his fingers. “You don’t think some of them are too egotistical?” Pressing your hands to the front of your hips, your lips parted with a thought you weren’t sure you should say. Seonghwa noticed, dropping his chin. “You can tell me. Your secret is safe with me, they always are.”
Wooyoung popped into your head. The nights spent at company parties watching Hongjoong act like Mr. Big Dick popped in right next to him. Passing by Mr. Song on the first floor, the way he looked at you, looked down at you, popped next to him.
Seonghwa’s lips curled into a smile. “I can see it,” he sang, pointing at you with his pen, “You’re thinking it.”
“I am,” you whispered, scrunching your face up. “Am I going to get fired?”
He chuckled and walked around his desk, pushing off of the cabinet with his foot. “I’d never fire you, you’re much too good at what you do, and you don’t act like these… assholes.”
Your gasp made him snicker. “Mr. Park,” you teased.
“Please,” he shot you a look, “What do I say about that.”
You crossed your arms over your chest and lowered your chin. “Mr. Park, what do I say about that?”
Rolling his eyes, he walked by you to the other side of his office. In a silly voice, he mocked, “It’s not professional.”
“It’s not,” you said, tone stern, “Now sit down and think about what you’ve done.”
Seonghwa whirled himself around with a smile and listened to you. Plopping back into his chair after his circle around his space, he pulled himself under his desk and placed his elbows on it.
“After today's meeting,” he said quietly like the walls could talk, “We need to talk.”
Nerves struck through you. “Do you know what it’s about?”
Perking a brow, he shook his head.
“Hongjoong said he knows,” you said, and Seonghwa rolled his eyes more dramatically than before.
Splaying backward in his chair, he exclaimed, “Of course he does– see, this is what I mean!” Jolting forward with a wave of his hand, he groaned. “What did he tell you?”
Glancing at your feet, your cheeks flushed. Setting aside how your heart stuttered at the thought of his words, you mumbled, “That I’ll need a dress, or something.”
Seonghwa paused. Resting his hands over the wood of his desk, he cocked his head aside. “You still have a crush on him?”
“Seonghwa!” Heat blasted through your cheeks, the hot and cold too much to handle.
Your boss smiled. “Just checking. Is that why you won’t agree with me, that they’re assholes?”
Admitting it made it true, and you didn’t want it to be true.
Under his gaze, Hongjoong’s, you’ve never felt more valuable, like the work you did here mattered, like the punishing of yourself daily while you readied yourself in the morning was worth something. One day you’d be the girl climbing into the back of the car with him. One day he’d place his hand on the small of your back instead, he’d waltz you around hotel lobby’s, through ballrooms, he’d introduce you to men with big names you can’t pronounce…
“Y/n,” Seonghwa cooed.
You blinked. “Sorry, I just…”
He drug his tongue over his teeth, taking a deep breath. “What have I told you before?”
Your fingers curled under the vest you wore. Dropping your eyes to his desk, you muttered, “That good guys don’t work here.”
Seonghwa followed your eyes and dropped his to the desk. Tapping his pen a few times, he clicked his tongue and said, “Why don’t you break until we have to go sit in that room full of testosterone?”
Perking up a bit, you breathed, “Really?”
He huffed a laugh, gesturing to your purse hanging up on the wall. “Please. Go get a drink before we have to subject ourselves to nonsense.”
Taking yourself across his office, you slung your bag over your shoulder and rifled around in it for your cell phone. Giving him a crazy look, you said, “No drinking on the clock, it’s-”
“Unprofessional,” he said at the same time as you, bobbing his head. “I’ll see you in an hour.”
you: And then he said, do i own a dress that drips off of me like the pants i’m wearing
sannie: bro wants you, what the hell
yun: Gross.. objectifying you per usual, i’m not surprised in the slightest
you: not objectifying, thats wooyoung, hongjoong has never put his hands on me
sannie: but you want him toooooooooooooo
you: I do, god, he’s so smiley today too……….
yun: Are we still going to Dante’s or what..
you: Yes and Jongho is coming, he just doesn’t know it yet
sannie: FUCK YES
sannie: tonight we get him to sing whitney houston
you: ANNNND IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII
sannie: EEEE-IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII WILL ALLLLWAYS
you: LOOOOVE YOUUUUUU-WHOOOOOOOO
yun: Classic
“Typing a mile a minute,” his voice struck your skin like he doused you like ice cold water, “What’s so funny?” A flick of a lighter. A sharp inhale and long exhale. Cigarette smoke washed over you where you sat on the concrete bench of the corner park across the street from the company.
Dropping your phone face down in your lap, you folded your arms over yourself and shot him a look. “None-ya.”
Hongjoong grinned, sitting on the edge of the bench beside you. “Oh really,” he teased with a wiggle of his brow. “Texting your little boyfriend?”
Now ice cold water did wash over you. Sitting up a little straighter, you shook your head in a convincing way that hid the fact that you were desperate for him to know that you were very much single. “Not my boyfriend,” you moaned, “My friends.” Putting emphasis on the S, you reached for his cigarette.
Giving it up, he eyed your lips as they wrapped around the tip. “Insane.”
Blowing out the smoke, handing it back over to him, you crunched your brows in question.
He rolled the cigarette between his fingers and gave you half of a shrug. “That you’re single, that’s all.”
You wanted to squirm with how his eyes fell over you. You wanted to wriggle around, get a little friction between your legs by the seam of your pants, and then straddle him and get a public indecency charge. It sucked he could read it all over your body.
With a smirk, he took a drag of his smoke and met your eyes. “You got a dress or what?”
“I do,” you said.
You don’t, but you will.
“Good,” he crooned, sucking down another hit of his cigarette. “You ever been to a company gala before?”
Company gala. A Gala. Excitement bubbled within you. Asking you if you had a dress, asking you if you’ve ever attended a company gala…
“We started around the same time, Joong, do you think I ever have?” Teasing him, you snatched the cigarette from him and finished it, jabbing it into the concrete of the bench before flicking it into a nearby garbage can. “You’ve been to plenty, Mr. Mayor, okay?”
He laughed. Apparently you were funny today.
Crossing his legs, bouncing his foot, he shook his head as his smile grew. “I just know how to work them, sweetheart,” he crooned, and your insides did a cartwheel, “You could too if you’d just give it up.”
Your phone vibrated on your lap. Picking it up, you opened the message and smiled at it. “Give it up?” you asked, half paying attention. Typing back to Yunho, you giggled to yourself and pressed send.
Hongjoong, quicker than you, reached for your phone and pulled it from your hands before you had the chance to lock it.
“Oh my god,” you gasped, scooting toward him, scrambling for it, “Give that back.” Fighting you off with his elbow in your gut, he skimmed the message and laughed. This time instead of him laughing with you, you could feel it in your gut, he laughed at you.
“What the hell is a Shoog,” he curled his lip up, reading the text aloud. “Shoog, I don’t know about you but that song is stuck in my head, we can get Jongho to sing that one later instead, that’d be really funny.”
“It’s Shug,” you huffed, pushing at him, trying to reach for the cell he gripped, “It means sugar.”
Leaning into you, almost onto your chest entirely, his smile rested in a way you’ve never seen. Devious, but a little enticing. “Sounds like a boyfriend to me.”
“He’s not,” you almost shouted, catching your phone as he tossed it into your lap. Hongjoong used his body weight to rock onto his feet, brushing off his thighs from the concrete. “You have a problem if he is?”
Pursing his lips, cinching his brow, he scoffed. “The fuck you take me for, sweetheart? I don’t care who’s in your pants and who’s not.” Pointing at your phone, he jerked his head. “Loverboy has a nicer suit than me?”
Exclaiming aloud, shock evident on your face, you pressed your fingers between your brows. “What is going on?” Dropping your hands, you shot him a glare, one he returned with a sultry smirk. “Joong, what are you getting at here?”
He straightened his suit jacket, cocking his chin. “Nothing,” he said simply, nodding toward the building across the street. “I’ll see you inside. Meetings in ten.”
Without a response from you he left, strutting across the street and over the steps into the lobby. Sighing roughly, letting the sound regulate your nervous system from whatever that was, you picked up your phone.
yun: Shug I don’t know about you but that song is STUCK in my head.. We can get Jongho to sing that one later instead.. That’d be really funny..
A smile graced your lips.
you: I'd love that, I have been singing it all day… About to go into the meeting… wish me luck
yun: The store is dead.. You should skip it and come hang out with me..
yun: Kidding, good luck corporate candy, don’t let them eat you..
Men flooded the room. Whenever the company filed into the conference like this, bodies upon bodies, the realization that with more than one company across the country that there were more men just like this to crowd rooms…
The women were far and few between, in tight black dresses and high heels, with their hair on their heads like crowns. Make up done to the nines, their jewelry glittering underneath the harsh overhead lighting, they clung to their supervisors, the men they assisted, some of them arm in arm, waltzing through the conference room doors with their sharp jaws and pointed noses turned up.
You waddled beside Seonghwa, like a little duck, following the man that stood six foot tall around the room, smiling politely as he shook hands and introduced you to men who spared you a glance for no more than three seconds. After each round Seonghwa leaned down to murmur in your ear, “Assholes.”
He says your name properly, he doesn’t introduce you as his assistant, he introduces you as his colleague, his second, his right hand, a partner in crime of sorts, though most of the men didn’t find that one too funny. But, it made you laugh. And, to Seonghwa, that’s what he cared about.
He prefaced this meeting letting you know that he knows how it feels to be a little fish in a corporate ocean, let alone be a woman in a predominantly male field, to which he told you he doesn’t know, but he takes the time to understand. He had your back, he always has and he always will, which is why he favored your opinion on where to sit.
There were open seats beside higher ups visiting for the day, the ones that weren’t onstage. Some were beside the charismatic mouths that most tried to steal the attention of, beside Wooyoung and Hongjoong who laughed louder than all the mouths you could try to count.
Jongho sat toward the back, his chin tipped down, focused on his phone. On his own, his keeper elsewhere, he pressed his phone to his ear and babbled a mile a minute, letting his eyes scan the crowd. Meeting yours, he lit up, and his hand shot in the air. Giving him a meek wave, keeping your cool in front of your office's CEO that Seonghwa discussed matters with, you waited for him to finish, and then just as Mister Boss turned his back, you pointed at Jongho.
“Seats,” you offered.
Seonghwa gave you his soft smile, lifting his eyes to Jongho flinging his arm about. A gentle laugh pushed through his lips. “Sure.”
He would’ve sprawled across the chairs next to him if you didn’t hightail it over there. Weaving through men in suits, some side eyeing you but shaking Seonghwa’s hand, your smile grew as you got closer to Jongho.
“No, I gotta go,” he said into his phone, standing up to throw an arm around your back like the two of you didn’t bump into one another that morning, “I gotta go! San, she’s here, let me go.”
Gasping, you tore his phone out of his hand and pressed it to your ear. “Saaannie,” you sang, heart warming at the giggle that answered you, “Why are you not wooorking?”
Seonghwa shook Jongho's hand and slipped behind you into the seats, leaving one open in the middle for you. He greeted the man on the other side of him and fell into conversation.
San’s warm voice melted through the phone, “I’m on my way to go see Yuuunho.”
“Lucky, we just got into our meeting,” you huffed, plopping down next to Jongho who slung an arm around the back of your chair. “It’s full of men. Old men.” Seonghwa whipped his head of black hair around to give you a look. “Sorry,” you smiled, and laughed as his lip curled.
“Seonghwa’s there?” San sighed, “He’s so hot- Love your jacket! …No, you! …No, you!”
Crossing your legs, you sat backward against the seat cushion and Jongho’s arm. Sharing a glance with him, you muttered, “He’s making friends again.”
Jongho rolled his eyes, flicking his bangs from his forehead. “When is he not?”
You moved the phone between your ears, Jongho leaning in to have a listen. “It’s a store on Broadway… Broadway and 12th… By Ribalta… The Italian place! You’ve never been? …You have to go!”
“San,” Jongho said.
The men took their place onstage, squabbling with one another about who gets to sit where and who will speak first. Mr. Song, Mingi, the man who looked down on you this morning, with his chin held high he waltzed about the stage, like a celebrity, waving to those who were worthy.
“It’s really good, I swear… Ugh, I know, it’s like sometimes they try too hard to be authentic, trust me, babe, this one is worth it…”
“San,” you said.
Seonghwa and the man beside him focused forward as the room began to fall quiet.
“...It’s right next to it… The store… Yeah, but they’re limited to what they carry, so they might not have it in season right now–”
You and Jongho both sneered, “San!”
“What!”
“We have to go,” you breathed, wanting to laugh, but the pressure of the men above you literally and physically ate you alive. Putting the phone back in Jongho’s possession, you sucked in a breath and settled in your seat.
Jongho whispered into his phone, “Yes, yes, I’ll see you later… Dante’s? No, she didn’t tell me, but I’ll be there… Okay, okay… I will not sleepover… I don’t care what happened last time, I’m not– Goodbye!”
Mingi tapped on the mic connected to the podium, stepping up with a grin and thunderous applause. Your hands stayed folded on your lap. As did Jongho’s. As did Seonghwa’s.
You glanced at Jongho with a perked brow. “Last time?”
He sighed, shaking his head. “Let it go.”
“You owe me for this morning,” you narrowed your eyes, and he copied you. “No, no, tell me, Mr. Misogyny.”
“Not Mr. Misogyny, fine,” he groaned, shifting in his seat to face you a bit more. The applause died down as he leaned into you, whispering, “The last time we went to Dante’s and I got shit faced, San was supposed to take me home.”
Furrowing your brow, not listening to Mingi’s opening greeting, you whispered, “Did he not take you home?”
Jongho’s eyes widened. “Oh, he took me home. And he stayed.”
Gasping internally, your smile spreading over your cheeks, you gripped his knee, digging your nails into his slacks. “Gay.”
He shot you a glare. “Bi.”
Rolling your eyes, you whispered, “San is gay, you are a typical bisexual New Yorker, you’re not special, we’re all bi here.”
He took a hand to his chest, clutching nonexistent pearls. “Ouch?”
Glancing to his hand that screamed gay, you popped your brows. “Mr. Misogyny.”
He threw his other hand toward you, whacking your arm. “Shut up!”
“Shut up, you shut-”
“Children,” Seonghwa scolded with a smile, breathing through a laugh at how you and Jongho froze to look at him, arms tangled, faces scrunched up.
Pulling yourselves into your own seats like toddlers, you set your focus forward and pursed your lips. Mr. Song went on and on about the success of his company, how proud he is of how his success has spread nationwide, that he’s grateful to have such strong men like himself working beneath him, for him. You could hear how Seonghwa’s eyes rolled. You couldn’t wait to tell Yunho all of this.
Scanning the room, the lot of bald men and those with receding hairlines eating up every word though it all came out extremely backhanded, your eyes land on Hongjoong, snickering with Wooyoung, the two acting as though Mingi spoke directly to them.
Hongjoong sat at the end of the row, on the section opposite of yours. His legs were crossed, his slacks rising above his ankle to flash his designer socks. He wore no suit jacket, just his button down, a statement to the men around him, that he didn’t need to act or present himself like they did, that he was better than them. He sat here with ease, a relaxed posture, both him and Wooyoung simply waiting for the words to be said, and once they were, he sat forward with a gust of excitement, celebrating with the rest of them. But, then he turned over his shoulder, and his eyes landed on you like he’d kept tabs on where you were sitting.
Mingi announced, “That’s why we’ll be throwing a Harmony Foundation Gala, for all of our branches, right here in Manhattan. You’re all invited. Open bars, the finest catering, exquisite music, hours upon hours of not working,” he added coyly, and the room lost their minds, “And you will all receive a plus one.”
Seonghwa muttered to the man beside him, not surprised in the slightest that something of the sort would occur. Neither of them seemed to be excited, unlike the rest of the men who started a riot, shouting across the room to one another, elbowing each other in the guts with grins on their faces.
Jongho sighed heavily. “Well, this should be fun.”
“It should,” you mumbled, staring back at Hongjoong who shot you a wink. “This is why I need a dress.”
“Huh?” he asked, resting an elbow on your shoulder, following your eyeline to Hongjoong who turned away once he’d been caught. Jongho groaned, “Oh no.”
“He told me I need a dress,” you almost whispered. “I think he’s gonna ask me to the gala.”
Jongho sucked in a breath, one he didn’t seem to release. Glancing between you and the back of Hongjong's head, he stuttered, “Uh, really? How do you know? We just found out.”
“He knew about it,” you shook your head, “He fucking knew about it.”
Seonghwa tapped you with the back of his hand. “You were right.”
“I was,” you whispered. “He was.” Your belly bubbled with excitement, your heart beating three times faster than normal. You needed a dress, a good one, a gorgeous one. You had to schedule a hair appointment, a nail appointment, a facial, or something, whatever else it is that these other girls did before these kinds of parties, a wax, a bikini wax, Brazilian wax! And your eyebrows, you needed those done too, and maybe your face, just in case, you haven’t checked out those details in a while–
“New shoes,” you uttered out loud, and Jongho laughed.
Snapping your neck to look at him, he nearly leapt backward. “Christ,” he gasped, his hand reaching up for those non-gay pearls once again, “What just happened?”
You stood up abruptly, grasping the bottom of your vest. “I have so much to do.”
Seonghwa hooked a finger in the back of your vest by the collar of your shirt and pulled you back down. “He’s not done, you can buy your dress later.”
“And then he turned around,” you shouted over the music, hands splaying across the wooden table littered with empty drinks. San leaned forward, his broad chest bumping the table, rattling the glasses. Jongho sat beside him sucking on a straw making an awful sound. Yunho sat back in his chair with his arms folded over his chest, his face upturned. “And he looked at me.”
San threw himself backward with a gasp, his biceps rippling under the short sleeves of the tight black t-shirt. “No he did not,” he squawked, slapping a hand to Jongho’s shoulder, making the straw pop out of his mouth and his eyebrows skyrocket.
“He did,” he teased, rolling his eyes, setting the cup down on the table with a clang. Putting his elbows on the wood, he put his chin in his hands and eyed Yunho. “What do you make of all this?”
Kicking his foot around, the one crossed over his knee, he shrugged. “I think he’s a dick.” He held a finger up toward you just as a whine almost slipped out of you. Giving you a look from behind grey thin rimmed glasses, he said, “You deserve better, I don’t know why you’re chasing him.”
San, rubbing the back of his neck, slinging an arm around Jongho’s chair, muttered, “Mr. Big Dick…”
Yunho groaned, “Oh, great.” Jongho scoffed, nudging San as Yunho sat forward for his empty cup and knocked back the little bit at the bottom, and a few ice chips. Pushing them around with his tongue, he shook his head and leaned into you. “You can do better, Shug.”
Jongho kicked your leg under the table.
“Ugh,” groaning aloud, you shot a hand toward San, “You get it, don’t you?”
He picked the cherry out of his glass and popped it between his teeth. “I do, trust me, he’s packin’, but…” His voice trailed off, his gaze dragging over to Yunho.
Looking at him, then looking back at San, you swatted two hands at Yunho and groaned again. “But, what!”
“Nothing,” he shouted, twisting his lips into a smile. “We need another round, Jongho’s not drunk enough.” Yunho threw a hand in the air to call over the waitress who has served you more than once.
Jongho tipped his head back to look at the ceiling. “Why me? Why me.”
San slung himself around the boy in a hoodie much too heavy for the summer heat. “Because, pretty boy, we like to hear you sing.”
“I can’t sing.” About half the bar stopped to glare at him, even the waitress who took Yunho’s order.
Grabbing his cheeks, San squished them and brought his lips dangerously close. “So humble, so cute.”
“Enough,” Jongho shrugged him off, poking a finger into his bicep to push him away with a hysterical glare.
San’s eyes dropped to the hoodie. “That’s coming off in an hour.”
Sliding your hand across the table, you raised a pinky for him to hook with his. “I’ll take that bet.”
Exchanging wicked grins, San shook your hand around. “Loser has to let the winner take him home.” Jongho sighed, then smiled up at the waitress who clicked her pen.
“Bet,” you whispered with a scrunch of your nose.
“Thanks so much,” Yunho smized, the girl waltzing away with a pep in her step. Facing the table, he pushed his hair back off of his forehead and released a breath. “You guys are nuts.” Pouting, you propped an elbow on his bare shoulder exposed by the cut off tee he wore. He set his jaw in place, narrowed his eyes, and took his time looking at you, before he flickered his eyes over to San, then Jongho. “I give it a half hour.”
San, cracking a laugh, grabbed onto Jongho once again and shook him around, the two getting into a minor fistfight as San tried to take the hoodie off of him now.
Giggling, letting your bodyweight tip more onto Yunho, you caught his eye and gave him a small smile. Nodding toward where the waitress plugged in your order, you mumbled, “She was cute.”
He didn’t have to look at who you were talking about to know. Locked in on you, he smirked. “She’s taken.”
“How do you know that? You asked her already, didn’t you?”
He let out a laugh, shaking his head. Breaking his gaze from yours, he nodded toward the corner of the bar where a scrawny boy with blonde hair to his shoulders sat, one too pretty to even be a boy, so maybe he wasn’t. Dressed in a large white t-shirt and jeans way too big for his hips, he stared out the window with wide brown eyes as he guzzled his drink. Oblivious, almost, until the waitress popped in front of him and his cheeks broke out with the widest smile and most perfect teeth.
“Cute,” you whispered, and Yunho looked at you. You watched as the boy took the girl's hands and pulled her closer, his eyes full of galaxies as he listened to her speak. He asked her a question and she blushed, glancing over her shoulder with a laugh as if to see if anyone else had heard him. “Really cute. They look young.”
Yunho considered it, tilting his head. “Not much younger than us.”
You met his eyes. “You aren’t even looking at them.”
“I don’t have to,” he said quietly. Not even the way Jongho laughed at San could break his gaze. “Do you really like Hongjoong?” He wore a singular necklace today, it hung over the old band shirt he wore, shaped like a star, or some sort of sun. Reaching for it, you pulled your lips to the side and messed with the points hanging on the chain.
“I think I do,” you said.
“You think you do?”
Looking at him, you said, “I do.”
He flashed you a lazy smile. “You sure?” Tossing his necklace at his chest, ignoring how it bounced off, you shoved away from him with a huff. He twisted in his chair, following you, leaning into you instead. “No, no, I’m just asking. Are you sure?” One of his elbows rested on the back of his chair, the other on the edge of the table. He caged you in, his size incredible.
Folding your arms around yourself, now wearing a cropped tank and ripped jeans, you blinked up at him and shrugged. “I think so.”
“Well,” he breathed through a laugh, “As long as you think so.”
“Stop,” you whined, nudging him.
“No, I get it,” he nodded, tipping his chin up, “Mr. Big Dick, I’d like him too, he’s a hot shot.”
“You’re dumb,” you mumbled, facing the table, turning a shoulder toward him. He took that as an invitation to lean in and prop his elbow on it. “Get off’a me-”
“Shug,” he said just above a whisper, stopping you from pushing him away. He had your arm in his grip, gentle, but strong. “I just don’t want you to get hurt, you’ve told us so much about him, Jongho doesn’t like him, he doesn’t seem like a good guy, that’s all.”
“What do you know?” Shrugging again, he let you go, but then grabbed your ankle with his feet and trapped it. Glaring at him, he smiled back.
“I know you,” he said, “And I know that you’d rather share a cigarette with a stranger and then buy a beer for a bum on the street, clink your glasses together and talk about the ways of the world, rather than become a CEO’s wife.” Averting your gaze to his chest, his necklace, you listened to him. “You think he’d wanna come here and see how long it takes for Jongho to strip?”
“Hey,” Jongho whined, giving you both a mere glance before San took his attention back.
“You think he’d wanna sit here and try every drink on the menu? Will he tip our waitress too much ‘cause he knows what it's like to struggle? Will he think it's funny that you have to jump once on the floorboard by the lightswitch in your kitchen otherwise the light won’t turn on?”
Blinking up at him, you muttered, “Why the lesson?”
He shrugged, glancing around the bar before he said, “I just don’t want you to forget who you are. I’ve known you for six years, Shug. This crush is growing, I don’t want you to lose yourself in the process. If you wanna sleep with him, sleep with him,” you both laughed, “Just don’t get attached ‘cause he doesn’t seem like the guy to hold onto a girl.”
You twisted around to face him again, pulling your leg free from his hold, though now your knees were nestled between his. Closing them in, capturing you, he flashed you a smile.
Perking a brow, you glanced behind him, though you could barely see over his shoulders. “And you should sleep with the waitress.”
Yunho turned around briefly, the sight of the waitress and the blonde boy making eyes at each other making him hum his disapproval. “Think that little guy does just fine,” he said, turning back toward you.
Comfortably letting life occur around you, you and Yunho shared a smile, one that faded as your eyes danced over the other's face. Six years you’ve shared, one of the first friends you made after your move to Manhattan, the cool guy in the record store you stumbled into looking for new wall decor.
San was a bonus, his roommate, a packaged deal those two. You guys clicked in an instant, sharing interests, music taste, a love for the city and all that it offered. By your third visit into the store he was inviting you out for drinks that weekend. Surprised when you asked San to join, he stuttered a few times, but agreed, mumbling something about you all getting to know one another better. Six years and a Jongho later, here you were.
Pulling your eyes off of him, you notice that the next round of drinks had been dropped off and that San and Jongho were halfway done theirs, staring at you two. Sucking in a breath, you swiveled around in your chair, and Yunho did the same, ignoring how the boys ping ponged their stare between either of you.
“What?” you snapped, reaching for your drink. Yunho pinched his brow and sipped his beer. San seemed to say something to him telepathically, but everyone refused to acknowledge it.
“Anyways,” Yunho cleared his throat, cocking his chin at Jongho and his hoodie, “Off, Choi.”
With one arm wrapped around your shoulders, Yunho kicked his feet in front of him with each step, laughing while he sang aloud and you kicked your feet with him. Smiles wide, drunken laughter bouncing off of the hot concrete into the night sky, San swaggered a few steps in front of you with Jongho under his arm.
Tossing a hand in the air, swaying into your side, throwing you off balance, Yunho sang, “I’ll stop the world-”
“And melt with you!” Jongho slurred, trying to escape San’s hold, but if he did he’d stumble over his own feet and almost fall on his face like he did five minutes ago.
“You’ve seen the difference and it’s getting better all the time,” San’s voice was muffled, Jongho grabbed him as soon as his mouth opened and tried to kiss him.
Yunho, throwing his head back with a laugh that echoed down Bleeker Street, he squeezed you into him and sang, “There’s nothing you and I won’t do!” Hitting you with a grin, he groaned. “It’s so good, it’s so good.”
Bumping his hip with yours as the four of you came to a stop at the corner of 6th Avenue, your tipsy smile made him laugh. “This’ll be your song for the entire next week.”
Dipping down, his nose almost touched yours. “Until-”
“Something makes me feel better than this,” you said at the same time as him, widening your eyes.
Leaning into his hold, letting him balance you, you released a ragged sigh. “I needed this,” you yawned, snaking an arm around his waist for stability. Your several drinks had caught up to you, you needed your sweatpants and your bed. “I needed you.”
He smiled, meeting your gaze, his eyes heavy from the liquor, deeper than ever. “You did?”
Grabbing a fistful of his shirt, your fingers brushing against his bare side, you smiled something lazy and giggled. Then, you giggled again as Jongho almost tripped up the curb across the street. “I did,” you said with a sure nod, following close behind the boys heading up Bleeker.
Yunho snapped his head up and pressed his lips together, trying to hide his smile.
Nudging him, you asked, “What?”
He shook his head, popping out his bottom lip. “Nothing.”
Your laugh projected down the street, “What!?”
“Nothing!”
Digging a finger up into his armpit he clamped down with a cackle, you dug your finger into his sides, in the cut outs of his shirt, bellowing with cries of success as he wriggled around and bent in half. “Tell me! Tell me!” San and Jongho were several steps ahead now, San raking his fingers through Jongho’s hair where his head sat on his shoulder.
Yunho lifted a knee, his whines and rampant giggles a white flag, and he tried to push you off of him. Clamping yourself to his front, your chests pressed together, both hands in the cut outs of his shirt, you had him. His weakness.
“C’mon,” you teased, grabbing him, messing with him, tickling him, all too funny really. “Tell me, tell me, tell me–”
He snapped straight up and grabbed onto your shoulders, pulling you into him as his face wiped clean. “Christ,” he muttered, spinning to the side. His arms slid around your back, holding you tight. Fear shooting through you, you grabbed onto his biceps and whipped your head around, searching for the source of his worry. Behind you, a door to a restaurant had swung open, one that would’ve hit you if Yunho didn’t have several inches on you and hadn’t seen the people coming.
“Excuse us,” a familiar voice slurred. Jung Wooyoung.
Which meant there was the possibility that–
“Hey, sweetheart.” Hongjoong.
Shit. Shit.
Heart lodging in your throat, you shoved Yunho away and brushed your hands over your front. In a cropped tee and ripped jeans you couldn’t believe you were running into him right now, while you looked like this, after several drinks. Crooked hair on your head, a necklace that had spun around the wrong way, the makeup you had put on after work that was now smeared, your lipstick worn in the middle. Yunho stumbled back a step, you didn’t have much power to move him, but your shove threw him off. Clamping his hands to his stomach, he tangled his brows and glared at you.
“Oh,” Hongjoong crooned, looking at Yunho before he smirked at you, “Sorry, I mean, Shug.” He wore what he had on in the office today, black slacks and his white button down that now had more buttons undone. Wherever his suit jacket had gone, you didn’t want to know. The bare skin of his chest made your mouth water.
A woman stepped out of the restaurant in tall heels and a short dress, complaining about the service, or the hostess, or the bathrooms, you couldn’t make much out over the heat of Hongjoong's stare. She tucked herself into Wooyoung's arm that he held out for her, a cigarette now hanging from his lips, one she reached around in his front pocket for a lighter to light it for him. She was handsy, grabbing something else with a smile before she fished the lighter out. Looking up at them, Wooyoung perked a brow, staring at you, catching you watching them.
“What’d you call her?” Yunho asked Hongjoong, cocking his head aside.
That wicked fucking smile. “Shug,” fell from his lips as smooth as the liquor you’re certain they serve inside this five star joint, “That a problem?”
Yunho narrowed his eyes. “What’s your problem?”
By the time you ripped your eyes off of Wooyoung and his girl you had tuned back into what you stood in the middle of.
“My problem?” Hongjoong laughed, “I don’t have a problem, Stilts.”
Yunho scoffed, making the face he made before his anger overcame him. It never usually happened this fast. This was weird.
Yunho took a step toward him, toward you. “Walk away, Shrimp.”
Holding up a hand, pressing it to his chest, you screwed your brows up and gave them both a look. “Stilts, Shrimp… Grow up, what fucking year is it?”
Hongjoong, surprised, snickered, “What a mouth, Shug!”
“Shut up,” Yunho lunged, but you held him back.
“C’mon,” Hongjoong sized, tilting his head slightly as he looked at you. “You like that old-timey shit don’t you? Play along, Doll, we could have some fun, go to the hop and shake a leg before we have a shag–”
Yunho moved you aside in a blink, lunging for Hongjoong, pushing at his chest with both hands, sending him backward a few steps. “Walk away.”
“Watch yourself,” Wooyoung said, voice steady. He had his phone in his hand already dialed to 911. All he had to do was push the button.
Shoving yourself through the middle of the boys, you swatted at his wrist. “Okay, too far.”
He winked at you, puffing on his cigarette. “He taking you home?” he asked, nodding at Yunho.
Giving his girl a look, she didn’t seem to care. Muttering, “Oh my god,” you turned around and grabbed onto Yunho’s arm, tugging him away from Hongjoong. “Let it go, let’s just leave.” Glancing over your shoulder, you rolled your eyes at Hongjoong who still challenged Yunho. “Leave.”
His eyes glazed over to you, up and down your body, his tongue dragging over the flash of his white teeth. “Not your boyfriend,” he nodded, his eyes fluttering closed for all of two seconds, “Right. See you on Monday, y/n.” The three skipped across the street in the opposite direction. Hongjoong didn’t give you another look, but Wooyoung did, his smirk evident.
Shivering in the summer heat, his eyes making your skin crawl, you wrapped your arms around yourself and started down the sidewalk, following Jongho and San who were long gone.
“Hey,” Yunho breathed, hurrying after you, your pace quick. He reached for your shoulder, but you shrugged him off. “Hey,” he said, louder, “You mad at me?”
Bounding over a cross street, flicking your head in both directions, you didn’t bother to look at him. “No,” you spat, then shook your head, “I don’t know.”
“You don’t know?”
You sped up, your feet powered by your stomach that turned in cartwheels, and not the good kind. “I don’t know, Yunho.”
He grabbed onto your shoulder again, and this time you reached a hand up to pull him off, spinning on your heels to face him. Distraught, his face screwed up, he shook his head and tossed his hands out at his sides. “What’d I do?”
You let out one laugh. “Are you kidding me?” Barely moving, all he did was shake his head about. “Oh my god,” you groaned, twisting around to continue your race home.
“No,” he huffed, grabbing onto you to spin you back around, “What’d I do?”
For the last time, you swatted him away. “You really had to put your hands on him?” Yunho rolled his eyes and threw his head back. “I get you don’t like him, but we just talked about this, I do.”
“Even after what he said,” Yunho grumbled, eyeing the buildings on the street behind you, “Sure, you still like him.”
“He was kidding,” you said matter-of-factly, holding up a hand.
“Sure he was,” he said, raising both of his brows, “His boss was too, right? Kidding just like he was at the holiday party this past Christmas when he grabbed your ass?”
“He was drunk, he was–”
Yunho threw his hands up, his voice echoing down the street, “You’re making shit excuses for them, Shug!”
“It’s not excuses, it’s–”
“It’s what,” he slouched, tucking his hands behind his back, knitting his brows together over his eyes, “Tell me what it is. These guys taking advantage of you, for what? You tell Mr. Park they do all this? Speak to you like this? Put their hands on you? What would he say? What would he do?” He’d have them all fired. Or, he’d try.
He even asked you earlier today, if you thought they were all assholes, if you had an issue with them, as if he knew everything already and had been waiting for you to admit it. Even if he tried to help you, the higher ups wouldn’t do a thing. Shrinking into yourself, pulling fistfuls of denim into your hands, you stared at the concrete under your boots.
Gorgeous he was. Hongjoong. Even when filthy words came out of his mouth, you wanted nothing more than for him to follow through. Everything he had given you all day, the closest you’ve come to him giving you the attention you’ve always wanted from him, he seemed to confirm it all in the filthy words he just said to you. Go to the hop and shake a leg before you have a shag. Cringe worthy, entirely. You wanted to laugh and groan and never hear them again, but what if they were true?
The company gala announced at the meeting was a month away. All of his cohort nagging of get a dress, do you have a dress, and his hints of asking you if you’ve ever been to a gala, or if you had a boyfriend. Even the way he looked at you after the announcement…
He was going to ask you. There was no way in hell that he was not asking you. But with how Yunho just acted like he had to protect you from him, it could’ve screwed everything up.
Lifting your chin, meeting his gaze, you gulped and shook your head. “Let it go,” you mumbled, and his posture admitted defeat. Though it hurt your heart, you said, “I like him, and I want to go to this gala with him. I know, I see it, I hear it, but I just… Maybe I need actual rejection to get over him, I don’t know, but I… I like him. Let me do this.”
Yunho clenched his jaw. Averting his eyes, he shoved his hands in his pockets and shrugged. “Okay.”
“Thank you,” you whispered. Starting down the street, Yunho kept in time with your steps. After a minute or two of quiet, you looked up at him and asked, “You staying over?”
He didn’t smile, but he looked as if he wanted to. “Course.”
Rejection came sooner than expected. Standing at the coffee counter with two cups in your hands, at a bright nine thirty seven in the morning, you watched Hongjoong push a blonde against the wall down a hallway. Curling a finger beneath her chin, tipping her up to look down at her, his lips curled, and they spoke slowly, and she ate it up. Her slow blinks, her pouty lips parting, the lusty nods of her head.
He kissed her. Their hands slipped lower, exploring parts of them they’ve already seemed to touch, like their kiss. One practiced, one rehearsed, for a long time. An extended period of time. The way her hands roamed his back, over the curve of his ass, his hips, his thighs, up the front of his belly and down to his– Nah.
Placing both cups down, you straightened the crisp blouse you had pulled on this morning, one that you thought emphasized your curves like the dress on that blonde, and darted back into Seonghwa’s office, pressing your back to the door after slamming it shut. It hurt. It shouldn’t hurt, you’ve watched him do this with several other girls before, yet your heart had been pierced with something sharp.
Seonghwa sat at his desk, twirling his pen between his fingers. With one leg crossed, he sat backward on the leather, eyeing you curiously. “You do not look happy,” he said. Throat tightening, you shook your head. He uncrossed his legs and sat forward. “You feel okay? I can get through today alone if you need to go home.” You shook your head again, and he laughed to himself. “What happened out there that got you glued to our door?”
“Nothing,” you squeaked.
Unconvinced, he smiled. “One of these days you’re going to tell me the truth,” he said, “Or, I’m hiring you a body guard.”
“No,” you sighed, pushing off the door, stepping closer to his desk. “That hasn’t happened since–” Cutting yourself off, his brows skyrocketed.
“Continue,” he gasped, “Since?”
Raising a finger, you calculated your words, and sighed once more. “I’ll tell you later.”
Seonghwa studied you, his soft eyes sharp, analyzing you from tone to body language. “I’ll go get our coffee,” he said, knowing you didn’t want to go back out there, “Then we can discuss. Get comfy.”
“Wait,” you almost shouted as he grasped the armrests of his chair to stand up, “I’ll go. I’m sorry.”
Settling back down, he tilted his head. “Apology not needed,” he said gently, “Are you sure?”
“Yes,” you breathed, shaking your head. “Just… needed a breather.”
Seonghwa asked, “From?”
Four knocks sounded on the door. Sharing a look with your boss, he gave a tentative, “Come in,” and when the door swung open, your heart sank to your knees.
Holding onto two coffee cups, the cups you left behind, Hongjoong, with a grin across his face, stepped inside and held them up. “You left these behind,” he said, breezing past you to pop them on Seonghwa’s desk.
“Thanks,” Seonghwa said through his teeth.
Hongjoong held a hand toward him. “Don’t mention it, please,” he chortled, adjusting the collar of his shirt. There was lipstick on it. Facing you, he cocked his chin up. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost. You good?”
Thinning your lips, unable to look at him for longer than a second, you hummed, “Mhm.”
“Think she might be coming down with something,” he pouted, glancing at Seonghwa, “She was out partying with her boys all weekend.”
Scoffing aloud, jaw falling open, you shot him a glare, one he returned with a curve of his lips. Seonghwa sighed, reaching for his cup of coffee, not entertaining him.
On his way to the door, Hongjoong leaned into you. “Might want to find a date to that gala soon, Shug,” he sneered. “There’s not many left.”
“There’s not many left.”
San threw himself forward into the table, glasses rattling. “No.”
Copying him, eyes widening, you shouted, “Yes!”
“Asshole,” Jongho stated, hands palms up on the table.
Yunho, pressed to the back of his chair beside you, drug his fingers over his face, rubbing his eyes before he uttered a quiet, “Yeah.”
Knocking back the rest of your drink, slamming it to the wood, you threw a hand over the glasses graveyard before you and your friends and shook your head violently. “He’s… a jerk! That’s it. He sucks!” San, Jongho, and Yunho, they shared a glance before they turned toward you slowly. Squeezing your eyes shut, tightening your hand into a fist, you sighed heavily. “I mean it.”
Jongho asked, “Do you?”
“No,” you breathed, slumping over. Opening your eyes, you drug your hands over your cheeks. “I like him. Damn!” You pounded your fist on the table, glasses rattling again. Yunho rolled his eyes. “But, he sucks.”
“We’ve been trying to–”
“Yunho,” you snapped, pointing your eyes toward him, “I know.”
He screwed up his face and held open his arms in a shrug, his oversized t-shirt dripping off of him like water. “I’m just saying. It’s been all this time, and he’s done this to you so many times.”
Sucking in a breath, one big and dramatic, you leaned back in your chair and smoothed your hands over your thighs to grip your knees. “He has,” you mumbled, recounting the numerous times Hongjoong has flaunted a woman in front of you. “I just… I thought this time… He meant it.”
San downed the rest of his drink and popped his brows. “The bar is low.”
Jongho curled his lip. “The bar is in hell.”
Yunho stared at the table. “Satan is using the bar to hang his laundry.”
Groaning aloud, tipping your chin back, you eased the ache between your lungs with another deep breath.
He meant it. He had to have meant it. You were different from any of the other women he entertained, you were you. Insanely more fun, and interesting, and far from plastic, far from a giggle at every joke kind of girl just because he has money. He had to have meant it, all these insinuations toward the gala, toward taking you, and making sure you were prepared, and had a dress, and a date. You had him. Until…
Snapping your head forward, you twisted in your chair, toward Yunho, who shot you the world's weirdest look. Jongho furrowed his brows and swatted at San’s hand that tried to swipe his half full beer, San who also stared at the two of you, curious. Yunho stared at you, into your eyes, focused, analyzing. An attempt to read your mind, you think.
And then it clicked.
He erupted, hands flying, voice raising. “Oh no,” he shouted, flinging himself around in his chair to face you, “No, no, no! No! I did not do this! This did not happen ‘cause of what I did, Shug, don’t you dare.”
San and Jongho both shouted, “What did you do?”
Gritting your teeth, you whined, then said, “He touched him.”
San gasped. Jongho, slightly alarmed, slightly disgusted, muttered a quiet, “Whaaa–”
Yunho glared at him. “Not like that.”
“Then how?” San asked, successfully grabbing Jongho’s beer, guzzling it down.
Placing your hands flat on the table, you sat up straight and parted your lips, though Yunho begged you not to. “Friday night, when we all left, you two made it back to your apartment first, you left us behind, and we just so happened to run into Hongjoong.”
“And Wooyoung, and his wife,” Yunho added, his tone flat and unamused.
“Not important,” you brushed off.
Yunho’s eyes shot open wide. “Yes important, he would’ve abducted you if I wasn’t there.”
“Hongjoong or Wooyoung?” Jongho asked.
Yunho said, “Wooyoung.”
San elbowed Jongho. “She wants Hongjoong to abduct her.”
“I do not want him to abduct me,” you spat. “Yunho pushed him.”
The boys gasped, both turning to Yunho at once. San smiled, Jongho tilted his head, disappointed.
Yunho held up both hands, feigning innocence. Fluttering his eyes shut, his long lashes splaying over his cheekbones, he said calmly, “He said some fucked up shit, okay? He got in my face, I was drunk, I couldn’t not do it. Mr. Big Dick, I don’t care who you are, you’re in my face, you’re talking shit to my girl, I’m gonna do something.”
Jongho’s jaw popped open. San pulled his lips together before hiding behind his beer, sipping it as his eyes drew over to you.
Cocking your head to the side, you narrowed your eyes. Yunho dropped his hands and looked at you, the face of normal, of patience. Glancing at the table, at the empty glasses in front of him, counting one, two, three, four… Okay.
“You’re drunk,” you said, facing the table and San and Jongho’s disappointment. “He was making jokes, Hongjoong, and he just so happened to get in our way, and between us, and–”
“And I wasn’t having it,” Yunho swung a hand about, “He acted like he had some major claim over you or something, I wasn’t gonna take that.”
Squinting at him, you asked, “And, what? You have ownership over me?”
He snipped, “What?” Facing you, he crossed his arms over his chest. “That’s not what I mean.”
“Sounds like it,” you huffed, giving a look to San. “You heard my whole thing about him that night, how it was possible he wanted to go to the gala with me, and I told you, I like him, and when we run into him, you ruin it.”
“He ruined it himself,” Yunho argued, his hands flying, “If he didn’t get jealous and try to piss on you to claim his territory, I would’ve never snapped. You’re not an object to be won, that’s how they look at women, that’s not you.”
Opening your mouth to fight back, Jongho sat forward and slung a hand between you. “Hang on,” he said quickly, taking his time to look at each of you.
Silence fell, though the bar moved around you, tables getting their orders, the blonde boy and the waitress whispering on barstools, faint music pumping in the background. Jongho exchanged something with San, a look that spoke to only them, and in seconds San broke out into a toothy grin.
Jongho said to you, “Hongjoong said something fucked up to you.” The three of them waited, anticipation on their tongues.
Shrugging, you muttered, “I mean, yeah, I guess it was fucked up.”
San continued before Yunho could air his grievances, “And when Yunho stood up for you, it pissed Hongjoong off?”
Giving your best friend the tiniest of glances, you shrugged again. “Yeah?”
San and Jongho both snickered and faced one another, slapping their hands together. “It’ll work,” they muttered to one another, “It’s going to work. It’s perfect, isn’t it? How did we not see this before? He’s so stupid, he won’t see it coming, he’ll be so pissed, he’ll–”
Yunho waved a hand in front of them. “Hello!?” The boys whirled around, taking in your shared confusion.
“What’s going on?” you asked as the waitress appeared at the end of your table, ready for the four of you to order another round.
San smized, mischief in his eyes, his gaze flickering from Yunho, to you. “You’re gonna win this. We’re gonna play his game.”
Four knocks sounded at your door. Timid knocks. Knocks he’s never made before. Usually they’re loud, and obnoxious, and a little excited, like the introduction to a Led Zeppelin song. This time they were any John Denver song ever to exist. Stomping through your apartment in wedged strappy sandals, you grumbled to yourself and yanked the door open, unable to believe he wasn’t going to pretend to be happy about this predicament when he’s the one who got himself here in the first place.
“We won’t have to do this,” is the first thing to leave his mouth before you get a word in. Dressed in denim torn to shreds showcasing his knobby knees and the length of his legs, the cropped black t-shirt he had pulled over his head hung just at the belt, if he had worn one. Tiny chains wrapped around the base of his neck, various golds and silvers wound together in mismatched plaits. His hair hung over his eyes, a bit shaggy today, wavy and natural.
“I don’t, but you do,” you said with disdain.
Following you into your apartment, pushing the door shut, Yunho heaved a dramatic sigh. “But, if you’re not comfortable…”
Uncapping a lipstick, you wandered into the bathroom to glide it over your lips, a shade of pink to go with the stripes on your mini skirt. “Why wouldn’t I be comfortable?”
He appeared in the doorway, just as tall as it, leaning against the frame. Stretching one arm over his head, he made a sound while he thought, and opted to say, “I dunno, cause it’s me?”
Smacking your lips together, dropping the lipstick into the makeup bag on the shelf over the toilet, you shot him a look through the mirror. “It’s you because of what you did.” He rolled his eyes. Turning to face him, you pressed a finger to his chest, his hard, broad, sturdy chest. “This could easily be San, or even Jongho, that’d be the easiest, but this is how you’re going to make that night up to me.”
He dropped his chin, a smirk pulling at his lips. “My penance is being your fake boyfriend, even though Hongjoong thinking I am your boyfriend is what got you into this mess.”
“Us,” you corrected, standing to your tip toes in your sandals, missing his nose with yours by an inch. Pushing by him, he followed you, two steps into the kitchen.
“I was defending you, Shug, you can’t be mad at me for this,” his volume raised, and you held up a finger. “Sorry,” he huffed, slapping his hands on his thighs, dropping his tone, “Yeosang still giving you problems?”
Putting together a purse, a little leather one, you wiggled your brows, fishing your keys off the counter. “Not as of late, but I got something on him now, so if he ever does have some more shit to say, I’ll just tell him all about how I heard him going at it with his boss’s wife.”
Yunho gasped, a smile finally painting onto his face and yours. “You’re kidding me.”
Slinging the purse over your bare shoulder, your strapless top clinging tight to your middle, you pursed your lips and shook your head with pride. “Not at all,” you said, moving for the door. Yunho clung to your tail. “He’s a freak, who woulda thought?”
Stepping out into the hall, giving you space to lock up, Yunho glanced at the neighbors door and started putting puzzle pieces together. “Like… how?”
“Well,” you started, slipping your keys away, “This was last weekend, and yanno, it kinda made me realize these walls are paper thin, so I don’t think I can be too mad at him getting mad at us?” You started down the hallway, Yunho in tow. “Anyway,” you laughed, throwing your hands up, glancing up at him walking beside you, “I heard them come home and fumble with the keys in the door, they were giggling and shit, and he was hushing her. I was paralyzed at the kitchen table doomscrolling through clips of Maneskin’s last tour–”
Yunho squeezed his eyes shut and tipped his chin back. “Will we ever get them again?”
“One can dream,” you muttered with a groan. “I heard them over La Fine, okay? Vic was killing it, her tits were out, it was great, and I heard them.” Yunho held the door to the stairwell open for you. “He was telling her what a bad girl she was,” you amped up the act, walking backward down the stairs, to put on a show for him, “You shouldn’t be here, we shouldn’t be doing this.”
Yunho grinned, a laugh caught between his teeth.
“What will he think? What will they say?” You held up a hand to signal the character switch. “She says, “Fuck what they say!”
“No!” Yunho shouted, reaching out to grab you as you tripped over your feet and laughed. “Turn around.”
“Yes,” you confirmed, listening to him, facing forward, grabbing onto the railing. “I don’t even think they made it out of the kitchen. I’ve seen his apartment, that wall is shared with the one in my bedroom, they fucked in the kitchen.”
“Damn,” Yunho sighed, pushing open the door to your building, ushering you out onto the summer street of New York City. “Quiet boy has game, who woulda thought.”
Catching him off guard, you spun around and grabbed onto his biceps. Pushing him back against the brick wall of your building, you flipped your brows over all sappy and sweet, and whined, “Take me, Yeo, take me!” Shaking your hair around, you giggled. “Do what he can’t, love me like he can’t!”
Yunho’s shoulders rose, eating his ears as you shook him. Wide eyed, he smiled at your words, at the exasperated way you shouted them, mimicking Yeosang's boss’s wife, but then you gazed up at him, lips pursed, eyes soft, cheeks pouty, and he swore he stopped breathing.
Squeezing his arms in your hands tighter, you fluttered your lashes as you blinked, putting on an act, making fun of the way the woman many years older than Yeosang spoke to him. Fingers pressing into the meat of his biceps, realizing you surprised him, and that he wasn’t prepared to hear you do this in front of him, no matter the context… You gulped and wiped your face clean of emotion.
The summer air grew thicker, your cheeks flushed, your stomach sunk a little– And you weren’t sure why. It’s not the first time jokes like this had been made, your friends always moaned a bit, they were boys for fucks sake, the occasional flirt sneaked out, this wasn’t new. As you gazed up into his sappy brown eyes that weren’t ready to experience this, how it seemed like a part of him was listening, paying attention, you audibly expressed your apologies with a groan and pulled away from him, hands dropping to your side.
“Yeah, it was…” you sighed, dragging a hand through your hair, “It was wild, anyways, should we go? I dunno what time they close, and San said that if we don’t make it there before six then the woman will–”
Yunho pushed off the building and hooked his arm in yours, a smile growing on his pink lips as he pulled you down the street. “Let’s go,” he said, entirely normal, keeping things normal, as normal as normal can be. Looking down at you, he said, “Gonna need you to recreate that for San and Jongho though, that was hysterical.”
Wedging your bottom lip between your teeth, you nodded. “Can’t believe I never told you guys.”
“That Yeosang gets chicks? And that he fucks?” He huffed a laugh, “Can’t believe you never told us either. I thought–”
Jumping in your sandals at the street corner cutting him off, you unhooked your arms and gasped. “Wait, if we’re gonna practice this, shouldn’t we hold hands instead?”
Yunho tugged at the hem of his cropped tee. “Waffle or pancake?”
Oh, how you yearned to lose your shit, fall to the concrete, and laugh at him. Instead, you deadpanned, and said, “You did not just ask me that.”
Holding up your hand for him to take, he scrunched up his face and gave you a look. “Shut up. C’mere, Shug.”
Reaching around your back, he wrapped an arm around your shoulders, yanking you into his side, the warmth of his hold engulfing you entirely. Wiggling his fingers to ask for your hand, guiding you with subtle nods of his head and small smiles, he laced his fingers with yours, the hand hanging from your shoulder, then gestured to your other hand wedged between your bodies.
“Sixteen Candles, c’mon,” he mumbled, meeting your eyes with a humor in his.
Furrowing your brows, you scoffed. “Yeah, sure Jan.”
He rolled his eyes. The people waiting at the corner moved on, leaving the two of you alone until a few stragglers flew by with papers in their hands or headphones on their ears. Everyone dressed for summer, tanks, shorts, dresses, crop tops, their variations of outfits mixed and matched yet impressively cohesive– Your neighborhood the neighborhood of color, of originality, thrifted clothes and bright colored hair. Artists, musicians, bohemian spirits.
“I am not Sixteen Candles-ing you,” you giggled, and he clicked his tongue.
“You have to,” he joked with a solemn shake of his head. “I’m sure as hell not doing it to you, I’d rather you do it to me. It’ll be cute, do it.”
“But, there’s no one even around to–”
Yunho used his free hand to grab onto yours, pulling it behind his back as far as he could, allowing you to do the rest. Sliding it into his back pocket.
By the grace of the gods, the heavens, the angels, whoever you believed in, his denim hung off of him loose enough that you weren’t necessarily holding on to anything specific. Until you started walking. His proud smile guided you across the street and across a few more blocks like this, and your palm brushed over him repeatedly.
It felt weird, to feel like this wasn’t right, or that this was crossing a line, even though you’ve smacked him on his ass plenty of times before, mainly after a few drinks. This was intimate. A scene in an old movie you watched together, a scene in a newer movie you watched together… Where the girl needs the boy to do these things, and the boy agrees to make his old girl jealous…
Looking up at him, his brain at work putting pieces of the city together, admiring the streets that didn’t mirror the financial district in the slightest, you supposed this was fine. This was the purpose. Technically, it’s his duty, to help you make Hongjoong jealous, or, more jealous than he already appeared to be. And plus, it was Yunho.
Like you said, this was his way of making that night up to you. Though, at the end of the day, you’d rather be doing this with him than anyone else. Too intimate or not… It felt right.
“What do you mean you don’t have a dress yet?” The woman in jorts and a frilly blouse with big chunky boots on her feet stared at you in disbelief. Standing in front of a mirror in silver high heels, you stared back in shock. Yunho sat behind you on a stool with his hands on his knees, and confusion on his face. Her deep brown hair was tied up in a tight bun, with bangs hanging on her forehead. “How are you buying shoes without owning a dress?”
Shrugging, you parted your lips to answer her, but no sound came out.
“Insane,” she spat, her lips curling, “Every girl knows, you buy the dress first, then you buy the shoes. How do you expect the dress to fit right, or lay right, or fall right at your feet if you’re buying the shoes first? You get a dress, then shoes, how do you know you can even wear the heels? Do you even like these ones? You’ve tried on several pairs, no wonder it’s taking you forever, you don’t have a damn dress.”
Biting your tongue, you sucked down a breath to steady your heart rate and your skin that burned. “This is the one store I can afford, my friends and I are thrift lovers, I’ve never done this before, so I–”
“Great,” she berated, “So I get to deal with the inexperience, wonderful, where did you say you worked?”
“Harmony Foundation–”
Her lined eyes widened. “And this is all you can afford?”
Pressing your hands to your belly, you shook your head fervently, feeling your throat tighten like how it would just before tears slipped down your cheeks. “I-I guess I don’t know, I mean, I’ve never done this, I don’t like to dress like this–”
“Great!” She shouted, and the few other customers in the store turned to seek out the noise. “You don’t even like it, why am I wasting my time, you might as well–”
“We’re done here.” Yunho leapt to his feet, snatching your wrist in his hand, pulling you behind him. The woman screwed her face up as she tipped her chin back to glare at him. “Don’t start. This was a waste of our time. My girlfriend works hard, she deserves this night. Fuck you for making her feel less than. Our best friend sent us here, he’s obsessed with you guys actually. I can’t wait to tell him how disgusting this whole visit has been.” Glancing at her name tag, he scoffed, “Have a nice day, Mina.”
Keeping his grip on you tight, he moved you away from the mirror, away from the lady who started out sweet as pie, and sat you down on another stool across the store. Crouching in front of you, he propped one foot up on his knee and started working his fingers at the buckle, the rough tips of his fingers brushing over your smooth skin.
He clenched his jaw tight, eyes pointed at your foot and shoe he slipped off of you. Moving with persistence, you could see the figurative smoke bellowing out of his ears, the gears that grinded behind his eyes. Switching feet, he slipped the shoe off gently, his actions rough, but the way he touched you– Soft. He put you back into your sandals, his whole hand wrapping around your ankles to move you around, his touch entirely distracting you from the menace Mina had been. Strapped into your shoes, he blinked up at you and sighed heavily.
“My girlfriend,” you teased under your breath, and he sighed again.
“Don’t start, I’m pissed off, Shug. Let’s go.”
He held your hand this time, really tight. Fingers intertwined, the grip he had on you almost made you want to peel his hand off ‘cause it was so tight.
“Yunho, it’s fine,” you breathed, trailing behind him as he bounded down the street, dodging bodies that crowded now that it was past six o’clock. “I’ll find something later, we don’t have to go anywhere else, I’m over this today.”
The shake of his head told you plenty. “Me too.”
Dropping your hand, setting you free, he crossed his arms over his chest and stopped behind a group of people waiting for the cars to finish whizzing by to trudge across the street. His jaw tightened, and he wouldn’t look at you.
“I’m fine,” you assured him, putting a hand on his shoulder. He shrugged you off. “Yunho?” The cars stopped. The bodies moved. You scurried along beside him, keeping up with the long strides of his legs. “Yunho,” you groaned playfully, elbowing him a couple times. It wasn’t until you were at the next block that he opened his mouth.
“That’s how it feels when Hongjoong speaks to you the way he does,” he said, turning toward you. “And I’ve only experienced it in person maybe twice? But, even when I have to hear about it, or whenever you talk about him, that’s how it feels.”
Glancing away from him, to the traffic, the unique people around you, you go numb for a moment hearing his name. Tilting your head, you asked, “Being degraded in the middle of a store by a woman who hasn’t gotten laid in years?”
He shot you a look. “What do you think Hongjoong does?”
“But, he gets laid all the time.”
Yunho drug his hands through his hair, arching his back in a stretch with an obnoxious whine. “Oh my god, Shug, nevermind, you’ll never get it.”
Pedestrian traffic moved, pushing you both along the current. Store doors swung open with chimes, music played underneath the awnings of eateries and restaurants with outdoor seating, delicious smells wafted through the cultured air.
“Hang on,” you groaned, reaching for the sleeve of his shirt, “I want to get it. I don’t see what you see, I’m sorry, okay?”
He, again, shrugged you off of him. “It’s really going to take you getting together with him, getting cheated on, heartbroken, and disposed of, to realize it.”
You grabbed onto him again, your hands pulling at his shoulders. He paid attention for you, his eyes on alert, scanning the crowds, the streets, it’s what he always did. Never once did you have to worry while you were out with him, he became your brain, your thoughts, your safety. Even now, while in the middle of some sort of argument, he pulled you out of the way of deranged tourists who think they have the right of way.
“I’m trying, okay?” Begging him to slow down, to look at you, to take a break, to understand you, you said, “I want to see what you see.”
His glare hardened. The crowd dissolved some. Turning into you, he smoothed his hands over your shoulders and pushed you up against the corner wall of a vacant store front. Leaning into you, his forehead millimeters from yours, he softened his eyes, his words not matching the tone he spoke in.
“If you wanted to see what I see, you’d try a little harder,” he nearly whispered. Flickering his eyes between both of yours, letting them flicker over your face, he smirked. “If you really cared that bad, to understand, to listen to me, to us, then we wouldn’t be doing this little experiment, would we?” His gaze glazed over your lips. His smirk deepened. You were holding your breath.
“Fake dating,” he mumbled with a Broadway worthy roll of his eyes. Chills ran down your spine as one of his hands slid up your neck, his palm cupping your chin, his fingertips brushing your hair. “To get his attention, to make him jealous, to play his game. Since when do you care about fitting in with people, Shug? Becoming one of them?”
You barely shook your head, whispering, “I don’t.”
Yunho narrowed his eyes. “Then, why are we doing this?”
“Because…”
“Because,” he repeated, mimicking the slight whine in your tone. “Use your words, you’re a big girl.” His thumb danced over your cheekbone, his words made your knees buckle. “I love to listen to you talk, it might be my favorite thing in the world. Tell me, why are we going to do this? Act like a couple, like we’re boyfriend and girlfriend, like we’re in love, like we share the deepest, most intimate parts of ourselves with one another at three in the morning entangled in a mess of sweaty sheets.”
You weren’t holding your breath, you couldn’t breathe. The depth of his eyes made it impossible to look away, impossible to pretend like his words dripping with sweet melted sugar weren't affecting you. He was close, so close, his body heat hotter than the sun that procrastinated setting.
“You look pretty today,” he whispered. “You always do. When I got to your apartment, and I watched you put this lipstick on, I just,” he shook his head, “Couldn’t not think about… it.”
Gulping, your voice shook as you whispered, “About what?”
He broke out into another smirk, his perfect teeth peeking through his heart shaped lips. “No,” he mumbled, a quiet laugh coming out of him, one that rumbled in his chest so deeply you could feel the bass, “I don’t wanna sound like him.”
“Say it,” you whispered, fast, and he bit his lip.
“Yeah?” Questioning you with a raise of a brow, he stood up straighter, chin cocking back.
You gazed up at him through your lashes, and you swore this newfound persona of his faltered. “Please.”
His other hand slid up the other side of your neck. He tipped your chin back, both of his thumbs on your cheeks, his fingers in your hair. Shared air filtered between you, he was that close. Eyes on your lips, on the shade of lipstick he watched you layer on, he whispered. “It’s filthy.”
“What did you think about, Yunho?” Your eyes fluttered shut for a split second, and he sucked in a breath.
Taking one thumb to your bottom lip, he tugged at it gently before pressing the pad to both of your lips, smirking as your lips seemed to instinctively kiss it. “Thought about how pretty they’d look wrapped around the tip of my…”
Your jaw fell open, your lips parting with a stifled sigh. Pressing your thighs together, his eyes widened some. It took him three seconds to move, out of your space, many steps from the wall.
Letting a laugh loose, he swiped the thumb covered in your lipstick over his lips and winked at you. “Bet San or Jongho wouldn’t do that, huh?”
Catching your breath, utterly blindsided, you situated your clothes that felt like he had ripped them off of you and thrown them back on even though he hadn’t touched them, and you pushed off of the wall. Trying to laugh, feeling as though you’d been doused with a bucket of ice water, you took a deep breath and shook your head. “No, they wouldn’t,” you forced your laughter, “Good one. That’s believable, how’d I do?”
Yunho rubbed a hand over his bare middle, his shirt lifting to show off his toned stomach. Bobbing his head, his eyes unreadable, he shrugged. “Don’t think you’re winning an Oscar any time soon. Your impression of Yeosang’s sugar mommy was way better.”
Smacking your lips, you laughed for real and rolled your eyes. “Not fair,” you muttered.
“You’re gonna have to try a little harder if you want us to be taken seriously,” he teased with a sarcastic huff, holding out his elbow for you to hook yours in.
Swallowing, hard, your heart finally beating steadily, you rubbed your lips together, your lipstick that he looked at, again, and said, “Guess we’ll have to practice some more.”
The clock ticked on the wall, the halls silent enough the only sound to be heard were the hands counting down to five o’clock. Standing at a counter, waiting for the receptionist on your floor to return with several files Seonghwa needed to finish a sale with one of his loyal clients of many years, you had your elbow propped up on the edge and your chin sitting on your fist.
It was the morning after your failed shopping date with Yunho, last night ending with stacked jokes on the way to San’s apartment, where you met Jongho there and spent the night shoveling take out into your mouths and playing guess that artist with Yunho until you all grew tired enough and fell asleep on the sofa’s mumbling about what new tattoos you all should get.
Snoozing on Yunho’s shoulder, you’d be lying if you said what he’d done to you didn’t stick with you. Pushing you up against a wall like you had done to him, except instead of mimicking a neighbor's hookup, he spoke real words to you. Words that sounded true. Words that felt true. Words you think… you wanted to be true. You’ve never heard him speak that way, his voice low and gravely, the things he said, dirty and hot.
Thinking back to the flings he’s had here and there, your mind wandered to the possibilities of what he said to them, how he treated them, an entire side of him you never once thought to ever explore. He turned you on, your body reacted to him, you wanted him to keep going, to say more, to maybe even do more than just touch his thumb to your lips like he wished it really was the tip of his…
“Hey, Shug.” A chill ran down your spine, your skin erupting in a blazing fire. Jolting upright, slapping your hand to the counter top, you whirled around and met Hongjoong’s smile, a stack of papers in his hand. He occupied the space beside you, stepping into your field of energy, placing the stack right next to your hand.
“Please don’t call me that,” you said with the release of a breath.
Hongjoong leaned against the desk and crossed one foot over the other. Glancing around the stranded lobby, he smiled before he pointed his eyes at you. “Find a date to the gala yet?”
Okay, straight to the point, damn. Time to lock in. Your stomach sank.
“Yes,” you squeaked, voice high pitched and nervous.
He perked a brow, his eyes drawing your body and the outfit you had thrown together this morning after running home from San’s with a half hour to spare. You were almost late this morning, and your oversized button down and wrinkled slacks let everyone know.
The corners of his lips perked up. “Wild night?”
“No,” you pushed through your lips.
Hongjoong met your eyes and laughed, shaking his head. “Yeah, right. Look at you. That your boyfriend's shirt?” Scoffing, you looked down at yourself, and he laughed again. It was in fact Yunho’s shirt, one he didn’t use anymore, a white button down that would fit his chest snugly. It hung off of you, but this wasn’t the first time you had worn it.
“This is mine,” you stated with a point of your finger to your belly.
Hongjoong furrowed his brows, but his smile remained. “You sure you didn’t pick it up off his floor this morning?”
“No, Joong, it’s mine.”
“Coulda sworn he spent the night putting you through the mattress, at least from what I saw,” he snickered, averting his eyes to behind the desk. “Smooth talker, huh?”
Your blood ran cold. “What?”
Hongjoong laughed. “You let him talk dirty to you? I know you like a filthy mouth.”
Eyes bugging, you laughed with him, nervously, and knitted your hands together. “I-I-I don’t know what you’re… what you’re talking about, what are you…”
“I saw you,” he said, plainly, giving you a look. “On the corner of 7th, he had you pinned to the wall, his hands on you, talking all quiet.” He popped his brows and swung his hand about as he spoke. “I’ve never seen you look the way you did, all doe eyed, like he held your consciousness in his hands, so submissive–”
“Shut up,” you snapped.
He raised a brow, his lazy smile wicked. “Tell me again how the shirt isn’t his, how you weren’t letting him defile you last night, go ahead.”
“I didn’t, it’s not–”
He kept going. “Thought you’d let him take you right there on the street corner, I mean, damn, how long have you been in love with this guy, I would’ve thought you had something for me if I didn’t catch you two like that, does he know what a flirt you can be?” Leaning toward you, he popped his lips as he mumbled, “A brat?”
“Oh my god,” you muttered, pressing your front to the desk, knitting your fingers in your hair, staring at the linoleum. “Hurry up, hurry up, hurry up.” Willing the receptionist back in whispers, Hongjoong heard, and fucking laughed.
“He probably gets off on it, right? Knowing you’ve got a little game going with me, he probably loves to hear all about it so he can fuck it out of you. Claim you.”
“Hongjoong, shut up. Leave me alone.”
He took a step closer to you, dipping his chin down. “No, I want you to be able to run home to have the fuck of your life after you tell him about this. Let him know that when I saw you over here all alone in his shirt, I envisioned what it’d be like to rip it off of you and spread you open on Ms. Kim’s desk, and how I wouldn’t care if she came back and caught us.”
Pressing your hands to your face, shaking your head, you sucked air in through your lips, and for the first time, you wished Yunho were here to stop him.
“Matter of fact, Wooyoung likes to watch,” he smirked, “He’d love a show. Would probably get a raise,” his fingers touched your shoulder, gently, but with purpose, piercing through the fabric of your shirt, “Just gotta make sure he can see your tits, so he can–”
“Hongjoong,” Seonghwa’s voice echoed off the ceiling, booming through the empty space. Clenching your jaw, tears welling up in your eyes, you clawed at your scalp. He tore his hand off of you, moving faster than you’ve ever witnessed. “What am I hearing?”
A sigh came out of him as he took a step away from you, his hands folding on the desk. “Please, she likes it.”
Seonghwa scoffed. “I guarantee you, she does not. Y/n?”
Peeling your hands away from your face, you pushed your hair back and turned to look at him. With a face full of sorrow, he waved a hand toward him, coercing you closer. “Go into my office and wait for me there. We’ll file a report together, but I’d like to personally hand his ass to him face to face.”
Only able to give him a nod, you wrapped your arms around yourself and hurried down the hall, straight into Seonghwa’s office, though you longed to linger and listen to what your boss had to say.
you: It worked..... He's pissed off or something..
yun: What happened.
you: I get what you guys mean now.. How he talks..
yun: Call me. Now.
you: I’ll tell you later….. Do you have to see Jag????? You haven’t mentioned him
yun: He hasn’t needed me.. I’m yours tonight.
Outside of a store with gowns on mannequins in the windows, you and Yunho stood elbow to elbow against the glass, appreciating the bustle of the people on this side of a neighborhood you longed to spend more time in. Similar to your own, this one had more structure to its freedom, like the people here knew exactly what they wanted and what they brought to table. It filled you with a sort of peace, clarity, like your dreams were right in front of you, and you could snatch them without remorse.
“Don’t say I told you so,” you muttered, and Yunho hummed.
“Never,” he said flatly, eyes scanning the heads that passed by. “I’m sorry that happened. He’s a dick.”
Looking up at him, you pinched your brows. “That’s all?”
He glanced back in shock. “Well, I can’t exactly go and kick his ass can I? If I do, you’ll lock me up and force me to marry you and have several kids, live a suburban life, I dunno.”
Laughing, throwing your head back, you gasped, “What!?”
Yunho held up his hands, his wide eyed expression growing tenfold. “Are those not your conditions for me putting my hands on him? I pushed him, so we have to date, what do you think you’ll make me do if I beat him up?”
“Sign a prenup,” you giggled, shoving him with your elbow. His obnoxious nod and the unintelligible sound he made answered for him. “I’m sorry,” you sighed, leaning your head against his arm. “Maybe we shouldn’t do the dating thing, maybe you just come with me to the gala as my bodyguard.”
“It makes me sad that you even have to think that way,” he mumbled.
Glancing up at him, your cheek squished on his bare arm, he looked down and smiled. “Seonghwa will be there, you don’t even have to come if you don’t want to, I don’t wanna subject you to hanging around these kinds of guys for hours on end.”
Squinting, he said, “I’d rather be with you to save you from having to hang around those guys for hours on end. I’m coming to the gala whether you like it or not, Shug.”
“Shug,” a woman’s voice parroted, one a little rough, a little grungey. “You really do call her that.” Yunho broke out into a grin, tossing his head back bashfully, trying hard as hell to negate all accusations as you pushed off the window to greet his friend.
Stunning didn’t cut it. Ki, her name as sharp as she was, but not as simple. Covered in tattoos, doused in silver jewelry and piercings, her hair styled like she’d had it professionally done, you couldn’t help but let your jaw drop. Another girl stood with her, as close to her as you stood to Yunho, looking nothing like Ki. A little more indie, maybe bohemian, whereas Ki bled straight rock ‘n roll.
Her smile smacked you in the face, perfect and dazzling. Holding out her hand amidst Yunho’s rebuttals, she introduced herself. “You’re exactly like he described,” she shook her head, giving you a onceover, “I’m Ki, this is Riley,” she said giving a nod to her friend who smiled and gave you a wave of her fingers. “Hope it’s okay you deal with both of us, you seem to fit right in between our vibe, I figured we could both give you a hand.” Her eyes flickered up at Yunho. “He’s not gonna know what he’s doing. You need girlfriends.”
Giggling, you looked up at him and he shrugged shamefully.
“You’re lucky he called,” Ki breathed, taking your wrist in her hand and Riley’s in the other. Giving Yunho a glare, she muttered, “You’re lucky Jag has let you have so much time off.”
“Time off?” you asked, bouncing back and forth between them. “You said he hasn’t needed you,” you said to Yunho, whose eyes widened.
Ki pursed her lips, her saccharine smile enough to woo you, you’re not sure how Yunho hasn’t been woo’ed yet. He said something back to her, with his eyes, an implication he didn’t want to speak further, a white flag of sorts. You aren’t sure how much time they spent together at Republic, though her name has come up plenty of times– Comparing the two of you.
“Let’s go, Shug,” Ki joked, tugging you and Riley along, into the store, leaving Yunho to trudge behind. “I’ll take the left side, Ri you take the right, Miss Sugar can take the middle.”
Yunho let the door swing shut behind him. “What about me? Do I get a say?”
Riley gave him a small smile. “If the boyfriend shopping thing is universal, I suggest you sit this one out.”
Ki seemed to know what she was talking about with the way she laughed and nudged her shoulder, her bright smile and confident laugh bouncing around the racks of dresses. “He’s not her boyfriend, but still, sit this one out,” she said to both of them before the group broke into four.
With a sheepish shrug, Riley pulled her lips together and turned on her heels. Ki tossed her hair off of the shoulder of her lace tank and bolted for a black dress on a mannequin in the window. Yunho, he smiled at you when you turned to him, and waved you away to follow the girls.
“She’s cool,” you whispered, flickering your eyes over to Ki.
Yunho narrowed his eyes and smiled wider, whispering, “I knew you’d say that.” Smiling back at him, for too long, feeling your insides fill with warmth, a sort of comfort knowing he’d do something like this for you, he glanced at both of the girls on either side of the store and shooed you away.
You took to Riley first, who was already looking your way with her hands on a dress. Painting a smile onto your lips, you approached her in her oversized vintage Screen Actors Guild tee and clasped your hands together. Before you had the chance to open your mouth, she cut you off.
“This one’s gorgeous,” she mumbled, holding the emerald dress up in front of you, pressing it to your chest like she’s known you for ages. “I think this really goes with your skintone, but I’m not loving the straps, I think you should– Wait, how are you doing your hair?” Her eyes narrowed, studying you, drawing all over the bare skin you exposed today. “You’re fun, aren’t you? How many tattoo’s do you have?”
“I got a few when I’d been drinking honestly, my friends know this guy who does them underground, yanno, so I have to have at least–”
“So cool,” she said without letting you finish, “I love tattoo’s, but I have to keep them hidden.”
“How come?” you asked, watching as she hung up the emerald dress and pulled out a few others, giving you glances over her shoulder.
“Broadway,” she said with utter nonchalance. “But, my boyfriend and I, we both have a matching one on our– Oh my god,” she sighed, turning toward you, grabbing your wrists, “I’m so sorry, by the way, for implying that Yunho’s your boyfriend.”
Giggling, you shook your head. “Don’t worry about it, I know how it looks, it’s really–”
“I’m sorry, though,” she said with a pout, “I have chronic foot in mouth disease, it’s severe, just ask Ki, or don’t, I don’t need this getting worse. I’m not good at this. I have a lot of guy friends.”
Shifting your hands around, grabbing onto hers that held onto you, you comforted her with a smile and shook your head. “So do I, I understand.”
“Hey, Glucose!” Ki shouted from across the store, waving her hand in the air, her bracelets jingling.
Yunho picked his head up from where he rifled through suit jackets, almost shrieking within a laugh, “Glucose!”
Riley let go of you and gave you a gentle push on your back. By the time you made it to Ki she had already sent Yunho back into his silenced role, giving you the tiniest of smiles as you were subdued to more dresses being held up in front of you. Shooting him a wink, one he made a face of disgust at, you giggled, and Ki paused.
“He’s something, huh?” she asked, tearing her eyes from yours when you looked at her. The black dress she held had lace on the bodice, like her tank, and it was tight fitted, all the way to the bottom. “You might not be able to move in this, but I like black for you, what do you think?”
“I love black, sure.”
Pulling at the fabric, her eyes on the dress she held up, she muttered, “I meant Yunho.” Ki met your eyes with a glimmer in hers. “I got the story, y/n. He actually wouldn’t shut up. Whenever I see him at work, I get updates about you, instead of himself. When he asked me to come here he sounded so… worried. I thought, how can this girl have this boy who’s like chronically relaxed in this much of a fucking tizzy?”
“Oh,” you breathed, half following. She hung up the tight dress and pulled out another, one dark blue and Cinderella-esque. You both crunched your noses before she could even bring it in front of you. “How about that one?” Pointing to a black dress with long sleeves, she listened and held it up.
Tilting her head to the side, her striking eyes drinking in your form, she continued quietly, “Hope it’s okay I brought Riley, I didn’t want to be third wheel. Plus, I haven’t spent time with her in a bit. I like this one– Yunho!” He scurried over to her side, accepting the dress she tossed him. “Trying this one on,” she said and waved him off, “Shoo.”
Flashing you a smile, his face telling you he was just happy to be here, he returned to where he came from.
“You spend a lot of time at work, right?” Following her, like a shadow, you eyed her tattooed fingers as they grazed over satins and velvets before snatching one. “Yunho says you’re like… Really important.”
Her lips perked up. Holding up a velvet grey a-line, it didn’t make it two inches in front of you before she swapped it for a strapless black satin floor length thing. “I guess I am. He’s sweet,” she took a breath, “But, yeah, I spend a lot of time at work, I travel a shit ton, and Ri lives here in the city. I do too, but…”
“But?” you questioned, and she shrugged it off.
“A story for another time,” she smiled.
“Uh, Riley told me she has a boyfriend, are you, uh, seeing anyone?”
She gave you a look over her shoulder. “Why, interested?”
Bushing, you pushed a breath through your lips and stepped in a tiny circle. “You’re gorgeous, but no,” you laughed, “I’m into someone else.” She glanced at Yunho, and you rolled your eyes. “No, he’s… just a friend.”
“Does he know that?” she asked, flicking through the dresses.
“Yes,” you said definitively, brows going awry.
Ki nodded, slowly, pulling out a black gown she didn’t bother to hold up in front of you. “Yunho!” Like clockwork, he appeared, with several more dresses in tow.
“Who gave you these?” Ki asked.
Yunho blinked. “Riley.”
Taking in the dresses of various colors and lengths, Ki mumbled, “Damn thespian.”
“We need options!” Riley shouted across the store.
“She heard you,” you laughed, and Ki smirked.
“Quiet isn’t my specialty.” She tossed the dress over Yunho’s arms, and as he disappeared she asked, “Who are we into, Miss Sugar? If it’s not that hunk of alt sweetness the girlies eat up at the label.”
The girlies. Turning to find where he disappeared to, you found him at Riley’s side, the girl shorter than you, craning her neck back to look up at him. Her smile, soft, but her giggle, loud. Ki followed your line of sight and scoffed.
“He’s too tall for her, trust me,” she muttered, lower this time, “Plus, she’s like, locked in with her man. Trust me.”
“Is she?” you asked within a whisper.
Ki gave you a look, raising a brow. “Quiet isn’t her specialty. They’re crazy theatre kids, they’re… gross. One time I saw them–”
“And what about you?”
She rolled her eyes, enormously long. The breath she let out was just as long. “Don’t worry about me. You don’t wanna hear what it’s like being caught between two guys, one perfect for you, who knows everything about you, your secrets, your shadows, but then the other is capable of satiating a hunger you didn’t know you had.”
“What happened? After… the… satiating. I assume he wasn’t good for you?”
Ki held up a dress and pursed her lips. Shifting from the dress to your face, she released a breath and shrugged. “I was still hungry.” This dress she held onto herself. “Listen, he didn’t put me up to this, but I know about this other guy you’re into. Take it from me, as someone who’s been involved with a colleague. You have this fucking amazing guy right here,” she said, gesturing behind her toward Yunho who trailed behind Riley like a puppy. You almost spoke, but she cut you off. “I know, you’re friends. But, let him be an example. Of the types of guys you should be looking for.”
“Damn,” you uttered, lowering your chin with a snicker.
Ki furrowed her brows. “What?”
Giving her a look, you shook your head. “He didn’t update you about what happened today, I guess. You don’t have to give me the speech, I’m not Hongjoong’s biggest fan anymore. I know it’s been his obsession to rid me of him, I’m sorry he pulled you into this, but I’m good. Thanks for coming to help me, but I don’t need a pep talk.”
She tried to stop you, but you pushed past her, towards the fitting rooms. Holding a hand in the air to signal Yunho, she pointed at the back of you and shrugged. “I dunno what I did, that’s all you.”
Ignoring the worker who asked you if you needed any help, you stepped into a fitting room empty handed and let the door swing shut, pressing your back against the wall. Tears brimming your eyes, you took a shaky breath and released it all at once.
Everything cycled through your head, memories flashing all at once, from Hongjoong’s almost invitation to the gala, to the night Yunho pushed him, to yesterday when Yunho had you on the corner questioning everything you thought you knew about your relationship.
Why were you questioning everything you thought you knew about your relationship? You never have before, this wasn’t normal. He was Yunho, your best friend Yunho.
Comfort is all that it is. Familiarity.
You’ve just perhaps reached a point in your friendship where you care too deeply, because you know so much, because you’ve spent all this time with him, and now that it’s at a point where the lines seem to be starting to blur because you’re going to have to pretend to date him, it’s confusing.
That’s what it is. You couldn’t think that again if you tried. You wouldn’t even be able to say those words out loud. Did it make sense? You shouldn’t be spiraling about this, you should be spiraling about the fact that Hongjoong made some serious threats to you today, if you could even call them threats. You didn’t want to call it what it was, but Seonghwa sure did, and he had no shame in doing so.
Work tomorrow should be a blast, if he’s even there. The gala is right around the corner, would he even be allowed to attend after this? Groaning through a cry, you tipped your chin back and shook your head. Of course he’d still be allowed to attend, these men got away with everything. He’d be able to do what he said he’d do and he wouldn’t–
“Shug?” Three gentle taps to the fitting room door.
“I need a minute,” you steadied your voice as best as you could.
“I have your dresses,” he said softly. “Wanna try them on while you take your minute?”
Reaching for the door handle, you pulled it open and met his eyes, taking the pile from him. “Thanks,” you sniffled.
He frowned. “You okay?”
“Do I look okay?”
“No,” he whispered. “What happened?”
Hardening your glare, you mumbled, “Go talk to Riley.”
He blinked, confused. “What?”
“Or Ki, maybe that’s better,” you huffed, “She seems to know so much already, go tell her some more.”
You threw the door shut, but he caught it. “Hang on, what are you talking about?”
“Leave me alone,” you said, hanging the dresses up. Pushing on the door to push him out, it was silly of you to forget he was much, much stronger than you. Bumping the handle as he fumbled his way in, there was an audible click as the door slammed shut and his back pressed to it. The already small room grew smaller. Two bodies and a stack of at least thirteen dresses in one tiny New York space, one of those bodies over six feet tall. You couldn’t turn around without bumping into him. “I have to try these on, get out of here,” you muttered.
His jaw tensed. Staring at you for all of three seconds, he took a deep breath and spun around, facing the door, away from you.
“Yunho–”
“Someone’s gotta zipper you.”
Sighing, losing this fight, you said, “Don’t turn around.”
“You already know I wouldn’t do that.”
Even this felt weird, and it shouldn’t. You’ve changed in front of him before, you’ve been half naked and drunk in front of each other, you’ve seen him in his boxers, he’s seen you in a bathing suit, this shouldn’t be so vulnerable, so… intimate.
Ki implied, several times, that Yunho, quite possibly, maybe, cared about you too much. Maybe in a sense that you haven’t been able to pick up on until now. Pulling your shirt over your head, you tossed it over his shoulder, smiling at the inaudible laugh he heaved. Even though yesterday on the street, where he said some things you never imagined would ever leave his lips, when he pulled away, he acted as though it was for the gala. That you guys were practicing. Come to find out Hongjoong had seen you. Hongjoong had seen you.
Slipping out of your shorts, kicking off your shoes, you tossed the denim over his other shoulder. “Yunho?”
“Yeah?”
You took a blue dress off a hanger and stepped into it. “Yesterday,” you started, shimmying the tight fabric over your hips, slinging the spaghetti straps over your shoulders, “Did you see Hongjoong?”
His head tilted to the side, reluctantly asking, “When?”
“Zip me?”
He turned, and his eyes softened at the sight of you in the mirror. The bodice hugged your chest, blue satin cascading down your form to the floor so that you could so wear those silver heels with this. The fabric was bound over your middle, in three ripples slipping over your right hip and around the back like a waterfall.
“Wow,” he breathed before snapping out of it, tearing his eyes off of your curves and onto the zipper at the middle of your back. Sliding it up, careful to not let his fingers graze your skin, he stepped back against the door and waited for your consensus.
Gliding your hands over the satin, over the chest, you pouted your lips and shook your head. “I like this,” you said, taking your hands to your hips. Yunho’s eyes followed. “But, I don’t like this,” you said, grabbing fistfuls of your tits. Yunho’s eyes followed.
“I do,” he whispered without thinking. Meeting his glare in the mirror, shock evident on both of your faces, you let out a laugh, and he let out a groan. “Oh my god?” Rolling his eyes at himself, he vigorously shook his head and reached for the zipper, freeing you before he spun around and banged his head against the door. He snatched your clothes off of his shoulders and hung them over the door, huffing to himself.
“It’s okay,” you said, sliding the dress off, opting for a black one Ki had set aside. “Practice, right?”
Yunho hung his head, shaking it like he had. “That wasn’t cool, I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be,” you whispered, stepping into the lace.
“You look pretty today,” he whispered. “You always do. When I got to your apartment, and I watched you put this lipstick on, I just,” he shook his head, “Couldn’t not think about… it.”
Sliding it up your body, this one strapless, you held it tight to your chest and felt along your back that the zipper laid right over the curve of your ass. Glancing behind you in the mirror at his broad shoulders, wider than you, you took a second to admire how much larger than you he actually was. Gentle giant.
Ki met your eyes with a glimmer in hers. “I got the story, y/n. He actually wouldn’t shut up. Whenever I see him at work, I get updates about you, instead of himself. When he asked me to come here he sounded so… worried. I thought, how can this girl have this boy who’s like chronically relaxed in this much of a fucking tizzy?”
Except when it came to you.
“I do not want him to abduct me,” you spat. “Yunho pushed him.”
The boys gasped, both turning to Yunho at once. San smiled, Jongho tilted his head, disappointed.
Yunho held up both hands, feigning innocence. Fluttering his eyes shut, his long lashes splaying over his cheekbones, he said calmly, “He said some fucked up shit, okay? He got in my face, I was drunk, I couldn’t not do it. Mr. Big Dick, I don’t care who you are, you’re in my face, you’re talking shit to my girl, I’m gonna do something.”
“Yunho,” you whispered, and he turned, his cheeks growing pink. “Zip me?”
Eyeing you in the mirror, how the lace clung to you, contouring your curves where the satin accentuated your form. Laying on top of you like it was a part of you, it hung from your thighs to the floor, the fabric free for you to move about, to dance, to walk comfortably. The chest, corset like, heartshaped and detailed with lace, it held you perfectly, every part of you. He couldn’t help himself. He stared.
You watched him have to manually tell himself to stop, to focus on what you asked him to do, but when he saw where the zipper laid, he lost it again. Eyes blinking a million times, he took a step closer to you, careful to not stand on the puddle the lace left around your feet. He blushed with color, his cheeks to his ears, as pink as can be, his hands acting just the same.
A little nervous, if you had to describe it. His fingers brushed over your skin, the small of your back, and you shuddered, goosebumps erupting over your skin. “Sorry,” he whispered, pulling back abruptly, not looking up at you in the glass.
“S’okay,” you whispered with a gentle nod. “Your fingers are cold.”
He shook his head once, squinting at the dress. “I-I think I have to… pull it up from the inside. I can get Ki–”
“No,” you sighed, stopping him from stepping away from you. “You do it,” you said, your gazes eating one another up. You forced through your lips, “Practice, right?”
His miniscule shift in expression made your heart swell. The slight tweak of his brows, the plumping of his lips, the flutter of his lashes, all too tiny to be made out to be something, but you knew him.
Standing closer to you, your back nearly pressed to his front, he took in a breath and held it, taking the zipper between his fingers. Using his other hand to pinch the bottom, he slowly pulled up, his middle knuckle gliding up your spine, the act so gentle, so improbably erotic that you cursed yourself for how your breath hitched in your throat and the bottom of your belly clenched. It didn’t help that he stood close enough that the warm air that slipped through his parted lips grazed over your skin, your bare shoulders, your bare back. Radiating heat, his own breath uneven, once the zipper reached its peak, he paused.
Neither of you moved. He gazed down at the dress, and you blazed a fire in his eyes through the mirror he refused to look at you through.
“Coulda sworn he spent the night putting you through the mattress, at least from what I saw,” Hongjoong snickered, averting his eyes to behind the desk.
You wondered if he could feel it. The tension disgustingly thick you could cut it with a knife. His large, strong hands, what would they feel like if he slid them down your hips in this lace? His lips, parted and dousing your skin in goosebumps with the hot air he exuded, what would it feel like if he dropped a bit lower and pressed them to your skin, the valley of your neck, the expanse of your exposed chest? Heat swelled in your belly, dropping lower, your thighs aching to squeeze together, but you wouldn’t. Not now. Now you were aware.
“Yunho,” you whispered desperately.
“I did see him,” he uttered quietly, finally meeting your gaze in the mirror. You wanted to melt to the floor at the sight of how lust had overcome him and he actively fought back. “I did what I did so you wouldn’t see him. I’m not proud of it. Especially now with what he did to you.”
“Not proud of it, what do you…”
He sighed, standing up straight, keeping his eyes on yours. “I didn’t want to do what I did,” he shrugged. “You were already getting upset with me, I knew that if you saw him it would push you over the edge, so I had to distract you, and nothing I would normally do would work. So, I made something up.”
Dropping your hands to your side, you gaped and spun around. “Made something up?”
Huffing, he screwed his brows up. “You thought what I said was real?”
Taken aback, you scoffed and rolled your eyes. “Uh, of course not, why the hell would you say something like that to me?”
Narrowing his eyes, he bobbed his head and poked his tongue in his cheek. “Right,” he muttered after a few seconds. “Right.”
Spinning around, almost bumping you with his elbow, he turned the doorknob and yanked. It didn’t budge. Trying again, he yanked. He yanked, again. The walls shook.
“How do I unlock this,” he mumbled, messing with the knob every way he could think of.
Sighing, you wedged yourself around him and tried to pull his hands off the gold, but he swatted at you. “Let me help,” you grumbled, “I don’t want you in here anymore.”
“I don’t want to be in here anymore,” he countered, tugging at your hands.
“Good, I want you to leave.”
“I want to leave.”
You threw the mindless bickers at one another for what felt like forever, until it got to the point of tears. Yours.
“You’ve been no help, I can’t believe San and Jongho came up with this, this is so stupid!”
“Stupid?” Yunho pressed a hand to his chest. “You said it yourself, I’m the one you want to do this with! Ki!” He banged a fist on the door. “This wasn’t supposed to turn into this, Shug, we were just supposed to go to the stupid gala.”
“Don’t call me that,” you huffed, reaching behind you for the zipper of your dress to free yourself. “You’re done calling me that.”
Groaning, he swatted at your hands. “Let me do it, you’ll rip it.”
“No,” you shouted, swinging your body away from him, tugging at the lace, “I got it. I’ll do it alone, like I’ll do the gala alone!”
“You’re not doing the gala alone,” he said, in a fistfight with your fingers. Let… go!”
“Hands off of me, Yunho.”
“You’re going to tear it, you like this one, this is it, don’t tear it!”
Fighting back, clawing at the fabric, you finally kicked a foot back against his knees and sent him stumbling backward, but the space was too tiny so he fell into you, and before he could catch himself, you were twisted sideways, and the lace tore down your back in one long, loud rip. Hands trapped behind you where your back pressed to the wall, you gasped and froze. Yunho hung over you, both of his hands pressed to the wall above you, his body hovering on top of you.
“Fuck,” you whispered.
“Why the fuck would you kick me?”
Glaring up at him, your noses almost touching, you sneered, “Why the fuck would you keep trying when I told you to leave?”
“I can’t leave, the door’s locked!”
“Fuck this,” you said, reaching up for handfuls of his shirt. Pushing off of the wall, taking him with you, your dress slipped down as you pressed him to the opposite wall. “You are going to climb out of here, either under or over that door, I don’t care, just get–” The door swung open.
“Whoa!” Ki shouted, eyes wide, pulling the door shut in a hurry.
“No!” You and Yunho both shouted, and her face went crazy.
“I don’t wanna watch!”
Yunho glanced down at what this looked like, the way you gripped him and how your dress fell off your body. You had him pushed up a wall for fucks sake. Not to mention, if you had tried anything else with lace he’d find himself in a very awkward predicament. At least he could hide what it was for now.
“I’m done,” he said, reaching for your hands, making you release him. With one more look, he shook his head, and he left, not before murmuring to Ki, “Stay out here, that door locks from the inside, help her out.”
As soon as the door shut you sunk to the floor and let the tears spill.
Sipping your drink, the bubbles dancing over your tongue, you laid your head back on the cushion of the sofa you sat in front of. Jongho laid over a lounge chair, a beer can in his hand hanging off the edge, his legs over one armrest, his head over the other. Faint music played in the background, something off of his phone. You didn’t dare ask who made the playlist.
“It ripped,” you said with a flick of your hand, “It ripped right down the back, and I paid for it, because I ripped it, even though the woman says she’s not sure if she’ll be able to fix it.”
Jongho turned his head to give you a pout. “Damn, I’m sorry.”
“It’s whatever, I guess,” you took a swig of your drink, “I’m not meant to be at this stupid thing anyway. I need to just call Yunho, tell him it’s off, and then let Seonghwa know I won’t be going.”
“Nooo,” he sang, shifting to lay on his side, tucking his knees into his massive chest. You frowned and he copied you. “I don’t want to go without you.”
“You’ll have San,” you muttered with a shrug, “You won’t miss me.”
“Yes, I will,” he whispered. Sharing a look with him, one that said a trillion things about leaving a friend behind at a work event where they’d need you because you get it, he said, “San won’t get my jokes.”
A smile graced your lips. “He’ll learn.”
“You can’t just break it off with Yunho and come without him?”
“There’s nothing to break off,” you said, voice growing stern, “We are friends, that is it. I don’t want to go to the gala, not anymore, not when I know Hongjoong will be there… And Wooyoung. I’m done with men.”
He sighed. “I get it.”
Screwing your face up, you shifted to your knees. “I mean, you should’ve seen his face, acting like I’m the one who messed this up, when he’s the one who said that shit to me. He’s the one who made me believe him, I totally thought that what he said was real. It felt real.”
Jongho marinated in silence, the gentle nods of his head encouraging you to go on.
“What do you take it as? ‘Cause I took that all as real,” you huffed, not giving him time to answer you. “You don’t say stuff like that, not to a friend. Especially not a guy friend to a girl friend, because that’s… that’s just…”
Crinkling his can in his hand, he shifted his lips to the side in thought. Eyes pointing from his beer, to you, he offered, “He made you feel something.”
“Yes,” you hissed without a second thought, “And that’s messed up.”
“Is it?”
Shooting him daggers, you shouted, “Yes!”
Jongho didn’t move. He didn’t even react. He simply asked, “Why?”
“I don’t… I don’t know,” you whispered, sitting back against the couch, planting a hand to your forehead. You downed the rest of your drink, your third of the night, and sat the empty can on his coffee table.
“Did he make you feel like Hongjoong makes you feel?” Jongho asked.
Rubbing your fingers over your bare eyes, your bare face, you shook your head. “No,” you answered honestly.
“How’d he make you feel?”
Giving him a look, he laughed.
“Tell me,” he teased, “I won’t judge.”
Taking a long, deep breath, you folded your arms over your front, your cozy hoodie, and released the air with a heavy sigh, one gravely and rough, a groan of sorts. Looking away from him, whether out of embarrassment or bashfulness, you lifted your shoulders and teetered your head side to side. “I wanted him to keep going,” you said, shifting your eyes over to him to see if he reacted. He didn’t. “I wanted… to know what else he would say. I wanted him to finish his sentence, and tell me what he really wanted.”
“That’s not bad at all,” he said quietly, finishing his beer.
The music changed into a softer song, one from the nineties. You recognized it, Yunho’s played it before, a one hit wonder gone rogue, never heard from again. You thought about him and how his brain worked, how passionate he felt about music, the joy it brought him, how it changed his mood in a snap, the way he’s devoted so much of his life to the art. No limits, that’s what he’d say music made him feel, immortal, everlasting, whole.
The songs he would send you in the morning when he knew you had a long day ahead of you, or when he knew the day would be a hard day, they always worked. As if he could feel what you were feeling, the tunes he prescribed cured you, in every which way. He cared. Deeply. San and Jongho didn’t get the songs. You did. And you haven’t gotten one in over a week.
Shifting onto all fours you crawled over to Jongho and wiggled his phone out of his pocket. Swiping open to his music, ignoring the dirty message from San on his home screen, you typed a title into the search bar, and you tapped on it. Turning the volume up, the song crashed through the speakers, bright and excited and invigorating, like Yunho himself burst through the door and lit up the room. The first verse led you into a story, a love song in disguise, one unlike any other, hidden behind a facade of futuristic melodies. And then the chorus hit, and your heart swelled.
‘I’ll stop the world and melt with you… You’ve seen the difference, and it’s getting better all the time… There’s nothing you and I won’t do…’
Haunted by memories, becoming a cage for them to flutter about in, you curled around your knees you tucked into your chest and buried your face in your arms.
All of the nights he’s walked you home from Dante’s, all of the nights he’s stayed, falling asleep either on your couch or in your bed on top of the covers still in your clothes from the bar. The days he’d swing by the office to drop off a new album find he thought you’d like, or bring you a coffee, or offer to take you to lunch, or to grab you something on his way to the label. This entire week, how he’s blown off work, or called out, or told Jag he’s not coming in, so that he can take you around the city and shop for a god damn company gala he agreed to fake date you at just to make your work crush jealous.
The way he looked at you the very first time you stepped into the record store, in a distressed denim jacket over top a short black dress that hugged your thighs, one that matched the boots on your feet– Boots you’ve since retired because they cannot handle the lengths you have to walk through the city. His eyes, they lit up. Half slumped over the counter with his chin in his hands watching the tourists flit about the rows of records just to not buy anything, when he saw you, he knew his luck had changed.
It was when he used to load his lobes with earrings, one of the first things you noticed, how he didn’t care how insane he may look to others. After picking up The Runaways Queens of Noise cassette, you slid it across the counter, shoved your hands in your pockets, and told him, “You’re cool.”
His slender knobby fingers grabbed the tape. Unable to take his eyes off of you, the style of your makeup, the grown out bright pink color at the tips of your hair, how confident you were in how you smiled at him. He stuttered, a lot, scanning the tape, typing something into the register, mumbling his thanks, and how he thought you looked pretty cool too… You laughed at him, you can remember laughing at him. With him. The sweetest, kindest, cutest New Yorker you’ve run into since your move.
Just before you stepped out onto the street, he called after you, “We’ve got new stuff coming in this weekend,” he gulped as you spun to smile at him, “We’re the only store that gets the good stuff, the real stuff, so… If you’re interested.” Any chance to see that face again.
“I’ll be here,” you’d smiled.
He’d given you a nod, some sort of relief washing over him. “Cool.”
“Cool.”
Leaping off of Jongho’s floor, tossing his phone onto his chest where he laid, you ran your hands through your hair and hurried for your shoes at the door. He sprung off the couch as you bustled about.
“What are you doing?”
Shaking your head, really fast, you slipped into your sandals and waved him away. “I have to go,” you sniffled. “I’ll call you later. Thanks for drinks.” Leaning into him to press a kiss to his cheek, you left him dumbfounded in his doorway.
“I’ll walk you, it’s late,” he shouted down his hallway.
Turning over your shoulder, you tried to smile. “I’ll see you tomorrow!”
Springing down three flights of stairs, you wiped your sleeves over your cheeks to dry them, and stepped out onto the street. Past nine o’clock, the New York nightlife bled onto the gravel, the stretches of concrete, balancing on curbs, weaving through cars, a favorite pastime of yours. And Yunho’s. Raw dogging the walk, no music, no phone checking, no one to talk to, you held your focus forward, your pace just as pointed, focused, brisk.
Cancel it all. The thought circled like a vulture in the hot summer sun. The gala, the fake dating, the crush on Hongjoong– Cancel it all. Get rid of it. None of this would happen, everything would go back to normal, and you wouldn’t be overthinking your feelings for Yunho. You already haven’t talked to him in three days, the dressing room incident having happened over seventy two hours ago. His hands touching you like you were the most delicate thing to exist. The way your bodies both reached for one another. How he told you everything he said wasn’t real.
“Not real my ass,” you muttered to yourself, stopping at a corner.
You crossed before the light turned, the tourists around you wide eyed and curious that a Do Not Cross didn’t stop you. They followed you, and you knew what they felt within them, the first time you darted across a street with the possibility of traffic incoming, little to nothing compared to that feeling. Doing everything for the first time in the city, the freedom, the anonymity, no limits, as if you were immortal, everlasting, whole. New York was your music.
‘The future’s open wide…’
Yunho was your music.
Summer air whipped through your hair, breezed over your skin, a type of fresh laced with a grunge you could taste, grit, determination, the opportunity to restart day after day, to become someone new, to step into who you were meant to be. Even alone on the street, strangers passed by, most you didn’t mind, they lived the life you envied, the life you came here to pursue, you had no fear. Somewhere he was here.
Yunho, a summer night on 32nd street, barreling up and down the sidewalks mouthing off, daring one another to go up to the karaoke bars, to flirt with the bartenders for free drinks, to climb the scaffolding and scream from the top of your lungs, just to fall into one another in fits of laughter before plopping down on a curb on the corner of 33rd and 5th Avenue to admire the Empire State Building. Dozing off on his shoulder as the liquor and rumble of the streets sung you to sleep. Having wandered too far from home, faced with an hour's walk back to your apartment… He tucked you under his arm, kept you awake by making you guess the songs he would sing, and he got you both on the subway and home before you realized you had to be up for work in three hours.
Faced with dirty looks from others as you pushed through a crowded street corner, you eyed the lights, the crosswalk, and the moment the lights changed and the cars stopped, you ran. Even after you hit the curb, you kept running, skipping sideways through groups of girls in tiny party dresses, rounding men with trash cans by the curbs, dodging doors that swung open onto the street. You ran until his building came into view.
Sucking down air like it was your job, you stepped into the vestibule and pressed 323. Pressing a hand over your heart that pounded, you waited. He didn’t answer.
“C’mon,” you gasped, pressing it again. It buzzed. You waited. He didn’t answer.
“Fuck,” you cursed, pulling your phone out. Swiping to his number, you tapped it, pressing your phone to your ear. “C’mon, c’mon, c’mon… Pick up.”
“Your call has been forwarded to an automated–”
“Fuck!”
Leaning into the keypad, you pressed 323 eight times, quickly, before giving up with a groan. Kicking the wall, you staggered backward and sunk against the wall, staring at his apartment number like you’d be able to open it with your eyes. You tried his phone again, but he didn’t answer.
He should be home by now, he never stayed at the label this late. Unless he was making up for all the time he lost dealing with you, he never worked past eight, and usually got back by eight thirty. He could be with San, if you weren’t all out together, those two sometimes went out on their own, but it was Sunday.
About to tap his number again, or maybe Jongho, the inside door to the building pushed open, a woman in a knee length dress with curled hair holding it open for you. “Oh, here you go,” she said sweetly, her deep purple colored lips twisting into a smile. “I’ve seen you before.”
“Thank you,” you breathed, taking the door from her hands. Making sure it closed, you glared up the stairs and shook your head. “Six,” you spat. Go.
By floor three you were already winded. By floor five you propelled yourself up with your hands, slapping the concrete of the next step like it was your bitch. By floor six, you had to stop at the top and catch your breath. Several years in the city and the stairs were still your kryptonite.
He better fucking be here.
Trudging down the hallway of concrete floor and old brown walls, you stopped in front of 323 and held up a fist, freezing before you could pound on it.
What were you going to say? Would you apologize? Would he apologize? Neither of you had anything to apologize for, this was… dumb. Did you think you would show up at his door and tell him… that you don’t know what you’re feeling? That you’re confused, that you think you might like him, that your feelings may be deeper than you thought, that you screwed up six years ago and friendzoned him and he was too sweet to act further? To take it further? Even though the way he pressed his thumb to your lips, the way he had his hands in your hair, your thoughts on the backburner, and his heart in your hands, your knees trembling–
“Shug?”
Your heart sunk to your knees, your stomach leapt up into your throat.
Whirling around, fist still in the air, you released a sigh. “Yunho.”
Wearing sweats, an unlikely outfit for him to be out and about in, accessoryless with a baseball cap on his head, he carried a garment bag folded in half and another bag slung over his shoulder, his leather bag. “What are you doing here?” he asked, stepping in front of you to unlock his door.
Scrambling back to give him some space, you gaped, a fish out of water. “I-I was… I tried calling you, but I…”
“I left my phone here,” he muttered, pushing the door open. Looking at you over his shoulder, his face unreadable, he asked, “You coming in?”
Stepping over the threshold, following him onto the hardwood of his kitchen, you folded your hands over your belly and bit down on your tongue before blabbing, “I’m here to apologize.”
Setting the bags down on the kitchen table he and San share, he creased his forehead and moved to hang up his hat on the handle of a kitchen cabinet. Popping the fridge open, he eyed the shelves. “Apologize for what?”
“For…” You took a breath and spun in a little circle, almost catching your ankles together. “For–”
Facing him, he waited patiently, holding out a water bottle for you to take. Reaching for it tentatively, he shoved it into your palm. “You smell like alcohol.”
“I was at Jongho’s,” you muttered, all emotion leaving your face. He grabbed the back of his hoodie and pulled it over his head, his t-shirt lifting underneath, flashing you his middle. His toned, golden skinned middle. Averting your gaze, you faced away from him and sipped from the water.
Dressed down, entirely bare aside from the cotton that hung off of him, your apparent new attraction grew tenfold. His shirt was huge, his sweats were huge, but they were tight. They were tight in the–
“Are you okay?” he asked.
Snapping your eyes to his, you widened yours and nodded. “Yes,” you breathed, then screwed your eyes shut, “I mean, no, no, I’m not.”
“How did you get here?” He moved around his kitchen, searching for snacks in the cabinet. He was going to try to feed you. Hurrying to his side, you closed the doors he opened, and he gave you a crazed look.
“I ran,” you said.
He froze. Hands in the air hovering in front of a handle, he laughed aloud once, then turned to press his backside to the counters. “You ran,” he parroted, crossing his arms over his chest. His biceps rippled under the loose sleeves. The veins on his forearms, they ran through his elbow to his fingertips. His fingers, they… “Shug.”
“Yeah,” you sighed breathlessly, fluttering your lashes as you looked up at him.
His brown eyes narrowed. “What is up?” Whether your movements were liquor fueled or entirely not your own, you reached for his arms, smoothing your hands over his skin. Face faltering, his eyes shot open as you stepped in front of him, your knees parting around his where they stuck out. “You’re drunk,” he said.
“I’m really not.”
“Yes, you are.”
“Then catch up,” you whispered, pressing your fingertips into his skin.
“What are you here for?”
You glanced at the fridge. “Have a drink first.”
Groaning, getting nowhere with you, he gently moved you out of the way and scoured his fridge for a beer while you rifled through the cabinet over the sink and pulled down a bottle of vodka.
“Oh no,” he snickered, “I don’t think so. Put it back.”
Giving him a small smile, you acquired two shot glasses from their resting place. Placing the bottle and the glasses on the counter with a rattle of the glass, you poured out two and knocked one back. “You tell the truth when you’re drinking,” you cringed, nudging his shot closer to him.
The confusion that lived in his eyes since he came up the stairs somewhat subsided, but was still present. Downing half of his beer at once, typical male, he reached for the shotglass with his other hand and shook his head before taking it. Smacking it to the counter top with a groan and a gasp, he said, “I’m gonna hate you tomorrow morning.”
“Maybe,” you said, small and quiet.
“What is going on?” He finished his beer and crunched the can in one hand, throwing it into the kitchen sink with a clang. Pouring two more shots, you held up the glass for him to clink his with yours, and you took them at the same time. “Fuck,” he sneered, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.
Coughing once, you managed, “We’re not going to the gala.”
Eyes shooting open, he cocked his head aside and he poured two more shots. “You’re not serious, we’re good, so what, we argued, we’ve done that before, we’ll–”
“Not like that,” you said, and he frowned.
“What do you mean?”
Clinking your glasses, you both took your third shot and exclaimed aloud. Swallowing thickly, you pointed at him, leaning over the counter he stood on the opposite of. “We’ve never argued… like that.”
Yunho shrugged, pointing his eyes at the glasses. “Whatever.”
Slamming a hand to the counter, you laughed. “That’s all you have to say? Whatever? You’re agreeing with me.”
“Am not,” he spat, giving you a crazed look. “You were bugging out over what happened with that fuckass asshole, and you decided to take it all out on me!”
Scoffing, laughing, maybe both at once, you sprung up and held out your hands. “Would you like me to tell you I wasn’t even thinking about him at all?”
Yunho sneered, “Bullshit, you’re always thinking about him. Him and that god awful attitude, cocky son of a bitch–”
“I was thinking about you,” you shouted, pouring two more shots.
Yunho pushed off the counter and gripped his chin, pulling at his lips. Parading around the kitchen with one hand on his hip. “He’s horrible, he’s horrible, and the shit that he says, and the way he says it, like it’s okay. He talks to all women like that, not just you, but it’s worse because it is you, and I–”
“Yunho,” you raised your voice, moving around the counter to grab onto his arms again, shaking him. “Did you hear me?”
Shaking his head, still lost in his thoughts, he tensed his jaw. “I didn’t, I’m so angry, he pisses me the fuck off.”
“Don’t let him,” you said softly, dragging your hands over his biceps, his forearms, his hands. “He’s not worth it.”
His ragged sigh washed over you. “He’s not, but fuck, he really gets under your skin, how did you put up with him for so long, I just…”
“I don’t know,” you mumbled, answering him between his rambles, “But, I’m done. I’m over it.” Your fingers tangled with his briefly, his distracted mind subconsciously grabbing onto them, letting you do whatever it is you wanted to do to him in this moment.
“He needs to be fired, he needs to be reported and fired…”
“Seonghwa’s taking care of it, I don’t think he’ll get fired.” Sliding your hands from his arms to his middle, you step closer to him and drug them under his shirt, your fingertips finally grazing his middle, his core, his toned belly. He didn’t even realize, he just let you.
“Even if he doesn’t, there needs to be something done with the CEO’s or something, shit, I don’t even know what they’re even called, I don’t know how this shit works, I just know it’s fucked up, and you’ve been subjected to it for so long…”
Placing your palms over his belly, your breath hitching in your chest as you gazed up at him while you felt him, how his chest rose and fell with every heavy breath, how his abs clenched with every bite of a word, your blood ran red hot. His lips, moving a mile a minute, you don’t remember when you stopped listening, you wanted to listen, but all you could think about was how they felt, what they’d feel like on yours, wrapped around your…
“Shug.” His voice was quiet.
Looking up at him, how close the two of you had gotten, how he had backed up against the kitchen cabinets, how you were pressing yourself to him. Your hands got greedy, you were gripping him with a vengeance, feeling him up from his belly to his chest, your fingers were peeking out of the neck of his shirt. “Yunho,” you whispered, shameless.
Blinking heavily in the dim light of his kitchen, he dropped his chin, your noses millimeters apart. “Did you say… You’re over it?”
Both hands slid over his chest and up to his shoulders, pressing your thumbs into the muscles. Nibbling at your bottom lip, you took a breath in time with him and nodded, slowly, whispering, “I did.”
A curse pushed through his lips, one you couldn’t make out in the slur of the liquor. “What are you thinking about right now?”
You dropped your hands lower, your fingertips grazing his nipples on purpose before you gripped his belly. Proud of how he hissed and flinched, you smiled. “You,” you said, blinking up at him. “What you said to me, and how you said it… How it made me feel.”
Breathless, he sighed, “How did it make you feel?”
“Like,” you gulped, using all liquid courage to make these words work, “Like, I wanted… Wanted you to…”
“Fuck,” he whispered, then seemed to remember what he had done, what he said, what he made you feel, what he so obviously realized that he made you feel. Taking his hands to your chin, thumbs pressing into your cheeks, he tipped your head back and lowered his. Eyes burning into yours, his voice rumbled so low you could feel him in your core. “Words. Big girl, remember?”
“Take me,” you whispered, and he held back a smirk. “Take me, show me, do it to me, touch me, fuck me.” His lips parted with a sigh, his brows pinching in the center. “Do what he can’t, what he’ll never get the chance to do, love me.”
His eyes fluttered shut, his vodka laced breath grew uneven. “Hang on.. W-Wait…”
“Yunho,” you whined, and his eyes shot open. “I don’t care about what you’re gonna tell me, about how this s’gonna ruin something, it’s not gonna happen. I hate knowing there’s girls looking at you.”
“Girls looking at me,” he said an inside thought out loud.
“Ki told me,” you grumbled, sliding your hands around his back, leaning on his chest, “The girlies at the label love you.”
He squinted. “What girlies?”
“I dunno,” you said, loud, making him jump, “Maybe it’s Ki and Riley, I dunno, Yunho, do you hear me? I’m over this Hongjoong thing, I just told you to fuck me, and you’re standing here talking to me–”
His strong hands tipped you further back, his frame caging you in against his chest. Tilting his head, he curled his lip with a curse before pressing his lips to yours in a kiss burning hot, a mess of teeth, a mess of tongues, nothing perfect, just a total hot, wet mess. Gasping for air whenever your lips parted, you took your hands out of his shirt and threw them around his neck, lifting your knees to climb onto him. Grunting through clenched teeth as he hooked his arms around your thighs and pulled you higher, he groaned as your fingers knitted through his hair, giving him the gentlest tug.
“You can pull harder than that,” he muttered, and you smiled within the kiss.
“Jeong Yunho,” you teased, head tilting as his lips trailed down the side of your neck. He took two steps forward and sat you down on the counter beside the vodka. Tugging again, harder, he groaned, a sound trapped within his chest. “This s’gon be fun,” you breathed.
Tongue lobbing out to lick stripes under your jaw, he nipped the skin of your neck and hummed, the noise vibrating through you. “Wha’s that,” he slurred, his hands gripping the curve of your waist, shamelessly sliding over your ass to squeeze.
“Figuring out what you like… What we like… Together.”
Connecting his lips with yours, he hummed here, smushing your noses together as he mumbled, “Let me do it.”
“Hm,” you hummed back, dipping your tongue out to swipe over his lips. Nipping at it with his teeth, his heavy eyes drank in your lips, already swollen and pink.
“Let me do it,” he whispered, knees buckling as he tried to kiss you. Holding him by his hair, Yunho entirely leaned over you, his eyes drunk on you, his body drunk on the liquor, he licked his lips and shook his head. “You won’t have to do a thing,” his lower register struck through you, you needed your sweats off, now. “You won’t have to move, you won’t have to think.” Your lips parted and your eyes softened, and he smirked. “Let me do it.”
“Shit,” you hushed, grabbing onto his shirt, yanking it over his head. “Please.” He did the same with your hoodie, pulling it off of you, pleased to find nothing beneath it. He didn’t miss a second. Kissing down your neck, his tongue teasing you in all the right places, he slid his hands down your thighs and pressed them open. Afraid that you soaked through the cotton, your suspicions became true when he grinned up at you. Pulling your legs closed, he forced them back open.
“Don’t,” he whispered, kissing up the valley between your tits, wrapping his lip around your nipple, sucking at it harshly. The first moan fell from your lips, and he nearly crumbled. Fingers digging into your thighs, he muttered, “So fucking perfect.”
Tugging at his hair, the strands a complete tangle now that you’ve mussed them up, your head dropped back with another cry as he kissed the other, using his fingers to tease the perky bud he left a slick mess. “Yunho–”
“God, so perfect,” he groaned, grabbing handfuls of your tits as he stood up to press an open mouthed kiss to your lips, tongues in a tangle, whines intertwining. “Wanna play with you forever.”
“Please, please–”
“Please, what?” Against your lips, he snickered, quietly, proud of what he’s done to you already.
“Touch me,” you whispered, sucking in a gasp as he slid his hands higher on your thighs, up to the curve of your hips, into the dips.
His smile against your lips made your breath shake. “Can I?”
“Yunho,” you whined, trying to grind onto him, but he stood an inch too far.
Glancing between you, he huffed a laugh. “Did I really work you up like this?”
Pulling at his hair, tugging him closer, your noses touched as you muttered, “I wanted you to dick me down on 7th Avenue, asshole.”
“Damn,” he pulled his brows together, “Really?” Rolling your eyes, he snickered. “There’s my girl.” You clenched around nothing, your jaw dropping open with a gasp. He dipped his thumbs over your clothed, wet, center. “Oh, that’s what you like, huh?” Writhing as his thumbs pressed into you, your moan made him pout. “Oh, babe,” he cooed, dragging them up and down, slowly, on purpose. “Feel good?”
Your fingers loosened in his hair. Limbs growing gooey, you smiled something ditzy and let your eyes close. “So good,” you whispered.
His lips ghosted your cheek, his nose pressing there instead. Rocking with you, he said, “I’m barely touching you. My girl’s needy, huh? Kept you waiting so long.”
“Why did you?” Breath irregular, you peeked at him and whined as he grazed over your sweet spot. “Why didn’t you just tell me?”
Touching the tip of his nose to yours, he gave you a gentle kiss, one that lingered, and whispered, “I was scared.”
“Don’t be,” you shook your head, feeling his thumbs still. The look in his eyes, one you’ve never seen before, one he’s kept hidden for too long, and you his mirror.
He took a hand to your cheek, tucking your hair behind your ear, pressing a kiss to the corner of your lips. “I still am.”
“Let me prove this to you,” you whispered, “That this is real.” Squishing his cheeks in your hands, you kissed him and he laughed. “Let me do what you said you want me to do, let me–”
“No,” he said quickly, standing up straight, still taller than you even with you sitting on the countertop. “You have nothing to prove, nothing you owe, no task to fulfill. I had guy brain, and you don’t deserve guy brain.” Drinking in every word, you bobbed your head. “You really want me?”
Whispering, you smiled, “Since I met you.”
“Since you… Fuck, Shug,” he tried to push away from you, but you pulled him back in, engulfing his lips in a kiss, grabbing onto his shoulders, climbing on top of him. Clinging to his front, the feel of him holding you, carrying you, so secure, you wanted him to fall to the floor and let you defile him as you pleased, but he didn’t stay in the kitchen. Lips locked, he bumped into the skinny walls of the apartment as he stumbled into his bedroom, kicking the door shut behind him.
The idea that San could come home at any minute didn’t come to either of you, you left your shirts on the kitchen floor.
Splaying you onto his mattress, climbing over you, he gripped the waist of your sweats and pulled them off, doing the same with his own, wasting little to no time. Mouths working overtime, stifled moans swapped with the spit, he cradled the back of your knees and pushed your thighs against your chest. Parting from you, lips smacking, you caught your breath as he sat back and gazed down at you spread open for him. Shaking his head, taking in how your chest heaved, how your hair was thrown so sexily, so messy, how you glistened for him, all for him.
He did this to you, made you a panting, sweaty, whiney mess. You were in his bed, naked in his bed, he kissed you, he touched you, he was about to… Fuck. Looking between you, at how he sucked down hungry air, how he gazed at your body in disbelief, how your legs were spread, how his heavy, leaking cock would not be able to fit inside of you…
“Yunho,” you whispered, or gasped, it sounded the same.
He gulped and gave you a shake of his head. “Trust me?”
“You’re so big,” you said without a second thought, and he held in his smile. “What the fuck, you… You’ve just been hiding this?”
“Would’ve let you see it if you asked me nicely,” he teased before his eyes narrowed slightly and he focused on your expression. “Trust me?”
Letting your head fall back on the mattress, you whispered, “Always.”
Bending in half, keeping his knees under your legs, he settled on top of you, soothing your racing heart with a soft kiss to your chest before he trailed up your neck to kiss your lips. His fingers smoothed down your belly and slipped between your legs, the first real feel of him touching you, teasing your clit, twisting his fingers in long, gentle circles to work you up, though it felt like he did this for his own enjoyment.
Smiling as he felt your lips part and your arms wrap around his back, he pressed gentle kisses to your cheeks, groaning with you as you moaned for him with little to no regard for the neighbors. Vulnerable, sensitive, intimate, he thinks he could live right here forever and devote the rest of his life to bringing you pleasure. He grew harder, if that were possible, he thinks he’ll finish untouched, until you finally beg.
“Wanna feel you, wan’ you inside,” you pushed out through gusts of breath, “Please, Yunho, need you, need you.”
“Sound so pretty,” he mumbled through kisses to your skin, “Gotta help me, baby, okay?”
Your whine echoed through his room as you cried, “Okay.” Brows twisting, body burning, you arched off his bed as he slid two long, slender, curved fingers inside of you.
“Damn, Shug,” he said through his teeth, scissoring his fingers as he slid them out of you before he pushed them back in. “Tight little thing, you gonna take all of me?”
“Yes,” you cried, melting into his touch, the slip of his fingers.
“Don’t be an overachiever,” he cooed, nudging your nose with his, the tips of your lips brushing together.
Jaw clenching, you stilled your breath, choked back a moan as he pressed his fingers up, finding that spot with ease, and managed to say, “I could go fuck Hongjoong instead.”
Yunho saw red. You broke out into a grin, biting down on your bottom lip. Pulling his fingers out of you, he grabbed both of your wrists and pinned them over your head. Connecting his hips with yours, his cock slipping through your arousal, over your clit, he laughed as you whined, and he held you tighter, your legs, your body, folded in half.
“You’d think I’d see this coming,” he groveled, pressing his nose to your cheek. Angling his hips so his tip caught your entrance, he bared his teeth and spat, “My girl’s a brat.” The pressure between your hips grew as he pushed himself into you, inch by inch, slowly, lips parting as you sucked him in, both of you. “You want him?” His voice shook, his stomach tensed, his grip on your wrists grew even tighter.
Through a breath, you cried, “Yunho,” back arching into his chest, arms and legs writhing in ecstasy, the shock subsiding leaving you completely and utterly cockdrunk.
“Moanin’ my name, but telling me y’want him,” he snapped, testing the waters with a slow drag of his hips. Using one hand to hold both your wrists, he took the other between your legs, playing with you. “Who knew my girl was so messy, huh? You feel this?” The tip of his middle finger swirled over your clit, your body trembling. “So wet,” he whispered, grazing his lips over the shell of your ear, “Let me right in, baby, you don’t want him. You’re just a needy little cockslut who’ll say anything to get what she wants, huh?”
Pleasure shot through your middle. “H’my god,” you moaned as he moved again, each gentle thrust of his hips rendering you thoughtless. “Your mouth.”
“My mouth?” He thrust again, harder this time. You nodded and parted your lips to speak, but he slid his finger in, the one he touched you with, spreading your own sweetness over your tongue. “Talk about yours.” Lips wrapping around the digit, you sucked as he pushed it towards the back of your throat, seeing stars as he pushed into you, harder, getting faster as he felt you relax further.
“Saying his name,” he snapped, pulling his finger out with a pop to your dismay. You whined and he shook his head. “Bad girls don’t get what they want, do you hear yourself?” Both of his hands held onto your wrists again. Shifting over you, pressing down on your hands, propping himself up on his knees, lifting your hips in the debauched act, he smirked. “You’re mine.”
Insatiable, starved, entirely feral, he pistoled into you, your foreheads pressed together, your lips bumping with every other moan, every other smack of his hips against yours.
“You’re mine,” he growled again, catching your bottom lip between his teeth, his breath rough and ragged. Enthralled with how you writhed, how you cried out his name, how no other word seemed to come to mind, he smiled wickedly, and you clenched around him. “Squeezin’ me already, you like to hear that? That you’re mine?”
“Yes,” you whispered, your lungs filling with air that didn’t seem to release, “Say it, say it.”
He let go of your hands and groaned, sliding them beneath your body, holding onto you. Burying his face in your neck, he latched his teeth to your skin as he rutted into you and moaned, “Mine. No one else can fucking touch you,” he pushed himself up to his elbows to kiss you messily, “I do have a claim on you, fuck anyone else who tries. You belong to me.”
Hands clasping around his back, your nails dug into his skin, scrambled pink lines drawing over the expanse of his golden skin. Your body, gleaming with a sheen that matched his, clung to him. So full, so complete, you didn’t want him to let go. You’d spend eternity getting rocked senseless by Jeong Yunho.
The press of his lips to your skin, the clench of your belly as he pushed himself inside you to the hilt, his hands clinging to you like you were the last strain of sanity in the world–
“I love you,” you whispered, feeling your throat tighten. Tears welled in your eyes as he picked up his head in shock, his eyes wide, his hips slowing.
Mid-breath with parted lips, he brought his hands to your cheeks and held you.
“God, don’t stop,” you whined, half laughing as your tears spilled, “Keep going.”
Yunho, heart thundering in his chest, breath racking through his lungs, he shook his head and drug his thumbs under your eyes to wipe them clean. It took him eight seconds, but he whispered, “I love you too.”
Gazing up at him, trembling in ecstasy and through tears, you grabbed his cheeks and pulled him down to kiss him, hard and soft, all at once. Within it he groaned and grabbed onto you, wrapping himself around you, hitting that pace from before, hard and soft, all at once.
Minutes passed, several sweaty, disgusting, erotic minutes of skin on skin, becoming a part of one another. His bed had shifted, it banged into the wall, the frames of old records already shaking from the noise alone. You were too wrapped up in one another to notice, to care, to give a shit. From mewls, to moans, to giggles, to filthy words, neither of you wanted this to end, but with an ending came a promise of again.
High pitched and entirely deranged, you cried out for him, your vision searing white hot, your body doused in him, clenching around his cock, shaking in his hold, giving him the most vulnerable part of you, allowing him to drive you here, to hold you through it, to talk you through it. His swift mumbles of, “Good girl, oh fuck… Feels so good, I know, did so good… I’m right here, right here– Fuck, where do you want it?”
“Inside,” you whispered, voice broken, only able to hold onto him, your nose pressed to his cheek. “Inside.”
The creak beneath you was obscene as he sped up, focused on his own high, spiraling you into overstim. Head going dizzy as he took you, and used you for what he wanted, what he needed, you moaned with him as he spilled into you, his teeth pressing into your shoulder as he came.
Everything went still, aside from the rise and fall of your chests. Everything went quiet, aside from the gentle noises slipping through your lips.
Lifting his head, his lids heavy, his lips swollen, he gazed down at your fucked out eyes and flushed cheeks and sighed. “You’re so pretty,” he whispered, pushing hair from your face, planting a kiss to your cheek. Blinking up at him, you could only manage a small smile. “Was this your plan? When I found you at my door?”
Shaking your head, you moved at a snail's pace, taking your hands to his cheeks, your body exhausted and trembling. “No,” you whispered, smoothing your thumbs under his lashes, “Just wanted the truth.”
Yunho pursed his lips, his brows curious under his messy hair. “The truth?”
“Yeah,” you smiled, “You do love me.”
“I have since I met you,” he confessed, dragging the backs of his fingers along the edge of your jaw.
“I think I have, too,” you whispered. “I was just…”
Yunho shut his eyes for a second. “Scared.”
“Yeah, scared.”
He started to smile. “Are you still?”
“Not with you,” you whispered, “Never with you. Why do you think I had the balls to say it?”
Laughing, he shifted over you and your bodies parted. Admiring how your lips popped open at the feel, he smiled and pressed a kiss to your bottom lip. “I love you,” he said quietly, like someone would hear him, someone like you.
Cheeks going pink, you smiled. “I love you too.”
“Come shower with me,” he whispered against your dewy skin.
“You might have to carry me, you’re a wild animal.”
His smile pierced through your heart and stirred your belly, swimming in the leftover pleasure he’d brought you to mere minutes ago. “Anything for you, Shug.”
Crawling off of you, he helped you up and wrapped an arm around your back. Pulling open his door a crack, he peered out into the shared space and listened.
Swatting at his chest, you giggled, “You really think he came home?”
Shrugging, he shot you a sarcastic look, “Wouldn’t be able to hear him if he did, you’re really loud.”
“Yunho,” you gasped, bumping him with your hip.
“Look’s like your strength is back,” he teased, “Guess you can walk to the bathroom alone.” His grin grew as he slid his arm off of you, laughing as you grabbed onto him and clung to his side.
“Don’t be a jerk.”
Smoothing a hand over your hair, he hushed you and shook his head, “I’m sorry, I’m kidding, I’d never. C’mon.”
Taking you out toward the kitchen, the bathroom on San’s side of the apartment, you tiptoed over the hardwood, and you both paused.
Your hoodie and his shirt, they were folded neatly and placed on the counter beside the bottle of vodka that had been capped, the shot glasses arranged nicely next to it.
“Uh, we didn’t do that, did we?” he asked, sharing a just as confused look with you.
Thinning your lips, you felt your cheeks flush of all color as you looked up at him. “Nope.”
“Ah, shit,” he grumbled, “Where’s my phone?”
Glancing around, letting yourself slip away from him, you searched for yours as well. Finding it on the other counter, again placed nicely, surprised he didn’t also plug it into a charger for you, you swiped it open and drafted a text to Seonghwa, one you sent with an apology for the late hour.
Yunho groaned from behind you, swiping his hand over his forehead, pushing his hair back. “Well,” he trailed off, stepping to your side, showing you his screen and his text from San.
UR BROTHER: jongho and i are going to dante’s, glad you idiots worked this shit out IT’S ABOUT DAMN TIME… meet us here when you’re done, i want details, jongho doesn’t, please help me torture him… sounds like your doing a good job though!!!
Your shoulders rose to eat your ears.
Yunho bent his knees and leaned into you, popping a kiss to your cheek. “Loud.”
“Stop!” Whining, you shoved him, and he staggered back with a laugh.
“It’s hot,” he shrugged, reaching for you to pull you into the bathroom, “I like it that way. We gonna go get a drink?”
Leaning against the doorframe, watching him turn the hot water on, you admired his bare body and smirked. “If we’re sure that San’ll go home with Jongho.”
Whipping himself around, he took one stride toward you and looped his arms around your neck, pulling you into him. “He always goes home with Jongho, and you’re coming back here with me.”
Biting down on your bottom lip, you smized. “You serious?”
He curled his lip and dropped his chin down to kiss you rough, whispering, “Deadly. Now get in here and let me see if I can make you cum in five minutes.”
“Yunho,” you laughed, having blushed more in your time with him this evening than ever in your life. He whisked you beneath the hot water and pushed you up against the wall, kissing you.
Pulling his lips away, he pressed his forehead to yours and took a deep breath. “I don’t wanna go to the gala.” A smile pulled at the corners of your lips, growing until you almost doubled over in laughter. “Whaaat,” he whined, laughing with you, the sound contagious.
Gripping his cheeks you shook him a bit. “Don’t worry about that, we’re not going. I just told Seonghwa.”
“Oh,” he sighed, relieved, “Okay, good, that’s okay?”
“More than okay,” you rolled your eyes, “I didn’t wanna go either.”
Pulling his lips to the side, he said, “I got your dress fixed.” Taking your wide eyes for an answer, he added, “I went back to the store to get it, San knows someone really good at this kind of stuff.”
“Who is she?”
“He. A drag queen in Greenwich.”
Huffing through a laugh, you shook your head. “You know sometimes they prefer it if you call them she.”
Yunho furrowed his brows. “His name was Brian.”
Tilting your head, you squinted. “Huh… Why are they all named Brian?”
“Don’t know…” His voice trailed off, leaving you both in thought until he dropped down to his knees and spread your thighs apart with his chin. Laughing at how you shrieked, he wiggled his way between them and kissed the inside of your hips.
Your fingers tangled with his hair. Laying your head on the wall, you laughed breathlessly, “Five minutes.”
He smirked and poked out his tongue. “Starting now.”
you do not have permission to copy or translate my works without my consent.
Yearning has always been your quiet companion, especially when it comes to Yang Jungwon. On a campus drenched in red roses and open confessions, you’re content to remain invisible, watching from a distance, carrying a want you never planned to confess. But sometimes, timing is kinder than fear allows. On Rose Day, a single flower, a lingering look, and a walk home change everything, proving that some feelings don’t need to be spoken to be returned.
Pairing: Yang Jungwon × Reader
Genre: Soft Romance, Mutual Pining, Campus AU, Friends-to-Lovers Energy
Warnings (cute edition): excessive yearning, mutual pining so obvious it hurts, soft Jungwon (handle with care), jealousy, blushing, hand-holding, and heart-fluttering proximity, kissing, suggestive?
Yearning for Yang Jungwon was an unspoken thing.
It lived in the pauses between thoughts, in the way your chest tightened when you heard his laugh down the hall before you ever saw him. It was the kind of want you didn’t confess, not to your friends, not even to yourself, not because it was forbidden, but because saying it would make it real. Fragile. Exposed.
So you carried it quietly, like a secret pressed under your tongue, like a name you never said out loud because you were afraid it might echo back.
Jungwon existed in the world with an ease that made everything else feel clumsier by comparison. He didn’t command attention, he attracted it. People drifted toward him without realizing they were doing it, drawn by the warmth of his smile, the softness in his eyes, the way he leaned in when someone spoke as if nothing else mattered more in that moment.
Handsome, undeniably. The kind that made people glance twice, then linger. But it was the other things that ruined you, the way he remembered details, the way he held doors open without making a show of it, the way he said your name like it belonged in his mouth.
Which was why Rose Day felt less like a celebration and more like a slow, personal punishment.
The campus looked like it had been dipped in red. Roses everywhere, wrapped in glossy plastic, tucked into tote bags, hidden behind backs. Confessions bloomed openly today, loud and unashamed. Laughter spilled across the quad. Phones were raised, moments documented, love made visible.
And Jungwon was right there in the middle of it.
You sat on the wide stone steps near the humanities building, phone in hand, pretending to scroll while your eyes betrayed you again and again. A girl approached him with shaking hands and a rose clutched tight. Jungwon’s face softened immediately, gentle, kind, as he accepted it, bowing his head slightly, thanking her like it meant something. Like she meant something.
Another followed. Then another.
Someone joked loudly that he should start charging by the stem.
Jungwon laughed, embarrassed, ears turning pink, shoulders hunching a little like he didn’t know what to do with all the attention. Still, he accepted every rose with the same sincerity, the same careful gratitude. He never rushed them. Never brushed anyone off.
Your chest ached.
It always did, when you watched him be exactly who he was.
“You okay?” your friend nudged you, plopping down beside you.
“Yeah,” you said automatically. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
They squinted at you. “Because you’re staring at Jungwon like he personally invented heartbreak.”
“I am not staring.”
“You’re yearning.”
“I am observing,” you corrected weakly.
They laughed, launching into some ridiculous, half-dirty joke about roses and symbolism and Jungwon’s poor, unsuspecting soul, and you groaned, burying your face in your hands. Of course today he wore that soft sweater, the one that looked like it had been lived in, sleeves pushed up just enough to expose his wrists, his veins faintly visible under warm skin.
Cruel. Absolutely cruel.
At some point, it became too much.
You excused yourself with a vague excuse about needing air and slipped away before anyone could stop you. The further you walked, the quieter it got, until you found yourself on a bench near the library where the noise dulled into something distant and manageable.
You sat there, tracing cracks in the pavement with the toe of your shoe, telling yourself it was fine. That this was what you’d chosen, silence over risk, longing over rejection. That wanting didn’t mean deserving.
The sun dipped lower, painting the sky in soft golds and pinks. The crowds thinned. Laughter faded.
“Hey.”
You looked up, heart jumping straight into your throat.
Jungwon stood in front of you.
No crowd now. No roses in sight. Just him, hands tucked behind his back like he was hiding something, hair catching the light, eyes searching your face with an uncertainty you weren’t used to seeing on him.
“I’ve been looking for you,” he said. “You disappeared.”
“Oh,” you blinked. “Yeah. I just… needed air.”
He nodded, rocking slightly on his heels. “Me too.”
The silence that followed wasn’t awkward. It was charged, like the air before a storm, heavy with everything neither of you had said before. His gaze flicked to your lips, then back to your eyes, as if he’d caught himself doing something dangerous.
“So,” he said, trying for lightness, “apparently today is a big deal.”
“Seems like it,” you replied. “You’re… very popular.”
He let out a small huff of laughter. “Is that what it looked like?”
“Kind of hard to miss,” you teased. “I think you’re singlehandedly keeping flower shops afloat.”
He smiled, then finally brought his hands forward.
A single rose. Red. Unwrapped. Simple. “I didn’t get this from anyone,” he said quickly, like he needed you to understand that first. “I bought it earlier. I just—” He hesitated, breath catching. “I didn’t know who to give it to.”
Your heart stuttered. “But I think I do now.”
He held it out to you, eyes steady despite the vulnerability threading through his voice. “For you.”
For a moment, the world narrowed to just that space between you. You took the rose with trembling fingers, brushing his hand by accident, or maybe not. The spark was immediate, electric. Jungwon didn’t pull away right away.
Neither did you. “Jungwon,” you whispered, like his name was something fragile.
He stepped closer, lowering his voice until the moment felt private, intimate. “I’ve been wanting to do this all day,” he admitted. “Watching you pretend not to look at me was… kind of distracting.”
Heat crept up your neck as you laughed softly. “You noticed?”
“Oh,” he murmured, thumb brushing slowly over your knuckles, deliberate and warm. “I notice you. I always have.”
The rose felt warm in your hands now, like a promise. Like something just beginning to unfold.
“Walk me home?” he asked, quieter still.
You stood, heart racing. “Yeah,” you said. “I’d like that.”
You walked side by side, shoulders brushing, steps unhurried. The campus lights flickered on around you, soft and glowing, the world settling into something gentler. When you reached your place, neither of you moved to leave.
Jungwon stopped in front of you, eyes searching yours.
“Can I…?” he asked, already leaning in.
You nodded.
The kiss was soft at first, careful, like he was asking permission with every movement. Then a little deeper, a little surer, like he’d finally decided to stop holding back. His hand came up to cup your cheek, thumb brushing just beneath your eye, and the world tilted.
When he pulled away, his forehead rested against yours, breath uneven.
“Happy Rose Day,” he murmured.
You smiled, heart full and aching all at once. It hadn’t been cruel at all. It had just been waiting.
to help raise money for charity, you and your friends make your way over to the rich neighborhood to handwash cars in your best skimpy bathing suits and clothing. unbeknownst to you, you catch the attention of the richest person there.
( 𝓷 )。 HAPPY SOOBIN DAY!!! (∩˃o˂∩)♡ hehe for the one time everyone, repeat after me! every body is a bikini body!!!!! thank you very much! ♡ this is a hybrid of a repost and a rework of a fic from my old blog of the same name. eeee lather girlies!!! where you at? teehee~~ the #1 mean dom lover is back!! (๑´ω`๑) enjoy!! ♡
You huffed loudly as you tried to pull down the smallest shorts you've ever worn. When they didn't budge, you slumped into the chair at the stand you and your friends were currently setting up. At least you weren't that hot with your bikini top and jean shorts that barely covered your ass in the summer sun—and you looked damn good too. For charity, you thought, It's all for charity.
"Alright, I think everything is good," Soyeon says, her eyes scanning the final result of the stand. You, Soyeon, Chaewon, and Karina were on the sidewalk in some rich neighborhood to hand wash cars for this charity program you're all volunteering for. Last year, it was the boys who were ogling older married women for cash. It was a huge blowout and the company you were volunteering for loved it. This year, it was the girls' turn.
Karina got up from the grass where she was filling water balloons and placing them into a blue plastic bucket. "Water balloons are done! Are we ready to get started?" she asks as she wipes her wet hands down the sides of her own jean shorts. There was a piece of paper taped to the bucket that read '$20 TO GET THESE GIRLS SOAKED!' on it. Before Soyeon could reply, Chaewon walked up to the three of you.
"I already got a couple offers—they're paying big money to see us drenched and washing their cars," Chaewon says as she sits down on the plastic chair next to you. "One of them even offered to buy me a car if I was willing to 'offer a little bit extra' for them. This is going to be the easiest charity event I've ever been a part of!"
Soyeon scoffed a little at the remark and rolled her eyes as she looked around to the various large and elaborate houses. It was a very pretty neighborhood, you had to say. The houses seemed almost freshly painted and washed so they shined in the sunlight and each and every one had embellishments and trims that you knew cost a fortune. Their porches were opulently decorated for the season, and if you didn't catch previous glimpses of people looking out the intricately designed bay windows you would've thought that you walked onto a commercial or movie set. There were already some men waiting on their porches or flat out in their yards with a lawn chair and a beer.
One man in particular had his eyes on you this entire time. He was one of the ones sitting in his yard—sunglasses low on his nose bridge as he sipped from whatever ridiculously expensive beer he had. His blonde hair and plain white t-shirt made him stand out in contrast to the lush green grass behind him. You gave him a small and sweet smile while trying to make it seem like you didn't notice his persistent staring. You leaned forward and angled your body towards him as you reached to adjust the charity fliers sitting on the table, making sure that the new exposed skin of your cleavage was in full view for him. A smirk grew on his face and you knew you had him right where you wanted him as you flicked your eyes back up to look at him. Men are so easy, you thought.
The whole idea to even do this car washing service came from Soyeon, surprisingly. In her own words, "Lets take advantage of shitty rich men for charity money!" She was inspired by last year's ridiculous outcome and how instead of washing cars, the boys were doing summer stripteases under the guise of a Drown or Dare game. It wasn't a bad idea—you even suggested that you continue the car washing service into other neighborhoods too for more money.
Soyeon grabbed the megaphone from the table and said into it, "All right, gentlemen! Who's ready to get wet?!" The various groups of men cheered and started clapping at the beginning of their wet dreams coming to fruition. "Starting prices are on the sign above me and remember, it costs extra if you want something special. Lets raise some money for charity!" Soyeon continued. The rest of you all started whooping and cheering, falling into the roles you all came up with beforehand, as all the men came up to you four like moths to a flame.
You were in the process of taking a lot of twenty dollar bills and passing out water balloons whenever the man from the yard who has been eyeing you finally started to approach. You had to tear your eyes away from him when a water balloon hit your chest, soaking your thin white t-shirt and revealing your red bikini top in the process. Turning to the culprit with a shocked screech, Chaewon smiled innocently at you.
Chaewon was completely drenched and sudsy from the car her and Soyeon just washed. She held an open water bottle in her hand and you knew exactly what she was about to do with it. "Chaewon!" you laugh as you look down at the water dripping off of you. You peeled off some of the green balloon that stuck to you.
"The guy who's been eye-fucking you is coming over, be ready," she murmurs lowly as she pours the water from the water bottle she held over your shoulders. You gasped as a chill ran through you, giving Chaewon a pointed look, and peeled off your wet shirt—tossing it to the side next to the stand—so you were left in just your bikini top. Karina smirked at you as she took over handling the water balloons. Chaewon walked back to the table and you turned to greet the man of the hour.
His eyes shamelessly trailed up and down your—now soaked—body, especially the wet red fabric that barely covered your tits. He took a water balloon from Karina, pressing twenty dollars into her open hand without looking, and made his way over to you. "Need any more help getting wet?" he asked you with a sly grin.
Now that he was up close, he was really attractive. He also didn't look that much older than you, which honestly surprised you. You were expecting men in their late forties who had suspiciously thick hair at their hairline but not towards the backs of their heads. You plastered on an innocent smile, he was probably some billionaire's son. "For charity? Of course I am, if you're offering!" you exclaimed as you held open your arms and prepared yourself to be hit with the water balloon.
Instead of throwing the balloon he latched his finger underneath the strap of your bikini top. "What if I want a special offer?" he asks you lowly as he leans into the shell of your ear. Your faces were inches away from one another and he looked into your eyes as he awaited your answer. The strap of your bikini top snapped back down onto your shoulder as he let go of it.
You could feel the heat spread across your body, especially towards the pit of your belly. Now, you weren't really one for a casual—or not so casual—hookup with a stranger, but you were willing to make an exception for a good cause. Besides, he was just so alluring. If you weren't already so wet, you'd bet your bikini bottoms would be soaked through right now.
With a sultry stare, the corners of your mouth rose as you say lowly, "You're gonna have to make a generous donation to charity if you want to fuck me, stranger." His smirk turned into a slick smile.
"Name your price and I'll double it," he replied. "And the name's Soobin. Figure you should know what you'll be moaning." You licked your lips in thought and his eyes followed the motion, lingering there for a moment before meeting your gaze again.
How much could you squeeze from him before he retracted his offer? Just how badly did he want to fuck you? While this might've made you look a little easy, you definitely weren't cheap. You debated for a moment on the price.
"One million dollars!" you settled on, raising a brow at Soobin as you lifted your chin. You were going to go higher, but you also wanted to play it safe. Soobin broke out into a playful laugh and you watched his reaction. He began nodding like it meant nothing to him, like a million dollars was simply play money for him.
"Two million it is!" he replies and the two of you make your way over to the table where the credit card reader is. Soyeon's eyes nearly fall out of her head as she looks at the amount on the screen that Soobin transferred over, and she quickly waves you over. Your eyes widen when you see all of the zeros and you look back up at Soobin in shock. Instead of transferring over two million dollars like discussed, he transferred over four million dollars.
Soobin looked over to you and smiled, "For the pretty girl in front of me." Heat spread across your face and you thanked him with wide eyes. You turned back to Soyeon and she mirrored your expression as she mouthed, "Four million dollars?!"
You rounded the table back to Soobin. "I hope you don't mind waiting for a few minutes, I have to wash this car quickly," you say.
Soobin shakes his head as he crosses his arms. "Take all the time you need," he responds, the smirk returning.
Smiling, you told him you'd be right back. As you were walking away, you heard Soyeon cheekily say, "You can set up a chair and watch her if you so desire."
You helped Karina grab the soap and brushes and the two of you made your way over to one of the spotless cars waiting to be washed. When the two of you finished, you were completely drenched from head to toe and lathered in soap.
Soobin had taken up Soyeon's offer and watched you the entire time. He came up to you with a towel in his hand that he outstretched towards you as he stood from the chair he was sitting in. You thanked him and dried yourself off as best as you could and tried to get most of the soap off.
Soobin trailed the tips of his fingers along your jaw. "Ready?" he asks lowly, lust swirling in his eyes.
His fingers lifted up your chin so that you looked at him. Suddenly flustered as the reality of what you were about to do hit you, all you could do was swallow hard and nod in reply. Soobin smiled and took your hand as he led you back to his house. You looked over your shoulder at Karina, who was now standing with Chaewon as the two of them made kissy faces at you and laughed at the playful glare you threw at them. The heat blanketing across your body grew the closer you got to Soobin's house until it was almost unbearable under the summer rays.
The inside of his house was just as nice as the outside, but you barely got to look around before his lips were pressing kisses to your neck. Soobin wasted no time with you as he backed you up towards the living room and pushed you down onto his large couch. His eyes were dark and full of lust that it made him look like a completely different person than the one you knew just a few moments ago.
"Take your clothes off," Soobin demands as he begins to unbutton his polo shorts. He pulls them down, revealing his bulging erection, as you cross your legs and lean forward slightly.
"Why don't you take them off for me?" you challenge.
The corner of Soobin's mouth lifted as he took a step towards you. His tall figure hovered over yours until he shadowed you from the sun as he hooked his fingers under your bikini top straps and pulled them down slow. Goosebumps raised along your skin where he touched and a shiver ran up your spine when Soobin started to untie your bikini top at your back. Once it was untied, he tossed it to the side and onto the couch somewhere.
You shivered slightly as a cool chill swept over your now exposed tits, making your nipples perk up. Soobin ran his thumbs over them as he grabbed a handful of your breasts. "So beautiful…" he muttered to himself. His fingers trailed down your stomach and stopped just above the hem of your jean shorts. Soobin looked up at you briefly, that dark lust in his eyes intensifying, and you hooked your thumbs under the fabric as you slowly pulled it down along with your bikini bottoms so you were completely naked under him.
Soobin's eyes raised from your slow action to connect with yours. "Now," he began, "are you gonna suck my cock or do I have to pay more money, you fucking whore?"
You reached for the band of his boxers, but he slapped your hands away and told you to use your teeth. You obeyed, fanning your breath along Soobin's abs as you moved your head down to the thin fabric. Grazing your teeth along his skin a little, you took the band between them and pulled them down his legs achingly slow. When his hard cock sprung free of its fabric restraint, it smacked across your cheek and bounced off his lower stomach. You looked at his huge length with big eyes, your mouth lingering next to its leaking tip, as you pushed your gaze back up to Soobin's. "Fuck," you whimpered a little.
"You only speak when I ask you a question, understood?" Soobin scolded you, and you nodded at him in stunned shock. Soobin roughly grabbed your chin and swiped his thumb across your lips. "Open." You did as you were told, your mouth opening wide for him as you stuck your tongue out and waited.
"Good girl," Soobin smiles and says in an almost mocking sing-song tone. "This one knows how to listen." He pulled his boxers down more, freeing his cock completely. You falter, closing your mouth a little as you took into account how he was suppose to fit in your throat let alone your pussy. Soobin pumped his cock a couple times, eyes fluttering closed as he prepared himself, before looking at you with a raised brow.
You shook your head slightly, ready to speak about how you definitely weren't fitting him all in your mouth, before Soobin grabbed onto your chin again with the same roughness. "Didn't I say open?" he asks you, his voice a warning. You swallow thickly before nodding, and you go to open your mouth again just as Soobin brings his lips to yours in a sloppy kiss. He pulls away too fast for your liking and you whine out. Soobin takes the opportunity to bring your lips to kiss the tip of his cock, effectively cutting off your whine.
Your mouth opens more around Soobin's cockhead as you begin to take him down your throat, swallowing him inch by inch. Tears prick in your eyes and your face heats more as you look up at him. You weren't even halfway down his cock, but you were already gagging as he tickled the back of your throat. Soobin's head was thrown back as small whines and mutterings of how warm your mouth was left his lips. His hands were entangled in your wet hair, aiding you and there as a warning if you stopped. The whole image in front of you drove you to keep going and you shifted on the couch as arousal pooled beneath your thighs.
When you stopped a couple inches further down, not thinking you could take him any further, Soobin looked down at you and pushed your head down even more. He moaned loud at how you choked and gagged around his length. "You're a good girl, aren't you?" Soobin asks accusatory, a hand on the back of your head pushing you down and the other wiping the fallen tears from your cheeks. You nod weakly, whimpering, as more tears flow. Soobin then pushes you the rest of the way down his cock, your nose pressing against his happy trail as you struggled to breathe through it, and you gag more. "So fucking take it," he adds gravelly.
Soobin begins thrusting into your throat, grunting in pleasure as your throat closes around him and you move up and down his cock. His balls slam along your chin as he forces your gaze back up to look at him. Your ruined mascara and wet cheeks must set him off cause right after Soobin's eyes squeeze shut as he moans loud. His eyes open back up to watch the way his cock imprints itself along the skin at your throat over and over as he fucks your face fast and you choke around him more.
Soon, Soobin's mouth hangs open as his warm cum spills down your throat with his release. Soobin pulls you off of him and his thumb catches some of his cum that snuck out the corners of your mouth to push it back in. His thumb remains in your mouth, pressing flat against your tongue, and you suck on it. "Swallow," he demands as his knuckle trails along your wet cheek, "All of it." You move your tongue around his thumb as you swallow the salty taste down thickly, brows furrowing a little at the pain that spreads across your bruised throat.
"Such a good little slut…" Soobin trails, pulling his thumb from your mouth, when you stuck your tongue out to show him that you swallowed all of his cum. You hips rolled a little against the couch, desperate for any bit of friction your neglected clit can get.
"Soobin, please…" you whined through a small moan hoarsely. You wanted to feel him inside of you. You need to feel how much he stretched your aching pussy out. You need to feel every vein running along his shaft.
Soobin tsked at you, and you realized that he didn't give you permission to speak. "Turn around. Bend over the top of the couch," he told you. You turned and got up onto the couch, spreading your legs and arching your back so your ass was in the air for him. You weren't even embarrassed at the wet patch of arousal that you left on his expensive couch. He could afford to replace it, but you couldn't afford to ruin this moment for yourself. Soobin's hand smoothed over the curves of your body as he spread you apart, his thumb that was once in your mouth running through your wet folds.
You squirmed a little, moving your hips back to feel him more. Behind you, Soobin laughed. He ran his thumb more along your clit, rubbing at his own wet cock, before moving it up towards your entrance. The sound of your own arousal was lewd, but it just turned you on more as Soobin teasingly prodded at your entrance.
"Already so wet and I haven't even touched you… You want me to stuff my cock inside your tiny little pussy, huh, my little whore? Fill you up until it's dripping down your thighs?" Soobin asks you as he mockingly rubs the tip of his cock against your wet entrance. You bit your bottom lip and nodded, hips pushing back onto him more as you turned to stare at him with desperate eyes. "What did I tell you earlier?" he then asks before slapping your ass hard.
A moan pushes its way out of your mouth from the pain and the pleasure. His words ring in your ears, You only speak when I ask you a question. "Please," you beg him. "I need to feel you. I want it to drip down my thighs…"
You go to speak more, but the words get caught in your throat when Soobin roughly fucks into you without warning. You let out a loud gasp from the suddenness that quickly trails into unashamed moans as your pussy tries its hardest to suck Soobin's cock in more despite being stretched thin. Soobin pounds into you rigorously, his big hands gripping your hips to pull your ass back towards him to match his pace.
Crying out, your thighs begin to tremble as the drag of his cock along your walls makes your vision swirl. You whimper more, biting down hard on your lip to try and silence your words and moans, but to no avail. You moan out a chorus of Soobin's name as he lifts a foot onto the couch to fuck into you harder. You're seeing stars at this point, the pleasure making your toes curl and your nails dig in to the material of the couch, but you couldn't be happier that you accepted Soobin's offer.
You gasp, the euphoric pleasure suddenly becoming too much, and try to move up into the couch and away from him. But, Soobin wasn't having that. He pushed your head down onto the cushion, muffling your loud moans mixed with his name that bounced off his living room walls, and dragged your ass back down his big cock. Soobin wrapped an arm around your hips so you couldn't try to move again.
"Yeah, you like that?" Soobin hisses in your ear between his own moans as his skin slaps obscenely against yours. "You like me fucking you like this, little slut? You wanna cum around my cock like a good girl?" You nodded wildly, burying your face into your arms as you cried again from his cockhead hitting your sweet spot. Soobin slapped your ass again and you moaned, your nails digging into the couch more as your knuckles turned white. "Use your words. Why should I give an ungrateful brat anything that she wants?"
Wet sounds filled Soobin's living room as you desperately tried to push the words out of your mouth. "It's t-too much. I can't take it." More tears slid down your warm cheeks as you looked back at him with furrowed brows, streaks of your mascara in its wake. "Gonna—" you cut yourself off as another wave of pleasure hit you and your back arched more.
Soobin laughed humorlessly, but it was staggered. The rope in you finally snapped and your warm cum leaked down Soobin's cock as he continued fucking you at his quick and rough pace, leaving a creamy white ring around the base of his cock. He breathed heavily as he pulled you up from the couch. "Take it like the little cock-hungry slut that you are," he bit out at you, annoyed at your whining, angling your hips up and fucking into you deeper.
Soobin curses under his breath and you feel his cock throb hard inside of you. He quickly pulls out of you, giving himself a couple quick pumps. You groan at the sudden loss and how empty you feel as your pussy clenches around nothing and spills more of your cum down your thighs. Soobin flips you around onto your back and curses again before he starts roughly stroking his cock quickly over your tits.
His cum shoots out and covers them, dripping down to your stomach, and paints them a pretty white as he lets out a low whimper. Soobin takes your chin and brings your lips up to his roughly as he kisses you hard, slipping his tongue into your mouth. You wrapped your arms around his neck to pull him closer as the kiss deepens.
Soobin parts from your lips once both of your lungs were on fire and stands back up to his full height. There's his signature sly smile on his face as he looks down at you. He takes his cock into his hand and taps the tip of it against your lips. "Lick it clean," he tells you, and you do. You take his cockhead into your mouth and let your tongue swirl around it as you lap up the rest of Soobin's cum and you relish in his way he shivers from the sensitivity. You bob your head down a couple inches of his length a few times before you hollow your cheeks and pull him out of your mouth with a loud and resounding pop.
"I bet your charity will be very pleased with my donation," he says smugly as his eyes trail along your naked figure covered in his cum and dripping your own onto his couch. "I should make you go out there and show it off for everyone to see."
You shy away from his heated stare, a smile playing on your lips as you bite your lip. The heat in your face rises again as Soobin makes you lean back onto the couch and spread your legs apart so he can see just how messy he got your pussy. He eyes it hungrily and licks his lips and that's when you know that though this may be end the of your first encounter together, he isn't finished with you yet.
The two of you get cleaned up and make your way back out to the charity event. It was dusk now and it seemed like the girls were just about to start wrapping everything up. "The prodigal daughter returns!" Karina yells out to you as you and Soobin draw nearer, causing the others to laugh.
You hide your face in your hands as you helped them clean up. The four of you ended up raising almost seven million dollars for your charity event that day, and your friends made sure to continuously thank "Mr. Four Million."
✉️ ⦂ hey… it’s summer somewhere idk,, ʅ（‾◡◝）ʃ but i managed to turn this from a 2.5k fic into a 4.3k fic and i’m reallyyy happy about that hehehe~~ sorry to all the sub!soobin truthers but i need to be dominated and told what to do
Summary: Steve and you can’t stand each other. After a reservation mistake on a school trip, you’re forced to share a bed for the weekend.
Word count: 8.2k
Warnings: +18 MDNI. SMUT (virgin!reader, male masturbation, f!receiving oral, p in v, loss of virginity, squirting, choking, porn with plot), enemies/rivals to lovers, one bed.
It was unfair how much lack of control you had over things. Being the debate club president since freshman year—and soon-to-be valedictorian—boosted your ego enough to feel like you could solve absolutely everything.
But there are problems not even the brightest person could avoid… especially health-related ones.
“Angela has appendicitis.”
You stopped shoving your bag under your seat and got off the bus. “What does that mean?”
Olivia, the science club leader, gulped nervously, glancing back at Tommy, the chess club president, who was almost as pale.
“Uhm… that’s when the appendix inflames and—”
“I know what appendicitis means, Thomas!” you cut her off, already annoyed. “What does that mean for us? The Super Quiz is tomorrow, and we need her.”
Every year, the principal chose the five best students to represent the school at the Regional Academic Decathlon. They had to be good in different fields, including math, science, literature, history, and more. Olivia, Tommy, Angela, and you had been the chosen team for almost three years and had always been on the verge of winning.
This being your last school year, you were determined to finally pass to nationals and take your team to the victory. Last weekend was the first phase, where teams had to solve more than ten written exams, and you had successfully finished in the top two.
It was Friday, the day before the grand finale: the Super Quiz. The two teams with the highest scores would answer forty multiple-choice questions and win their spot on the Nationals Decathlon. The school had scheduled a small bus to transport the four of you and Miss Williams, your accompanying teacher, to Michigan City after school.
You were all great at math, but Angela was a genius. She was the math club leader for a reason.
Tommy seemed on the verge of a panic attack. “This is it. We’ll lose.”
“No, we can do this,” you tried to reassure your team. “The Super Quiz barely has ten math questions. We’re all in senior year; we’ve gone through the toughest math shit.”
Olivia and Tommy exchanged a worried look. The boy muttered something to Liv, pushing her towards you. “You tell her.”
“Why me?”
You crossed your arms. “What is it?”
Olivia bit her nails nervously and mumbled, “Miss Williams p-picked the replacement.”
Their eyes focused behind you. Frowning, you followed their gaze and saw Steve Harrington approaching you while carrying a voluptuous bag. He smiled charmingly. “Hey, guys.”
You didn’t react. “The basketball team is in the next bus, Harrington,” you muttered and searched for anyone else behind him. “Who is it, then?”
Olivia and Tommy blinked, looking from you to Steve and hoping you would connect the dots. Steve threw his bag under a seat and laid down on the last seat row, stretching his arms behind his head. “Wake me up when we arrive.”
Your heart stopped. There was no way… You forced a chuckle. “Great prank, guys. But let’s take things seriously now. Who is Angela’s replacement?”
“That would be Mr. Harrington.”
Miss Williams placed a hand on your shoulder and smiled at the three of you.
You almost fainted. “What?! Why? How?”
“He got an A+ on my last Calculus quiz.”
“What?!” the three of you shrieked.
“That’s impossible. Only Angela has ever gotten an A+ with you!”
You still remembered the void of disappointment in your chest when you saw the A- in your quiz. There was no way on any planet that Steve Harrington could’ve gotten a better grade.
“He probably cheated,” you snapped angrily.
She gasped. “That’s such a serious accusation, Y/N. You’re being really mean.”
Your jaw dropped. “I’m just being realistic! Right, guys?”
Olivia and Tommy looked everywhere but at you, their lips sealed. Miss Williams kept glaring at you as she shoved her bag next to yours. “This type of activity is supposed to bring us together. Become a family.”
“Steve Harrington is not my family,” you muttered, your mind too clouded to think smartly. “He’s going to make us lose!”
Your other two teammates were giving you discreet signals to cut it off, but you ignored them. “Miss Williams, there has to be another option. Harrington is, like, a complete idiot.”
The math teacher placed a hand on her chest and stared at you disapprovingly. But before she could scold you, a bus window opened and Steve stuck his head out.
“At least I don’t act like I have a giant stick up my ass,” he grumbled at you.
You scoffed, your cheeks turning red from the fury. His hair was looking very rippable…
“Well, at least I’m not a two-brain-celled idiot with no future that’s probably gonna survive on daddy’s money all your life.”
Steve gripped the edge of the window, his knuckles turning white. “At least I have money. Where did you get that sweater? Costco?”
You leaned closer and muttered, “It’s a cardigan, dumbass. And I’m gonna wrap it around your neck while you sleep—”
“ENOUGH!” Miss Williams yelled. Tommy and Olivia pull you away from the window, fearing you would attack the boy. “I’m incredibly disappointed in you two. This isn’t how a team is supposed to act.”
You bit your tongue as Steve gave you a once-over with a scowl.
“You’re sitting next to each other all the ride,” Miss Williams ordered. “Maybe spending time together will help heal your vicious hearts.”
Great, your favorite teacher thought you were Satan’s pawn. You hadn’t even said anything that bad.
There were only three rows of seats: the first one taken by Olivia and Tommy, who quickly got immersed in some math books; Miss Williams lay down on the second one and immediately dozed off; and lastly, cramped in the small space of the third row, Steve and you sat as far from each other as possible.
The moment the ride started, you put your headphones on and kept your eyes on the window. Steve had forgotten his Walkman and never carried a book with him. Why would he? There was always someone who wanted to speak with him.
You knew each other since primary school, and Steve had always thought that your annoying, stubborn personality overshadowed your beauty. If only you weren’t so focused on studying and more into socializing, he would’ve definitely slept with you at some party.
It was common for every girl at school to have a crush on him, their eyes following him wherever he went. With just a smirk, Steve could get into their pants.
Except you, who sneered at him, called him names around school, rolled your eyes whenever he talked… You definitely hated him.
His knee touched yours, making you recoil and scoot closer to the window. God, you were so dramatic.
After ten minutes of boring silence, he poked your arm. “What are you listening to?”
Without acknowledging him, you turned up the volume until his voice got drowned out. He scoffed, giving up immediately, and looked out his own window.
Whatever. He could tolerate three hours of being alone with his thoughts. Steve didn’t need you to like him. Everyone else did and that was enough.
— — —
A rough shake to your shoulder woke you up. The sun was gone and the only light coming through the window was from the hotel’s welcome sign.
“We’re here,” Steve muttered.
You pushed his hand away and followed everyone out. Miss Williams went to the main desk while Tommy and Steve helped with the bags.
“I can carry mine.” You grumbled as the basketball captain grabbed yours.
He dropped it on the floor carelessly. “Wasn’t gonna help you anyway. It’s probably full of books and Dollar General’s clothes.”
Your fists clenched, but Tommy gripped your arm to stop you from lashing out. “I think you dress just fine, girl. Ignore him,” he whispered urgently.
As Steve placed the bags in the lobby, he started flirting with Olivia, who seemed close to falling asleep standing.
“We’re ready!” Miss William’s thundering voice startled you all. “Here are the keys. Liv with Tommy, and Steve with Y/N.”
“WHAT?!”
Every hotel guest turned around at your shriek. Your cheeks flushed at the sudden attention.
“I’m not— This isn’t right.”
“You were supposed to share with Angela, but well, R.I.P. her,” the teacher joked.
Steve hadn’t gotten a wink of sleep for the entire bus ride, so he needed a comfy bed badly. “It’s not that big of a deal.”
You ignored him and turned to your teammates. “Someone switch with me.”
Olivia and Tommy hurriedly grabbed their bags and rushed to their room. Real mature.
“We’ll meet here at eight in the morning for breakfast,” Miss Williams announced to you two. “Don’t be late!”
With ease, Steve placed his bag over his shoulder and twirled the key around his fingers.
“Don’t worry, sweetheart, I don’t snore,” he teased you before walking to your room.
You looked up at the lobby’s ceiling, asking the universe what you had done to deserve this.
After dragging your heavy bag across half the hotel, you reached the dreaded room. Steve entered first yet immediately froze at the door.
“Move out of the way,” you groaned. But the sight that greeted you inside explained his reaction.
There was only one bed.
The room was so small it didn’t even have a couch for one of you to take. Before he could say anything, you left your bag and rushed back to the lobby.
You struck the bell at the main desk incessantly until a woman appeared. She gave you a fake smile and said, “How may I help you?”
“I think there’s been a mistake. We got a single bed, and we need two.”
The woman pressed her keyboard for a few seconds, then shrugged. “Sorry, but that’s how it was booked. Good night—”
“No!” you shouted before she could leave. Faking a smile, you whispered. “Isn’t there a way to upgrade us to—?”
“We’re completely booked this weekend,” she cut you off, her kind facade vanishing. “Good night.”
Before you could protest, she went inside her office and slammed the door shut.
Okay, you could’ve been a bit nicer and maybe tried to convince her, but it was too late. You had to accept your doom.
Steve was sprawled out on the bed, looking through one of the hotel’s magazines. He glanced up when the door closed with a sharp bang behind you. “Did you solve it?”
“No, so you’re sleeping on the floor,” you muttered, sourly taking off your shoes.
He scoffed. “Yeah, sure. I’m already on the bed and I don’t plan on moving.”
The bed was a small double, so Steve was taking three-thirds of it with his limbs stretched out.
You breathed deeply. Tomorrow was a very important day; you needed peace and quiet to avoid headaches.
“I’ll take a shower. When I come out, you better be curled up like a dog on the floor.”
He barked back, but you entered the ensuite bathroom to shut his annoying voice out.
The hot water partially relaxed you, almost erasing every negative thought from your mind. You would’ve stayed under the warm waterfall, but your eyelids were drooping.
A groan escaped your lips at the sight of your tight pajamas. If you had known you would have to share a bed with a guy, you’d have brought your baggiest clothes. Well, if you had actually known all that, you would’ve stayed at another hotel.
You adjusted your tank top awkwardly. When you pulled it down, half your boobs almost spilled out.
Okay, not doing that again.
The blue striped shorts barely covered your ass, but sleeping in jeans would be too uncomfortable. You had to suck it up and hope Steve was a decent man.
As you walked out, you saw Steve was lying under the covers in an old grey shirt and gym shorts, taking almost all of the bed. You rolled your eyes, climbed on, and shoved him. “Make some space for me.”
He woke up startled, taking a moment to remember where he was. Inevitably, his gaze lingered as it traveled over you. But Steve just grumbled and turned his back to you, taking all the sheets for himself.
With a grimace, you laid down next to him, making sure there was absolutely no body contact. You grabbed the sheet’s edge and tried to cover yourself, but Steve was holding it firmly.
“Give me some,” you muttered.
Steve groaned, not giving up an inch. And after three minutes of failed attempts, you couldn’t fight sleep anymore and surrendered to exhaustion.
— — —
It hadn’t been a cold night, or at least you didn’t feel it. You haven’t even dreamed; the cloud-like bed vanished your consciousness all night.
The seven o’clock alarm brought you back. As your eyes slowly opened and stared at the ceiling, you noticed a heavy weight over you.
Steve’s arm was around your middle, cuddling you close to his body, while his leg was intertwined with yours. His soft breaths against your neck were tickling you and—in another universe—would’ve been comforting if it wasn’t for the hard thing poking your hip.
Ew, ew, ew!
Your cheeks turned red as you carefully peeked down. Oh, God. There was a noticeable thick tent on his shorts, pressing tightly against you. Anatomically, it wasn’t Steve’s fault, but it still made you want to jump out the window.
Waking him up would be so awkward, but his body half-covering you was making it impossible to escape.
You chose the only acceptable option: push him hard off you.
“Wake up!”
The shove and the scream startled Steve back to life. He looked around the room, disoriented, and accidentally fell off the bed with a hard thud.
“What the—?”
You couldn’t bear looking him in the eye, so you grabbed anything from your bag and rushed to the bathroom. “We have to be downstairs in thirty minutes!”
Steve soothed his head as he stood up from the floor. Right. He had accepted Miss Williams’ offer to join the Decathlon team for extra points in the next math test. With Tommy done with him, Nancy now dating Jonathan, all colleges denying his application, and no girl in town interested in him anymore, Steve didn’t really have anything else to do for the weekend.
He scanned his surroundings. Damn, the school could afford a better hotel room than the one he had to share with you. There was barely any space to walk around. And as his eyes drifted to the floor, he noticed his morning wood.
“Shit,” he whimpered, looking at the occupied bathroom. Hopefully you hadn’t noticed…?
The shower had just started running, so you’d stay on it for at least another five minutes. He licked his lips and stroked himself over his shorts. Maybe you wouldn’t notice if he released him quickly…
No!
That was too out of line. He loathed you, but not to the level of actively doing something bad to you.
Steve sat down and took a deep breath, his mind getting clearer with memories from last night.
In his eighteen years of life, he had never been able to sleep without hugging something. He usually used a pillow or an old plushie. Steve had tried clutching the sheets against his chest, but it hadn’t worked. Sleepily and without conscious choice, his arms found you—so soft and cold next to him—and instinctively cuddled you.
Fuck.
Maybe he had let you go before the alarm went off? Oh shit… What if you had felt his—?
His eyes met your messily opened bag… with a pink-dotted panty almost falling it out.
His shorts got tighter as he pictured you wearing nothing— NO, NO, NO.
Steve refused to get hard thinking of you. Like… ew. It was you.
You… looking so pretty with your hair in a perfect ponytail, purposely slapping his face whenever you turn away.
You with your glossy lips and your long eyelashes, sneering and eyeing him up and down with disgust whenever he made a bad joke in class.
You with the button-ups and the tight jeans, bending down to pick up a book in the hallway… Fuck, he still remembered how hard he got after accidentally watching that.
Without thinking, Steve shoved down his shorts and briefs, sat down on the edge of the bed and started pumping his cock rapidly. He had to finish before your shower ended.
You were in the shower... naked and wet.
He moaned and sped up his hand. There wasn’t any picture or video he could use to jerk off, so he’d have to use his imagination.
But, damn it, all he could think about was you.
He pictured you walking out of the shower naked, catching him, and immediately kneeling in front of him to suck him off.
“Oh, God…” Steve whimpered, his wrist never stopping.
In his mind, you would take him completely—being so good and hot for him—then he’d finish deep in your throat. You’d finally stop being a pain in the ass and would ride him, pressing your breasts on his face as he devoured them.
Steve needed to touch you.
Your skin was soft and smooth, he vaguely remembered from last night. He wanted to kiss your entire body until you were squirming under him, until you could only moan his name.
A not-so-quiet whimper escaped Steve’s mouth as he came all over his chest and stomach. He lay back on the bed, recovering his breath. His head hit your pillow, and the strong scent of your shampoo sent tingles across his body.
Oh, your face buried in the pillow while he pounded into you from behind…
The shower ceased.
Steve’s eyes widened as his mind thought of a hundred possible solutions for the mess over him. There weren’t any towels or napkins around. Shit, the smell was so obvious.
He took off his sock and wiped himself before balling it up and throwing it out the window, which he kept open in hope of better ventilation.
How had Steve been so stupid?! You would rather die than be sexually involved with him. You would notice his cum’s odor and report him to Miss Williams.
What if the whole school found out and tagged him as a pervert? What if he was expelled?!
You came out of the bathroom wearing a baby blue button-up and formal black pants. Your eyes avoided him as you gathered your hair in your usual ponytail.
“Shower. We have to meet the others in ten.”
Steve’s sexual thoughts disappeared. “What?! You took a twenty-minute shower?”
You glared at him through the mirror. “Yeah, problem?”
He scoffed. “Uhm, yes? I won’t get ready in just ten minutes.”
“That’s not my problem.” You put on your glossy lipstick, took two books from your bag, and gave him a fake smile. “See you there!”
— — —
“I’m here!”
Miss Williams choked on her hot vanilla latte when Steve ran into her. “Oh, sorry, ma’am.”
“You’re fifteen minutes late,” you scolded him, assessing him with an angry glare.
Steve couldn’t have looked more different from you three. While Olivia, Tommy, and you were wearing formal attire, he was in casual jeans and a red sweater. But, God, he looked incredibly handsome with his voluminous hair and cocky smile.
“Well, let’s not waste more time. Let’s go,” he said, still panting from the short run to the lobby.
Today’s Decathlon event would happen at the convention center, right in front of the hotel. Various participants were already there, chatting and having breakfast at the cafeteria.
Thanks to Steve’s late arrival, you only had ten minutes to order and eat. While the three of you studied from giant textbooks, Steve sipped his cappuccino calmly, smirking at every girl that looked at him.
Of course everyone was staring at him. He was cute and smart? A nerd girl’s dream. You wanted to put a signal over him with the words ‘he’s an idiot!” to warn everyone.
But after this morning’s sinful act, Steve’s mind was plagued by you. He discreetly stared as you read two math books at the same time, muttering to yourself while your eyes flew through the pages. You bit your lip when you were anxious, he noticed.
Miss Williams toured alone around the place and bought a disposable camera. “Say cheese!”
The flash blinded the teens, except Steve who was used to smiling charmingly at cameras.
“Another one, but with open eyes,” joked Miss Williams. “And sit closer to each other, it looks like you hate each other!”
You awkwardly scooted closer to Steve, who placed an arm around your shoulders. On the other side of the table, Olivia made a peace sign while Tommy did a thumbs up.
Miss Williams smiled brightly as she took the pic. “It says in the instructions that I have to relieve– No, reveal. Does it say "reveal," Steve? Read here.”
After munching down croissants and coffee, the five of you walked up to the event’s entrance to register. The administration had already received notice that Steve would be replacing Angela, so they were easily escorted backstage while Miss Williams, along with your various textbooks, went to find a seat in the audience.
“In a regular hexagon with an area of two point five…” Tommy was repeating his mental notes out loud.
“One Mississippi, two Mississippi, three…” Olivia was warming her voice.
Sitting between them, Steve covered his ears discreetly. Why were nerds so overwhelming? He stood up to look for you; annoying you was funnier. But just as he was about to say anything to start a conversation, a tall redhead guy approached you.
And you smiled.
You shook his hand and giggled at something the random guy said.
Steve had no right over you… he wasn’t even your friend, but—
He placed an arm around your shoulders, startling you, and said, “Are you ready, sweetheart?”
Your smile turned forced. You didn’t want a former winner to see you being rude to your team, so you squeezed Steve’s hand. “I’ll be there in just a second.”
But the redhead boy shook his head. “It’s fine. Just wanted to wish you good luck. I’ve been following your team for a while and you’re great.” He turned to Steve. “You’re new.”
Steve faked a smile, his arm not leaving your shoulders. “Newest addition indeed. Felt like helping my classmates win.”
He could feel the repulsion overflowing your body as you slowly looked up at him. You seemed a minute away from bashing his face into the closest wall.
The voice through the speakers saved him by announcing the Super Quiz would start in ten minutes.
“Guess we gotta go,” Steve said with fake sadness to the redhead. “See you around, bro.”
You cringed internally, and only voiced it out once there wasn’t anyone but him in earshot. “Bro? What the hell was that?” You shoved his arm away as if it were full of bacteria and bugs.
Steve hated the small pang of hurt he felt at his chest. So he built back his walls and shrugged. “I was bored.”
“Guys, let’s go!” Tommy muttered as he and Olivia walked past you.
“Didn’t you hear it? Ten minutes!”
Steve and you quickly follow behind them to your seats on the stage. There were two tables with a podium in the middle and a big screen behind. Each team would sit on opposite sides and would have four buzzers for each student.
“Don’t answer anything,” you warned Steve. “Don’t press that buzzer ever. Liv, Tommy and I got this. You just… sit there and look pretty.”
He rolled his eyes and mumbled sarcastically. “I’m great at that.”
Miss Williams waved at him from her seat in the front row. If it hadn’t been for her, Steve would still be asleep in his mansion, ready to stare at the ceiling all weekend.
It was fun having a small random side quest.
The place was packed, which was odd since he thought absolutely no one cared about the Decathlon, or at least it seemed like that back at Hawkins.
As the quiz moderator walked up to the podium, everyone quieted down to listen.
“I’ll read the questions and the options before they appear on the screen. Teams will have a minute to answer. If they answer incorrectly, the other team will have a chance to gain the points. Good luck to everyone!”
Steve fidgeted with his fingers nervously under the table. The other team was full of nerdy-looking guys who looked ready to murder them.
The first fifteen questions passed like a breeze. Your team was on fire, answering science and history-related questions like pros. But when the math section came, you wavered a bit and the opposite team won more points.
“It’s okay, guys, we’ll recover in the literature section,” you had assured Tommy and Olivia.
Steve was calmly lounging in his rolling chair, zoning out and thinking of what he would eat on lunch. He had seen a pasta place nearby the hotel, maybe—
“The teams are tied, meaning this last question will decide who wins,” said the moderator to the microphone.
Oh, shit. Had time passed that quickly?
Tommy, Olivia, and you were on the edge of your seats with your hands hovering over the buzzers.
“Who are the Los Angeles Lakers’ known rivals?”
No one moved.
Your hand started shaking. Sports. There were almost never sports-related questions, and they were mostly at the start to get them out of the way.
“Is that, like, a football team?” Olivia whispered to you.
“I don’t know!”
BUZZ
The three of you turned to look at Steve in slow motion.
“The Celtics, duh,” he answered.
Oh, no. You would murder him. You would absolutely and carelessly kill Steve Harrington in front of everyone and—
“Correct! The Hawkins High team has won!”
The surprise was so immense that only Steve cheered, the three of you gaping at him with dropped jaws. When a crew assistant approached you with four golden medals while the moderator placed the Decathlon Cup on your desk, it settled on you that you had finally won.
You stood up and put your arms around Steve in a tight hug. “Oh, Harrington! I can’t believe this!”
He was taken aback by the sudden contact but didn’t hesitate in hugging you back, pulling you close to his body.
“See? I’m not that much of an idiot,” he joked.
You pulled back and grabbed his face. Your eyes were welling up as you nodded. “You aren’t! I’m so sorry.”
Steve’s thumbs stroked your sides instinctively. He wanted to stay like this forever, with you in his arms looking at him as if he held the moon.
Suddenly, you kissed his cheek before pulling away quickly. Before Steve could process it, you were already celebrating your win with Tommy and Olivia.
“Hawkins! Hawkins! Hawkins!” everyone chanted.
You avoided Steve’s eyes, your face red from excitement and nervousness, while you held up the cup.
“We won! We won! We won!” Tommy screamed as you walked off the stage to Miss Williams.
“You did it! You guys are great,” the teacher said, patting your heads as if you were little ducklings. “Let’s celebrate! The school will pay for lunch… I think.”
As you made your way to the closest McDonald’s, you tried to avoid standing next to Steve. Every time you remembered how you had kissed his cheek, you could feel your body recoiling. Why had you done that?!
Miss Williams ordered burgers with extra fries and milkshakes for all. You found a table by the windows as you waited.
Olivia shook your arm. “This will look great on our resume!”
“I hope Yale accepts me after this,” you sighed, already nervous about college applications.
“Where are you going to, Steve?” asked Tommy, sitting next to him.
Steve, who had been staring at you shamelessly, blinked and cleared his throat. “Uh… what?”
“Which college are you applying to?” you asked, genuinely curious.
Shit. He crossed his arms and shrugged. “The… usual. All. Most. The best ones,” he lied.
The other three frowned at each other, but Miss Williams appeared with the food and ended the conversation.
Surprisingly, Steve actually had fun during lunch. Olivia and Tommy were quite funny, in their own nerdy way, and had great friendship chemistry with you. He wished he could be as close and comfortable with you, sharing inside jokes and understanding every reference said.
It was odd watching you laugh and act so carelessly. At school, you always had a slight frown and were constantly stressed for the next quiz or exam. Steve found himself smiling at your cute laugh. He wanted to caress your cheek and tell you how beautiful you looked smiling.
What?
Ew, no. That would be too… kind.
Maybe he had helped you win the Regionals, but you were far from becoming friends.
Steve wanted to, though.
As everyone went back to their rooms for a nap before dinner, Steve leaned against the closed door and watched you slump down on the bed.
“I feel like I can finally breathe without shaking from anxiety,” you confessed, staring at the ceiling.
Steve leaned into your view with a smirk. “Let’s celebrate properly.”
You sat up, hesitant about his intentions. “How…?”
He pulled out a deck of cards from his pocket. “Stole this from McDonald’s.”
You gasped but couldn’t hide your chuckles. “You’re so random. They’re gonna send the police after us.”
Steve made space on the bed while you took off your shoes and changed into comfortable clothes. He acted as if he wasn’t checking you out when you bent down to close your bag.
He taught you how to play poker, and in half an hour, you were already beating him.
“You won again?” he whined. “How—? Are you sure you’ve never played before?”
You giggled excitedly as he shuffled the cards. “Nope. Never. It’s fun, though.”
“We should bet.”
You patted your pockets. “I’ve got nothing.”
“Alright, let’s play Blackjack and whenever someone loses, they have to do a dare or answer a question,” he suggested.
Steve explained the rules of the game with some practice rounds, but this time, you found it more difficult to win.
“Ugh, a ten,” you groaned as you lost the first real round.
“Truth or dare?”
You had never played it before, but you had seen in movies that the dares could be pretty crazy.
“Uhm, truth.”
He didn’t hesitate. “Are you a virgin?”
You rolled your eyes so hard you almost induced a headache. “You’re such a man.”
Steve’s cheeks turned pink as he realized his lack of discretion. “Okay, you’re right. Sorry.”
He knew almost nothing personal about you. This was his moment to be nosy. “Who’s your school crush?”
You grimaced. “No one.”
“C’mon. There has to be someone,” he insisted while secretly hoping you said his name.
“Uhm…” You tapped your chin, deep in thought. “Eddie Munson is cute.”
Steve’s jaw almost hit the floor. “What?! You like the guy that’s repeating senior year?”
You chuckled. “I know it sounds crazy coming from me. But he picked up my pencil once and… I kinda blushed.”
Steve scoffed. “Wow, a pencil… You’re so easy to impress.”
“I’m not!” you chuckled. “I don’t even know him. I just think he is nice to look at.”
He rolled his eyes and shuffled the cards again. He got so distracted with his thoughts about Eddie and you that he stupidly lost.
“Boom!” you exclaimed. “Truth or dare.”
“I’m not a coward like you, so dare,” he teased.
You bit your lip. “Oh, but I already had a question planned.”
He sighed. “Fine. Truth.”
“Did you cheat on the last Calculus quiz?” The words stumbled from your mouth from how thrilled you were for the answer.
Steve narrowed his eyes. “I’ll answer that if you answer the first question I made.”
“That’s not fair,” you grumbled. But you needed to know so badly… Your cheeks turned scarlet as you mumbled, “I am.”
“What?”
“I’m a virgin,” you clarified. “Obviously.”
Steve felt his stomach twist, but he acted normally as he shuffled the cards. “I don’t think it’s that obvious. You’re, like, super pretty. Maybe you don’t go to parties, but I don’t know. I thought maybe some nerd and you—”
“No,” you scoffed. “They’re too shy and I have zero patience.”
“Oh, I know that,” he smirked, receiving a slap on the arm from you.
But Steve wouldn’t escape so easily. “Did you cheat or not?”
He sighed deeply, putting the cards down to look into your eyes. “I didn’t.”
You frowned, “What? How—?”
“I sneaked into Miss Williams’ office after class and changed my answers.”
The silence was loud.
You snickered. “You’re lying. That can’t be—”
Steve shrugged, feeling a tiny bit guilty. “If I failed it, I would’ve repeated the year, so… yeah. Shitty, horrible, bad, but I had no choice.”
It felt as if you were in a criminal confession booth. “Yeah, you could’ve studied.”
He sighed. “It’s not as easy for me as it is for you, okay?”
“Why? Because partying and girls take a lot of time from you?”
Steve glared at you. “I’m gonna ignore your attempts to piss me off.”
You chuckled and let another Blackjack round start. It wasn’t shocking when you lost again.
“Truth.”
He gulped and looked at his hand as he whispered, “Why do you hate me so much?”
Your smile wavered. “I don’t hate you. Just… I don’t know. I guess it pisses me off that you have everything.”
Steve frowned. “You mean money?”
“No, no. Not like that. You are… a handsome, rich, charismatic white man that doesn’t have to put effort into being liked,” you admitted, avoiding his expectant eyes. “Just look at these past days. You got into the Decathlon by cheating on a test and helped us win. No effort, no plan, no studying. You just… were you and got us the awards.”
He sank into his shoulder uncomfortably. “Not everything in my life is easy.”
You sighed. “I’m sure. I guess I’m just jealous.”
Steve leaned closer, resting his elbows on his knees, trying to decipher you. “Of my popularity?”
“No,” you snorted. “Jealous that… you’re a man. If I were a man, people wouldn’t call me annoying or bossy for wanting to be the best. They’d call me ambitious and brave. I would be a legend for carrying the debate team to multiple wins across the country. But no, I get called a greedy, controlling bitch.”
Steve felt a deep sense of guilt, knowing he had heard people call you that and hadn’t defended you. Hesitantly, he reached for your hand. “I’m sorry. People suck. Society sucks. But you shouldn’t care about their opinions. From the little I’ve known of you today, I can see you’re… a genuine and nice person.”
You quirked an eyebrow, smirking. “Yeah, sure.”
“No, I mean it,” he insisted. “You care a lot about your team. You’re funny. You’re super smart, and you know it, and that makes you look so independent and confident. Honestly? I wish I were more like you.”
This time, you had to laugh out loud. “C’mon, Steve.”
He sat up straighter and said in a firm voice, “I mean it. I’m jealous of you too. You always look so put together, determined on fulfilling your goals. You answer every class question in a flash. I’m sure you’ll be president of the United States and I’ll be washing cars in Hawkins or something.”
Your cheeks hurt from how hard you were smiling. Steve was probably being overexaggerated to make you feel better, but still, it worked. He squeezed your hand and whispered, “Being beautiful and intelligent is a combo that rarely happens, but you got it. And that’s so cool.”
Without thinking, you closed the distance and swiftly kissed Steve.
His mind stopped working as he froze. You pulled back, your cheeks red as a tomato, and mumbled, “I’m sorry—”
Steve’s hand found the nape of your neck as he brought you back to his lips. Your fingers clutched his sweater nervously and his hands found your waist, drawing you closer. He kissed you like a starving man, like he had been wishing his whole life for it.
Each touch of your lips was more intense and desperate than the last. He caressed your thigh, his fingers ghosting near the edge of your shorts. “You taste so good,” he whispered against your lips.
“It’s my lip balm,” you blurted out.
Steve lowered his kisses to your jaw and your neck. Your hands went to his arms, your head tilting back instinctively as his mouth worked his way down to your throat. You were so close that he could feel your heartbeat raising, your breath turning to panting.
“Is this okay?” He looked up from your collarbone as he held the hem of your shirt.
It surprised you that he was asking permission. He seemed more like the type of guy to take what he wanted.
And no, none of what you were doing was okay. Quite the opposite. You were pretty sure this was forbidden to do on school-related trips, but the adrenaline running through your veins was too addicting.
“Yes.”
Steve hurriedly took off your shirt; you followed him by unclasping your bra and throwing it across the room carelessly. He groaned at the sight of your breasts. “Fuck, you’re beautiful.”
You arched your back, kind of surprised, when he leaned down to suck one of your nipples eagerly. He took his time before switching to lavish the other. With an arm around you, he prompted you to straddle him, making sure your breasts were right at his face.
Steve pulled back and cupped them, his thumbs grazing your sensitive peaks. He stared at your face as you moaned and squirmed on top of him, your hands clutching his arms.
“Oh, Steve, t-that feels so good.”
“Yeah, sweetheart, you like it that much?”
You whimpered when his tongue found its way back to your other nipple, circling it slowly before sucking it hard.
“Fuck!”
Your moans and shaky squirms over his lap were hardening him. He gripped your hips and guided your movements to create friction.
Steve groaned against your nipple when you pressed down desperately. “Steve, m-more, please.”
It blew his mind that the girl who wanted him dead a few hours ago—and whom he had jerked off thinking about—was now begging him to fuck her.
He gently turned both around until you were lying on the bed. You desperately tugged his belt, trying to unbuckle it with your trembling hands. Steve took off his sweater and helped you before hastily shoving down his pants.
Your eyes turned wide at the sight of his hard-on beneath his briefs. You had never seen a dick, but you weren’t sure they were supposed to be that massive.
“That’s not gonna fit,” you commented nervously. “It’s… Steve, it’s too big.”
Steve smirked and kissed your cheek. “I’ll make it fit, sweetheart.”
When his hands gripped your shorts, you stopped him. “Wait, w-will it hurt?”
He hesitated, then went with the truth. “Probably, since it’s your first time. But I’ll be gentle, don’t worry.”
You thought about it, your eyes still on the huge hidden bulge, then raised your hips in silent permission. Steve felt relieved to finally undress you completely.
His heart stopped as he gave you a once-over. “Wow. You’re… way out of my league.”
You rolled your eyes but smirked. “Steve, I know you’ve been with lots of girls.”
“No one as pretty as you,” he murmured before kissing your thighs. And despite it all, you could see he was being honest. “Can I taste you?”
His words brought you back to reality. You were actually doing this. You would lose your virginity to Steve Harrington.
“Please,” he whimpered after kissing your inner thigh, right next to your core.
And that wonderful, pleasing voice took away any insecurity. He wanted you just as desperately as you wanted him. “Yes, Steve.”
He parted your legs, placing them over his shoulders. “Has anyone done this to you before?”
At the shake of your head, his excitement grew into a sense of possessiveness. You inhaled sharply at the first touch of his tongue. He traced circles with the tip, gradually increasing the speed and pressure until you were arching your back and moaning brokenly.
“Oh, Steve. Yes, yes…”
You grasped his hair, needing support, and your thighs locked around his head when he sucked your clit hard.
“You’re so wet, princess.” His index finger teased your entrance, making you jump. “It’s all for me, isn’t it?”
You nodded and bucked your hips against his face, greedily chasing more friction.
“Say it.” Steve ceased his movements, looking up at you with lustful eyes. “Who’s making you so desperate, sweetheart?”
The cockiness in his voice annoyed you, but damn, you were so close. “You, Steve. I’m wet for you. Only you.”
He smirked and dived back to taste your clit, two fingers sinking into your soaked folds. Your nails clasping his hair made his cock twitch. Steve shamelessly grinded his hips against the edge of the bed, needing any kind of friction to avoid exploding.
“Right there, Steve!”
You were levitating, the pressure in your lower belly already tightening. He was working with maddening determination, focused on pleasing you.
“Come for me, princess. Let go.”
Your whole body tensed when his middle finger curled inside you, reaching a spot you'd never been able to find on your own. You chanted his name like a beggar as your orgasm hit you like a crushing wave.
Steve wasn’t slowing down. “More. Give it all to me, babe.”
Tears built in your eyes from the unbearable pleasure. Your climax was stronger than ever, morphing into more. An odd need to pee overwhelmed you. Oh, no. “Steve, wait— I don’t—”
“It’s okay, let go,” he groaned.
And before you knew it, the rush hit its peak, and warm liquid soaked Steve’s face and fingers as you squirted uncontrollably.
Your eyes went wide at the sensation. You had read about it in the erotica novels you had hidden under your mattress, but never in a million years had you expected it to be possible on your body.
Steve kissed his way up your body until his lips reached yours. Almost motionless, you caressed his chest as you returned the kiss. It felt oddly exhilarating tasting yourself on his tongue.
“That was…” you mumbled as you pulled back. “Thank you.”
Steve chuckled, his thumbs stroking your hips. “You’re welcome, I guess.”
With a sudden urge of bravery, your hand slithered between your bodies to grasp his hard cock. His smile changed to a whimper, his forehead resting against yours.
“Fuck… Y/N, wait. I don’t have any condoms.”
You hesitated, then sat up and opened the nightstand drawer. There were various snacks, water, and a pack of condoms. “They come with the room, but—”
“I’ll pay them later,” Steve said, rapidly grabbing the pack and ripping it open.
You laid back on the bed, holding his shoulders anxiously while he put the condom on. Your heart started hammering like crazy. Oh, God. This was happening. This was really happening.
Steve noticed your wide, tense eyes on his cock. “We don’t have to do this.”
You looked at him, almost offended. “What? No, no. I want this. But I’m worried it will hurt.”
“I’ll go slow, and we’ll stop if you need to,” Steve promised, pecking your lips softly. He positioned himself between your legs and aligned his protected cock on your entrance. “Tell me if it hurts too much, okay?”
You nodded, tightening your hold on his shoulder. He kissed you delicately, distracting you from the upcoming pain. You gasped against his mouth when the tip entered.
He stopped immediately, letting you adjust, and kissed around your face. “It’s okay, just breathe.”
“Oh, God,” you whimpered as he moved an inch.
The burning, the pressure, the unfamiliar fullness… You closed your eyes and took deep breaths.
“It feels like a knife ripping me open,” you admitted, then quickly added. “But don’t stop yet.”
Steve was grasping the sheets hard while using all his willpower to not thrust freely. “You’re so fucking tight. It’s driving me insane already.”
You grimaced as he kept stretching you, moving deeper into you. “Steve… Is it done?” you panted.
He looked at you with pity. “I’m only halfway in.”
“What?!”
“I won’t go any deeper yet, alright?” He reassured you.
He pulled back before starting slow, shallow thrusts, needing you to adjust. With each movement, he could feel your body relaxing, your cries turning to moans.
The strangeness was changing to sparks of pleasure as you calmed down. “Steve… f-feels good.”
“Yeah?” he whispered, kissing your temple. “Want me to go deeper?”
“Please,” you whimpered.
The pain came back with every new inch inside you, but the slowness and Steve’s words were making everything more bearable.
“You feel great, baby. So tight around me,” he grunted in your ear, sending shivers down your body.
As your body gave in to the pleasure, you begged, “Move faster, p-please.”
He held up your thighs, bending you to accelerate his pace. Each thrust eliciting whimpering sounds from your throat. You grasped the sheets, arching your back uncontrollably. “Ah, Steve. Steve! Faster.”
“You sure?” he asked.
You grasped his shoulders and looked him in the eye. “Yes, fuck. Why would I lie—? Ah!”
Steve cut you off with a deep thrust. “Don’t start with the attitude.”
His hips snapped against yours, pounding into you as he finally let loose. Your nails sank into his back as you brought him closer. He dropped his head to kiss you messily, biting and pulling your bottom lip.
“That’s it. You take me so good,” he grunted, driving faster into you. “You were made for me, baby.”
The headboard was hitting the wall loudly, but you were too distracted with each other's bodies to care. Sweat was dripping down his forehead and chest as he looked down at his cock claiming you.
“Fuck, fuck,” Steve whimpered. “So tight. Feels so fucking good. Don’t think I’ll last long.”
It had been a while since he had done this, probably with Nancy. He didn’t even remember anymore. All his thoughts were on you, your sounds, your perfume mixed with sweat, your bouncing breasts… His hands cupped them, swiftly stroking your hardened nipples.
You threw your head deeper to the pillow and closed your eyes at the amazing sensation. “Ah, d-don’t stop! Just like that!”
But his hand flew to grasp your cheeks. “Open your eyes. I want you to look at me when you come.”
Fuck, this was better than anything you could’ve imagined. All those nights you had fingered yourself while reading your filthy books couldn’t compare in the slightest to this level of pleasure.
Steve’s hand tentatively grabbed your neck, testing the waters. But when your pussy clenched hard around his length, he scoffed, “Knew you’d be into this.”
You moaned, “More, Steve, more…”
His hold tightened as his thrusts fastened. “Is this what you wanted? To be controlled? To be mine?”
“Y-yes,” you moaned mindlessly, your mind almost blank from the pleasure.
“Say it. Say you’re mine, sweetheart,” he grunted, making emphasis in the nickname to annoy you.
The second you hesitated, Steve slowed down. “Oh, you want me to stop then?”
“No! Sorry,” you whimpered. You sighed and whispered, “I’m yours.”
He smirked and feigned confusion. “What? I didn’t hear you.”
You rolled your eyes, raising your hips for friction. “Steve, c’mon!”
He ceased his movements, and you immediately folded, “I’m yours! Steve, I need you, please. I’m so close.”
Steve hooked your legs over his shoulders, placed a pillow under your hips, and pounded into you with all his might. The new angle allowed him to go deeper.
You cried at the fullness of him stretching you and hitting your g-spot. Your body tensed as Steve started to rub your clit frantically.
“I can feel you’re close, baby. Come around me,” he urged.
Just as the last time, the pleasure came to its peak as you shattered on his cock. The orgasm ripped through your body like lightning.
The clenching of your pussy brought him over the edge. Steve spilled inside you with a guttural groan. “Fuck!”
He kept thrusting, prolonging both your orgasms, until the high came down. You fell limp on the bed, weak and motionless, as he laid next to you, almost collapsing onto you.
Steve took off the filled condom, tying it up and threw it in the trash can. He soothed your tummy. “Are you okay?”
You were still trying to recover your air, but you nodded. “I’m… great.”
He smirked and pinched your thigh. “Am I still an idiot?”
His messy hair and flushed face were evidence of the greatest moment of weakness you’ve had in your life. The best of mistakes that could never be repeated but would always live in your mind.
You patted Steve’s cheek. “Very much.”
___
a/n: happy last ST episode day!! im so scared and sad omg they better not kill our man!
─ steve harrington has had an unrequited crush on sweetheart!reader since their freshman year of high school that he can’t seem to shake
𝐀𝐍𝐃…
─ sweetheart!reader had a crush on steve in high school, that she adamantly denies has followed her into young adulthood even though everyone in hawkins knows it stuck
keep these in mind
set around the holidays. profanity. oblivious reader AND oblivious steve. no usage of capital letters. mild angst
𝐈𝐓 𝐖𝐀𝐒 𝐀 𝐅𝐑𝐈𝐃𝐀𝐘 𝐍𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 you’d already checked out mentally: pink rollers in your hair, your long sleeve striped pajama top and teeny tiny boy shorts on, newspaper stolen from your dad flipped to the charlie brown comic strip chucked onto your bed to read later, you were always in your room by ten— lights out at eleven. a simple routine you’d devised for yourself to maintain some kind of order in your life. whilst painting your toe nails a pretty shade of burgundy in favour of the festive season, you heard the shrill trill of the landline from downstairs, you slid through the landing and bounded down the dark, wooden stairs two at a time.
“helloo?” you called down the phone brightly once you had picked it up from its mount on the wall,
“hey!” a voice replied. you knew that voice, the hairs on the back of your neck did too apparently judging by the way they stood up.
“stevie!” you grinned so sappily it could be heard in your voice and down the line, “what’s up?” you asked brows furrowed whilst twirling the phone cord around your index finger absent-mindedly.
“nothin’ much, sweetheart, it’s just— we finally got the breakfast at tiffany’s vhs back at work today while i was covering robin’s shift and i know how much you wanted to watch it again, so i was wondering if i, uh, maybe could drop in and give it to you” he started off smoothly then slowly descended into a steady ramble.
you laughed a slow and bubbly laugh reserved just for him, “sure, okay— sounds great.”
“𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍’ 𝐌𝐔𝐂𝐇 𝐒𝐖𝐄𝐄𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐓”??? what the hell was that? steve thought to himself, whilst sitting in the driver’s seat of his precious beamer, building the nerve to turn the keys in the ignition and begin the familiar journey to your house. he’d already touched up his hair twice with a heinous amount of spray and doused himself in his signature cologne in hopes of impressing you.
steve sat in his car for a while, parked outside your house vhs tape in hand, the funny thing being: he was the mystery renter he’d kept the thing for weeks and vowed that whenever he would build up the courage to confess his feelings for you he could use this as an excuse to meet you in person.
he smiled softly to himself as he looked at your house, illuminated softly by christmas lights, christmas lights that he’d helped your dad put up last week, it was one hundred percent worth it because you’d brought out two mugs of hot cocoa for them when they were done and sat on the porch talking about anything and everything with him. that’s what steve loved about you: he could be a different version of himself with you, the real version of himself. not steve “the hair” harrington or steven harrington or nancy-wheeler’s-ex-boyfriend harrington just plain steve and that was perfectly fine with him.
he knocked on your door with unexpected enthusiasm, the brass knocker reverberating off of the door, he winced at himself. why do you always make him feel nervous? well, he knew the answer to that question but if he wanted to make it through the evening without completely making a fool of himself he won’t acknowledge the reason at all. he waited under the soft flicker of the porch light jumping slightly when you turned the key and opened the door.
steve was winded. you looked so beautiful just standing in the doorway as if you were something ordinary, you looked like something out of a renaissance painting rollers and all, he didn’t even notice them until you’d pointed them out; “steve, you’re staring,” you giggled “is it the rollers? it is the rollers isn’t it?” your face heating up with embarrassment.
“no, no, no.” he replied, voice cracking the sentence in two. “didn’t even notice” he continued trying his best to come across as nonchalant, leaning his arm on the doorframe. real smooth steve real smooth, he mentally face palmed. he made you laugh, though, and that was the greatest reward a guy could get, in his opinion.
“just come in already,” you snorted. “before you start saying i look pretty, or something equally as stupid.” you called out behind you, leading him to the living room. the funny thing is, that’s exactly what he was about to say.
you intended for steve to drop off the tape and go, you really did, but the minute he kicked off his shoes and discarded his sacred jacket on the floor it was game over.
your hands had a mind of their own, honestly, slotting the tape into the tv like that. your mouth did too; telling steve to make himself comfortable, offering him something to drink. the final nail in the coffin came when you sidled up next to him on the old, sagging couch, limbs tangling together and your head dropping on his shoulder like it was second nature because it was second nature. the only difference being that the buzz and presence of the others was absent. just you and steve, steve and you, alone in your house. together, no stop— why did you have to make things weird? it’s not like you like steve well you do like him but you don’t like, like him. do you?
“you okay?” you could feel his breath tickling your neck and gulped, simply nodding in response. you could feel him all around you, every breath you took was him, his arm stretched around you.
this was— nice. it really was but it felt so weird not having an excuse to be in such close proximity with steve, to be a tangle of limbs just for the hell of it. you couldn’t even fully grasp what was happening in the film because you were so aware of yourself and steve and how warm it was getting in here, when did that happen?
before you knew it, the end credits had rolled: audrey hepburn’s name emblazoned across your screen. you uncurled yourself, climbing out of the bubble that was forming around the pair of you completely unnoticed.
steve glanced at you— several times actually, his lips quirked as if they fixed to say something, something important by the look of it. instead he just stretched them into a tight smile as if he had never meant to say anything at all. his eyes on the other hand, were traitors; kaleidoscopes showing different hues of brown that betrayed the fact that something was about to change between you two.
“i uh— you know the reason i came here is, uhm, shit steve spit it out already,” he glanced up at you, sighing deeply.
“i really like— spending time with you, that’s all.” he shrugged losing all momentum. he sounded disappointed, whether it was with you or himself, you couldn’t tell.
“i like spending time with you too steve,” you replied softly, standing up at the same time as him, watching him make his way to the door having slipped on his shoes and jacket. you watched him open the door and step outside into the porch light. “well good night.” you said quietly, hugging him tightly as you bid farewell. it was as if his arms didn’t know what to do at first, or he simply didn’t register what was happening, he hugged you back eventually but it wasn’t like all your other hugs, it felt a little hollow.
ℬ’s yap sesh:
hope y’all liked it <33 holler if you want part two
♡ thank you to:: @strangergraphics and @mieluno for dividers
summary: After the horrors of Hawkins have been forgotten by most, life has finally slowed down for Steve and Y/N. Having built a life together, their days are fairly simple now, but beneath all of their new found peace is a dream they've patiently carried over years of loss and uncertainty. When the party is back together again for a dinner hosted in their home, it's a phone call that finally pushes them to share their happy news with their unconventional little family.
a/n: I've been a stranger things fan for years and the ending of the series has hit me pretty hard. So here's my own little epilogue that I couldn’t stop thinking about the other night after watching the series finale. I did listen to Letter Home by Childish Gambino when writing this- hence the title x
warnings: ST season 5 finale spoilers, (sort of idk) angst and mentions of infertility, mentions of death and loss, fluff, fluff, fluff and more fluff
The office the couple sits in smells faintly of old paper and dust. A large wooden desk sits in front of them with an empty chair opposite, its surface worn smooth with time. The now scratched gloss of the surface of the wooden table catches the morning light pouring in through the wide window, dust mites drifting lazily in the air around them. Steve shifts impatiently beside Y/N, his knee bouncing ever so slightly. One hand taps against his trouser clad thigh in a nervous rhythm, the other firmly wrapped around Y/N’s fingers like he’s afraid if he lets go, the moment might slip through their hands. In front of them, papers lie neatly stacked upon the brown mahogany surface, a pen resting upright in its holder, waiting to be picked up. Steve stares at the top page for a long moment, his eyes drifting over the flurry of letters scattered over the paper before swallowing.
“What if they’ve changed their mind…?”
He asks quietly and Y/N tilts her head toward him as she speaks, “I don’t think they’re allowed to do that this far in.”
“They’re not?”
“I don’t think so,” she says honestly but then adds with a small huff, “I don’t know… I hope not.”
He exhales loudly through his nose glancing down at his watch for what must be the fifth time in the last two minutes. The leather strap sits snuggly around the skin of his wrist and a faint ticking fills the silence between them. The gold band of his wedding ring catches the sunlight streaming in from the window as he moves his hand back down to continue tapping against his thigh.
Outside the window, Hawkins looks as it does every other day, how it’s looked for a while now. Kids run past the window laughing at each other followed by a small group of teens, their bikes rattling over the pavement. A car cruises by slowly, the hum of its engine is now a distant sound as everything appears unbothered. Uncomplicated and moving forward.
“Hey”
Y/N murmurs and Steve’s eyes draw away from the scene on the other side of the window as looks at her immediately. “It’s okay,” she says softly. “She probably just got caught up in something and is running late.”
“I know,” he replies nodding, though his grip tightens around her hand. “I just…” She raises her free hand, moving to rest it gently on his shoulder and giving it a small, grounding squeeze.
“Just relax, okay?” He lets out a deep breath, shoulders finally dropping as two of his fingers come up between the material of his white shirt and neck, slipping between them and pulling down an inch to loosen the tie sitting too tight around his neck. “I know baby, I know,” he says quietly.
“This just… means a lot to you. It- it means a lot to me.”
Her mouth curves into a soft smile, emotion welling in her chest as she opens her mouth to respond to him but she stops before she can speak as the sound of the door behind them creaking open fills the room. An older woman steps inside, her lilac colored skirt swishing lightly around her ankles. She pauses just inside the doorway, adjusting a folder and mug in her hand. “I’m so sorry I’m late,” she says warmly.
“Got caught by someone at the doors on my way here, you won’t believe how many people want to talk to you in the morning.”
However her voice appears as nothing but a quiet buzz as Y/N’s already looking at Steve, eyes shining and he can't help the wide, uncontrollable smile that spreads across his face as he looks back at her, joy and nerves all merging together. He drops his gaze for a moment, shaking his head slightly as if to compose himself, thumb brushing over the back of her hand. The woman moves around the desk and settles into the chair opposite them, setting her mug down with a soft clink, the smell of coffee reaching Y/N’s nose as it drifts through the room. “Big day today,” she says kindly, folding her hands over the folder.
“How are we feeling?”
“Great!”
Steve answers immediately, a little too quick like he’s bracing for a test and Y/N can’t help but let out a soft laugh, thumb brushing over the back of his hand. “Sorry, Martha, we’re just-” She exhales, smiling wide now,
“We’re excited.”
Martha’s expression softens at the sight of the two adults in front of her, “That’s wonderful, I’m really happy you are.” They both nod, almost in unison. Steve’s hand slips over to rest on Y/N’s thigh and she can feel his fingers pressing into the material of her clothes, she can sense the steady thrum of nervous energy beneath his skin. Martha opens the folder and begins flipping through the papers. “Alright. We’ll go through a few formalities, just to make sure everything is clear for you two.” They listen intently as she speaks, words careful and practiced.
Consent
Signatures
Transition Period
Finalization
Y/N finds her attention drifting and she glances sideways at Steve.
He’s leaned slightly forward in the chair, his brows knit in concentration like he’s afraid to miss something important. He’s nodding along as Martha talks, chiming in with the occasional “yes” or “okay”. He looks older now, not necessarily in a way that frightens her. The crows feet by his eyes are just the slightest bit more noticeable and his hair isn’t stiff with hairspray anymore though still perfectly in place. She knows he spent a little longer getting ready this morning, she watched him in the mirror, smoothing his tie and checking his reflection twice.
He’s changed.
But somehow.. he hasn’t at all.
Still earnest, still attentive. Still the same boy who’d throw himself headfirst into danger for people he loves.
Still her Steve.
~ ~ ~
The old RV hums beneath them as they drive, its tyres rolling over the road on the way back to the trailer park. It’s calmer now, it’s ironic how it only seems to comes before something that could go horribly wrong. Nancy and Robin sit alongside Dustin and Eddie by the table in the back, the two boys joking loudly with each other as the two girls roll their eyes at them. On the bench at the back of the van, Max and Lucas sit close together, arm brushing against each other occasionally, the faintest sound of Kate Bush being heard through the headphones of Max’s walkman. Y/N’s sitting in the passenger seat up front, her eyes drifting over to Steve as he sits behind the wheel, hands upon the leather of the steering wheel. Occasionally she’ll look out the dusty window of the van, the trees blurring as they drive by, but her eyes always end up on the boy beside her. “You okay?” he asks her and she hums back,
“Yeah, just tired.”
“Same.”
He nods and they fall back into silence, random yells from the two boys in the back filling the quiet between them. It's a comfortable silence, one that doesn’t awkwardly beg to be filled. Steve clears his throat, glancing at her sideways.
“Hey, uh… random question.”
She smiles faintly, “You’re terrible at sounding casual Harrington.”
He sighs dramatically then says, “You know what forget it”
“No go on, what?” she prompts, she shifts slightly in her seat to face him, knees now pointing in his direction. He hesitates, fingers tapping lightly against the leather of the steering wheel.
“Do you ever think about… after all this?”
She looks at him, his face is softer than usual in the low light of the setting sun, dried patches of blood cling to his hairline and his neck is bruised with an ugly purple and red hue. “Sometimes,” she says.
“Why?”
He shrugs, but there’s something hopeful tucked into his voice, “I don’t know. I was just thinking I don’t wanna do this forever… fighting monsters and almost dying all the time” Her lips curve in an amused smile, “You’re telling me.” He chuckles, then exhales.
“I think I wanna settle down..”
“Settle down?” she repeats.
“You? King Steve?”
“C’mon why do you sound so surprised!" he laughs at her reaction, “And—” he glances at the girl sitting near him, voice dropping a little,
“-I think I’d be good at it.”
“At what?”
“The whole… life thing.” He swallows. “House with a big backyard and a white picket fence… Kids.”
She blinks surprised, not because it’s strange or some other worldly concept he’s talking about but because he’s saying it so plainly.
“Kids?”
“Yeah six little nuggets, three girls and three boys” he says, grinning now, “and every summer I figured we’d pack into something like- this” he says as he gestures loosely around the RV they sit in with one hand, his other still firmly around the wheel as he continues, “and we’d just drive around and see the country”
“Six!?”
She repeats, laughing gently. He winces but hums amused under his breath, “Yeah, okay, that sounded intense. I just- I don’t know. I see myself with like… a bunch of them.”
She tilts her head toward him, lips tugging up. “I’m just saying, what are you trying to do Harrington? Start a baseball team?”
He shakes his head, his cheeks rising as a smile creeps its way onto his lips, “Alright, alright, maybe six is… ambitious.”
“A little” she teases.
“But-” he adds, glancing at her, suddenly more thoughtful, “I like the chaos. I mean, look at the kids we’ve already got.” He gestures vaguely toward the back of the van, towards Dustin, Max and Lucas and Y/N smiles fondly. “They didn’t turn out that bad,” he continues. “Loud and seriously annoying- but good.”
“Yeah,” she says quietly, “they are.”
She looks out the window then, watching the dark blur past, her reflection staring back at her looks calm and put together but her chest aches. She knows the truth about her future. Has known for a long time. A past filled with doctor’s offices and gentle voices. Words like unlikely and infertile wrapped in faux sympathy she didn’t ask for. She swallows, her fingers curling in her lap. “Well,” she says, forcing an easy tone,
“I hope you find someone who can give you all that someday.”
Steve frowns, confused.
“What?”
She shrugs still not looking at him, “The house. The nuggets. The whole domestic package you’re looking for.” He turns his studying her face like he’s trying to understand what she’s saying to him, he pauses a moment before he says simply,
“I already have”
“Oh, have you now?”
Her heart stutters in her chest and she tries to cover it up by letting out a small, disbelieving huff. He nods his head firmly, “Yeah,” his voice comes out softer now but still certain.
“I’m looking at her.”
She finally turns to look at him and god, it’s worse than she expected.
There’s no hesitation in his eyes, no space for doubt. Just this open, earnest affection that Steve’s only ever had for her. Like the future he was talking about isn’t abstract at all. Her smile wavers, barely noticeable, but her chest feels heavy because she wants that life too.
Wants it more than anything.
Wants to give him everything he dreams of.
But she can’t
The van slows as it approaches a red light, the red glow washing over the dashboard. Steve’s still smiling to himself, thumb tapping in firm beats against the steering wheel, like the future he’s just pictured is something solid between them. She exhales,
“Steve… I-” her voice wavers, “I can’t.”
He chuckles lightly, misunderstanding her immediately. “Okay, okay, I know six is a lot-” she stays quiet, “I mean, I’m flexible,” he continues, “four sounds good too. Even numbers right? And honestly, I think I could be talked down to three if you really-”
“-Steve.”
The way she says his name makes him stop and he turns toward her ready to ask what’s wrong, but the look on her face steals the words straight out of his mouth. Her eyes are glossy, fixed somewhere in the space between him and the windshield,
“I can’t even give you one.”
The words land wrong. They don’t make sense to him. He searches her face, his brow furrowing. “What…?” He swallows.
“You mean, you don’t want kids?”
She lets out a small, broken laugh, shaking her head immediately as the words leave his mouth. “No. God no. I do. Of course I do.” She presses her lips together, “I’ve watched the party grow up, Steve. I’ve seen who they’ve become, how could I not want that? How could I not want to be part of something like that?” His chest tightens as he shakes his head slowly, his expression unreadable. “I don’t think I understand.” She finally looks into his eyes, “Steve,” she says quietly, voice trembling now,
“I can’t have children.”
For a moment, he just stares at her.
“But you just said you wanted them,” he says softly, like he’s trying to put together a puzzle that has missing parts and can’t be completed. “I do,” she answers immediately. “I want them so badly.” Her voice cracks,
“I just- I can’t.”
The light above them turns green but the van doesn’t move. Steve turns around in his chair, facing her now and he reaches out, hands gentle but unsteady, cupping her face like he’s afraid she might disappear. “Hey,” he whispers.
“Hey, look at me.”
She does, and he can see the tears now pooling in her eyes, her bottom lip now red and raw from being stuck between her teeth. He breathes. “Oh, baby…” He pulls her into him without thinking, forehead pressing to hers, his hand cradling the back of her head, “I don’t care,” he says fiercely, almost desperate.
“Do you hear me? I don’t care. I don’t want kids if it’s not with you.”
Her tears slip down her cheeks and his thumb moves to wipe the water off her skin, “Steve, you say that now-”
“No,” he interrupts, pulling back just enough to make her look at him. “I mean it. You are my future. Not some hypothetical version of it I’ve created in my mind.” He presses a kiss to her forehead and then her temple, “We’ll figure it out,” he murmurs,
“Whatever it looks like. It’s going to be together.”
~ ~ ~
The pen doesn’t even hover for a second before Steve brings it down to the page and his signature comes out steady despite the way his leg is still bouncing beneath the desk. When he finishes he slides the paper to his right, turning his head to look at Y/N. There’s nothing uncertain in his expression and Y/N takes the pen from his fingers. The metal is cool against her skin as she signs carefully, every curve of her name neat. When she’s done, she places the pen back into its holder and looks down at the page.
Their signatures sit side by side at the bottom.
Together.
Martha slides the papers toward herself, adjusting the wire-rimmed glasses resting on her nose as she reviews them. Y/N feels Steve’s hand settle gently against her thigh again her own hand drifts to rest over his, thumb brushing the familiar ridge of his wedding band. “Alright,” Martha says satisfied after a moment, “I think the majority of documents and paperwork have already been taken care of. There are just a few minor things left like another house check of course, but I’m sure that can be organized soon so you can settle back at home.” She inhales, about to continue.
“In around two days-”
“When can we see-”
Steve speaks at the same time as her and they both freeze. Martha looks up, amused and Steve flushes immediately, his cheeks turning slightly pink.
“Sorry.”
“Sorry,” Y/N echoes laughing softly, “we’re just really-”
“-happy.”
Steve finishes, unable to help himself and Martha closes the folder with a fond smile. “Please don’t apologize. It’s actually very warming to see you both so excited.” She tilts her head slightly. “It definitely lets me know I’ve made the right choice.” Steve and Y/N exchange a look, smiling wider than they mean to. Martha raises her hands slipping her glasses off her face folding them, “In response to your question though, Mr. Harrington,” Martha continues,
“Does now sound good to you?”
“Yes,” Y/N answers immediately before Steve can even open his mouth. “Please.”
Martha smiles once more, sliding the folder neatly into a drawer and the soft thump signifies its closing as she stands. “Well then,” she says, grabbing her mug off the table, “come on, before your husband wears a hole in my floor with that leg.” Y/N laughs, turning toward Steve who’s looking at her his eyes a little wide, the tip of his ears pink.
“You heard that?”
“Pretty hard not to,” Y/N teases, squeezing his hand as they stand together.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Their house sits a little back from the road, light blue and two stories tall with a grey tiled roof that slopes gently. White paneling frames every window and lines the front porch. They didn’t rush into buying the house, they couldn’t have even if they’d wanted to.
It took years of saving, patience and discipline. Steve’s salary came in steady but modest from the high school, split between teaching health classes and coaching little league whilst Y/N’s income filled in the gaps; long days at the library, shelving and cataloguing and helping kids find books they were looking for, followed by afternoons spent teaching art at Hawkins Elementary School, paint smudged on her clothes by little fingers fingers more often than not. Grocery lists would be stuck to the fridge, and envelopes labeled House started to get tucked into the drawer at the end of every month. They spent nights with cheap wine and instead of lavish dinners they couldn’t justify yet. Every small sacrifice felt easier because they shared it together, but eventually, the envelopes grew heavy enough for them to start really planning. They’d made a list of houses around town, circled a handful of viewings on their calendar hung up by the couch. The first one was scheduled for a quiet Tuesday afternoon. Steve had joked that it was just a “warm up for the real thing.”
However, the moment they stepped inside, all their jokes stopped mattering.
The light blue house felt… right. The rooms weren’t perfect yet but they had potential. Sunlight spilled in through the windows and the backyard stretched wide and green. Y/N had stood near the fence already imagining flower beds while Steve started planning off imaginary spaces, pointing out where a grill could go and how the tree near the back could be made into a hell of a swing.
~ ~ ~
“We should probably still look at the others”
Steve had said finally, though his voice lacked any real conviction as he looked around the living room. The space was empty, and sunlight stretched across the hardwood floor stopping right before their shoes. Y/N smiled at him.
“Do you want to?”
He hesitated, gaze drifting to the window and then to the doorway as if searching for some invisible flaw. “I mean… we’re supposed to, right? That’s what people do.” He glanced back at her.
“What if you find something better?”
“I don’t think that’s a possibility, Steve.”
She shook her head, stepping closer and he raised an eyebrow, “You don’t?” She looked around again, slow and thoughtful. “No. You know that feeling when you walk into a place and you just know. I’m pretty sure I know.” Her eyes met his,
“Don’t you?”
He let out a quiet laugh under his breath, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah,” he admitted.
“I do.”
There was a pause, “So,” he said, squeezing her hand, “you’re not gonna secretly regret this in six months and say something like, ‘We should’ve seen the one with the bay window’?” She laughed softly as she took his hands and steps closer to him, his hands sliding around her waist, moving down to rest on her hips.
“Baby there's a bay window in the main bedroom.”
He smiles sheepishly, “Okay, bad example but you get the point.”
She moved her hand up his arms, both of them meeting behind his neck, one of her hands threading through the curls at the nape of his neck. “This feels like us,” she murmured.
“I don’t want to keep looking for something when we already found it.”
“Alright,” he said quietly, “whatever makes my girl happy makes me happy”
They canceled the rest of the viewings that afternoon.
~ ~ ~
The backyard of their home is Y/N’s domain. Flower beds line the edges of the grass, bursts of colour litter the soil. Daisies, yellow cornflowers and red poppies have become stubborn blooms that come back every year no matter what the Hawkins weather throws at them. She tends to them early in the mornings of the weekends or late in the evenings of the weekdays, sometimes managing to convince Steve to join her with dirt under their nails and a radio humming softly nearby.
By the patio sits the grill which Steve had absolutely insisted they splurge on as, “no one wants to be known for hosting a bad barbecue.” Now it’s well used with faint grease marks, smudged on the metal of its lid. It’s hosted new neighbors, old friends that have moved away and even kids from Steve’s little league team with their parents.
Tucked near the back corner of the yard is a small wooden shed. Inside, shelves are cluttered with gardening tools, the corners of the small space holding bags of soil and more empty pots. There’s a faint smell of earth and wood and it’s definitely just a shed. Definitely not a place they’ve ever disappeared into on warm afternoons when their home is filled to the brim with guests under the guise of “checking if the sprinkler is running,” only to emerge later flushed and clothes a little askew.
On the other side of the blue building, the front yard lays wide and green, grass stretching thick and healthy beneath the white picket fence that wraps around the property. Steve built it himself, stubborn about wanting to do it the right way, even though the job took twice as long as planned after paint brushes were abandoned in favor of the two of them flicking white streaks of paint at each other. There are still faint marks on the pavement by the fence if you look closely, small imperfections left behind because neither of them could bring themselves to sand them out.
At the end of the pathway leading up to the front door, just inside the fence, there’s the sturdy metal mailbox. Painted carefully across the front in Y/N’s neat handwriting are the words,
The Harringtons
On the other side, pressed into the metal with dried blue paint, are their handprints. Steve’s larger palm beside Y/N’s, thumbs overlapping just enough to form a small, imperfect heart between them.
~ ~ ~
The mailbox had seemed like a simple enough idea at first, a little paint and a paint brush accompanied by a quiet afternoon. How hard could it be? They’d spread old newspapers across the grass by the metal box which stood straight to attention. Y/N carefully rolled up the sleeves on one of Steve's old shirts which she’d stolen for painting when they started to renovate the rooms in the house, it was too covered in splotches of paint, wood varnish and odd pieces of masking tape to be saved now. Steve hovered nearby, his own sleeves rolled up, already speckled with color as he cracked open the small tin of bright blue paint. “Okay,” he said, inspecting the mixed paint,
“Moment of truth.”
She dipped her paintbrush into the tin carefully before starting to paint a thick layer of the paint onto her palm and fingers. As she placed the brush back into the tin she wiggled her fingers at Steve as she laughed. Steve grinned in response as he less gracefully, pressed his palm against hers, coating his hand in the sticky substance.
“Ready?”
He asked as he looked over to the bare mailbox. They leaned in together, pressing their hands against the side of the mailbox; hers smaller, his larger. He waited a moment as she pulled her thumb away from the metal so he could place his own down, the imprint of their thumbs overlapping just right. When they pulled away, the little heart between them was unmistakable.
Y/N smiled, still admiring it when Steve stepped closer, paint-slicked fingers finding her waist. His hand slid down without thinking, resting squarely against the back of her denim shorts as he kissed her, Y/N’s eyes fluttering shut as his hand squeezed the denim material slightly, lips working against each other. She kissed him back for a moment- then froze.
“…Steve.”
“Yeah?” he mumbled against her lips. “What hand did you just put on my ass?” He blinked, pulling away, “Uh... My left?” Slowly, she turned her head to look at the mailbox.
There, plain as day was his left handprint.
She looked back at him. “Steve.” He followed her gaze, eyes widening just a fraction before he burst out laughing. She spun around.
“You asshole!”
Right there on the back of her shorts was a perfect blue handprint, fingers splayed like a signature across her ass. “This isn’t funny,” she said, trying and failing to sound mad.
“This is my favorite pair!”
He wrapped his arms around her from behind, paint smudging across her clothes some more.
“We can get you another pair, baby.”
She tried to protest, but he was already pulling her closer, kissing her again. She melted into it, hand coming up to cup his cheek as she laughed softly into his mouth. When she finally pulled back, breathless and grinning, she froze again.
Across his cheek was her handprint smeared in bright blue.
~ ~ ~
Inside, it’s warm, the house not just decorated but evidently lived in. A pile of shoes is clustered by the door, coats spilling over the coat hanger. Further inside, plants spill from every available surface, leafy vines trailing down shelves, smaller pots of cacti clustered on windowsills where the afternoon light catches them just right to keep them nourished. The living room is painted a soft, pale yellow that always seems to glow, even when the sun's already set. In the corner, a record player hums quietly, needle resting between the grooves of the vinyl spinning beneath it. Beside it, a small wooden cupboard holds shelves which are slowly filling up with different vinyls. Some album covers jut out at uneven angles, The Clash, Kate Bush, followed by Metallica and Tiffany, house-warming gifts from friends who insisted their tastes were essential to the collection.
The dining room is much louder. A large oval table dominates the space, surrounded by chairs that don’t quite match, stolen from the garden, thrifted, dragged in from other rooms because there are simply too many people to seat properly. The wobble gives one of them away immediately.
“Why do I get the wobbly chair?”
Lucas complains, gripping the edge as it shifts beneath him. “Why can’t you take it? You’re lighter than me.” Max doesn’t even look up from her plate as she serves up food for herself,
“Do I need to remind you how many bones I broke?” she says calmly. “I think I’ve earned the good chair.”
Dustin snorts and Will laughs into hand while Mike grins openly as Max finally looks up, sticking her tongue out at Lucas, and leans back smugly. Lucas shakes his head, but he’s smiling too.
On the other side of the table, Joyce and Hopper start to talk to Steve about his job. Joyce leans forward a little, her elbows resting on the table as she asks in genuine curiosity. “So… how’s the team doing this season?” Steve shrugs, a grin tugging at his lips.
“Honestly? They suck. Can’t win to save their lives.”
“Steve!” Nancy laughs out, looking over at him as she scolds him. In return the brunette raises his hands, “No, I’m joking,” he added quickly. “They’re great. It’s an honor to be their coach.” Robin, leaning against the table with her arms crossed, jokes, “And their sex ed teacher- well, later on, I guess.” Steve groans at her, shaking his head, “You’re never gonna let me live that down, are you?”
“Sure won’t, dingus,” she says as she pats his shoulder only for him to playfully shove her hand away. Joyce’s eyes wander over to the wooden TV unit, littered with an array of miss matched picture frames. One of the framed photos catches her attention. “Oh, is that your team?” she asked. Steve grins as he looks over to the frame. The photo captured him crouched down at the kids’ level, a sea of blue and white uniforms all around him. His blue baseball cap sat slightly crooked on his head, and the kids were ecstatic; arms thrown up, mouths wide in triumphant shouts. Derek held up a tiny trophy, beaming pure joy and excitement. “Yeah,” Steve said, glancing at Y/N, who was sitting beside him, passing down to Will a tray of home made garlic bread. She was smiling softly, hands still faintly holding onto the smell of garlic from her earlier cooking.
“Courtesy of Y/N.”
She looked over to him with a small nod, a soft smile lighting her face. Joyce tilted her head to look over to her son. “That’s thanks to your camera I assume?” Hopper says to the boy sitting beside Nancy. Jonathan shrugged, a little sheepish smile creeping onto his face,
“You like it?”
“Like it? She loves it. I can’t get that thing out of her hands.”
Steve nudges Y/N with his elbow and the girl shakes her head and bumps her shoulder into Steve’s, laughing softly, looking over to Jonathan she responds,
“I really do love it, thank you.”
He smiles warmly, “I had a feeling it would get put to use.”
“It really does.”
Y/N says, glancing over at Steve again, the smile tugging at her eyes. The room was warm with chatter and laughter, and the faint scent of tomato and basil swirling around above the table. Mismatched chairs scraped lightly against the wooden floor as the kids bounced in their seats laughing loudly with each other. Meanwhile, Nancy leaned back in her chair, glancing at Joyce and Hopper. “So how’s Montauk?” she asked casually, sipping her glass of red wine. Joyce’s face softened, a little reminiscent smile tugging at her lips.
“Oh, it’s great,” she says her voice light.
“How’s the new job Hop?”
Y/N adds and Hopper lets out a long sigh in response, leaning back like he needs the chair to hold him up. “Well… it’s a job, for sure.” Y/N raises an eyebrow in surprise.
“Is it that bad?”
Hopper groaned theatrically, “Oh, you have no idea.”
Joyce shakes her head at her husband, swatting his stomach with the back of her hand,“He’s just being dramatic. He thought it was going to be sitting around eating doughnuts all day but it's not.” Hopper shot her a mock glare, though it didn’t reach his eyes.
“The pay’s better, that’s for sure.”
“Well,” Nancy shrugs with a smile, “that’s always a bonus isn’t it?” Hopper nods a small grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. “You can say that again,” he admits.
The table was a kaleidoscope of color and scent. Two large dishes of golden cheese covered lasagna sat in the center, its rich tomato sauce and white béchamel glistening under the overhead light. Meatballs which were perfectly browned and swimming in a thick, savory sauce rested on a large platter beside it. Garlic bread, still warm and crispy from the oven, drifted the scent of the butter and roasted garlic scent over everything. A salad of crisp greens leaves was sprinkled with halved baby cherry tomatoes and small creamy balls of mozzarella, black olives scattered throughout like little jewels. Bowls of shredded parmesan and red pepper flakes waited nearby, ready to be sprinkled on top of anything. Steam rose from the dishes as forks clinked against plates. The plates were mismatched, the married couple still working on finding the perfect collection, yet the mix and match from years of collected sets only made the place feel more like home. Will forked up a bite of lasagna and enjoyed the taste of the sauce and melted cheese in his mouth. He looked across at Y/N, a small sincere smile tugging at his lips.
“This is really good Y/N, thanks for inviting us.”
Y/N smiles softly at the younger boy, “It’s our pleasure, Will.” She says as she leans into Steve slightly, a grin spreading across his face at the feeling of his girl against his side.
“Yeah. We gotta fill out this big, empty house somehow, right?”
Robin’s voice cut into the conversation from beside him, sly and teasing, “I can think of one way you can do that- Mr. Sex Ed.”
Nancy and Jonathan broke out into laughter together exchanging amused looks as Jonathan places his cold bottle of beer down onto the table. Steve, cheeks reddening slightly, waved his hands dramatically. “Uh- Robin? There are children present at this table,” he says, gesturing subtly with his eyes toward the other side where Dustin, Mike, Lucas, and Max were perched. Dustin, clearly not fazed, calls out from across the table,
“Dude, we’re in college what are you talking about?”
Y/N lets out a soft laugh, shaking her head, the sound warm in Steve’s ear. Joyce, shaking her head but smiling, looks over to the two of them, “All jokes aside… you two? No plans for any kiddos running around?” Mike looks over chiming in, honest and a little teasing, “You guys would be great parents. We spent most of our adolescence with you and look how we turned out.” Y/N let out a breath, playfully exasperated, glancing over at Steve before saying,
“Yeah… it’s not looking too good, Steve. I think we should save our future children.”
“Hey!” Mike barked out, pretending to be offended, while Dustin took the cue to flip Steve the bird from across the table. Hopper’s finger shoots out, wagging at Dustin in mock scolding, the younger boy raising his hands in defeat, a grin still plastered across his face. The warm buzz of laughter had barely settled when the shrill ring of the phone cut through the air. Y/N started to rise, but Steve’s hand landed lightly on her thigh, stopping her. “I’ll go,” he says softly, a reassuring smile tugging at his lips.
“Don’t worry. It’s probably work or something.”
“You sure?” she asked.
“Yeah,” he replied, giving her thigh a gentle squeeze before letting go, the legs of his chair scratched against the floor as he stood up and stretched slightly.
She watched him as he made his way toward the kitchen, the sound of his steps soft on the hardwood floor. The jeans he wore clung to his figure, sculpting his legs, hugging him just right. Her eyes lingered for a moment longer than they should have, a small, knowing smile tugging at her lips before she finally tore her gaze away, it was funny how even in something as mundane as jeans, he managed to make her heart race. Y/N leaned back in her chair, fork idly resting on her plate as she glanced over at Jonathan.
“So how’s the anti-capitalist motion picture coming along?” she asked, a small smirk tugging at her lips. Jonathan shrugged, a little tired talking about the subject but still excited.
“Good. Yeah… I’ve filmed it all, now all that’s left is editing.”
Robin snorted from where she sat opposite him, “Editing? That’s easy. No way it takes that long.”
Jonathan gave her a look, half of amusement and half a warning, “Yeah, let’s just say you guys still have a while to wait until you see it.” Nancy shook her head, laughing as she raised her napkin and wiped away some of the tomato sauce that had been caught in her bottom lip. She started to reminisce, “I still can’t get over how much red paint we used to film that scene in your uncle’s basement in Philly.” Robin groaned dramatically, throwing up her hands.
“Oh my god Nance! I still have stains in my clothes from that night. I’ve washed them a hundred times!”
Nancy huffs out, “Well my shirt wasn't salvageable."
Y/N lets the conversation fall into a dull hum, her eyes drifting lazily over the table. Her gaze lands on Hopper and Joyce, the older couple sharing a quiet moment of contentment. Joyce lightly tapped Hopper’s forearm with her napkin, laughter bright and he broke into a small smile, his mustache twitching as it moved with the grin. Her eyes then slid down the length of the oval-shaped table, catching the younger teens at the far end of the table, now all grown up- well maybe not completely. Lucas had just tossed a cherry tomato toward Dustin, who leaned back, mouth open in an attempt to catch it. Max rolled her eyes, laughing at their pathetic coordination as the tomato bounced off Dustin’s cheek and rolled under the table, joining a small pile of stray crumbs. Mike and Will, sitting next to each other, were in a quiet conversation. Will nodded at something Mike said, responding with a small laugh, and Mike’s face lit up in a smile that seemed to ease them both into laughter.
It was peaceful.
Domestic.
Looking back four years ago, Y/N could barely begin to imagine this life. After everything they’d all been through, the chaos, the horrors, the loss. She never would have imagined evenings like this. Laughter filled the air, friends and family scattered around the table. Her chest warmed with gratitude, and she silently thanked whatever higher power that had brought them all here, into her house.
Into her and Steve’s home.
Steve’s warm hand settled on her shoulder, pulling Y/N away from her thoughts as he lowered into the chair beside her. He lifted his bottle of beer to his lips for a sip, the cold glass slick with condensation leaving a damp circle on the table as he set it back down. “Everything okay?” Y/N questioned her eyes still lingering on him. “Yeah,” he replied, a small smile tugging at his lips.
“It was just Martha. She said the date’s been moved forward… so we can go tomorrow instead.”
“Really?” Y/N’s eyes lit up instantly, that glint of excitement and joy sparkling in them that made Steve’s heart pump just a beat faster. “Yeah baby,” he said, voice warm, careful, watching her like she was the only person in the room.
“You happy with that?”
Y/N’s lips curved into a playful smile, “Don’t ask stupid questions Mr. Harrington.”
Before he could respond, she leaned forward, pressing a quick kiss to his lips. Steve’s hand, resting on her hip, gave a gentle squeeze in return, fingers brushing under her jumper against the skin of her side as if to claim the moment just for them. They pulled back just enough to catch each other’s eyes, the quiet between them being noticed by Jonathan’s eyes, which had drifted over to them when Steve came back.
“You guys look happy… did you just get promoted from Little Leagues to High School or what?”
Steve chuckled, shaking his head, “No… it’s not that.”
Nancy looked towards them, eyebrows raised in curiosity. “So… what is it?”
Steve’s gaze flicked to Y/N, who was looking back at him with that soft, tender expression he knows so well. Robin’s voice cut through the quiet like a whip.
“What’s with all this secrecy guys?”
Steve’s hand came up to rub the back of his neck, then settled on the table with a soft thump. The laughter, chatter, and clatter of the dinner table seemed to fade as every pair of eyes slowly turned toward them. “Wow,” Steve’s voice carried across the table.
“Got a whole audience now.”
Y/N let out a quiet entertained hum cutting through the tension. “Should we?” Steve questioned, looking over at her. “Yeah I think we should,” she says with a small nod, her hand brushing against his under the table. From the other side, Dustin was staring at them eyes wide, voice all theatrical.
“You’re killing us here guys!”
“Well…” she started softly, voice careful but certain. “Me and Steve-”
“Oh my god… you’re pregnant?!”
Max, unable to contain herself, suddenly piped up from the other side of the table, eyes wide. The words hit like a strike of lightning at the table, snapping every pair of eyes to Y/N and Steve. Laughter, shock and awe mingling across the table in a single heartbeat. She let out a small, nervous laugh, glancing down at her and Steve’s joined hands under the table. Y/N felt Steve’s thumb brushing against her skin, the same grounding comfort he had given her that day in the RV.
“No, no we’re not pregnant,” Steve says, resulting in everyone looking at each other a little confused. Lucas looks over to the two as he speaks,
“No offence guys but I’m really lost now”
“Yeah me too man”
Dustin adds on and Y/N lets the quiet settle just long enough for her to begin again. “Me and Steve we’ve been talking for a while after we got the house, and…it’s so big and-”
“-empty?”
Steve cuts in gently, finishing her sentence for her with a grin which resulted in Y/N rolling her eyes at him but nodding in response. “Yeah. Empty. So we started volunteering at the orphanage in town after everything that happened with…” She paused for a beat, unsure if she should bring up the past, the grief everyone had worked so hard to move on from. Steve leaned forward, voice warm and steady, picking up her thread.
“Since then, they’ve needed a little extra help and we noticed one of the flyers they put up for volunteers so me and Y/N have been helping out on the weekends.”
All eyes were on them now, the room falling into a hush. “So…?” Will’s curious voice broke the quiet. Y/N took a breath as she continued. “So when we were working there, we started discussing um, discussing starting our own family.” She glanced at Steve, whose gaze never left hers, steady and full of love.
“And there’s some things we had to consider… because it’s a little harder for us.”
Steve’s thumb brushed gently over her knuckles in silent reassurance. Steve’s voice was steady as he continued. “A little over half a year ago we met a little baby girl who came to join us after her mother died. We’ve spent a lot of time with her…” Y/N nodded, her eyes shining.
“She’s so amazing… she’s just- she’s just become a little vessel of light in our lives over these past months and me and Steve…”
“We really love her”
He said softly, a tender smile spreading across his face. They exchanged that quiet look between each other before their eyes shifted to the rest of the room. The kids at the table looked on with quietly wide-eyed curiosity, Joyce’s hand was resting over her mouth, and she tried to blink away the tears gathering in her eyes, clearly overwhelmed, Hopper's hand resting on her shoulder.
“So… we’ve adopted her,” Y/N said, “and the phone call today was from the woman handling our case. She let us know that tomorrow… she can officially come home with us.”
A hush fell over the table, the fresh news sinking in. Finally, Dustin piped up, his voice a little wavering, scratching the back of his head as he looked at Steve,
“Is that… is that why you didn’t let me go into that room by the bathroom on the first floor?”
“Yeah, man. That’s the nursery- all set up and ready to go.”
Not a second passes before the room erupts. Congratulations tumble over one another, voices overlapping, the kids cheering a chorus of ‘Baby Harrington!’ and clapping filled the room which was silent moments before. It’s loud and chaotic and in a way that makes Y/N’s chest hurt in the best way possible. Nancy is the first to reach her as she’s sitting on her right, eyes glassy as she takes Y/N’s hand in both of hers, squeezing it tight, “I’m so happy for you guys,” she says, voice breaking just a little. Y/N smiles at her, her own tears threatening now too, her thumb brushing over Nancy’s knuckles. “Thanks, Nance,” she murmurs softly.
Robin, on the other hand, had completely lost it.
“Oh my god,” she blurts out, already half-sobbing and half-laughing. “Oh my god- I’m officially going to be Auntie Robin.” She presses a hand to her chest dramatically. “I’ve been waiting for this for so long. This is it! This is my purpose.” Before Steve can even react, she’d thrown herself into his arms, clinging to him like a desperate koala and Steve lets out a surprised laugh, arms automatically wrapping around her to keep her from toppling over.
“Okay- okay- personal space Buckley”
He laughs, but there’s nothing but happiness in his voice, a grin stretching wide across his face. Joyce wipes at her cheeks with her napkin, letting out a breathy little laugh as she tries to compose herself. “Oh- this is just… this is so amazing you guys,” she says, voice still thick with emotion.
“How old is she?”
Steve straightens a little, pride unmistakable in his voice as he answers, “She’s turning one next weekend.”
Jonathan’s reacts immediately. “Oh, we’ve all have to come around and celebrate.”
“Oh yeah you do,” Steve says easily, nodding. “Y/N’s already pre-ordered the balloons at the decoration store.”
“Steve!”
Y/N groans, hitting his arm lightly and instinctively lifting her hands to hide her face. Her cheeks feel warm as laughter ripples around the table. “Stop telling them that!” He just can’t stop himself from grinning at her, completely unwavered.
“What? You’re being prepared.”
Robin leans across the table, delightedly reaching for Y/N’s hand who lets the girl take it, “I knew it. I knew you were gonna be that type of mom.” Y/N peeks out from behind her other hand, smiling despite herself. Steve watches her with that same fond look he always does, his hand finding its way back to hers as the room buzzes with plans and excitement. It’s Mike who asks it, voice more interested than it’s been all evening.
“What’s her name?”
Y/N turns her head instinctively toward Steve. His arm had come to rest along the back of her chair at some point, and as she leaned into him, it slid down naturally to curl around her shoulders, pulling her a little closer. She looks across the table, her eyes landing on Hopper. Her voice is shaky when she answers.
“Her name’s Jane.”
She saw it immediately, the way Hopper pressed his lips together, nodding once slowly, his jaw tightening as his eyes glassed over. Joyce’s hand reaches for his arm without a word, resting there in quiet understanding. Y/N’s throat tightens as she lifts her hand, wiping away the stray tear that slipped down her cheek.
The name hangs in the air, heavy and saddening but full of love and good memories. Mike clears his throat, his voice a little unsteady, eyes fixed on the table as if he’s gathering the courage to speak it out loud.
“She would be happy for you guys.”
He doesn’t need to say her name. No one does. It’s the only person they've all been thinking about. Max starts nodding, letting out a teary huff, “Yeah… she used to call you mom and dad.” She pauses then adds,
“Steve, you’re mom of course.”
Laughter breaks out again cutting through everyone’s emotions like a breath of air. Steve groans dramatically, leaning back in his chair. “C’mon, guys,” he says, shaking his head. “You can’t be ruining my reputation like this when little Jane gets here.” Dustin grins from across the table. “Don’t you worry buddy,” he says proudly.
“She’ll know alllll about her dad’s crazy adventures.”
“Absolutely not.”
Steve just put a finger at him, mock-serious and Y/N laughs into Steve’s shoulder, her hand curling into his where it rests on the table between their plates. The moment Dustin brings up their adventures, it’s like a switch flips, the party all start talking at once, voices overlapping, the story spiraling wildly out of control within seconds as they recall the night at the Byers cabin all those years ago.
“I’m telling you, he went down like a sack of potatoes,” Dustin exclaims entertained, “That’s not true,” Lucas argues laughing. “It was more like-” the boy pauses as he makes a motion with his hand, “-face first.” Max smiles looking at the boys, “and then Y/N saved his ass.” Mike snorts, “She literally dragged Steve by the collar.”
On the other side of the table Steve makes an unamused sound, burying his face into the crook of Y/N’s neck as the other side of the table erupts into laughter. “God,” he mutters, voice muffled against her skin.
“They make me sound pathetic.”
Y/N has to stop herself from laughing at him but her shoulders are already shaking as she curls an arm around his back, fingers threading into his hair. “You were not pathetic,” she says, fond but still teasing.
“You were unconscious.”
“That does not help my case,” he mumbles, though the smile in his voice gave him away. “So,” Nancy says with a small knowing smile, looking between the two of them.
“You’re starting on your six little nuggets then?”
Steve’s hand squeezes Y/N’s side without thinking, pulling her in just a little closer. “Don’t you know it,” Steve says, looking over at Y/N. “Gonna have a whole mini team of Harringtons running around aren’t we.” Jonathan rolls his eyes jokingly at his friend's remark.
“You’ve already got one baseball team and you’re planning another?”
Steve raises his hand in faux defence, “What can I say- gotta plan in advance.” Hopper smiles at them then, something sadder tugging at his expression.
“What is she like?”
As he asked it, his thoughts flickered briefly back to the first time he’d seen the two of them together. Back at the Byers’ cabin, their voices raised, arguing over who was supposed to be in charge of the kids who were all sitting on Joyce’s couch staring at the two cluelessly. It had been loud and messy, but even then Hopper had seen it; the way they’d moved in sync without realizing it, the way they’d both stepped in front of danger without hesitation to protect the ones they love. He’d known then that there was no future for either of them that didn’t involve each other, that didn’t involve kids. Now, seeing them sitting here, married, talking about adopting a little girl of their own made his chest tightened uncomfortably. His mind drifted- unavoidable- to El. To the ache of her memory in his mind that never went away. However, his chest warmed too, because now there was another little girl. Another child who would be loved and protected endlessly by this strange and stubborn little family they’d all built together. Y/N’s face lit up instantly at the mention of the girl,
“Our little Jane?”
“Mmmhmm”
Robin hums, eager to find out more as she rests her chin on her hand, arm now propped up on the table. Y/N sits up a little, one hand resting unconsciously over Steve’s knee as she starts to talk, her voice filled with nothing but love.
“She’s so smart and- Oh! She’s so talkative! You won’t believe how much she babbles. I hear it even when I go to sleep- just this constant little stream of noise in my head.”
Steve snorts, “The little lady never shuts up.” Y/N laughed, “Hey!” reaching out to smack his chest lightly.
“That’s our daughter you’re talking about.”
He looks down at her then, all teasing gone as he speaks quietly, “Our little nugget”
Y/N tilts her head toward him, now looking at her husband, her head leans forward a little to press her forehead against his.
“Our little nugget.”
just take me out back and shoot me I can't I love them sm
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