No title available
taylor price
NASA
Peter Solarz
Misplaced Lens Cap
Sade Olutola
Today's Document
Monterey Bay Aquarium
he wasn't even looking at me and he found me
No title available
2025 on Tumblr: Trends That Defined the Year
No title available
Stranger Things
Sweet Seals For You, Always
Game of Thrones Daily
trying on a metaphor
todays bird
"I'm Dorothy Gale from Kansas"
@theartofmadeline
let's talk about Bridgerton tea, my ask is open
seen from Poland
seen from United States
seen from Poland
seen from Germany
seen from T1
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from Ukraine
seen from United States
seen from Türkiye
seen from Italy
seen from Türkiye
seen from United Kingdom
seen from Türkiye
seen from Ukraine
seen from Malaysia
seen from Bosnia & Herzegovina
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
@flowershu
Has anyone written a pi cheolin fanfic yet, or will I have to tackle it myself.
The fiance by wondernus!
💬 29 🔁 86 ❤️ 584 · ˗ˋˏ THE FIANCÉ ˎˊ˗ | Masterlist · synopsis: a mysterious pink fishing vest. a fiancé who wakes up in the middle of nowh
Yall there was this fanfic called work husband, it was like a Vernon (svt) fic and he was a history teacher I think. And there was this one particular scene where he was looking for her but he like had a club so he brought the club outside to see her garden club. And there was like something with a double date. I don’t really remember much but I legit can’t find it at all, if anyone was like the link or the author lmk
I couldn't comment so reblogging with the link. Its work husband by wondernus! Great fic and wonderful author!
💬 15 🔁 536 ❤️ 3437 · - ̗̀ 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤 𝐡𝐮𝐬𝐛𝐚𝐧𝐝 ˎˊ- ✏︎ pairing: teacher!vernon x teacher!yn (gn) ✏︎ synopsis: falling for the young and flirty hi
belt loops and cake cuddles
🧡 vernon x reader 🧡 1.5k 🧡 fluff. pure fluff. 🧡 non-idol au, very unspecific au in general actually, soonyoung is a slightly drunk menace, alcohol is there btw, also cake, and most of svt is there for like background ambience, it's just a very casual fluffy relationship okay (and vernon's a lil bit whipped but shh) 🧡 listen i had an idea and i procrastinated on my homework to bring this to life. it's just cute ok. and i didn't beta this at all sorryyy loll
You're a little late to the party, but Vernon doesn't mind. He's happy to wait by your side until you've got space for him.
🧡
“Hey, Soonyoung! Happy birthday!” you called, waving across the busy room as you stepped inside his apartment. “Sorry I’m late!”
“HI!” he shouted back. A birthday hat sat crooked on his head, elastic tucked under his chin, and he held a red solo cup in the hand that didn’t wave back. If there had once been alcohol in there, you were pretty sure it was gone, judging by the flush in his cheeks. “THERE’S CAKE!”
You grinned and flashed him a thumbs up before Seungkwan dragged him off for something else, snapping the elastic against the underside of his chin as they went. (Soonyoung definitely didn’t squeal. Of course not.)
“Hey,” Mingyu said as you slipped into the kitchen. Half a cake sat before him, and judging by the low stack of paper plates and the frosting-covered steak knife in his hand, he’d been dishing out slices for a good few minutes now. “Long time no see. How was work?”
Shrugging, you plucked a plate from the pile and held it up for him to drop a slice of cake on. “Same old. Got about five emails in the last fifteen minutes. They’re waiting for Monday.”
Mingyu laughed. “Sounds about right. Here.” He stuck a plastic fork in the cake (vanilla with a strawberry filling, if you were right). “Enjoy.”
“I will. It looks good.”
“Vernon’s on the couch, by the way.”
Your eyes flicked up to Mingyu’s, and he just smiled.
“Thanks,” you said, smiling back before ducking back into the crowded living room.
Sure enough, Vernon was on the couch, solo cup in hand, teething absently at the rim while watching something on his phone. Jeonghan and Joshua took up the rest of the couch, hanging over the back to poke fun at Seungcheol and whatever he was doing with Chan, so you just walked up to the arm of the couch and tapped at his shoulder.
Brown eyes ripped away from the screen and blinked up at you, spreading immediately into the biggest, warmest grin you’d seen all day.
“Hey, babe,” Vernon whispered, turning off his phone and letting it fall to his lap. (Why was that so attractive? The way he abandoned his ever-present phone for you?) His hand came up, covering yours on his shoulder. “Missed you.”
You smiled, because of course you did, twisting your hand to tangle your fingers together and squeeze. “Missed you too. I got you cake.”
You gestured with the plate, and his eyes widened in excitement.
“Trade you?” he said, lifting his mostly-full cup of something. Beer, probably.
“Always.”
You handed him the plate, he handed you the cup, and he was three bites into the cake by the time you found a spot on the rim that didn’t have teethmarks in it.
It’s beer, which explained how much of it was left. Vernon wasn’t one for drinking, but he knew you enjoyed a cup or two, and it wasn’t rare for him to save one for you if there was a risk of everyone else getting to the alcohol before you could. You took a sip to mask your smile.
“Hey, you made it!”
You turned at the sound of Junhui’s voice, smiling. “Yep! Wouldn’t miss it for the world. Hey, you started teaching again, right? How’s that going?”
Vernon glanced up at you, fork halfway to his mouth, and paused. Something about the way you smiled (even if it was directed at Junhui) just… captivated him.
Not that it was unusual. You usually captivated him. Tonight, with his cup tucked against your chest, with your hair still tied up from work, with (finally) a little light in your eyes after such a rough week, you were just… stunning.
He shoved the bite of cake in his mouth and set the plate on the already-crowded coffee table. He wasn’t entirely done, but the last few bites were for you. Just because you didn’t have his sweet tooth didn’t mean you didn’t like cake. (And, sure, maybe he liked feeding you off his plate. Maybe just a bit.)
Another glance up at you confirmed that you were still talking to Junhui, eyes bright and invested as he rambled about… something. Probably his dance classes. It was too loud for Vernon to hear much of anything.
He pulled out his phone again, opening Instagram and starting to tap through everyone’s stories. (There were a lot.) He kept one eye on you, though; when Junhui was done talking, he wanted to offer you the rest of the cake. He didn’t mind waiting.
You kept chatting. He kept tapping.
Then, without really thinking about it, he lifted his hand, hooked two fingers through the belt loop of your dress pants, and tugged. Just enough.
You looked down at him for a moment, but when he didn’t look up and just tugged again, you returned your attention to Junhui, listening intently as you took a small step towards the couch.
Vernon’s mouth quirked in a small smile, and he let his hand just hang there, dangling from your belt loop, as he switched to playing a bubble-pop game and you said something back to Junhui.
After a moment, your hand settled on his head, fingers carding through his hair, and he couldn’t help the soft exhale that passed his lips, or the way his shoulders relaxed.
He popped colorful bubbles on his phone. You laughed at something Junhui said.
But his fingers stayed in your belt loop, and your hand stayed in his hair, and your hip bumped against his elbow and the arm of the couch.
And it was nice. Really nice.
Finally, Junhui abandoned you in favor of another drink, and Vernon paused his game immediately, looking up expectantly as you turned to him with a little smile.
“You need something?” you hummed, eyes flicking to where he still clung to your belt loop. He smiled, but the tips of his ears dusted pink.
“C’mon, sit down. I saved you some cake.”
“Sit down where?” you said with a laugh, and Vernon glanced beside him to find Jeonghan’s socked feet a little too close.
“Oh. Here, then.” He tugged at the loop again, guiding you around the arm of the couch and down onto his lap, tucking his phone under his thigh. “Comfy?”
You relaxed into him, shoulder against his chest and cheek on his shoulder, and nodded. “Very. You?”
“Always.”
He slipped his hand from your belt loop at last, his palm gently meeting the small of your back to steady you as he leaned forward and retrieved the plate of cake. There were only a few bites left, a small mess of strawberry, frosting, and vanilla cake. You took the plate, holding it still as Vernon scraped a balanced bite together and lifted it onto the fork.
“Open.”
It was a little bit question, a little bit command, but you opened your mouth anyway, eyes widening as the cake hit your tongue.
Vernon grinned, watching you chew, already preparing another forkful. “Good, right?”
“Wow,” you said, swallowing. “Mingyu outdid himself.”
“Yeah. Shoot, I should’ve saved more for you –”
“No, this is fine,” you interrupted quickly, flashing him a smile. “It’s really sweet.”
He nodded, understanding. “Right. Two more bites okay?”
“Yeah, that’s fine. It is good.”
“Mm. Open.”
Two bites later, and he scraped the last bits of frosting off the plate and into his own mouth before tossing the plate back onto the coffee table and sitting back on the couch. He looped his arms around your waist, pulling you back with him, and you went willingly, tucking your head just under his chin. His thumb pressed into your side.
“I missed you,” he murmured quietly into your hair, and you smiled against his sternum.
“I know. You said that already.”
“Yeah, well, I wanna say it again. You’ve been so busy this week.”
“I know, love,” you whispered, tracing over the fabric of his white t-shirt. It rode up over his hip, just for a moment, and you tugged it back into place. “Why don’t you come over after this? We can watch a movie, your pick.”
Vernon nodded. His thumb tapped at your hip. “Or we could get Denny’s and just talk?”
You pulled your head back, smiling, and he glanced down to meet your eyes. “Impromptu date night?”
“Impromptu Denny’s date night.”
“Yeah.” You settled back against him. “That sounds nice.”
“Good. I miss hearing you talk.”
“I call you on the way home from work all the time.”
“Yeah, but it’s not the same, you know? I don’t get this.”
“Don’t get what?”
Vernon lifted one hand from your waist and slipped his fingers between yours. “This. I’ve missed this.”
You stifled a laugh. “And all your friends say you hate when they touch you, huh?”
“Well, they’re not you.”
“Oh, so I get special privileges?”
“Yeah. You get a lot, actually. Call it pretty privilege.” He squeezed your hand, casual but confident, and your cheeks burned with a smile.
“Awww…”
“WHOA!” Soonyoung screeched suddenly. “VERNON’S CUDDLING? I WANT CUDDLES!”
“Soonyoung!” Vernon protested, one hand rising to hide your giggling face in his chest, but Soonyoung was already launching himself at the couch.
“CUDDLLLES!”
how deeply stained
genre/warnings/wc. gn!reader. suggestive, angst, vague historical + war au. one allusion to off-screen sex so mdni. in the same universe as push and pull (royal!yjh x general!reader). unbeta’d, mistakes my own. 0.9k. note. for @kmgswrld, in response to jeonghan + an izumi shikibu tanka. thank you so much for waiting!! part of anchors.
Against all odds, spring arrives quietly.
Jeonghan watches the plum blossoms overhead flutter with the wind. The stars peek through from beyond the little flowers; their stillness contrasts with the swaying branches.
A part of him dreads the thaw—there is already a meeting scheduled at dawn tomorrow, to discuss their next plans. More intel from spies, more poring over maps and strategies, more little wooden pieces on the table. As though they did not represent real men who might not live to see the cherry blossoms, much less their families.
“I should have known I’d find you here, Your Highness.”
Jeonghan swivels around, meeting your eyes. “Big day tomorrow, general.”
You click your tongue. “Not quite; we are deciding on the big day tomorrow.”
“Hm.” He pats the space beside him. “Sit with me.” In the low light, he catches you purse your lips for a moment before acquiescing, settling down a respectable distance away from where his hand had been. Jeonghan huffs. “No one is watching.”
“Indeed.” You remain where you are.
“So straitlaced, my general is.”
“It has kept our men alive so far.” You lift your hand, taking a quick swig off your flask. Jeonghan grins.
“And yet, you drink.”
You scowl, swigging again. “I am a general, not a monk.”
Jeonghan snakes his hand around your waist, pulling you flush against his side. You inhale sharply; one hand braces your fall against his chest. The flask drops to the ground beside you, empty.
“I know very well that you are no monk.” You shiver when his breath hits the shell of your ear. Jeonghan dips his chin to nose the spot just under your jaw. A featherlight kiss against your pulse, and he hears your shaky exhale. The faint smell of alcohol clings to you, combined with sweat and a musk that drives him mad.
When you are pressed up against him like this, he is so very easily lost.
“Darling…” he sighs against your skin. He pulls you closer, onto his lap—and for all your heated debates and protests while on duty, you are surprisingly pliant in his arms, all but melting when he finally pulls away from your neck to catch your mouth with his own.
“I told you—not to call me that…” You sigh against his lips with barely any heat. Jeonghan simply hums.
His hands trail along your body, pressing against your clothes to imagine the heat of your skin beneath. He grunts as your hands trail up, curling around his nape, pulling the hairs on the back of his head until he reluctantly gets the message.
“We can’t,” you murmur. You’re panting softly, mouth kiss-swollen, pupils blown in a way he knows mirrors his own. Even now, when discouraging him, your fingers toy with his hair, soft as a lover.
“Not even somewhere private? My bed misses you, you know.” You huff a small laugh at that.
“Don’t foist your sentimentalities on your furniture, Your Highness. Besides,” your expression sobers, “We must prepare for battle soon.”
“Are our assignations truly over, then?” He keeps his voice light, though something in him cracks all the same.
Your hand stops carding through his hair. “Your Highness, I…”
“We did agree it would only be for the winter.”
He catches the split second your composure cracks, your eyes betraying your devastation before you don again the façade of your persona. “Indeed.”
As though the world had also decided to let the moment fade, Jeonghan hears, more clearly, the sounds from the camp. The wild merriment was a needed morale boost—something to bridge the cold anxiety of winter vigilance and the inevitable clash its thawing would bring.
“I take my leave, then.” You bow shortly. You begin to stand, picking up the flask while arranging your clothes so no one would be the wiser.
“Wait,” Jeonghan says, standing, before he can stop himself. He clamps a hand down your wrist. You halt. “Will you still not call me by my name?”
There is a war behind your gaze. You lips purse, then part, then purse once more.
He tugs you back to him, and you return his passion equally, betraying yourself, cupping his face with your hand.
“Please?” He breathes against your lips. You part from him, resting your forehead against his.
“Jeonghan,” you murmur finally. “I am sorry it had to be this way.” He shakes his head.
“Do you remember what I said before we rode to war?” He whispers.
“You said you will…” You swallow. “You will come out of this war with me or not at all.”
“Indeed. That has not changed.” He cups the hand on his face with his own, clasping it gently between his own, feeling your rough callouses against his fingers.
He thinks of the plum blossoms again. Tomorrow, he will be able to see them in all their crimson glory. If he were a poet, he would find some metaphor in how they bloomed even in the cold. Even the way they sometimes stain the white landscape in deep red seems an apt metaphor.
The only color war interests itself in is blood red. Yet when he bleeds, he feels himself stained with a different battle entirely.
“My general,” he sighs. Jeonghan lets his mouth rest around those words. He has been sharpened and cut by them, defeated and made victorious. My as in allegiance. My as in an oath. My as in devotion. General as in his right hand. General as in his sword. General as in the one he could have in battle, but never in peace.
Jeonghan knows—he may detest war, but in his heart of hearts he thanks it for being the only time he could keep you.
He kisses the inside of your wrist before releasing you. “I will see you at dawn.” Your smile does not reach your eyes, even as you bow shortly and walk away.
note. plum blossoms (ume) predate cherry blossoms (sakura) as the flower of prestige in ancient japan. where sakura represents transience (mono no aware), plum blossoms were known for resilience, as they bloom through the cold of winter to herald early spring. they can be white, pink, magenta, deep red, etc. ume blooms before sakura, hence the reference that soldiers may die before they see the latter. that said, in the heian period (when the tanka inspiring this would have been from), the sakura would gradually begin to be more popular.
anyway thank you for waiting so very patiently for me <3 i will be working on the next anchor drabbles too; work has finally eased up a teeny tiny bit
seventeen as the love and deepspace love interests
FEATURING. seventeen (seungcheol, joshua, jun, wonwoo, mingyu) as lads men (xavier, rafayel, zayne, sylus, caleb) GENRE. fluff, maybe some angst, headcanons WARNINGS. vague spoilers abt lads men + MC backstories, myths/memories, and lore, MC in this headcanon is referred as "you"
notes: LMAO i am just making this for fun JDKAS dedicated to any carats and lads players who follow me hehe.... lmk ur thoughts!!!
xavier (shěn xīnghuí 沈星回) as wen junhui
JUN WITH A SWORD!!! WHAT ELSE DO I NEED TO SAY!!! ESP HIM AS KING OF DARKKNIGHT!!! anyways, xavier is typically characterised calm, boyish, a lil awkward (even tho it's all a facade), mysterious, and hella sleepy (this man can sleep in any situation in the game LMAO), which i believe fits jun a lot. imagining jun with a sword and slaying wanderers alongside you is just so 🫦. constantly puts himself on the line for you is his way of showing his love and affection. definitely more affectionate in private, cuz behind closed doors, he's def pouncing on you. across your shared past lives and timelines, you both have that "star-crossed lovers" trope as you two are often eventually doomed to fall apart but find each other again and again (he's waited for you in each one 🥹).
"Then you're aware. No matter how long it takes, I will find you. I kept my word." - Xavier
rafayel (qí yù 祁煜) as joshua hong
it was so so hard to decide between shua and hao! ultimately, i chose shua for this. rafayel is very playful, teasing, charming, dramatic, and lowkey has an evil streak that contrasts heavily with his gentleman and genuine appearance (also fyi, yes the love interests in this game are all morally grey asf). imagining joshua as lemurian sea god with his luscious long hair and tail tho..... UGH or even abysswalker. he does get sad when you don't remember any of your past lives together, but still shares that intense state of longing for you as you two are pretty much bounded by fate across every lifetime. you both also share the same "star-crossed lovers" trope cause you often sacrifice yourself for him in each timeline.
"I wish the person who vowed to stay by my side keeps her promise and is by my side every year. And that she shows me her world." - Rafayel
zayne (lí shēn 黎深) as jeon wonwoo
self-explanatary asf. zayne has that stoic and collected demeanour but is entirely quietly devoted to you (ALSO GLASSES!!!), which fits wonwoo so much. zayne/wonwoo as your childhood friend who later on becomes your primary care physician/cardiac surgeon to protect you after accidentally hurting you with his evol when you were kids and you having a fragmented memory and heart condition. has the classic "red string of fate" trope with you all across the different timelines and memories, sometimes even sacrificing his own happiness/life/power just so you can live freely (IMAGINING WONWOO AS GOD OF ANNILHILATION IS KILLING ME.......).
"Real life doesn't always have happy endings. However… with you here, my story won't end in tragedy." - Zayne
sylus (qín chè 秦彻) as choi seungcheol
classic bad boy trope. sylus is highly influential, very confident, direct, and very much a thrill seeker. imagining cheol as the leader of onychinus and his huge ass wardrobe of powerful weapons got me KICKING MY FEET. but even despite his intimidating aura, there's always a soft side to him that comes out in his vulnerable affection toward you and his support of your autonomy, than forcing you to remember your past timelines with him. every timeline, you both share a fated "enemies to lovers" trope (literally cause every sylus myth card shows you both trying to kill each other then kissing right away pretty much LMAO). could destroy you honestly, but would rather burn the entire world just for you instead.
"If you were also an art piece, then whoever created you must have loved you dearly." - Sylus
caleb (xià yǐzhòu 夏以昼) as kim mingyu
ngl caleb has been growing a lot on me lately, esp after his latest myth (even tho i had HORRIBLE LUCK). caleb is basically a very cheerful puppy and will do anything to bring a smile to your face and has that boy-next-door charm, which fits mingyu a lot hehe. also i'm pretty sure him and caleb are the same height so??? he is also VERY protective, possessive of you, and pampers you a lot. in the game, he's basically your childhood friend turned adoptive older stepbrother, then becomes a top colonel of the farspace fleet and then you ultimately become lovers lmao. basically your entire relationship is built on the "forbidden love" trope in all of his myths/memories and honestly i've been eating it up.
"I've always held myself back and endured. Day, after day, after day. It was suffocating. But now, I'm tired of playing these games." - Caleb
perm taglist (open) ʚɞ
@sn4psh00t @slytherinshua @seungkw1 @starshuas @etherealyoungk
@bananabubble @parakissss @eskoupe @gent1es3xy @cherryophile
@jaja-salute @mellow-wishes
always the lover, never the loved ⁖ y.jh
⁖ synopsis: with wallowing comes doubt, and with doubt comes loss of reason...and other things. ⁖ genre: lovers to ??? ; angst, mentions of suggestive themes. ⁖ pairing: boyfriend!yoon jeonghan x fem!reader ⁖ word count: 2k. ⁖ rating: 18+. minors do not interact. ⁖ warnings: alluding to toxic relationships? alcohol, smoking (weed), mentions of sex. commitment issues and seeing things in different lights, mentions of blood. ⁖ what to listen to: fade into you - mazzy star ; haunted - searows ; my heart is for you - peter sandberg. ⁖ author's note: welcome to haologram, jeonghan.
JEONGHAN FEELS LIKE HE'S TRAPPED IN A VICIOUS CYCLE OF LOVING YOU AND WISHING HE'D DISAPPEAR FROM YOUR LIFE.
Everything is about appearances. He finds himself constantly checking the mirror, constantly sitting up, constantly smoothing his pants over his thighs as you walk by. He can't sit still, wishing and hoping for your approval and wondering when he'd get it.
He feels like he's always the lover, and never the loved.
He feels like he gives you more than he receives, and his heart is growing tired. He is growing tired, eyes weary and never able to see the beginning of the end. It feels like every time he's about to reach it, to reach the bottom of his love for you – you pick him up and put him right back at the start.
And he knows it's not healthy. He knows it's not good for him to fall for it every single time – for your featherlight touches across his shoulders, your mischievous smiles over glasses of wine. The way your lips feel against his skin, warm and inviting and like you love him. Like you love him, and want him to stay forever wrapped around you like a python until he cuts off your circulation. Because you once said, before he ever felt that twinge in his heart when someone mentions your name – that Jeonghan…he was to die for. That Jeonghan was the devil incarnate but you'd gladly let him rip you to shreds, that he had the face of an angel that would lure you into the deepest pits of hell and you'd follow without a second thought.
That Jeonghan was the embodiment of choking on your own blood, still tasting the crimson river of life as you succumb to the darkness.
Maybe Jeonghan romanticized that more than he realized – because he found himself thinking about you afterwards. Not just for a few moments, no; he thought about you for hours. Long, agonizing hours that seemed to never end. He picked at his food, he laid awake at night, he couldn't breathe without your smiling face crossing his mind.
Even now, as your boyfriend of two years…he thinks about you every single moment of his waking day and it feels like a sickness.
He thinks about how you furrow your brow when the food is really good. He thinks about how you stare intently at whoever is speaking, and still manage to hear quiet somebodies who didn't get the attention they wanted from the group – encouraging them to repeat themselves with everyone's eyes on them. He thinks about how you only wear gold earrings, thick hoops of all sizes swinging from your lobes. He thinks about how you smelled, the scent fresh and minty and always paired with the smell of sunscreen, no matter the weather.
He thinks about how you always pour his drink, how you always taste his food if he offers, how you always make it a point to sit next to him, even at dinners. He thinks about how you speak softly to him but boldly to everyone else, how you smile at his stupid jokes and nudge him with your elbow. How you wear the same sparkly lipgloss every single day after he told you it was pretty when you were still just friends.
He thinks about how you kissed him when you were still just friends, too – on his couch, three years ago. Your tongue tasted like limes and tequila and fun, and you let him pull you onto his lap and run his hands all over you, dipping into your shorts and pulling your tank top over your head. How the sex was messy and wet and loud, with you simply filling his senses like an overflowing cup and he couldn't sleep for weeks after.
He thinks about how you acted like nothing had ever happened to the naked eye, still acting like you were friends then. You still poured his drinks, you still sat next to him at dinners. You still smiled at his bad jokes, still wore your pretty lipgloss and spoke to him softly.
But your hands wandered beneath the dinner table, sliding up his thigh and squeezing while having the most mundane conversations about nothing. You'd brush your lips to the shell of his ear and whisper dirty little secrets while making it seem like it was pertinent to the conversations around you. You'd slide your hand across his waist if you were passing by, and no one in your group of friends noticed.
You drove him absolutely insane, bit by bit. Like you knew every single tick, what to make him pop. You pulled every string, pressed every button until he – like you had described – savored the metallic twinge in his mouth as he fell harder than he ever had for anyone.
And for a while, it was everything he would have never imagined – falling in love with you felt like Fade Into You by Mazzy Star. He felt such a deep, gnawing feeling of longing; his days occupied with planning dates and calling florists and dropping by your job with feigned nonchalance and an iced chai for your troubles. He couldn't go more than a few hours without hearing from you or seeing you, and he was practically vibrating out of his skin when he couldn't spend the night at your apartment.
It was so unlike him.
All his other relationships were filled with playful banter, teasing, light-hearted conversations about everything and nothing. Shy smiles and featherlight kissing.
With you…he was rendered speechless. You played his games but you played them far better – and everything was done with purpose and intention. Every conversation held weight, each one heavier than the last and absolutely addicting for him. Every smile was confident, every kiss thick with lust and yearning and the deepest rooted love he'd ever felt.
It felt weird, he felt out of place and he started feeling the odd twinge in his chest of things being too serious. He felt a bout of uneasiness crawl up his throat every time his phone pinged with your name, every time he heard your voice, every time he heard the signature double-knock of your fist against his front door before your key turned the lock.
You felt like a commitment, and he wasn't sure he was ready for it. You felt heavy on his heart, a weight that he couldn't shake off and it was only cemented more as you kissed him, touched him, loved him. He felt trapped, like a box was closing in on him and it was just your warmth.
And it felt heavier, the pressure to love you back, as he learned more about you. How you feared abandonment, spoken after too many glasses of wine and a teary spliff on the roof of your apartment building. How you wanted a family, how you wanted a home to call your own. How you wanted so desperately to be loved the way you loved, with weight, with purpose.
With the intention of staying forever.
And Jeonghan felt like shit when he realized that it was you who was the lover and he, the loved. He felt his chest tight when you peered at him through wet lashes, eyes full of understanding as they flickered over his face.
Your voice, softer than ever. "It's okay if you leave, too, Hannie."
And he did. He left, without saying anything. He picked up his jacket from the ground, shoving his arms through it as you took a silent drag from the joint in your hand. You didn't say goodbye, you didn't turn around, you didn't say anything as he made his way down the fire escape and into your apartment.
He couldn't feel anything as he tumbled through the window of the bedroom he'd shared with you so many nights, your dark green sheets comforting his wandering mind. He looked at the array of lipgloss on your vanity, his fingers hovering over the pink tube that held his favorite one. He picked it up, rolling it through his fingers before shoving it into his pocket.
He kept his eyes down as he made his way through the apartment, muscle memory picking up his things and throwing some away. His toothbrush tossed in your trashcan, his moisturizer tucked in his hand. He stood in the living room, several framed pictures of you and him pinned up on your walls making his stomach turn.
He made his way home, locking the door and sliding his key under the doormat. He was silent as he held your lipgloss in his hand, opting to walk the seven blocks to his apartment in silence. He looked over his shoulder as he crossed the street, seeing you watching him from the roof of your building. You waved, a soft smile on your face as his hand clenched around the lip gloss. He turns without waving back, and feels his chest oddly empty as he makes it home.
And he sees your key already sitting in the bowl on his foyer table. His sweatshirts you'd taken folded neatly in a box, and every gift he'd ever given you. A bottle of the perfume you wore, half-finished and given to you by him when he saw you run out a few months back. Pictures, seven of them. Tucked under a Balenciaga shirt that he'd stolen from Seungcheol a few years ago. Pictures of you and him – at the river, at the fair, at dinners surrounded by your friends. The private relationship that had everyone's eyes glued to you and him, sharing appetizers and quietly smiling at each other.
He can't stand looking at them, feeling the panic of making a rash decision settle in his bones. He closes his eyes, leaning against his front door but all he can see is you.
You, in his bed after spending the night. Your lashes kissing your cheeks, your lips pouty as the sun bleeds through the blinds. You, in his arms in the shower – his lips pressed to your shampooed hairline and blowing the foam back into your face as you scowl. You, and the tears you held back during your first fight before you slipped out of his apartment with a kiss to his cheek and an I love you, Hannie.
You, when you met his best friend in the entire world – and how he immediately warned Jeonghan to treat you gently. To hold you dear, to cherish your every breath and worship your existence. Maybe Seungcheol knew something Jeonghan didn't, but Jeonghan knew you. He knew your tactics, he knew your body like the back of his hand. He knew…he knew…
Your smiling face, your kind eyes, your heart on your sleeve and simultaneously, in his hands. Now crushed, bleeding and in need of repair.
Because you were always the lover that yearned for him for years. You were the lover who watched him carefully, who learned him, who soothed him.
You were the lover that he needed to help him realize he had to change.
And he would always be the loved. In past and present tense, but someday…three years from now, when you're sitting next to his best friend – who didn't ask him if it was okay to date you, either – with your hand on his thigh. When you're speaking to him softly, and pouring his drinks while you sit next to him at dinner. When you're calling him Cheollie and wearing a cherry red lip gloss that makes your lips look like Heaven.
When you're kissing him with purpose as he bids you goodnight after walking you to your car, your smile mischievous and your hand slipped into the back pocket of his jeans. When you accidentally glance over his shoulder and see Jeonghan, his fingers tight around a shot glass of tequila that reminds him of your first kiss…
He will realize, he is in fact the lover. And you will forever be the one he loves.
haologram © 2025 || no translations, reposting or modifications are allowed. do not claim as your own. viewer discretion is advised. your media consumption is your responsibility.
heads up: long distance relationship.
there's something so cute about seeing you on the other side of this video call, party hat on and beaming at seokmin the second he comes back into frame. he's carrying the package that arrived two days ago, still sealed up, and gripping a pair of scissors to slice through the tape with. he sets it down in his chair, opting to stay standing as he opens this.
"i'm recording, by the way," you grin, resting your chin in your hand. "push your screen back a little more."
he fixes it, and he's already slicing the tape open and opening the box. there's tissue paper and those little paper crinkles cushioning everything... and already, he sees that the hoodie on top of everything matches the one that you're wearing now.
"you're really cute," he says as he peeks back up at you. the one you bought for him is black, but it has the same red embroidery on it: a little heart in the middle of the chest that look as though there's a thread extending off and into the distance...
kind of like the two of you. like anyone in a relationship like this, to be fair, but seokmin finds it cute. he steps back, pulling the hoodie on, and your laugh at how it messes his hair up is enough to fuel him for days. he continues to go through your gifts: a few t-shirts, a few candies from where you are that you think he'd like (and a few you know he does), little novelty gifts that remind you of him...
and then a box. he pops it open, brows furrowing at the ring inside. "are you...?"
"it's not a proposal," you say quickly, waving your hands. "but... you kept saying you wanted something like a ring so you could show me off somehow..."
he did. and he does. he slips it onto his ring finger, the one wedding rings go on. even if the two of you never decide to get married... he'll take it as a promise. seokmin sets the box down beside his desk, sitting down and rolling his chair forward. "september," he says, softly. another promise between the two of you.
and you smile, too. "september." you reaffirm, and it's at this point that he realizes that your apartment is a little emptier than it was before. the books on your bookshelf are missing (sorted through, with the ones you're sending to him already boxed up), and your walls are a little more bare than they were before--did you sell the tapestry already? or did you decide you'll keep that, too?
"hey." you get his attention back all too easily, your cheek in your palm. "happy birthday. i'm gonna be so insufferable next year."
he'll challenge that any day of the year. "i don't think you're ready for me to spoil you," he chuckles. "i love you."
you say it back. and one day, he'll say it to you over and over between kisses, thankful that you won't have to leave his arms for too long ever again.
late night softness
content: fluff, established relationship, late night conversation, soft affection
the hotel room is quiet in that soft way late nights always are. warm lamps, the hum of the air conditioner, the faint sounds of the city somewhere far below. it’s almost one in the morning. chan is sitting on the edge of the bed, shoulders relaxed, hair messy from a long day, t-shirt slightly wrinkled from practice. he looks tired, but not in a bad way. just the kind of tired that comes after doing something you love for hours.
you’re standing nearby, brushing out your hair, moving slowly because the day drained you too.
he’s been quiet for a while. when you glance at him through the mirror, you notice he’s looking at you.
not casually. really looking.
“what?” you mumble, a small smile already tugging at your mouth.
he doesn’t answer right away. just tilts his head a little, eyes soft in that thoughtful way he gets when something is sitting on his mind.
“nothing,” he says quietly.
you narrow your eyes. “that’s not a nothing look.”
he lets out a small breath of a laugh, rubbing the back of his neck before looking down at his hands for a second. “i was just thinking,” he says.
you walk over, stopping between his knees, arms loosely folded. “that’s dangerous.”
he snorts softly at that. then he looks up again. and this time his gaze is a little heavier. warmer.
“i think i like nights like this the most,” he says.
you tilt your head. “doing nothing?”
“doing nothing with you.”
it’s such a simple sentence it almost knocks the air out of your chest. the room stays quiet for a second, the lamp behind him casting a soft glow along his cheekbones.
“you’re cheesy today,” you tease, though your voice is softer now.
“i’m serious,” he says immediately, reaching out and resting his hands lightly on your waist, thumbs brushing absentmindedly against the fabric of your shirt. “today was loud. practice, everyone talking at the same time…”
he glances around the room. “but this?” he says. “this is nice.”
you study him for a moment. the relaxed shoulders, the sleepy eyes, the way his hands are still loosely holding onto you like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
“you’re getting soft, lee chan.”
he smiles at that, a small one that barely lifts one corner of his mouth.
“only with you.”
your fingers slide into his hair without thinking, pushing the messy strands away from his forehead. he leans into the touch immediately, eyes fluttering shut for a second like a cat getting petted.
“tired?” you ask.
“a little.”
“we should sleep then.”
“in a minute.”
his hands tighten just enough to pull you closer until you’re standing right between his knees. his cheek presses lightly against your stomach, arms loosely wrapping around your waist. you laugh quietly, surprised by the sudden affection.
“chan.”
“mm.”
“what are you doing?”
his voice comes out muffled against your shirt.
“hugging you.”
“on my stomach?”
“it’s comfortable.”
you shake your head, but your hands move to his hair again anyway, scratching lightly at his scalp.
he melts instantly.
“see?” he murmurs. “this is what i mean.”
“what?”
he tilts his head back just enough to look up at you. his eyes are soft. sleepy. warm in a way that makes your chest feel full. “this is my favorite part of the day.”
you blink. “you saying that because you’re tired.”
“no,” he says, shaking his head slightly. “i’m saying it because when everything stops and it’s just us… it feels like i can breathe again.”
for a moment neither of you say anything. you lean down, pressing a gentle kiss into his hair.
“you’re really soft tonight,” you murmur.
he hums contentedly. “don’t tell the guys.”
you laugh under your breath. “your secret is safe with me.”
his arms tighten around your waist just a little more. “good,” he says quietly.
and for a long moment, neither of you move, just standing there in the quiet hotel room, wrapped around each other while the night slowly settles in.
© mingyusgfr
build this dream together masterlist
🏎️💨 Brought to you by @camandemstudios' Lights Out Collab 🏎️💨 Part of the Race Weekend universe
F1 GLOSSARY FOR THIS FIC pairing: f1 driver!joshua x race engineer!reader status: complete word count: 93.9k genre: strangers to coworkers to lovers, romcom
As his race engineer, you’ve spent five amazing years guiding McLaren superstar, Joshua Hong, to victory after victory. But in that fifth year, you learn something horrifying about yourself: you’ve fallen in love with your driver. You’re not willing to let your heart get in the way of everything you’ve worked for, so you do the one thing you know is guaranteed to keep both of your careers safe: you leave.
Two years later, Joshua inadvertently comes crashing back into your life with an announcement that rocks the F1 world. Before you know it, you’re on his doorstep with an offer you know he won’t be able to refuse, ready to guide him back to where he needs to be—one last time.
content warnings: fem!reader, flashbacks, reader faces the typical misogyny you would expect in a male-dominated sport, descriptions of a crash during a race but no one gets hurt, nauseating levels of girl power, side characters portrayed by other idols (katseye, le sserafim, twice, and bts)
chapters
✦ teaser ✦ part one - 31.5k words ✦ part two - 16.3k words ✦ part three - 17.7k words ✦ part four/epilogue - 28.4k words
♫ nothing's gonna stop us now starship ⟡ hope ur ok olivia rodrigo ⟡ don't dream it's over crowded house ⟡ shoong! taeyang feat. lisa ⟡ run BTS BTS ⟡ airplane pt. 2 BTS ⟡ you are in love taylor swift ⟡ we can't be friends ariana grande ⟡ still into you paramore ⟡ team lorde ⟡ mantra jennie ⟡ shut up and drive rihanna ⟡ strategy twice feat. megan thee stallion ⟡ chasing that feeling TXT ⟡ your love jisoo ⟡ heat waves glass animals ⟡ without you david guetta feat. usher ⟡ love me like you do ellie goulding ⟡ thunder seventeen
credits: photos - pinterest (ctto); banner/dividers/edits - me
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WHAT THE FIRE SPARES [ACT I]
pairing: joshua hong x f!reader genre: angst, murder mystery, slowburn romance, plot heavy description: After fifteen years of exile, you return to a kingdom that has learned to fear you in your absence. Your twin, Jeonghan, is gone. The crown is unclaimed, and the silence left behind is heavier than any decree. Blood grants you entry where mercy never would, and as you step back into halls that remember you too well, it becomes clear that what was once delayed has not been undone—only waiting. warnings: major character death (not lead characters, but central to the narrative), funeral and corpse imagery, political and power struggles, heavy religious and prophetic themes, violence, fighting, swords and weapons, non-graphic injury/blood, supernatural/haunting elements, psychological distress and grief, themes of exile and isolation, and, as most of my works go: slowburn. as hell. w/c: 10.5k
MASTERLIST / ACT II
a/n: i’ve been working on this fic for almost a year now, and finally sharing it feels a little strange and a little exciting. it’s been a challenge, but also something i’ve grown pretty fond of and proud of, so I hope you like it as much as I do. also made a few post formatting changes to see if i like them! as always, my love and gratitude goes to hershey ( @junplusone ) for being my number one hypegirl and reader, and a huge, huge thank you to viv ( @heartepub ), without whom this fic would be far rougher around the edges. your feedback and care mean the world to me hehe!! comments/rbs/asks are always very much appreciated—please do spread the love🐦🔥
The Return of the Twin Flame
The sky is a dark, rumbling grey when you walk in through the palace gates. The guards hesitate behind you, but the power to deny royal blood has never been vested in them.
The cold southern wind blows past the tall central spires, the sconces struggling to keep the fire burning in them. The courtyards are mostly empty, and while it's been years since you've set foot in this place, it almost feels familiar, bearing a small semblance to something like home.
You hear the clinking of armor as a guard catches up to you, matching your stride.
“May I take you to your brother, Princess?”
You nod wordlessly. After all, it is what you're here for.
He leads you through halls that you once knew and have long forgotten now, corridors that you spent your childhood in. Chasing, hiding, and seeking for your brother.
You haven't seen him in years either. Only heard of the news of his achievements. Oh dear, he's managed to bring the neighbouring kingdoms into alliances, managed to keep the economy stable, managed to keep the people safe and happy. Managed to maintain his end of the prophecy.
You wonder if he has changed now. Whether, when you see him, he’ll look on with a peaceful expression, the serpentine curl of his lips settled, the sparkle in his eyes slightly subdued.
It's been years. So long, that on some nights, you wonder how much longer you'll remember the way he looks, the way he talks, the way he walks and the way he carries himself.
When the guard finally stops, you realise you're in the innermost courtyard, the one right at the centre of the palace. There is a small crowd at the centre that parts like the Red Sea when they catch sight of you.
Your lips harden, pursing in distaste as you walk forward, head held high. Your skin itches with the urge to see every single one of them drop dead at your hands.
But for now, you hold it in. For now.
When you finally peer down, Jeonghan looks nothing like you expected him to.
For the first time since you made your decision to come back, your heart stutters—hard, like an animal cornered.
Jeonghan looks…troubled. Even in death, surrounded by the flowers thrown at his casket, dressed in the finest robes this kingdom could offer, Jeonghan looks troubled.
His lips are curled almost bitterly and his muscles seem tense, jaw locked. The thought that he might have carried this expression in his last moments alive disturbs you. For a moment, you wonder what his eyes look like behind those lids. But you'd rather not know.
The first person to approach you is someone who is slightly familiar. Joshua Hong, from the third Hong family, comes to a stop nearly two feet away from you, but his voice is carried by the mourning wind. Strong and clear.
“Princess. We did not expect you to be back so soon.”
You almost scoff at that.
“I'm sure you didn't. In fact, I suppose it was made clear that I was to never come back.”
No one has the audacity to reply to you. You can hear the uneasy murmurs passing through the crowd, mainly consisting of ministers and court officials.
You turn back to your twin. The savior, the shield, the well-fated of the two of you. You give yourself a few minutes to mourn, in pin-drop silence.
Hearing about it was one thing. Seeing it is another. When you finally start thinking that there is nothing else that this godforsaken kingdom can take from you, it always comes up with something new. This one hurts the most.
For the first time since you left, all those years ago, you feel this part of you breaking off again. It's belonged to Jeonghan, ever since you were born.
It's hard to believe that the boy who completed you, in all aspects, is gone for good. Dawn and Dusk, you've heard. The Good and the Bad, the Pretty and the Ugly, the Shield and the Sword, the Savior and the Destroyer.
No more ‘and’.
The wind numbs your cheeks, so that you don't even notice the few teardrops that fall down your face.
When you finally turn back to them, your face is set back into stone again, shoulders rolled back, chin up and eyes sharp. You look at Joshua.
“You were my brother's advisor and right hand man, yes?” You ask, voice cutting through the thick atmosphere as clear as the first drops of rain that are about to hit.
He nods, face solemn.
“Good. You shall be mine, from now on.” You turn away from him, looking at the guard now.
“Get my brother out of the casket.”
A ripple of shock and confusion spreads through the crowd, and the guard looks stunned, wondering if he should follow your instructions. You pay no mind to it all.
“Get him out of the casket, now.” You repeat, leaving no room for argument as you search through the crowd for any challengers. Many men sit with their lips pursed, tongue pressing against them like they might speak out any moment. But a lot of them are cowards. They wouldn't dare say anything to you. Not right now.
“He shall be burned upon a pyre.” You continue, stepping away from Jeonghan. “His ashes are to be given to me when it is done.”
You notice the tick in Joshua's jaw, his eyes observing you carefully. You don't look away from him, and after a few seconds he nods. The guard hurries away to call for help.
“Princess, are you sure? It's custom to bury—” He begins, but you raise a finger, instantly shutting him up.
“If you were his closest friend, you would know that my brother would've never wanted to be one with the soil of this place.” You almost grit out.
The silence that follows is thick. Joshua stands, frozen for a few seconds before he looks away, shaking his head. You’re quick to recognize the doubt and frustration in his eyes when he glances back at you. But before he can speak again, a new voice cuts through the tension, deep and commanding.
“You’re making a mistake.”
You turn sharply, your eyes narrowing in response to the voice. A man steps forward, tall and imposing, his dark military cloak billowing slightly in the cold wind. His face is stern, eyes sharp and commanding, but there’s something about him—something in the way he carries himself—that speaks of years of authority. He’s a stranger to you, but the people around seem to find solace in his presence.
“You are?” you ask, barely masking your disdain.
“General Choi Seungcheol,” he replies, stepping closer, unbothered by your clear distaste. “Head of the royal military forces.”
“And?” You sound almost bored when you look away from him, back to Jeonghan. You know this is what he would’ve wanted. It doesn’t matter that the last time you spoke was more than ten years ago. Doesn’t matter that this courtyard is probably full of the people your brother had spent his last days talking to.
It’s something you find hard to explain, but in a way Jeonghan has always been with you and you have always been with him. Even when sent to exile, the invisible string that held you two together had always been taut, tugging at your heart and gut from thousands of miles away. It was a presence, a quiet knowing that stretched beyond time and space. Your sorrow, his. His happiness, yours. Today, the string slackens the longer you stare at him. There’s empty, hollow and cold silence from his side.
Seungcheol’s voice is still firm when he replies. “It’s my duty to ensure that the kingdom’s traditions are followed. Your brother—”
“My brother, yes.” You interrupt, eyes narrowing at him, “And as far as I know, I am the only living blood of his.”
The general bristles at that, glancing at Joshua. The latter doesn’t say anything. His eyes have been trained on the ground from the moment Seungcheol stepped forward. You have the feeling that he is on your side.
“Am I not?” You ask.
“Princess, you must understand. The crown has its rules and customs that are to be carried out. You have no right to—”
“I do,” You are unwavering in your stance, “And I will have him burned. The flames shall show him more respect that this kingdom’s soil ever has. You will take him from that casket and carry out his last wish, as I’ve commanded.”
Seungcheol’s eyes flash, and he opens his mouth to protest, but you’re already moving past him, eyes cold, voice clipped. “And if you try to stop me, you shall find yourself at the wrong end of my sword, General.”
You turn to the man whom your brother trusted with his life. “And I trust that you shall keep your oath to serve the crown, yes?”
Joshua’s face hardens. There’s no more hesitation as he meets your eyes. He understands, you realise. Maybe he was against all this in the first place. You suppose out of all the superficial bonds Jeonghan must have made here, their’s must have been the realest.
He bows his head in your direction, low and respectful, before looking up again. “It is my duty, Princess.”
He steps forward, brushing past Seungcheol with barely a glance his way. This is him offering his loyalty. You are grateful.
You’ll need it.
By the time you step back into the palace halls, Joshua has caught up with you. But he doesn’t walk beside you, only behind. He is careful and smart, you realise. You are angry and upset at everything this place has ever symbolized, and he knows.
Your boots click loudly against the marble floors, echoing in the otherwise quiet halls. Every step feels like a defiance, a protest against the expectations this palace has forced on you since the moment you were born. You wonder if the floors tremble under you, forced to provide a path for the very being that has been told will bring their destruction. Do the tapestries of all your ancestors on the walls look at you in distrust, silent waiting in fear? You hope they do.
Outside, the skies thunder. If you were any less fired up, maybe you would’ve shivered from the cold.
When you finally stop, it’s in front of the doors that—if your memory serves you right—open up into the throne room. You don’t want to go inside yet, no. So you stand there and stare at the carvings on the huge doors. A pair of wings stretches wide across the wood, their feathers curling as if caught in an eternal wind. Below, a crown rests precariously atop a broken sword, the tip just barely touching the door’s edge.
Joshua waits for you to ask him. He thinks you will. You must. Who would not want to know about how their twin died?
But instead, the only thing you ask is—
“Aren’t you afraid?”
His brows furrow in confusion before he forces himself to clear his face of any expression.
“No, Princess.”
You hum, arms crossed as you inspect the door for a few more seconds before turning around on your heel. Your eyes are dark and piercing when you look at him. Joshua hasn’t met you many times before, but not much is required to tell him that you are nothing like your brother was.
“Shouldn’t you be?” you sigh, almost mockingly, “The Savior gone, the kingdom on edge… his evil twin sister in his place. How could you not be?”
Joshua remains quiet, but he doesn’t look away. He seems to be trying to figure you out, but it’ll take more than that. Finally, he replies.
“I do not believe in the prophecy, Princess.”
He hears you laugh for the first time. It’s a short, bitter sound, one that echoes in the halls—moments after you’re done.
“I trust Jeonghan,” he continues, “And Jeonghan trusted you.”
You nod multiple times, like you still don’t believe him. To you, it doesn’t matter. Not for now. You’d rather people fear you. Fear teaches. Fear disciplines.
“Sure,” you nod again, “You may not. But the kingdom will, and so will the court. They would hate to see the kingdom destroyed, would they not? How do you suppose we go about that, Joshua. Will they just accept me as their ruler?”
“You are the only one with royal blood.” Joshua nods, swallowing. “The court shall have no other choice.”
"No other choice, huh?" you repeat, almost amused. "But what if they don’t like the choices I make? The kingdom has despised me the moment that oracle opened her mouth. You think my fifteen years of exile has changed that?"
Joshua doesn't flinch, but you see the tension in his shoulders. He holds his ground, like he’s trying to understand where you’re going with this.
“The kingdom doesn't choose its rulers,” he says quietly, “The bloodline does. And that bloodline is yours.”
You tilt your head, "And you believe that’s enough to make them obey? To make them fear me, to make them respect me?"
Joshua hesitates, clearly torn. "Respect is earned, Princess. Fear is only temporary."
You shake your head, huffing out a scoff. "I think you misunderstand me, Joshua. I don’t need respect. Not from them. Not from anyone."
He has no reply to that. You don’t mind; you’ve made your stance clear.
“Where is the oracle?” You ask, turning back to the doors. The sight of the twin swords in the throne room never leaves your mind. You could push them open and see for yourself.
“Still in the village, Princess.”
Your fingers twitch, almost involuntarily. You remember her face, her eyes glowing with power as she spoke that cursed prophecy that had you exiled in the first place. The words still echo in your ears. One will build, and one will break.
“Bring her here.” You try to keep your voice light.
Joshua hesitates, “We’ve tried. Your brother tried, Princess. She would not come.”
“Then tell her that I am back, and that I am the one who summons her.” You order.
You hear his quiet breathing, him taking in a deep breath before he mutters. “Consider it done.”
Your lips curl into a smile, cold and calculating, before you push open the door and step inside.
The door to your old chambers creaks closed behind you, the sound eerily familiar. The room is cold, but it doesn’t faze you. It never did. Not when you were a child, and certainly not now. The walls—once adorned with vibrant tapestries, now faded and ghostly in the dim light—feel more like a cage than a sanctuary.
You step further inside, boots tapping against the worn floorboards. The same bed, the same desk, the same heavy drapes. Everything has stayed the same, frozen in time as if waiting for your return.
Your boots echo against the wooden floor as you walk toward the vanity, your fingers trailing the edges of the familiar pieces of furniture. Nothing has changed. Not really. The place feels empty, but it always did. The silence is different now, though. There’s a weight to it, like it’s pressing in on you, and it reminds you of something you can’t quite name.
You open the vanity drawer, the wood stiff under your fingers. Inside, there’s nothing but clutter—old trinkets, a half-empty bottle of ink, a few crumpled pieces of paper. But underneath it all, tucked carefully away, is a single feather. Too white. Too clean. Your fingers curl around it before you can stop yourself.
Jeonghan’s feather.
You know it’s his. Whose else could it be? That feeling of something familiar, something alive but long gone, fills the space around you. It's impossible, you think. He’s dead. There’s no reason for this. But the room feels like it’s closing in on you, the silence louder now, like a thousand voices whispering just out of reach.
You slam the drawer shut, swallowing hard.
It's nothing. Just your mind playing tricks on you.
The rain lashes against the windows. You stare at the vanity mirror, and for half a second, you could swear you see his face. His reflection flickers, just a glimpse, a heartbeat.
You blink, and it’s gone.
Your stomach drops, but you don’t look away.
The room feels colder. The silence is heavier. Then, in the corner, you hear something. A whisper. Barely there.
A voice.
You freeze.
The silence stretches. The rain slams against the windows in thick sheets, wind rattling the panes like a desperate hand trying to get in. A storm, just like before. The candlelight wavers again, and you watch as the shadows dance, growing longer, twisting into shapes that shouldn’t be there.
Your body refuses to move, caught between fight and flight. But where would you run?
The shadows stretch further, curling at the edges like outstretched fingers.
Your throat tightens. The room is empty. It is. But the whisper comes again, clearer this time. Close. So close.
A voice you know. A voice you could never forget.
The sound of three successive knocks crashes through the silence, sharp and sudden. Your whole body flinches. The candle flickers wildly, and the shadows collapse back into themselves, as if nothing had happened.
For a second, you just stand there, your heart hammering in your chest.
"Princess?"
Joshua.
Your fingers ball into fists, nails biting into your palms. You exhale slowly, gathering yourself. One step back into reality. Another.
Then you turn, crossing the room, and pull open the door.
Joshua stands in the dimly lit hallway, candlelight flickering against his face.
“You look pale,” he states, brows furrowed. “Is everything alright?”
You nod. “What is it?”
“I thought you'd want to know that the Council is assembling tomorrow morning.” The flame of the candle casts a wild look in his eyes.
You nod again, hand coming up to massage your temple. “Fine, we can talk there.”
After a few seconds of silence, Joshua cautiously starts. “You are back…for good, right?”
“Yes.” This time, your voice comes out firm and clear. It makes him nod before he continues.
“In that case, I'm sorry, for I know you must be tired from your travels, but we must talk now, Princess.”
You hate showing your exhaustion, but the travel has been draining, and nothing about this place provides solace or comfort to you anymore. Your voice comes out raspy when you finally answer.
“Why? Can't it wait till the meeting?”
“No,” Joshua admits, apologetically. “The council will try to send you back. We need to make sure to convince them that you are our only option.”
“That is not what you said a few hours ago,” You point out, leaning against your door.
“The kingdom doesn't choose its leader, and I still stand by that,” Joshua sighs, “But you're going to need the court and the military on your side. It's only a matter of time before Jeonghan’s power falls.”
When you don't reply, he continues, albeit a little hesitant with his next words.
“And although you may not like to hear this, you will need Seungcheol on your side, Princess.”
You nod, deep in thought. “I don't actually care. He hasn't personally wronged me yet, so I understand where he came from. But is it absolutely necessary?”
“He holds a lot more influence than I do,” Joshua admits.
You stare at him, and Joshua almost dislikes the way you try to see through him. But if there's one thing you and Jeonghan have in common, it's your observational skills. He couldn't hide for long with your twin, so with you, he doesn't even try to.
“I find it hard to believe that,” you murmur. “Whom was Jeonghan closer to?”
“I…I can't answer that—” Joshua tries to find the right words. “They were quite close too. After all, you need a successful army to lead a kingdom. Which is why we need to come up with a plan.”
You sigh softly before pushing yourself off the door. “Lead the way, then.”
As Joshua walks you two down the corridors, holding his candelabrum out, he asks you if you'd like to move your quarters somewhere closer to where the rest of the people live.
“This wing was abandoned after you left.” Joshua sighs, “Jeonghan was the only one who'd ever visit.”
“Why?” You think of laughing, but the sound—in this dark, gloomy night—would only freak you out a little more. “Did they believe that the prophecy that followed me, infected the chambers where I lived?”
“I couldn't tell you. I never understood it either.” Joshua shrugs after a pause.
“Either way, I'd like to stay here.” You assert, straightening your spine.
“I shall have guards stationed near your doors by morning then, Princess.”
“Oh, that is not required.” You start to wave him off, but Joshua shoots you a look that—surprisingly—makes you stop.
“Your safety is a concern, Princess.” He says only this much, but you hear it. The silent ‘after what happened to your brother’.
The sound of the rain is more muffled now, but the scent is strong, mingling with the smell of old parchment paper and cold stone.
Joshua's steps are steady beside yours, moving with familiarity. You wonder if he ever left these halls, or if he just learned to live with its ghosts.
“You've grown quiet, Princess,” Joshua comments suddenly, his voice soft. “You used to argue a lot more.”
The statement catches you off guard. Not because it is untrue, but because it has been so long since someone has spoken of you like they know you. You suppose that for a short time, Joshua did know you.
“I do argue,” you mutter, “I just pick my battles more wisely now. There's no one left to pick stupid fights with anyway.”
Joshua's steps waver, and maybe he is taken aback too. For the first time, you wonder how he has been holding up. He’s always been composed—too composed, maybe—but grief is a strange thing. It settles in places no one expects, hollowing out a person in ways they don’t realise until much later.
“I suppose that’s true,” he says finally.
You press forward, your boots tapping against the cold stone floor. “Did you ever argue with me?”
Joshua lets out a small, quiet laugh, shaking his head. “I knew better than to try.”
That makes you scoff. “Smart man.”
“I like to think so.” His tone is lighter now, but you know that it has a jagged edge. You want it to. There is no time to reminisce, no time to get soft, no time to mourn.
Joshua exhales, then nods ahead. “Come. We have a long night ahead of us.”
The council chamber is suffocating. Not in a literal sense—there’s plenty of space, the ceilings are high, and the flickering torches do their best to push back the heavy gloom—but the air itself is thick with expectation. Eyes bore into you, assessing, doubting, and waiting to see if you will stumble.
You don’t. You step forward and take your place before the long table, where the highest-ranking members of the court are seated. Seungcheol is among them, arms crossed and gaze unreadable. He hasn’t spoken yet, but you know he will soon enough.
Joshua stands a little to your side, as if he is the bridge between you and them. It’s an uncomfortable place to be, but he wears his usual calm expression. You know better than to take it at face value.
“Princess,” one of the older lords begins, voice wary. “You return after fifteen years. I’m afraid you must understand our… reluctance.”
“I understand it perfectly,” you reply. “It changes nothing.”
A few murmurs ripple through the chamber. You catch Seungcheol’s eyes flickering, watching, waiting.
The older lord exhales. “You must also understand the circumstances of your departure—”
“The circumstances of my exile,” you correct, voice sharp. “A decision made in fear by a dead king.”
A different council member scoffs, a woman with steel-gray hair and a sharper tongue. “And yet, here we are—with a kingdom in peril. And you believe your return changes that?”
You let the silence stretch before you speak. “The prophecy said I would bring ruin to this kingdom,” you say evenly. “But my brother is the one who died. The heir chosen in my place. So tell me—if the prophecy was so infallible, if it dictated our fates, why is Jeonghan gone?”
The weight of your words settles over the room like a storm cloud. No one answers. You glance at Seungcheol again. His jaw tightens, but his arms are no longer crossed.
Joshua had warned you about him the night before.
“You will need Seungcheol on your side,” Joshua says, fingers drumming on the table. “His support won't win you the throne, but his opposition could cost you everything.
You sit by the dying fire. “And what does he believe in?”
Joshua's expression is unreadable. “He believes in strength.”
You consider that. Consider the stories you've heard. “And he doesn't believe I have it yet.”
You meet Seungcheol’s gaze. “You led my brother’s armies. You knew him well. Tell me, then—would Jeonghan have wanted you to waste time arguing over whether or not I belong here?”
Seungcheol exhales sharply. Then, finally, he speaks.
“No,” he admits. “He wouldn’t.”
It’s not a declaration of support, not yet, but it is something. The weight of it shifts the room, forcing the council to reconsider.
You straighten. “The throne is mine, whether you like it or not. I am not here to ask for permission. I am here because we have no other choice.”
Silence. Then, slowly, Seungcheol nods.
But the steel-haired woman is not easily swayed either. “You expect us to forget the prophecy? To ignore what was written?”
You shake your head. “I expect you to think for yourselves.”
A murmur spreads through the chamber. Someone shifts uncomfortably. Another clears their throat.
You take a step forward. “The prophecy said I would destroy this kingdom. That I would be the cause of its ruin.” A pause. “But it never said how.”
The room stills.
“It never said I would turn against you,” you continue, voice even. “It never said I would bring war to our gates. It never said I would spill royal blood.” You let your words settle. “You filled in the blanks yourselves. And you were wrong.”
The council members exchange glances, uncertain now. The steel-haired woman opens her mouth again, but you don’t let her.
“My brother was meant to rule according to everyone's interpretation of it,” you say. “He was meant to be your king. And yet he is dead. Tell me—where was the prophecy then?”
Silence.
It is Joshua who breaks it. “The kingdom needs a ruler,” he says, voice calm and diplomatic. “That much is clear.”
Seungcheol glances at him, then back at you. His fingers drum once against the table. Then they still.
“You were gone for fifteen years,” he says. “You don’t know this kingdom anymore.”
You lift your chin, your eyes hard. “Then I will learn.”
He doesn’t nod. He doesn’t move to stand with you. But he doesn’t argue, either.
And for now, that is enough.
The castle does not hum with its usual life. It moves, yes, but slower, quieter—weighted by loss.
Atop the tallest spires, black banners hang limp in the morning air, their edges fraying in the wind. The great bells do not ring except for the hour, their silence a constant reminder of what has been taken. In the courtyards, the fountains run, but their waters are unadorned—no floating petals, no bright coins tossed in for luck. Superstition or not, no one dares to make a wish when the gods have already taken so much.
The council members wear dark threads woven into their finery—black sashes, silver embroidery shaped like falling leaves, a symbol of mourning. The servants, though less adorned, move with the same reverence. Their voices are hushed, their steps careful, as if even the echo of their heels against stone might be disrespectful.
And you stand, a ghost among them all—in your plain black dress, pooling around your feet like ink. You are neither fully accepted nor fully returned.
As you walk through the palace halls, you set your own course. The air is thick with the scent of incense, clinging to stone and fabric alike.
You move toward the courtyard instead.
There is no fanfare as you step onto the worn stone, but the shift in attention is immediate. A few guards straighten at the sight of you, uncertain whether to bow or simply watch. Some of the younger knights halt their practice, murmuring among themselves.
You let them look. Let them wonder.
Seungcheol is there, speaking in low tones to one of his captains. When he turns, his gaze finds you instantly, dark and unreadable.
"You’re not where you’re expected to be," he says.
You tilt your head slightly. "I hope people will learn to stop expecting things from me."
A flicker of something—amusement, maybe—crosses his face before it vanishes. He studies you for a moment longer, then gestures vaguely to the courtyard around him.
"And what is it you expect to gain here?”
You glance around, taking in the courtyard—the scuff marks on the stone, the disciplined movements of the knights, the sharp tang of sweat and steel in the air.
“I needed fresh air,” you say at last. “And something worth my time.”
Seungcheol raises a brow. “You think this is worth your time?”
“I think it is more useful than sitting in a room full of men pretending they don’t resent me.”
“And what is it that you plan to do here?”
Your gaze meets his, steady and unwavering. “What I must.”
His eyes narrow slightly, searching yours. He exhales through his nose, shaking his head. “You’re not a soldier.”
“I have spent fifteen years away, General. You must be smart enough to know that there is nothing you know about me other than what you've been told.”
The quiet challenge in your voice makes him pause. Then, after a beat, he sighs and draws his sword. The hush that falls over the courtyard is immediate.
He doesn’t taunt—just lifts the blade between you, measuring. Testing.
“Show me, then.”
You are not one of his soldiers and he is right to say that. You don't need to obey him. But you have a point to prove, and there are people to watch.
The first clash of steel is sharp, ringing through the courtyard like a bell. The force of it vibrates up your arms, but you don’t falter. You meet Seungcheol’s gaze through the lock of your blades, unyielding.
He pushes. You hold.
Then, in a breath, you twist away, breaking the stalemate.
Seungcheol follows immediately, fast and fluid, striking with a precision honed through years of battle. He fights like someone who has led wars, each movement efficient, controlled—meant to overpower, to end things before they begin.
But you have never fought like a soldier.
You duck beneath his next strike, pivoting fast, forcing him to turn with you. He expects a retreat, but you don’t give him one. Instead, you step in close, blade flashing in the torchlight as you angle for an opening.
He barely blocks in time, his sword sliding against yours with a sharp hiss. His stance shifts, defensive now.
Good.
The knights murmur among themselves.
Seungcheol presses forward again, this time sharper, faster. You don’t meet him head-on; you sidestep, forcing him to readjust, keeping him moving. You are quicker, lighter on your feet, unburdened by the rigid forms and disciplines of the court’s warriors. You can see the moment he realises it.
You grin.
Then you lunge.
Your blade slices through the air, a blur of silver. He barely manages to block, but you don’t let up. You strike again, pushing him further back, your movements relentless.
A beat too late, he realises your rhythm isn’t just fast—it’s unpredictable. You fight without pattern, without hesitation, adapting in the space between moments.
You see his next move before he makes it. You twist, redirecting his momentum, stepping inside his guard. And then—
A sharp sting.
A line of red blooms across his forearm.
The courtyard stills.
Seungcheol looks at the small gash on his arm. Then, at you.
For a moment, he does nothing. Then, with a sharp exhale, he steps back, lowering his blade.
“Enough.”
You recognize that it isn't a retreat, a loss. It's just the end.
His soldiers stand still, as if waiting for him to say something more, do something more. Press back, attack again, stand his ground like they're used to seeing him do.
But he doesn't.
Seungcheol studies you carefully. Not angry or frustrated, but very close to surprised. Then barely, just barely, his lips curve up.
“You fight well,” he says.
“Well, you expected me to fail.”
He shakes his head, “No. I just expected myself to win. You did say that people should stop expecting things from you.”
“I did,” you agree, handing the blade back to one of the onlookers.
Without a second glance at the General, you turn on your heel, only to find Joshua, leaning against the archway.
He wears a small smile on his lips. Not mocking, not surprised. Just there, like he knew all along.
“You wanted them to see,” he says as you near him. Not a question, just an observation.
You meet his eyes. “They should know better than to doubt.”
Joshua hums, considering. “And him?”
You tilt your head slightly, voice cool. “Seungcheol is not a fool.”
Joshua’s smile widens, just by a fraction. “No,” he agrees, “he isn’t.”
“I was looking for you,” you say, stepping forward.
Joshua exhales, rolling the parchment he holds in his hands. “And here I thought you were busy proving points.”
You don’t acknowledge the remark. “Tell me how my brother died.”
The shift in his expression is subtle but immediate. The amusement fades, replaced with something heavier. “You already know the answer they want you to believe.”
“I want the truth.”
Joshua regards you for a long moment, then gestures toward ahead, into the halls that lead away from the courtyard. “Walk with me.”
You follow, your steps falling in line with his as the two of you move through the cold. You've broken a sweat from the duel with Seungcheol, but the air is cool enough to dry you up almost immediately.
"He died in the palace," Joshua says at last. "In his own chambers."
You already knew that much, but hearing it aloud feels different. It sinks into your bones, cold and certain.
"And?" you press.
Joshua exhales, slow and measured. "And they say it was an accident."
You let the words hang between you. A hollow, meaningless answer. You know it. He knows it.
"Do you believe that?"
He doesn’t look at you. "Does it matter what I believe?"
Your fingers tighten at your sides. "It matters to me."
Joshua finally turns to face you, and there is something unreadable in his gaze.
"Then I’ll tell you this," he murmurs. "Accidents happen easily in the palace. But not to people like your brother.”
Not to people like your brother.
The weight of it presses against your ribs. You stare at him, at the quiet certainty in his face, the careful way he watches you. He isn’t telling you everything. But he’s telling you enough.
“Who?” you ask, your voice like ice.
Joshua doesn’t answer right away.
“If I knew,” he says at last, “do you think I would still be standing here?”
You don’t flinch, don’t let the implication sink its claws into you. But it does. It does, and it burns.
“So you suspect,” you say. “But you have no proof.”
Joshua licks his lips, swallowing hard. “Not yet.”
You nod. In a way, you think you've always known. Jeonghan wasn't a sickly man. He was the weaker one out of the two of you, yes. But he wasn't the type to just drop down dead at any moment. Not at his age, definitely.
“Listen,” you stress, turning your entire body towards him. He stops, just as you do.
“Yes, Princess.”
“I need you to think, Joshua. Of everything. Anything he told you, anything he did, anything he left behind.”
“He used to write you letters.” Joshua realises why you ask this of him. “But I am sorry to admit that he hasn't left anything of that sort.”
Your shoulders slump slightly, but you straighten up as soon as you realise. You don't know what to do yet, but with someone else thinking the same thoughts as you, your mind feels even more muddled up.
Nodding slowly, you realise Joshua has almost walked you back to your chambers. The two guards at your door bow their heads at you as you look on.
“So what now?”
Joshua watches you for a moment, then exhales, letting the weight of the conversation slip from his shoulders—at least for now.
“Well,” he says lightly, clasping his hands behind his back, “I imagine you have more pressing matters to attend to than entertaining me with grim theories all day.”
You raise an eyebrow. “Is that your way of dismissing me, Joshua?”
His lips curve slightly. “Merely an observation, Princess.”
You don’t dignify that with a response, only tilting your chin up before turning toward your chamber doors. The guards stationed there don’t so much as glance at Joshua as you step past them, though you can feel his eyes on your back as you go.
It doesn’t matter. There are other things to be done.
Dear sister,
I write to you, though I know not how many more letters I will be able to send. The days grow heavier, and with them, the weight of silence stretches further between us. I know you will wonder why I haven’t written sooner, why the words have been few and far between these past months. I can only hope that you’ll understand, though I’m afraid no explanation will ease the ache of this distance.
Our parents—well, you know them better than anyone—have made it clear that I am no longer allowed to send you letters. Their reasons, as always, are clouded in duty, politics, and power. The crown is a heavy thing, and they think my correspondence with you only strengthens the bond we once shared, a bond they are eager to sever. They fear that the ties between us may still hold power over me.
It’s almost absurd, isn’t it? I always imagined the two of us, side by side, ruling together. Two thrones, side by side, our voices united. I thought we would ascend together, just as we had always dreamed. You with your wisdom, your strength, and me with the duty I’ve always felt pressing down on me. I never wanted to wear the crown without you by my side. Never.
But that was before they forced me into this position. Before they made me promise to rule alone.
I’ve asked them. I’ve pleaded with them to lift your exile. To let us meet, just once more, to see each other before everything changes. But they won’t. They refuse. They say it would be too dangerous, that our meeting would be a threat to the stability they have so carefully built. It breaks my heart, more than I can say, to know that even now, I cannot fulfill the one thing I’ve always wanted for us both: to share this together.
I am ascending to the throne, as you know. The ceremony is soon, and I am expected to stand alone, without you by my side.
I will carry your memory with me every moment of every day, and I will continue to fight for your freedom, even if I cannot reach you. I swear that I will find a way. I will not rest until I can bring you back.
Please, know that I have not forgotten you. I never will. No matter how much time passes, no matter how many walls they build between us, you will always be my twin, my other half. And someday, we will meet again, even if the world does not want it.
Until then, little thorn, know that you are never far from my thoughts.
With all my love, Your brother, Jeonghan.
The truth is taking its time to sink into you. You try to remind yourself that Jeonghan is gone. Jeonghan is gone, and no amount of time, no amount of bitterness or anger, can bring him back. But it must be the memories that this palace holds, because every corner you turn into, every hallway and room you walk into, you expect to see him there.
There are still rooms you haven’t visited yet, ones that you spent your childhood in but can’t bear to enter now. His is one of them, but you suppose you will have to make that trip, sooner or later.
The other end of the string is not held anymore. You feel it dangling in the space that you cannot reach into. It’s empty, cold and fills you with a sense of dread that you have never felt before.
The first thing you thought of, when the kingdom’s messenger reached you, was that Jeonghan had faked his death. That smart, cunning, sharp boy that you knew, wasn’t the type to leave so easily. Definitely not so early. Even now, the thought lingers. A desperate, foolish hope clinging to the edges of reason. But you know better. If Jeonghan had a way out, he would have taken it. If there was a trick to play, he would have played it. And if he had any say in his own fate, he would not have left you behind.
Your eyes latch onto the urn that sits in a corner of your room, almost hidden by a vase with wilted flowers. That wouldn’t exist if he truly wasn’t gone.
A knock on your door tears you away from your thoughts. When you call out to the guards to let him in, Joshua strolls into your chambers, eyes trained on you with his palms clasped behind his back. You stare at him quizzically.
“The Oracle refuses to come here,” he admits with a sigh.
You expected that.
“But she wants to see you,” Joshua adds, eyeing your reaction. You expected that too.
You inhale deeply, thinking for a few seconds before you reply.
“Then to her, we shall go.”
Joshua doesn’t question your decision and nods. In the few days that you’ve lived here, you’ve come to understand why your brother kept him around. He is quiet, but never absent. Observant, but never overbearing. He speaks when it is necessary and holds his tongue when it is not. Joshua doesn’t waste words on comfort that won’t reach you. He doesn’t tell you things will get easier, doesn’t say Jeonghan would want you to be strong, doesn’t feed you the same empty reassurances that others have whispered in passing. Instead, he walks beside you, steady as ever, as if nothing in the world has shifted.
You can’t read him as well as he reads you though, and it bothers you a little. He feels like a mound of clay, mouldable to whoever uses him. You’d prefer if he was something solid—stone, perhaps, or steel. Something that does not bend so easily to the hands that shape it. But Joshua is neither. He is not rigid, nor is he fragile.
He is not someone you trust entirely, no. But you’ve come to realise that he is the only one who is willingly choosing to believe in you.
Joshua follows you out of your chambers without protest, without hesitation, but you can’t shake the feeling that he is watching, waiting. For what, you aren’t sure. Maybe for you to stumble. Maybe for you to break. Maybe for something else entirely.
You wonder, briefly, if Jeonghan ever felt the same way about him. If he ever questioned the man who stood at his side, the way you do now. But then again, Jeonghan never questioned things the way you do. He always knew. Always saw further ahead than anyone else.
“We should leave before nightfall,” he says. “The Oracle won’t wait forever.”
Neither will you.
The Oracle’s temple stands at the edge of the city, where the noise of the streets fades into the hush of sacred ground. The path leading up to it is lined with tall stone pillars, their surfaces worn smooth by time and prayer. Even from a distance, the scent of burning incense reaches you—cloying, thick, the same as you remember.
Joshua walks a step behind you, as always. The guards who escorted you this far linger at the base of the steps, uncertain. You do not need to look at them to know what they’re thinking. You are not meant to be here.
And yet, here you stand.
The moment you cross the threshold, the voices hush.
There are people inside—temple disciples, nobles, perhaps even a few common folk who had come seeking wisdom. Their robes shift as they turn, as bodies freeze mid-step, as eyes widen in disbelief.
A murmur ripples through the temple grounds like a stone dropped in still water. She's back. She shouldn't be here. I thought she was— No one says it, but you see the unfinished sentence in their expressions.
You can't be bothered by it right now.
You keep walking.
The weight of their stares presses against your back, but you do not falter. You've waited fifteen years for this moment.
At the far end of the temple, behind the burning brazier, the Oracle waits.
She sits where she always has, draped in white robes that seem untouched by time. The flames from the brazier cast flickering shadows across her face, but her eyes remain steady and piercing.
The last time you stood here, you were a different person. Younger. More reckless. Full of something that had not yet hardened into bitterness.
“Step forward,” the Oracle says.
You do. The rustling of your cloak is the only sound in the vast chamber, aside from the crackle of fire and the breaths of those still watching from the edges of the room.
The Oracle tilts her head slightly, observing you as one might observe a storm rolling in from the horizon—inevitable, unrelenting. “You have returned.”
It is not a question.
You hold her gaze. “I have.”
A slow exhale, like the wind shifting through the trees. “And why is that, I wonder?”
Joshua remains silent at your side, though you feel him watching, waiting. You do not look at him. This is not his answer to give.
The truth sits at the edge of your tongue, bitter and hard to admit. You could tell her the obvious—that Jeonghan is dead, that the life you were forced into is no longer enough, that you are tired of running from ghosts. But she knows.
So instead, you say, “Because it was time.”
The Oracle’s lips twitch into something that is not quite a smile. “Time,” she echoes. “A dangerous thing to claim control over.”
The murmurs do not stop. If anything, they swell, beating against the walls of the temple like a tide threatening to break through. It is starting to annoy you, like a bee droning right in your ear.
The Oracle doesn't silence them. She only watches you, waiting for your next words.
“You expected me.”
She waits for a beat. “Did I?”
You inhale slowly. You need to be respectful. No matter how you ended up because of her words, she is the spokesperson of the Gods. There is still some fear left in you, no matter how small.
“If you didn't, you would not have agreed to see me.”
She leans forward, her white robes cascading over her shoulders, her eyes wide enough to catch the flickering flames.
“Tell me then,” she says, voice soft, like comforting a child throwing a tantrum. “What is it you wish to hear from me? That your exile was unjust? That you were meant for more? That your brother's death is a wound that cannot be mended?”
You cannot tell me what I already know, you want to grit out, but you force yourself to be calm.
“I did not come for reassurance.”
“Then why are you here, child?” Her eyes are wild. You almost feel like she enjoys this.
The brazier crackles, the fire's heat licking at your skin.
“Because I need to know what comes next.”
“You seek an answer,” she murmurs, “And yet, you already know the path ahead of you.”
Unease coils in your stomach, settling down. “If I knew, I would not be here.”
The Oracle hums, her expression unreadable again. “Is that so?”
She reaches forward, fingers grazing the rim of the brazier. The heat doesn't seem to affect her. The fire flares in response, a sudden burst of gold and red before it settles into something more tamed again.
Then she speaks.
“Your return is a stone cast into still water. Ripples will follow, whether you intend them to or not.”
Her gaze lifts back up to you, and for the first time, you feel it—the weight of something vast, ancient, pressing against you.
“You are not the only one who has been waiting, my child.”
You do not like the quiet certainty in her voice. Wondering what she's already seen, you ask your next question, albeit being unsure if you want to hear the answer.
“Waiting for what?”
She only smiles, her teeth showing past her cracked, blackened lips. “For you, of course.”
You're aware of Joshua stepping closer, but he doesn't interrupt.
The Oracle doesn't elaborate. She only waves a deliberate hand, gesturing towards the temple doors. It is time to leave and she is done with you.
“You will see soon.”
Just as you turn to leave, your eyes meeting Joshua's, her voice rings through the temple, the loudest it has been till now.
“What the prophecy states,” she begins, making you whip your head around, “begins now, Princess.” She bows, head low.
You cannot tell if it is out of acknowledgement or mockery, but you don't reply. Joshua steps aside, waiting but left unsure by her words.
You walk out without a second glance.
The council chamber is already filled when you arrive. The moment you step inside, the murmuring stops, and all eyes turn to you. There is no hesitation in their stares—only expectation.
Joshua enters behind you, his presence steady. He has not said much on the way back from the temple, but you know that there is a lot to unpack. A lot you didn't understand.
Lord Kang rises first, hands folded neatly in front of him. “Princess, a coronation must be held.”
You exhale, managing to keep your expression neutral. You knew this was coming, but you had hoped, however foolishly, that they would not waste time with such things.
“There is no need for theatrics,” you say, moving further into the room. “I will take the throne. There is no need to waste time on ceremonies.”
A few of the older nobles exchange glances. You can already see the dissent forming, the argument building itself into something you are too exhausted to entertain.
Lord Kang does not back down. “That is where you are mistaken, Princess.”
Your fingers twitch, but you force yourself to remain still. “If you are asking whether I intend to rule, my answer is yes. That should be enough.”
“It is not enough,” another noble chimes in, voice firmer now. “The people need to see you take the throne. They need to know the kingdom is not leaderless.”
You glance at Joshua, expecting him to back you, to shift the conversation away from this unnecessary spectacle. But he remains quiet.
“The kingdom has a ruler,” you say, your patience thinning. “And they will know soon enough.”
Lord Kang only shakes his head. “The coronation is not for you. It is for them.”
You know this. Of course, you know this. But it still feels unnecessary. A waste of time when there are greater matters to be handled, when Jeonghan’s absence still lingers in the air.
From the corner of your eye, you see Joshua step closer, until his voice is just at your ear.
“If you do not let them see you,” he murmurs, low enough that only you can hear, “they will only whisper. If you take the throne quietly, they will doubt you. If you take it in full view, they will have no choice but to kneel.”
You say nothing, but your fingers curl at your sides.
Joshua tilts his head slightly, just enough that you can feel the warmth of his breath against your skin.
“You think you do not need a show.” He remains careful. “But you are returning from exile. There are those who remember you as a child, and those who will say you have no right to rule at all.” His voice is softer when he continues, “You need them to see you.”
You inhale, slow and reluctant.
Joshua steps back, resuming his usual place at your side, as if he had never spoken at all.
You lift your gaze to the gathered nobles.
“Fine,” you say at last. “We will do it your way.”
Joshua doesn't react. Doesn't so much as throw a glance your way, but you know—as you leave the room—that he has won.
The air in Jeonghan’s chambers is stale, untouched. Dust clings to the surfaces, motes dancing in the dim light. You hesitate before stepping inside, fingers lingering on the doorframe. You have not been here since your return.
It looks the same. Too much the same. His books are still neatly stacked, the ink pot on his desk dried at the edges. A part of you expects to hear his voice, a quiet laugh from the corner, some teasing remark about your reluctance to step inside.
But there is only silence.
You don’t know why you came. Perhaps it’s foolish, this need to prove to yourself that he is truly gone.
Your fingers trail along the edge of his desk, catching on the corner of a small, ornate box.
Something unsettles you as you pick it up. It’s heavier than it looks, the wood smooth beneath your fingers. Slowly, you lift the lid.
Inside, there is a single folded piece of parchment.
You freeze.
The handwriting is unmistakable. The ink is slightly faded, but the strokes are as familiar as your own.
With a sharp inhale, you unfold the letter.
Dear sister,
I suppose congratulations are in order, aren't they? If you're reading this, then it must mean that you are finally back. I'm sorry for not being around to welcome you home, but know that I am glad.
Your hands tighten around the paper.
I apologize for not writing to you, even after our mother and father passed away. And I am even more regretful that you hear from me in this way, after ten years. I want you to know that I have always kept track of you. Always know where you are and how you are. I just feared that you may think less of me, that you may want nothing to do with me after I gave up on us.
Your heart aches, beating loud and wild against your rib cage. You can feel your throat close up.
I knew it would come to this. Maybe not exactly like this, but I knew you were always meant to rule. And despite what they did to you, despite everything, trust me when I say that this is where you belong.
I wish I could be there to see you with the crown on your head.
I am sure that Joshua is helping you. I made sure to let him know that if you ever came back, we'd welcome you with open arms. Be nice to him, for he means well. You can trust the man, I give you my word.
A strained exhale leaves your lips. You cannot help the tears that begin to cloud your vision.
No matter what happens, don't let them turn you into something you aren't. I believe in you to set things right. And don't forget—you're not alone. You are never alone.
The letter should end there. He signs it off with his name, but even through your tears, you see the next lines scribbled after, almost like an afterthought.
Oh, and if you ever feel lost—go back to where we started.
You stare at the words, your pulse pounding in your ears.
Where we started. Where could that be?
The door creaks behind you.
You whirl around, instincts kicking in. But it's only Joshua. He pauses at the doorway, like he's surprised to see you here. Like he's surprised that he's here in the first place. Then, he takes in your expression before you quickly wipe at your eyes. His gaze narrows in on your face before trailing down to the paper you hold tightly in your hands.
He lets out a shocked noise. “You found something?”
You swallow, looking away in embarrassment. “It's nothing.”
Joshua doesn't look convinced. His gaze shifts to the box on the desk.
“He left a letter for me,” You finally admit, sniffling a little. “He somehow knew that I'd be back.”
“Of course he did,” Joshua sighs after a few moments of silence, walking in. He glances again at the letter still in your grip.
“Did he say anything about me?” he asks, and you know he's trying to make the situation a little lighter.
You almost let out a small laugh. “He told me to be nice to you.”
Joshua hesitates before throwing a soft smile in your direction. You can see the pity and the sadness creeping into his eyes too.
For a moment, you both say nothing. Joshua stands in the centre of the room, looking around like he hasn't ever seen the place. You actually haven't. Not in fifteen years anyway.
You remember the countless nights spent sneaking over to Jeonghan’s room because you couldn't sleep, or because he wanted your help with the homework your teachers had assigned. You'd always sit on his bed, forcing him onto the carpet on the ground. He'd complain that it was cold and that his body would hurt when he got up in the morning, but would always shut up when you pinched him softly, making a big show out of it.
The thought makes tears prick your eyes, again.
When you turn your attention back to Joshua, you find that he's already looking at you, a cautious expression on his face.
“Are you alright?” He asks softly.
You don't answer immediately. Instead, you fold the letter carefully before keeping it back in its place. Then, with a shaky sigh, you look back at him.
“I will be.”
But your mind lingers on Jeonghan’s last words.
“Joshua,” You call out to him as he closes the door behind you two. “What has been done with the nursery?”
“Nothing.” He answers simply, “I'm pretty sure that it's been left the way that it was. A few years ago someone suggested repurposing it but Jeonghan never allowed it. Said it was your place, somewhere where the two of you grew up. So.” He shrugs.
You nod, and Joshua can see the gears turning in your head.
“Do you want me to take you there?” He asks, tilting his head slightly.
You shake your head, rolling your shoulders back as you step into the corridors, noticing the servants that linger. “Not now, maybe later.”
The throne room is silent, the air thick with anticipation. The High Priest stands before you, his voice loud and clear as he leads the ceremony. The crowd, composed of nobles, guards, and advisors, watches closely. You can feel their eyes on you, their expectations pressing into you like a weight you’re not sure you can bear. Outside, you know the people of your kingdom await.
The throne that waits behind you looms larger than you remember. It’s been years since you last stood here, but nothing has really changed. The banners still hang, the same rich colors of your family’s house, the same marble floors that echo your footsteps back to you. But everything feels different now. The crown rests in the high priest’s hands, it's cold metal reflecting the light in sharp glints, as though daring you to take it.
You step forward, your heart pounding in your chest. This is it.
The High Priest places the crown on your head. It’s heavier than you thought. Not physically—no, it’s the weight of it all that’s unbearable. The pressure. The responsibility. The people you lost. But you're ready to bear it.
You glance at Joshua, standing just behind the priest. His face is unreadable, but his eyes meet yours with quiet understanding. He nods, reassuringly.
The room remains silent, the high priest’s voice still filling the space around you. But his words fade into the background as you look around at the faces in the crowd. They’re waiting for something from you. The throne is yours now, but it doesn’t feel much different.
You take a step back from the altar, your hands steady as you move to stand on the elevated platform.
The murmur of the crowd rises slowly. The ceremony is over. The crown is yours.
Joshua loses his breath at the way the crown sits so right on your head.
The jewels and the gold, the same crown that he thought would fit no one other than Jeonghan, looks like it was made for you in the first place. Joshua remembers the way Jeonghan had seemed to almost slump a little when he first wore the crown. He'd hated it, hated the weight of it, hated the way it sat on his head and how he looked with it on.
But you—you seem even more confident, shoulders straight, chin up, that hard look back in your eyes. He wonders what you're fighting.
But you are a sight to see as you step off the altar and walk to the balcony to see your subjects. The ceremonial robes hang heavy on your frame, embroidered with threads that shimmer faintly when you move, the crown catching the sunlight in all the right ways to make you seem like you walked out of a painting.
Joshua hears the crowd applaud when you step out, and it feels him with a sense of relief. The last few weeks have been testing, and he's sure that it won't get any easier.
But at least one thing is out of the way. The twin flame has returned.
sex, drugs, etc. — joshua hong
tags/warnings — joshua x f!reader, fwb/situationship, bartender!au, best friend/supervisor!mingyu, dj!minghao. recreational drug use (cocaine), alcohol, suggestive content, its vaguely implied josh likes to get around yk. not a fuckboy as such he just likes coochie. MDNI.
synopsis — you weren’t supposed to fuck your coworker. you weren’t supposed to want it again. oops. w.c. 4.3k.
author's note — disclaimer that this is, unfortunately, a vaguely dramatised recount of real events that occurred between me and my coworker josh (british, tattooed, objectively a menace). the opportunity to project onto seventeen’s joshua was simply too strong and i caved. might write a part two if people are into it. i don’t believe this is an accurate representation of shua at all i just. took creative liberties blah blah
also: this all took place during my certified crash out era™ so please take this as a fictional lens on an experience, not an endorsement. as of posting this i am over a year sober from drugs + alcohol so i want to gently encourage safe and responsible substance use, and to maybe not hook up with your coworkers… unless the coworker in question is joshua hong in which case... godspeed my friend.
you meet joshua the week of april that the lefthand side glass washer dies and the whole backbar smells like citrus cleaner, spilled lager and too-sweet raspberry cordial. he’s new—quiet, polite, california vowels tucked into a mouth that looks built for better things than, “can i grab another tray of shorts?” he keeps his head down, sleeves rolled, dark hair falling into his eyes while he rinses pint glasses like penance. even like that—damp shirt stuck to his collarbone, a splash of kahlúa drying dark down his front—he’s horrifically hot. an affront. you privately decide there should be ordinances about men looking like that in hospitality uniforms.
so you do what any responsible employee does: you take it to hr. (“hr” being mingyu in the supervisors office counting tills.) you lean against the filing cabinet and confess, voice low and reverent, that the new guy is so fine it’s almost hostile. mingyu doesn’t even look up. just wrinkles his nose like you’ve told him you’d marry a fruit fly. “absolutely not,” he says, stamping something. “don’t make me hold another impromptu seminar on fraternising.” you promise nothing. he threatens to swap all your friday club shifts for lunch service. normal best friend enrichment.
for the first couple months joshua exists on the periphery of your roster: a handful of overlapped shifts where the extent of your interactions are, “hey, how was your break?” “busy, huh?” “get home safe.” occasionally you see him through the glass room polishing wine stems, earbuds in, mouthing lyrics to something you can’t hear. you collect these tiny glimpses like bottle caps. he’s from los angeles, apparently. when sunday morning by maroon 5 plays during lunch service courtesy of mingyu’s terrible soft pop playlist, he hums along while people decide between the singapore noodles and nasi goreng at the till. he moves like he’s listening—to the room, to the bass bleed coming up through the liquor cages, to the way regulars breathe when they’re about to flag for one more round. you overthink every single detail and tell yourself you’re simply observant.
december hits like a freight train. christmas party circuit. end-of-year corporate benders. managers tossing you trays of pre-batched cocktails like grenades. mingyu barking counts. soonyoung yelling that a hen’s party just ordered eighteen espresso martinis at once. you move in feverish loops until the lights finally come up at 4:07 a.m., floor an intestine of bar mats and melting ice. cleanup hum; the ritual unwinding. someone kills the cdjs and coils the cables like limp serpents. glassware racked, float balanced, staff drinks poured.
the night you detonate your dignity, everyone drifts to the smokers balcony—wind a wet slap, city sweating neon below. joshua perches on the higher rail, long fingers cradling a beer, trading quiet english with mingyu across the balustrade. they look weirdly peaceable together—your golden retriever of a best friend and the soft-spoken celestial bartender you want to morally objectify.
you and minghao (resident dj, red-rimmed eyes, posture of someone whose circadian rhythm filed for divorce) are a couple drinks deeper than advisable. he’s slouched sideways, boot heel worrying a groove into the decking, when your mouth betrays you.
“what’s joshua’s deal?” you ask, watching the way josh tips his head when he listens.
minghao doesn’t even look over. “what do you mean what’s his deal? he works here.”
“yeah, but besides that. does he, like, have a personality when i’m not around? interests? a girlfriend?”
that gets you a slow turn and a blink. “depends who’s asking.”
“i’m asking.”
“no girlfriend,” he says, suspicious. “why?”
you swallow half a laugh. “can you put in a good word? for me.”
minghao looks at you like you requested he physically present his jugular to a great white. “are you serious—you like josh?”
“minghao, look at him. he’s stupidly fine. i feel ill.”
“this is sick. you’re sick. seek professional help.”
“i have—her name is antidepressants. do me this one favor. how many freebies have i snuck onto your rider behind mingyu’s back? it's karmic balance, hao.”
his groan is operatic. he drags his hand down his face. you watch the moment resignation settles. “if this ruins my friendship,” he mutters, “i’m invoicing you.”
whatever half-hearted wingmanning he does is both more and less subtle than he thinks. you catch joshua glancing your way after minghao leans in to murmur something, the corner of his mouth tipping like he’s suppressing either a smile or a question. the bar’s bluetooth speaker is spitting out some washed, twinkly r&b from someone’s closing playlist. everyone else is in that soft, overstretched post-rush fugue where boundaries blur.
you don’t remember who stood up first. you just know one minute you’re nursing the tail end of a gin something and the next you’re in the narrow staff bathroom with the lock thudding home, joshua’s back against the tiled wall, taste of juniper, malt, and something warm under his slow, intrigued laugh when you say, “finally,” like this was inevitable physics.
it’s clumsy and hot and half stupid with alcohol. hands in hair, belt buckle catching, the fluorescent hum overhead turning everything grainy. you ride the reckless permission of the hour, of exhaustion, of having wanted all that quiet reserve smudged. later, you’ll both agree—foggy, disclaimery—that you were pretty wasted, that details are blurred, that it was “one of those things.”
it should have been an anomaly. a glitch. a footnote.
instead it becomes the prologue to a stretch of nights where you learn joshua speaks soft but kisses like he believes in reciprocity; that he keeps secrets in the minimalist way—by just not offering; that whatever happened in that bathroom unlocked a door neither of you is ready to label but neither of you bothers closing.
two weeks is nothing and somehow an epoch. in that time you learn that joshua is… aggressively normal. suspiciously, clinically normal. he says please and thank you to the kitchen, wipes the stainless until it reflects his saintly jawline, laughs with his eyes first. kind to a fault. the kind of gentle that feels like a con when you remember the breathy, borderline obscene noises he put in your ear in his bedroom before face-planting into unconsciousness.
the first shared shift after the incident, you’re mid restaurant-to-club changeover hauling truss while mingyu curses at a stripped screw. joshua appears at your flank like a well-scented apparition—white jasmine cologne ghosting over detergent and mid-strength beer—and folds you into a warm side hug. “hey, how are you?” casual. unbothered. zero residual embarrassment about having moaned like a man auditioning for a very specific audio subscription service. your brain blue screens. you manage something eloquent like, “good,” then spend the next hour catastrophising whether you hallucinated half that night and he simply filed you under community outreach.
it doesn’t help that nothing stays secret in this place. the staff bathroom door was barely locked before half the roster knew—or guessed—and by the next roster release a line of little smirk emojis trailed your name like a parade float. hooking up with a coworker is basically a rite of passage here: smash a champagne flute during service, cry in dry-store once, make out with someone on payroll. you just completed the trilogy in a record-long two years time. you were aiming for staff member with the most restraint at the end of year christmas party.
mingyu has been insufferable since he found out (you didn’t tell him—your face did). “this place is a cesspool,” he announces while drag-and-dropping kegs in the cold room. “three years i’ve been here. i am now the only person in the top half of the roster spreadsheet that hasn’t fucked somebody else in the venue. you were doing so well. we almost had a moral high ground.” you threaten to key his car; he informs you he doesn’t drive to work, checkmate; you contemplate throwing yourself into the cardboard crusher.
friday night—different promoter, same roster. the shift’s a lesson in weaponised normalcy. joshua, who once treated proximity to your body like approaching an electric fence, now lightly rests two fingers on the small of your back when he needs to squeeze past. “behind,” in that soft L.A. lilt, breath warm over the shell of your ear. he speaks now. in full sentences. asks if your lunch was any good. compliments the barback’s speed. smiles—unwarranted, muse-level smiles—and every neuron you have misfires like you’re thirteen discovering jawlines for the first time.
objectively, the sex was… fine. adequate for twelve-hour-shift plus standard drinks arithmetic. neither of you delivered any career-defining performances. nothing to justify the way a stray look from him now has you internally drafting a wedding seating chart and a breakup text simultaneously. but this level of derangement can, historically, only be induced by a straight man with gentle hands and a polite voice.
mid-shift you abandon the bar to escape your own thoughts and pee/doomscroll. the staff bathroom is upstairs—a narrow stairwell vibrating with bass bleed and muffled crowd roar. you’re halfway up, phone lit with group chat reel notifications (minghao sending cursed memes; jihoon replying in unpunctuated despair), when joshua jogs down toward you. loose-limbed, hair a little damp at the edges, smile loading before he even locks eyes.
“hey,” he says, slowing, chest lifting under the black tee. he looks at you in a way that suggests he has eyes, unfortunately. “you look good tonight. i like the boots.”
you glance down like you need to remember what you put on: platform boots, mini skirt, waist cinched. okay, maybe the outfit was 30% curated with him in mind. you engineer a shrug. “you don’t look bad yourself.”
he does the tiny double nod of someone accepting an oscar for best supporting bartender. “thank you, thank you.”
the moment stalls. well—stalls inside the roaring aircraft hangar of sound below. static hush between you, your brain rifling for something clever and pulling lint. that’s where you almost miss it: his gaze slipping—quick, intent—down to your mouth.
then your back is on cool painted concrete.
it isn’t rough, just decisive—like he’s heard enough imaginary internal monologue and is clocking you out. he kisses you deep; none of the tentative “was that a one-off?” hedging you built anxious little altars around the past two weeks. his mouth tastes faintly of soda gun cola and toothpaste. one hand braced near your hip; the other—cold from the keg room—slides up, settles at the front of your throat. pressure—only the faintest squeeze, a possessive punctuation mark. acknowledgement. yes, he remembers the half-slurred “i like being choked” you fed him like contraband on night one. catalogued. retrieved. applied.
a small involuntary sound embarrasses itself out of you. oxygen re-enters the chat in phases. he breaks the kiss first, of course—breathing steady, eyes crinkled, an almost guilty flash of teeth like he just committed minor vandalism.
“see you downstairs,” he says, already turning, jogging the rest of the steps, dissolving back into strobes and body heat.
you remain there one beat, two, hands dumbly smoothing a skirt that’s still exactly where it was, throat thrumming under the phantom echo of his fingers. profoundly, clinically, idiotically gone. a newborn deer in platforms with a service industry migraine.
you exhale, lock the bathroom door behind you, stare at yourself in the mirror. your reflection looks like it needs medical supervision and/or to never tell mingyu about this under any circumstances.
you text minghao: i’m experiencing complications.
new year’s eve and instead of being wrist-deep in citrus peels and speed pourers you’ve been exiled to cloak. purgatory with coat rails. a mercy, allegedly (“give your joints a break,” mingyu said—translation: we’re overstaffed and someone has to babysit people’s tote bags). downside: zero proximity to joshua. no accidental barback touches, no leaning past his shoulder for the vermouth, no pretense of “can you pass me the spare wine key?” just you, a handheld card terminal, and humanity at its most entitled.
the rush hits 10:00 to 11:30 like a freight train of sequins and breathless “do i really have to pay?” rebuttals. “yes, it’s 4,500 won.” “no, it’s always been 4,500 won.” “no, i can’t just this once let you— there’s literally a sign behind my head, babe.” micro confrontations stacked like dirty shot glasses until you’re numb. by the time the corridor stops vomiting patrons, you’re left with one hundred and fifty-seven coats, a pyramid of sparkly cowboy hats, three suspiciously heavy canvas totes, and silence—if you can call a muffled remix of “goosebumps” (second time, offensive) filtered through a concrete wall silence.
you crack medium raw open again where you left off—bourdain in all his bitter, blistered lyricism—reading the same paragraph three times because every bass drop shakes the paper and your brain keeps inserting joshua into sentences he never wrote. you picture him upstairs, sleeves damp, hair pushed back, brows drawn in polite concern while a customer mangles the word “mojito.”
midnight barrels in somewhere beyond the corridor. the work chat lights up with happy new year!!! fireworks, sticker spam, glitter gifs. you type: hny and send it off like paying a tax. mingyu’s name pops up with a personalized paragraph that reads exactly like a scheduled message he typed three days ago while eating convenience store ramyeon: happy new year, proud of u, etc. you send back a middle finger emoji and a heart.
12:05.
“happy new year!”
you look up. joshua fills the doorway, arms opening in a wide, sun-warm gesture that belongs in a less fluorescent context. he smells like white jasmine, evaporated beer foam, and a suggestion of sweat. you stand and he gathers you, your face pressed briefly against a sternum doing extra duty tonight. he holds on one beat past cordial. your pulse misbehaves.
“happy new year to you too,” you say into cotton, then pull back. “busy in the bar?”
“oh, we’re getting bent over and railed,” he says—casual triage of a war zone. shrugged exhaustion, shoulder roll, smile gentle. “not much fun without you.”
buffering. wheels spinning. witty comeback: pending. you land on a weak, “oh, i’m sure.”
his smile sharpens like he heard the subtext anyway. then—no preamble—his hands slide up, thumbs curving under your jaw, and he kisses you. soft. unhurried. intentional. nothing to do with booze or dark stairwells. just a little timestamp pressed to your mouth. your brain flashes the stairwell kiss from a week ago, overlays it, runs a comparison chart in under a second. different: this one is lighter, almost domestic in the absurdity of it. similar: it catastrophically unseats you.
then he’s gone. coat corridor empty again except for the echo of bass and jasmine.
you stare at the doorway like credits might roll.
thumbs fly:
[you]: mingyu i need to extract that man’s spinal cord through his dick. i’m literally about to start foaming at the mouth
three dots. pause.
[gyu]: can’t explain to u how much i didn’t need to see this during the busiest night of the year
[gyu]: love you sooooo much but i am so close to running into traffic as it is without you being rabid. over an american CAPRICORN no less PLEASE find something productive to do
you: coward. delete. instead: k xoxo.
time returns to its dragged taffy pace. you reread the same half-page of bourdain. a girl in a rhinestone sash stumbles in to ask if she left her vape. (she did not.) somewhere between 2 and 3 a half-fight breaks out just inside the bar doors—muffled security voices, someone slurring apologies. you inventory lost property. imagine joshua’s hands at your throat again. imagine nothing. cycle repeats.
5 a.m. close. the venue exhales; bodies evacuate; lights shock to full brightness. you lock cloak, stretch out your spine, go join the line of bar staff triaging glassware and breaking down garnish while the dj plays something melancholic for the stragglers who don’t understand social cues.
joshua is… friendly. normal again. returns to a distance that’s not cold, just professionally buffered. he thanks you for restocking the bitters earlier (you did not; someone else did). asks if you got through your book. smiles when you lie and say yes. part of you hopes he’s keeping space because he accidentally realized how weak that kiss made you and is merciful. part of you hopes he’s unaware and this is all just an unexamined reflex. you can’t decide which version is worse.
the street outside the club is a littered graveyard of paper crowns and half-deflated balloons, night air already losing its bite. you’re mid-stretch, scrolling ride-share surge pricing, when joshua tips his chin toward the kerb. “there’s a joint in itaewon that stays open ’til eight so hospitality folks can celebrate too—wanna come?”
a dozen reasons to go home line up and fall over like dominoes. you end up wedged in the back of a taxi between him and mingyu, your knee pressed to black denim that carries faint notes of citrus cleaner and boy sweat. joshua taps twice on the glass to tell the driver thank you, and suddenly you’re watching his hands again, cataloguing veins like landmarks.
the bar is all orange neon and sighing leather booths—an aquarium for the over-worked and underpaid. 6:30 a.m. patrons: bartenders, bussers, a couple chefs still in checked pants, everyone blinking like nocturnal creatures caught in a porch light. joshua orders three doubles—jack and coke, sweet enough to camouflage rot—and slides yours over with a small clink. “happy new year, take two.”
you talk about nothing: the worst drink orders of the night, cloakroom chaos, the inevitability of someone vomiting on the sidewalk before close. joshua excuses himself—bathroom, phone call, who knows—and mingyu narrows his eyes across the rim of his glass.
“extracting his spine through his dick?” he deadpans.
“occupational fantasy,” you reply, sipping. “very niche.”
“right.” mingyu’s smirk says i know everything and i hate it. he’s spared follow-up interrogation by joshua’s return—shoulders loose, eyes bright.
“either of you do coke?” josh asks, volume polite. he might as well be offering breath mints.
you glance at mingyu, silently invoking the ancient hospitality rule: if someone else paid, the answer is yes. mingyu shrugs a philosophical once in a while. and that’s consensus enough.
the bathroom stall reeks of disinfectant and stale beer. three adults, one square meter of tile, mutual disregard for personal space. joshua digs keys from his pocket—simple brass house keys, nothing special—balances a neat bump on the tip and offers it to you first, like dessert. bitter chemical tang blooms in your sinuses, cold lightning up the bridge of your nose; relief unspools behind your eyes. you lean forward, tongue flicking the key, both for the residual dust and for the electricity of his stare. tongue goes numb. his pupils bloom. cause ↔ effect.
mingyu grimaces after his bump—“why hasn’t science made this taste like strawberries by now?”—but passes the key back with a shrug. josh takes his like he’s performing communion, then doses each of you again before you dismantle the ritual. you file out in slow motion, neon blurring, heartbeat syncing to the low-end thump of some remix you can’t name.
back in the booth, the chatter clicks effortless—candid, hypersonic. coke confidence has you laughing too loud, leaning too close, racing josh on trivia about californian dive bars and korean drinking customs. mingyu watches, arms folded, the faintest grin playing hall monitor. you know that grin; it means i’m clocking everything for later blackmail.
sunrise bruises the horizon violet. someone suggests kicking on. joshua, magnanimous host, calls an uber to his place. mingyu pays the bar tab before you notice.
josh’s apartment is small, high-ceilinged, decked in mismatched thrift furniture that looks cooler than it should. he returns from the kitchenette armed with a microwave-warm ceramic plate and a rolled 10, coke bag flattened beside. you sit cross-legged on his bed; mingyu perches at the foot, phone lighting his face like a ghost. lines are drawn, sniffed, redrawn, sniffed again. conversation ribbons out—future travel plans, childhood crushes, which liquor brands are secretly owned by demons. mingyu can monologue for hours when stimulated; you float on his voice, half listening, mostly tracing the shape of joshua’s ankle where it juts from frayed denim.
at some point mingyu’s phone starts buzzing—work chat revival, probably—and he drifts sideways, scrolling, muttering rebuttals. the room tilts: just you and josh, the air charged like a plug hovering near a socket.
“you good?” he asks, thumb brushing your knee.
“so good it’s criminal,” you laugh, jazzy on dopamine. you tap his chest like a secret knock. “you, though—still holding up? you ran that bar like a one-man hostage negotiation.”
he huffs. “had motivation.” his gaze skims your lips. “could see the cloak girl glaring every time i served a vodka lime soda.”
“your fault for making them look drinkable,” you tease. knuckles drift to his thigh, deliberate. “honestly, if you weren’t pretty i’d write a formal complaint.”
“pretty, huh?” a slow grin. “that line working for you?”
“dangerously well.” you lean in, conspiratorial, voice honeyed. “tell me i’m prettier.”
he tilts closer, nose barely brushing yours. “unfair advantage—you already know you are.”
coke courage crackles in your bloodstream; you decide to spend it. “flattery’s cheap. prove it.”
his breath catches, something cocky sparking in his eyes—then you close the distance first, mouth claiming his. he answers like he was just waiting for permission; kiss deepens, hand bracketing your jaw. denim friction meets soaked cotton, and a soft, helpless sound slips from you.
mingyu clears his throat—the courteous still here cough. josh breaks the kiss, forehead to yours, smirking as if to say oops. you giggle, half-feral, not moving away. mingyu’s already standing, jacket in hand.
“text me when you’re alive,” he sighs, pseudo-dad mode. you wave him off; door clicks shut.
then it’s just you and josh again—no witnesses, no brakes. his grin softens into something intent. “now, where were we?”
“proving i’m prettier.” you tug his shirt, guide him back down. “scientific method.”
he laughs—low, wrecked—and kisses you like a hypothesis he can’t wait to test, morning light bleeding through blinds while your world narrows to heat, heartbeat, and the delicious lie that this could be everything.
you make out like you’re nineteen and unsupervised. like the clock’s ticking on the world ending and you’re trying to set a personal record before the lights go out.
joshua is all hands and tongue, hot breath and bruising pace, grinding into you like friction alone might do the trick. his jeans are still on. so is your skirt. your panties are wrecked, the sheet’s pulled halfway off the bed, and his hand keeps sliding under your jaw like he needs something to hold onto before he spins out. every time your hips lift to meet him, he groans—this tight, desperate noise like he might actually cry if you keep doing that.
and you? you are, unfortunately, thriving.
the coke hums behind your ribs, fuzzy and loud. everything feels stupid good—his mouth, the weight of him, the fact that he keeps whispering fuck, you’re unreal against your skin like you’ve ruined him completely. you want to unzip him. you want to ruin him for real. your fingers tug at his waistband, testing the button—
“wait—wait—” he gasps, suddenly pulling back. panting like he just ran a sprint. his palm flattens against his own chest. “heart’s going nuts. like. properly nuts.”
you freeze. tilt your head. “like, bad?”
he nods. “like… i need to not die.”
and honestly? fair. your own heart’s doing a little tap routine under your ribs. not dying is kind of a priority.
“okay,” you murmur, brushing sweaty strands from his temple. “okay, that’s fine.”
and it is. you’re too high to be disappointed, too floaty to be embarrassed. you both just lie there for a bit, side by side, breathing like cartoon dogs in a heatwave. after a minute, josh reaches for his phone and pulls you back into his chest like it’s muscle memory. you slot together on instinct—spooned, thighs still sticky, your ass pressed to where he’s still hard and not even trying to hide it.
“princess,” he mutters, just to see what it does to you.
you arch involuntarily, a little jolt of electricity zapping straight through your spine. he laughs. the bastard. “oh my god,” he says, dragging it out, tone pure delight. “good girl too, right? that’s what gets you?”
you don’t dignify that with a response. mostly because you’re pretty sure your brain is melting and your spine has been replaced with a pile of live wires.
so you just scroll instagram together, body flushed and twitchy, heads bumping occasionally. you talk shit about the roster—who’s annoying, who’s secretly hooking up, who’s a nightmare to close with. josh kisses your shoulder at one point and it’s so sweet it makes your stomach drop.
for one dangerous minute, you let yourself entertain it. the idea of this becoming something. maybe not a relationship, not a real one, but something softer than “we just did lines and dry-humped for forty minutes.” he’s warm. he smells good. he’s calling you pretty and kissing your neck and teasing you like you’re already his.
and then, just as fast, reality slaps you sober. you’ve known him eight months. you’ve fucked once (barely). he’s not yours and never will be. you are spiralling because you are touch-starved and running on powdered confidence and a single decent man with nice hands.
so you shut the thought down. shove it into your mental junk drawer where you keep things like “what if he actually likes me back” and “maybe i’m not as emotionally constipated as i think.” you focus on the steady rise and fall of his chest. the buzz in your limbs. the very real, very hard problem still pressed to the back of your thighs.
“next time,” he murmurs behind you, voice dipping low. “we finish what we started.”
you don’t turn around. just grin at your phone screen and pretend your heart isn’t trying to claw its way out of your ribcage.
“sure,” you whisper. “next time.”
whatever the hell that means.
tags — @kpopenthusiast143
there's something special about how soft you are with seungkwan, and he's stuck thinking about it as he watches you bake the cookies he asked you for. tonight's a lazy night for the two of you, a post-birthday celebration since life (or, rather, work) gets in the way sometimes (no matter how much he pouts at this little fact, even if he only does it to see you call him cute and kiss his cheeks). you're humming a song he showed you a few weeks ago, and it's not the first time he's caught you doing it.
you always seemed so tough before he told you he liked you. hell, you still are. he sees the way you get protective of him when he needs you to be. he can stand up for himself, sure, but... there's something so safe about knowing you have his back the same way his most trusted friends do. that if he needs you to step up and say something, you won't hesitate to do so. and yet he's one of the lucky people who gets to see this part of you: the part that measures ingredients carefully, who sings along to the songs he loves, who takes pictures of little things throughout your day just to show him all the things that remind you of him.
"hey." seungkwan calls out, leaning up as if it'll help you hear him clearer. all you do is hum back in acknowledgment, but it's all he needs to continue. "you let your guard down around me."
you look back over your shoulder for a moment. "should i not?" you tease, and it's your smile that gives you away. but you go back to what you're doing all too easily, as if that little glimpse of a smile was too much. "i feel safe around you. that's all."
something about hearing you say it out loud, even if he knew it before, makes his heart warm. "i feel safe with you, too."
"i know." you chuckle, and it's like music to him. "you're not exactly subtle about noticing it." but you look at him one last time before you commit yourself to this present for him, and smile where he can see your whole face. "happy birthday, you big softie." i love you.
his eyes crinkle a little when he smiles at you. "thank you, my brave knight." and i love you, too.
how to ragebait each seventeen member
scoups: tell him you don't know how to play val and when he teaches you the basics, lose on purpose or 'accidentally' do friendly kills
jeonghan: ask his opinion on everything and then show zero personality. it will slowly drive him crazy trying to find ANYTHING interesting about you while drowning him in boredom
joshua: ask him what his english name is. and when he says, "joshua", say, "yes, i know. but what's your english name?" do it on repeat like 5 times
jun: easy answer would be to pretend to kick a cat but you will also get murdered so what you can do is pretend to like cold takeout. he will never speak to you again.
hoshi: honestly hoshi is easy to ragebait. he is not, however, easy to anger. if you do make him angry, run. one thing you can do to annoy him is be the fun police. just down his vibes. idk why anyone would do that to my cutie tho (yes, i am missing him viscerally)
wonwoo: turn off his camera fridge AND his kimchi fridge. he and mingyu will have you blocked. i am joking! he will just never invite you one after that
woozi: pick the biggest wrong take about his favourite anime series and keep on texting him about it. he WILL blow up your phone i promise.
dokyeom: gaslight him a little. it sounds mean but it can be about the tiny things like insist the full fat yogurt is low fat. he knows it's not but the doubt will make him crazy. cons: expect very large paragraph texts
mingyu: fake weaponized incompetence. make him show you how to load the dishwasher every damn day. he will stop trying to teach you at one point but not before cursing out your entire bloodline in his head
minghao: chew super loudly with your mouth open. keep it up and i can't guarantee you will escape with your life
seungkwan: mansplain his ideas back to him in a very, very condescending way. you will be villainized in his daily journal but you will be remembered
vernon: imply you know him better than he knows himself. insist on ordering for him everywhere. he will ghost you after that
chan: wear platform boots under a skirt to make your height 5' 9'' and then stand next to him and say you are 5' 6''
ATTN: Commissioner Park Subject: CONFIDENTIAL: OPERATION BLOODHOUND
ARTICLE 104: V-CAD PSYCHOLOGICAL EVALUATION RE: SEN. SPECIAL AGENT KIM, MINGYU (ORGANISED CRIME DIVISION) ADDED: 5/10/25 PERSONNEL: LT. [L/N, F/N] PERSONNEL NOTES: Delivered to Agent Kim's personal address on 4/10/25; awaiting update from Vampire Crimes and Affairs Division on acquisition of personal details. Will attach once recieved. Reviewed by LT. Yoon, Captain Choi (Hom) & Captain Kang (Org Crime) and forensics department. Classified evidence for protection of Agent Kim, access authorised to Level 3 Clearance and above only.
ARTICLE 99: AMENDED EDEN FLOOR PLAN (GROUND LV) ADDED: 1/10/25 PERSONNEL: LT. YOON, JEONGHAN PERSONNEL NOTES: Please find attached in my previous email breach plans for raid (tba) as executed by Sg. Hong, Jisoo (TAC). We do not currently have a confirmed copy of sublevels. This is the un-annotated copy of the ground level for your reference.
Kind Regards, Lieutenant [L/N] Homicide Division / VCA Task Force Central Crimes Bureau
first love/late spring 🌸 wonwoo x reader.
humans have four lives. a life of planting seeds, a life of watering seeds, a life of harvesting, and a life of enjoying those harvests.
🌸 pairing. first love!wonwoo x reader. 🌸 word count. 2.5k. 🌸 genres. alternate universe: non-idol, romance, friendship. 🌸 includes. first love/s, feelings realization/denial, reincarnation. prose-heavy. synopsis from goblin: the great and lonely god. title from mitski’s song of the same name. inspired by this wonwoo post i made way back when. 🌸 notes. this was my planned enlistment fic, but it took me a while to polish. much thanks to my dearest, @chugging-antiseptic-dye, for beta-ing and assisting with the final line. this goes out to @gotta-winwin, who i’m fairly sure i would find and adore in all my lives. my masterlist
Every morning at 7:42 A.M., you see him on the train.
He always boards two stops after yours, dressed in earth tones and quiet silences. There's a softness to him—the slope of his shoulders, the way he leans ever so slightly against the pole even when there’s a free seat.
He carries a book some days, a plain black umbrella on others. You’ve never heard him speak, but you’ve built a voice for him in your head anyway: calm, deep, a little rough like he only just woke up.
You don’t know his name.
You know how he tucks his hair behind his ear when it falls forward, though. You know he reads with his thumb pressed between pages, like he’s holding space in more than just one chapter. You know the way his eyes flicker to the window, then away, like he’s still not used to being seen.
This is your first life: the planting of seeds.
A glance, a passing thought, a what-if rooted in the mundane. You sit with him in silence, three bodies apart, and imagine what it might be like to bump into him at a coffee shop, to hear him laugh, to say something that earns you a second look.
Once, the train jerks too hard at a stop and he stumbles. Your hand shoots out before your brain catches up, steadying him by the forearm.
He murmurs something—a thank you, you assume— and offers a brief smile. It’s not quite the real thing, but it’s enough to keep you warm the rest of the day.
It’s nothing. It’s everything.
You begin to notice the little things. The way his shoes are always a little scuffed. The tiny pin on his tote bag shaped like a cat. The crease between his brows when he reads something particularly intense.
You wonder if he’s single. If he likes rainy days or prefers the sun. If he’d like the sound of your laugh. If he’s ever looked at you and thought, maybe.
You don’t know it yet—you won’t, not for some time—but you’ve already begun loving him. Not in the way that demands. In the way that simply hopes. That soft, shapeless kind of affection that asks for nothing in return.
Your mother calls this phase infatuation. Your friends call it a crush. But it feels deeper than that, doesn’t it?
Something older. Like a seed you’d forgotten you planted, blooming in the background of your everyday life.
You don’t talk to him. Not yet. Maybe not ever.
You still show up every morning at 7:42 A.M., and that feels like something sacred.
Some people meet under fireworks. Others, under streetlights.
You meet under the hum of subway rails, in the hush of early morning.
And even if nothing comes of it, you’ll remember this as the time you first saw Jeon Wonwoo—when your first love took root on a train that always ran late.
Your second life starts with an assigned seat.
It’s the first day of the semester, and the classroom hums with new pens, old anxieties, and the sharp scent of whiteboard markers. The teacher calls out names alphabetically, and when she says “Jeon Wonwoo,” you don’t flinch.
You don’t remember him from the train, of course—not in this life. That’s how these things work.
He slides into the seat beside yours. A quiet presence that feels oddly familiar. You glance over, and he nods politely, lips pressed in a near-smile.
“Hi,” you say.
“Hey,” he replies. His voice is calm, deep, a little rough like he only just woke up.
This is your second life: the watering of seeds.
What started as quiet curiosity now stretches its limbs toward the light. You’re no longer strangers in motion, but classmates. Partners in the second row.
Wonwoo is the kind of student who doesn’t speak unless he has something to say, but when he does, it sticks with you. He lends you a pen on the second day without you asking. He shares a pack of sour candy with you during long lectures.
He passes you a note during a film screening that just says: This movie is terrible.
You laugh, quietly, and write back: You’re just saying that because you have no taste.
The corner of his mouth twitches. “You wound me,” he murmurs, the words only for you to hear. A lot of Wonwoo’s words are that— yours and yours alone.
You get partnered for a project. Your topic is obscure and boring, but somehow, working with him makes it bearable. You bicker. He rolls his eyes at your messy notes. You start staying late after class to finish the presentation.
One night, you’re both hunched over his laptop in the library. It’s raining outside. The air smells like paper and distant thunder.
“Do you believe in past lives?” you ask him out of nowhere.
He looks at you, long and unreadable. “I think we meet the same people over and over. Just in different ways,” he eventually says.
He’s indulging you. You’re not sure why. You push it, as if somehow wheedling an answer out of him might solve the pitter-patter in your chest. “So, maybe we’ve met before?”
“Maybe,” he says. Then, softer: “Feels like I’ve known you longer than a month.”
Your heart does that thing again. A steady lurch, like a train car that turned a corner a little too fast.
It’s nothing. But it’s also everything.
He walks you home after. You share his umbrella. He offers the dry side of the sidewalk.
You don’t hold hands. Not yet. Maybe not ever.
But your sleeve brushes his once, twice. He doesn’t pull away.
The seeds are growing. They don’t know what they’ll become. They reach out of the soil and towards the sun anyway.
In your third life, there is yield. Something that bears ripe fruit, enough for you to pick and take a bite of.
Your mothers meet in the hospital nursery, trading horror stories about labor while you and Wonwoo cry in tandem from two separate cribs. Dual births, dual baby albums, dual high chairs at every party.
The houses share a fence, your families share garden tools and barbecues, and you and Wonwoo—well. You share everything else.
From the moment you could speak, you said his name like a reflex.
Your first sentence was reportedly, “Where’s Woo-woo?” and his was your name, mispronounced and gummy.
The tapes your moms keep are a blur of toddler feet and wonky camera angles. There’s one where he’s in your kiddie pool wearing a bucket on his head, and you’re laughing like he just invented comedy.
No one ever sat you down to explain your friendship. It just existed, like gravity or rain. And maybe that’s why the feelings sneak up on you. You’ve never known life without Wonwoo—how are you expected to know when the air has started to shift?
The day it happens, you’re sixteen. Lying on the warm roof of the garden shed while he’s reading aloud from some fantasy book you insisted on but couldn’t get through.
You’re not listening to the words. You’re watching the way his lips move, the way his lashes catch the sun. You’re trying to memorize the curve of his jaw, and then you’re thinking: Oh. Oh no.
You spend weeks pretending it didn’t happen.
“You good?” he asks once, when you nearly fall off the roof trying to avoid sitting too close.
“I'm fine,” you say, too fast.
He frowns, puts his book down. “You're acting weird.”
You sit up, brush dust off your shorts, make a face. “You’re weird.”
“That’s not a denial.”
“Shut up and read, Wonwoo.”
He does, but the silence between his sentences stretches.
It becomes harder to lie the more he smiles at you, the more he brushes dirt from your cheek or laughs at your jokes. You feel like you’re drowning in something warm and familiar, something you’ve known all your life but never named.
One night, after a school dance you don’t attend, he climbs through your window like always, hoodie slung over his shoulder. You’re sitting on your bed, and he flops beside you like gravity yanked him there.
“You ever think about stuff?” he asks.
You side-eye him. “That’s vague.”
“I mean, like... why some things feel easy. Like how we never had to try to be friends.”
You don’t say anything. The warmth in your chest is unbearable. He’s right there. He’s always been right there.
“Do you ever feel like we’ve known each other longer than we should’ve?” he continues, eyes on your ceiling. “Like, before this?”
You blink. Your heart pounds so loud, you’re sure he hears it.
“Sometimes,” you whisper. “Sometimes I think I’ve been in love with you before I even knew what love was.”
He turns to look at you. And Wonwoo—quiet, steady, unshakable Wonwoo—smiles like he’s been waiting all his lives to hear it.
“Me, too,” he says.
Your first life—
You wonder about him for years. His quiet demeanor, the books he read, the way he always stood near the door but let everyone pass him when it was his stop.
That was the first version of this feeling: Something sudden, warm, and unearned. Like the sun through a window.
You never know his name, but you built stories around him on every ride, convinced that maybe, just maybe, he’ll turn around one day and say something.
He never does.
And when you graduate, change routes, move cities, you never see him again. He becomes nothing more than that. A story. A seed. A start—for what, you don’t know yet.
Your second life—
He had felt like a miracle, like fate circling back to tap you on the shoulder. You thought that love would bloom into something permanent. It felt like it should have.
But timing is cruel, and the feelings—though mutual—couldn’t survive the storm of adolescence, the fear of messing up something tender. You tell yourself you weren’t meant to be.
You carry him with you anyway, in the songs you send each other, the paper cranes folded during long lectures, the way he once said your name like a secret he didn’t want anyone else to hear.
He walks you home, still, until he can’t. Until a lovely girl takes your place under his umbrella, and you find someone else to share your snacks with.
At reunions, you exchange polite smiles and aborted nods. Both of you find happiness beyond each other.
And then, the hardest of them all—
The one who knew every bad haircut and birthday wish. The one who saw you through braces, heartbreak, and every awkward year in between.
You loved him with the kind of ease that novels try to replicate; for a moment, you thought that might be enough. But when the time came, when the feelings were named and returned, you both pulled back.
Not out of fear, but reverence.
Some things are too precious to touch. You’d rather have him forever as your constant, your anchor, than risk a goodbye too painful to bear.
“Maybe in our next life,” he breathes, forehead against yours, breath warm. “Maybe then we’ll be brave.”
You nod, your fingers curling over the front of his shirt like it might somehow keep him in place. “We always find each other, don’t we?”
He smiles. It looks a lot like a promise.
In that life, you yield.
At least you get to keep him. He delivers a tearful speech at your wedding. He makes you the godmother of his children. Your love reshapes into something else. One that still matters, even if it’s not the kind that you might have expected.
Three versions of a first love.
None of them last. All of them linger.
You don’t regret a single one.
The fourth life begins like the others—quietly, without fanfare.
You meet Wonwoo at a time when everything is finally still.
No childhoods to tiptoe around, no adolescent crushes that tilt into heartbreak. You aren’t sitting across from him in a classroom or watching him disappear behind the closing doors of a train.
He is simply there—on a late spring afternoon at a mutual friend’s dinner, wearing a gray sweater and a small, uncertain smile.
You don’t know it at the time, but this is the life you get to keep him.
It starts slow. There’s time, now. You learn him from the beginning, with no earlier version to compete with. And yet something familiar pulses beneath it all.
You know how he likes his coffee before he tells you. You can predict the rhythm of his speech, the slope of his laughter. You fall in love with him easily, steadily—like gravity pulling you to the ground.
He is your first love in this life. You don’t tell him. Not yet.
And then one day, you lose him.
The details don’t matter. A job offer. A choice. A goodbye. Whatever it is, you let go. It feels like the end of a story you’ve lived too many times before. You think: This is the harvest, and it was never mine to reap.
But you were promised joy in this life, weren’t you?
Years later, you see him again. A bar, this time. Familiar in a way that makes your throat tighten. He hasn’t changed much—still soft-eyed, still shy with his smiles.
“Wonwoo?” you ask, unsure if you want it to be him or not.
He turns. Freezes. His voice, calm and deep, amused and affectionate, shapes the words in the back of your mind: “I was hoping it’d be you.”
You sit. You drink. You talk.
You tell him, somewhere between the second and third beer, “You were my first love, you know.”
Sure, you’re talking about this life, but a part of you feels like it goes beyond that. You’re not sure how many iterations of this story exist in the book of the universe; all you know is that this simply cannot be the only time you’ve counted Wonwoo’s eyelashes, as if you might be able to make wishes with them.
He looks at you for a long moment. Studies you. As if, he too, is mapping out the features of your face against versions of you that no longer exist.
“You were mine, too,” he says.
You laugh, disbelieving. “Really?”
“Really.”
There’s silence. A good one.
And then finally, finally, he kisses you. No fanfare. No salty tears as you resolve to stay friends. It’s not a daydream on the subway, not a fleeting thought in a library.
It’s just that same, steady gravity of eventuality.
When his hand finds yours, when your lips press together, when he pulls apart with a half-smile, you know. Jeon Wonwoo is your first love, and this time, he’ll be your last love, too.
In this life, you finally reap what you sowed.
In this life, the love lasts.
one track mind ⌁ x.mh [m] (part one)
↳ part of the lights out collab!
— synopsis: after years in the spotlight, you've learned one thing: how to get used to new environments, good and bad. despite the time and the friends you've made along the way, things never really change — and that includes the mentality that winning is the only option. – genre: estranged everything to ??? ; angst, fluff, eventual smut. — pairing: race engineer!xu minghao x fem!formula one driver!reader ; mentions of past choi san x reader, jeon wonwoo x reader. – word count: 43.1K / ??? i don't wanna talk about it. — rating: 18+. minors do not interact. – warnings: (lock in, guys because i lose the plot several times.) undefined relationship but minghao is down atrociously. kissing, swearing, estranged relationships, reader has insane emotional trauma. mentions of stalking, exposés, blackmailing, brief mention of minor character death, give or take the illegal street racing. no one calls reader by her name except a handful of people which is important!!! mentions of anxiety and mental breakdowns, lots of emotions all around. smut warnings: unprotected sex, public (?) sex, semi-clothed; fingering, oral (f.rec), nipple play because i fuckin said so; breathplay? choking..esque? lots of petnames because they're gross. begging, biting/marking, not missionary which is so unlike me but DOGGY of all things...creampie. — what to listen to: hold it against me - britney spears ; dontcha - the pussycat dolls ; 24 hours - sunmi ; everything is embarrassing - sky ferreira ; twenty-three - iu ; lonesome love - mitski ; heavy - the marías ; lacy - olivia rodrigo ; all i ask - adele ; i loved you - day6 ; understand - keshi ; letting go - day6 ; into the new world - girls' generation. – author's note: hello! i know this is long and only part one of i don't know how many, but i hope you all enjoy it. thank you to @camandemstudios for yet another collab, and special thank yous are as follows: to ro @shinysobi for letting me use her name; emita @hannieoftheyear, bennie @miniseokminnies and aeris @aeristudios for encouraging me to keep going when i truly was losing the plot and wanting to give up. and, the most special thanks to @joshujin - for being my yapperitis comrade in caratblr. as usual, star dividers are by @/saradika-graphics here on tumblr! as for the links, those are 100% to click if you want to get memed lmao. here's to part one, and hopefully part two will come soon! 🥂
— LOS ANGELES, CALIFORNIA | 12:54 PM.
"Ladies and gentlemen, welcome back to 105.7 Radio DELTA!"
Your skin is covered in a thin layer of sweat as you adjust in your seat, clearing your throat softly as you tug the hem of your dress down your thighs slightly. You blame it on the humidity. You blame it on the pre-season jitters, you want to blame it on anything but the guilt in the back of your throat.
"I am your host, Wen Junhui. Today, we are joined by a few special guests! We have our beloved Ferrari team present…"
You zone out as Junhui introduces the people surrounding you – your teammate, Lee 'Flame' Jihoon and his race engineer, Kwon 'Hoshi' Soonyoung. Both men are sitting across the table, introducing themselves into the microphones as Junhui directs his attention to you, and your race engineer. The sound of his name rolls off Junhui's tongue smoothly, practiced. Like he's said it his whole life and it's never gotten stuck in your throat, heavy on your tongue like the man next to you isn't the absolute light of your life — "...And we are ecstatic to present my best friend in this entire world. The one and only flash-flash, hundred-yard dash, and Ferrari's finest: Song Y/N! How are you doing today?!"
You want to match his excitement. You do.
"I told you not to call me that, it's like I'm showing off." You snort into the microphone, your cheeks warm as your life-long best friend grins at you over his own microphone from across the table. You twiddle your thumbs beneath the table, before feeling a soft palm cover them gently. Not bothering to look down, you carefully interlace your fingers; your shoulders relaxing as Junhui wiggles his brows and the camera pans back to Jihoon and Soonyoung smiling across the table.
"You are a showoff, and I'm allowed to call you whatever I want, I'm your best friend." He argues playfully, and you scrunch your nose as you shake your head with laughter. "Anyway! First and foremost, how are you, Y/N? It's been a long time since we've had you on the show. I'd say what, a good two years? Did the off-season treat you well?" You shrug, "The off-season is…well, it's exactly that, the off-season. I feel weird, and I feel odd having to find things to fill my time with. I went back home to Shenzhen three separate times within two weeks just to feel something, only to return with too many leftovers and missing my father's rice wine. He says hello, by the way." Your exaggerated pout makes him laugh almost maniacally.
"Any vacations that don't involve going back home? Or, baecations, that we should know about?" "No, and you treat your radio show like it's one of our monthly dinners. Our other friends here, stop that!" "I will, if you can tell me when the last time you showed up to one of our monthly dinners was. I'll bet you a crisp twenty that you can't!" Laughter fills the station, but nothing makes your stomach flutter like the bitten giggle next to you. Your hand squeezes softly, only to feel the pad of a thumb start tracing circles into your skin. Your thighs are brushing from the closeness of your chairs, but he inches away slightly as the camera pans to you – almost making it seem like an innocent swivel of his chair.
"That's not fair, Junhui. You know I'm busy." "As am I, but I still send my Google Calendar invitation every month! But speaking of being busy, my dear friend, the fans have been busy flooding our DMs and ask boxes with questions for you since we announced you'd be on this week! Are you up for a few?" You nod at his eager smile, clearing your throat before matching his expression. "Absolutely, hit me." The questions are easy, and they're repetitive from years past: Janelle from Nashville asking if you're posing for PETA again, Lourdes from Sicily asking if you'd ever do a press tour like you did at the beginning of your career six years ago…and unnamed 9-year-old girl from Houston with no questions – just wanting to tell you that you're her hero.
It warms your chest and your neck and suddenly, the room is too hot when you realize that you've been perceived as more than just Y/N. You're not Y/N to thousands of people across the globe; and once the season starts again, eventually, you'll get lost in being nothing more than the Ferrari Flash again, accompanied only by your counterpart, Ferrari Flame: Lee Jihoon. And you wonder how he doesn't lose sight of who he is when you've both been bound to a brand and you feel like you'll never be more than the haunting bright red. Jihoon went home and enjoyed his off-seasons. He went home to a lovely wife and a cute tabby cat named Calico, and he went home to those who missed him. He went home, and he was home to those he returned to. Where was that for you?
"...Yinghua from Tianjin wants to know if you'll be debuting a new beau any time soon." Junhui's smile is too wide; it almost reminds you of the Cheshire Cat as you narrow your eyes at him. A smile tugs at the corner of your lips anyway, and you let a dramatic sigh slip from your mouth before rolling your eyes at him.
"Are you sure Yinghua from Tianjin isn't Junhui from Shenzhen?" Your voice is teasing, and Junhui laughs into the microphone with a tinge of mirth. "Anyway, to answer your invasive question…"
You feel the hand squeeze yours, burning hot.
"No. No beaus. No ifs, ands, or buts, either." "You're hilarious." "You're not even laughing, Jun." "It doesn't negate that you're the funniest person in my life." Junhui scoffs, and you wonder if the bickering that reminds you of your childhood together isn't too much for the mid-afternoon radio show. You keep firing back despite your concerns; the only thing keeping you grounded is the hand on yours, that smooths over your thigh every once in a while, squeezing your knee and kneading the flesh of your leg before slipping back into your palm for safekeeping.
You're grateful that the cameraman keeps the lens at eye-level.
"Now, I know you've been cleared to talk about your upcoming partnerships for the next season and all the fans want to know. We know you signed a pretty big deal with Love&Letter for this upcoming season, and you've renewed your sponsorship with ORBIT Tech, but we're all awaiting the big answer here. Y/N, our beloved Flash…are you staying with Ferrari this season?"
The truth?
You hadn't been sure if you wanted to, but the chance to slither out of your ten-year contract had gone out the window exactly twelve days ago. The benefits of staying with Ferrari heavily outweighed the cons, but the importance to your heart was quality; not quantity.
A part of you yearned to leave racing altogether; but with the fatal, crushing flaw of your one-track mind being rooted in the dig of your tires in the tarmac…it just wasn't something you knew you could do. You weren't confident enough, strong enough, any of it. Your nightmares were full of the tracks you'd memorized over the years – and you begged whatever God was out there to see more than the burning wheels, the crashed carts, the medical team hauling you off before you fought your way back onto the track like your life depended on the win more than anything else. Because the win was what mattered.
The applause, the cheers, the relief of darting into an empty bathroom and splashing cool water on your face; letting it drip through your lashes before braving the gaggle of journalists, stoic competitors, sponsors, your teammate…
Him, with the knowing smile. Him, with the soft eyes and soothing touch that you'd never admit to yourself you find comfort in – not unless you were six margaritas and a drunk cigarette in. Him, who you found yourself gravitating to at the end of every press conference, every dinner, every event; him, that you called even if you were halfway across the world during the off-season and he wasn't with you, and he always picked up. No matter the time…
He always picked up.
"Oh, absolutely! Ferrari and I have been going strong for six years now, I'd be a fool to leave such a promising team. I will admit this one time, only, though: I don't think I could go a single day without bothering my beloved Ferrari Flame, Lee Jihoon. Pissing him off right before a race always puts me in a good mood, and it's even better when the drinks are on him because he barely scraped second to me across that finish line." A laugh is shared around the studio, your hand moving to squeeze his knee twice. He doesn't flinch, but if you glanced to the right just an inch – you would see a soft blush creeping up his neck, coating his ears and cheeks as he slid his palm over the back of your hand before crossing his legs at the knee, keeping your hand wedged in.
And you don't mind the weight of it, either. "It's not that you piss me off, per se…" Jihoon clears his throat, and you give him a knowing smile as you lean back slightly in your seat. "You just get under my skin sometimes." "Is that not the same thing? I get all in your head, and you miss my rear wing by an inch–" "Okay, now you're starting to piss me off."
Another resounding chortle is heard, before Junhui pulls everyone back. "So, would you say that Jihoon is one of the most important people on your team, or even in your life? Someone who dodges your punches like no other?" Your eyes flicker to the knee covering your hand, the chipped black polish that you chose on his dangling fingers. A few thick, silver rings and yet – one gold on his thumb, matching the one ring nestled on your hand. You lean forward, tongue darting out to wet your lips before feeling the same warmth squeeze your hand. Almost as if to say…you don't have to.
"I'd say Jihoon is an important part of my day, yeah. He shares his sandwiches with me and he's always listening to what people say about me, and he defends me if something is out of line…stop smiling like that, you little freak!" You laugh into the microphone at Jihoon's boyish grin, pride exuding from the glimmer in his eyes, "but, despite how near and dear to my heart he may be, there is only one person I'd say is the absolute highlight of my day, and someone I genuinely could not do any of this without."
Junhui beams, "Aw, Y/N–" "And that's Infinite."
A snicker is heard beside you, the camera panning to your scowling best friend. His knew slides off your hand to interlace your fingers on your lap again, making Junhui put and turn his nose up at you before he scoffs.
"I'm your best friend!" "He's my engineer and, simultaneously, the pebble in my shoe. I could not do anything without Infinite. I love you, Jun, but–" "If there's a but, you don't love me!" The studio fills with giggles once more, with Junhui's pout pulling at your heart strings as he sulks into the microphone. You smile softly, reaching over the table and ruffling his hair under the headset as he swats your hand away.
"I do love you, Junhui! Remember when I honored you at the banquet last year? I might have to attribute MVP to Infinite, but you were the start of it all. You got me into racing, you helped me build connections, you were my eye in the sky. There would be no Ferrari Flash without you, you know that."
You snicker at the little smile creeping onto his lips, before shaking your head and letting the chattered questions in the room fill your mind. You're not entirely there, mechanically analyzing questions and finding answers in the grooves of your mind to appease listeners, sponsors, managers. Junhui sees right through you, you know he does — he's been your best friend since the two of you met in elementary school, always helping you with extracurriculars and teaching you how to do long division…
And helping you make friends.
The squeeze around your hand reminds you of the first friend Junhui helped you make as your eyes drift to his face. Soft, gentle features — the slope of his nose, plump lips…paired with sharp eyes that miss nothing, especially when it comes to you. You see him glance at you out of the corner of his eye, and you notice the way he almost leans into your lips – stopping himself before clearing his throat and spotting the cameras pointed at Jihoon. He squeezes your hand again, rolling his chair impossibly closer to yours before resting his cheek on your bare shoulder. Your dress rubs his skin, and he quickly tugs at the hem of your sleeve to move it out of the way.
"Minghao." You whisper through gritted teeth, but he only presses a chaste kiss on the skin of your exposed shoulder as he ignores you, your cheeks hot as Junhui smiles inwardly. You like the warmth in your chest when Junhui's eyebrows wiggle as he keeps reading off his script, talking about the announced stops for the upcoming season. He asks which track makes you most excited, and you sarcastically reply with the Fuji Speedway — something you'd started saying a few years ago, alluding to the idea of wanting to quit racing but no one has truly caught on. The Fuji Speedway had left the racing world before you even got into it, but something within you longed to join it even if it brought financial ruin (which, it wouldn't, but a girl can catastrophize her life in attempts to enjoy it more, can't she?)
It felt like a waste to quit, and you didn't know what you'd do with your time. You didn't have a partner, or kids, or anything that would 'traditionally' take up your time.
Not that you cared to be traditional.
Your life has been so fast, so busy since you got into the world of professional racing — and despite not being a life-long karter like the rest of your colleagues, you still showed up and showed the hell out. Win after win, celebration after celebration…you were one of the best and you had no intention of changing that.
But sometimes, just sometimes…the shadow of doubt tries to creep in.
It's usually after a race, particularly if you've done what you consider to be bad – but Minghao always swoops in before you can spiral into it. He coaxes you out of the bathroom, he tells reporters you'll be with them after you eat…he forms a bubble where the only voice you can hear is his and if it's not the most comforting thing in the world…you don't know what could be. He's become a safe space.
Xu Minghao…he was everything a friend should be, everything a boyfriend could be and everything you hoped a husband would be. Your husband, if you ever actually opened the gate to your beaten heart and let it heal.
Should've, could've, would've.
And you let yourself romanticize normal things like friendships, dating, even potentially starting a family that you're not all that sure you want, anyway — until you looked at the packed schedule in your Google Calendar, color-coded by managers, the lone monthly dinner invitation from Junhui sandwiched under your 8 PM: call Dad.
The dinner you try to catch as often as you can, the call you try to make as weekly as you can – because a part of you misses normalcy. You miss the normalcy of just having dinner at Junhui's apartment; you miss knowing the kitchen where your meals were cooked on aged steel pans, knowing where the bathroom is without having to ask, being able to wear sweatpants and kick your shoes off to sit at his coffee table and eat dinner. The heart in you missed the silence of Junhui's apartment – the solace of it all, the familiar scent of your best friend and his cologne, the way his sheets always smelled of honey and how he'd put on a movie before the two of you inevitably knocked out on his cheap mattress that hurt your back.
That was dinner with Junhui on the 27th of every month. That was your best friend in the entire world, aside from one Mr. Song (your father.) Showing you that he was still the safe space he had been your entire lives; hinting at normalcy, as he talked about his life with his other friends, his dating adventures, his possible endorsements for the show, his bored reminiscing of his time on the tarmac…everything seemed like it was so normal for him. Because it was. The difference between you and Junhui was that he was able to ease into his fame, his spotlight – because he also left his career as a driver in the past. Two years in, one with Kick Sauber and one with McLaren and Junhui made the ultimate decision to leave — finding success as a radio show host, focused on the ups and downs of athlete lives, of sports, of Formula One and you. You were his favorite guest, one of his only recurring guests, and his best friend on and off the air. Whereas you were thrust into the world of racing. Photographed alongside then-Kick Sauber driver Wen Junhui, you were immediately perceived as a girlfriend – only to join him on the tarmac during his year at McLaren. You never once gave him a chance to beat you out on the track, and you both cleared up relationship rumors like nobody's business. Not only were you good, not only were you knocking long-standing champions like Aston Martin's Jeon Wonwoo out of the fucking park…
But you're also a woman. One of four current female racers, and you were signed a year after Lee Saerom, two years before Park Jihyo and Chou Tzuyu. You'd become friendly with the three of them, but their own schedules kept them as busy as yours kept you – only managing quick lunches before a race or late night drinks to celebrate wins before hopping on flights, if you weren't looped into some sort of deal together. Last year, the four of you were photographed for Vogue – something about the Fabulous Four of Formula One, with personalized style concepts and lengthy interviews about your lives…
Including your romantic one, something you didn't want to share.
So you didn't.
Lee Saerom was the first to be signed, a blue pen scrawling her life to Kick Sauber for ten years. She was on the tarmac before the ink on her contract could dry, eager to escape the past by driving away at full speed. She was glued to the hip with Junhui that year, meeting you two weeks into their first season together and immediately hitting it off. She remained a close friend to you and Junhui after you joined and he left the tarmac for good, but you watched something shift within her when her new teammate was introduced. Apparently, there was history between her and one Lee Seokmin – romantic history, agonizingly mushy romantic history. It made their team rather awkward, with communication remaining at a minimum until Seokmin mentioned a girlfriend at one of the first weekends during their first season…
But the longing glances never wavered. Chou Tzuyu was signed to McLaren after nearly two decades dedicated to karting. She was teamed up with a certain Kim Mingyu, only to be immediately warned not to fall for his good looks and natural charm by literally everyone. She rolled her eyes and said she wouldn't – then found herself in a now three-year committed relationship with the driver and breaking records by both being the tallest on their respective rosters as well as being the first (and only) couple to race against each other on the tarmac. You met Tzuyu two weeks after she signed to McLaren, and you met her at a photoshoot of all places — but you'd been hearing all about her from Mingyu since he first laid eyes on her; it wasn't hard to picture them together. You figured being signed to the same team definitely made the relationship easier, watching Mingyu flirt with her like a loser by hanging onto the rear wing of her kart. Eventually, the forced proximity, the flirting, the way Mingyu made it evident he was interested in the way the cogs of her mind worked — it all lead to you following their private couple Instagram where they posted their dates, their destination vacations on the off-seasons, even family dinner photos in Taiwan and Korea. It was all respected by the fans and the McLaren team, and there was no one trying to invade their privacy as they posted subtle shots together on their public pages. It made you wonder where you went wrong, but no use crying over spilt milk (or broken hearts, if you wanna be technical.)
Despite two co-ed teams having romantic history within teammates (in past and present tense,) Mercedes' Park Jihyo and Choi Seungcheol had nothing of the sort. The two of them grew up together, and while two years apart, they were the youngest children at their apartment complex. They became somewhat of frenemies throughout the years – with Seungcheol chasing off potential boyfriends to get under Jihyo's skin and Jihyo badmouthing him to the girls in his grade to ruin his chances of getting into any of their hearts. She signed to Mercedes the day after Seungcheol renewed his contract – without warning or prior notice to the older man, thus sending him into a downward spiral. She argued that she didn't have to tell him anything, that she was her own person and that only brought forth more bickering; in fact, they were constantly at each other's throats. You once caught them arguing about the catered lunch and how Seungcheol took the last sandwich, only for Jihyo to snatch it out of his hand and narrowly escape the pit with him hot on her heels. Despite their obvious history as something of friends, something of enemies – they were a fiery duo, two natural leaders fighting everyone for the top spot, including each other.
Only for you to find out on a drunken girls' night that Seungcheol was Jihyo's first kiss, and she was his – done the night before he left for his career with Mercedes and changed his number. She admitted that seeing him on the silver screen of the sport they both loved pained her, but she knew she had the same potential, if not stronger, of taking his spot, too.
As for you?
You joined Ferrari six years ago, a year before Junhui left, shocking dozens of Junhui's fans the moment your position was announced. Your initial introduction to the team was nerve-wracking but it certainly wasn't anything particularly exciting — you sat in a slightly cramped office with Junhui for moral support as your contract sat in front of you, your pen uncapped by your manager, Mina.
She introduced other people in the room: Lee Jihoon was your teammate and another new addition to the Ferrari team. Kwon Soonyoung was his racing engineer and your engineer was running late to the meeting. She apologized, saying you could go ahead and sign your contract while you waited, but you refused – only to see Xu Minghao apologetically ducking past the threshold of the office. The apology died on his lips the moment his eyes found yours across the room, instead tonguing his cheek as a smile fought its way onto his face. He rounded the table as you stood almost abruptly, embracing him in a tight hug as everyone stared confusedly. Junhui explained that the three of you were childhood friends that lost contact, and the reunion was (bitter)sweet.
This would be your second reunion, the first tainted by his early departure. And this one would be tainted, too – when Junhui told you both over dinner that same night that he didn't plan to return to racing the following season. You and Minghao took the news hard, but neither said anything more as you dropped Junhui off at his hotel room and took the elevator to yours together. Not much else was said, only soft looks and a quiet goodnight when you both retreated to your respective rooms – but there was something there. Something unspoken, something burning as you glanced over your shoulder to see him doing the same before slipping into your rooms.
Saerom, Jihyo, Tzuyu and you were as close as you could be – forming solidarity through fighting misogynistic views and creating a space in the racing world that would only grow bigger as more and more women got into the sport. You all posed for the same magazines, represented countless organizations, and tried to entertain the idea of a girls' trip during the off-season but even then, your schedules were jam-packed…even if you didn't really allow people into your personal life on the same level you did Junhui or Minghao.
Aside from the fact that quitting the racing scene was something that was constantly on the forefront of your mind, you learned the hard way that letting people be a part of your private life would only lead to complications. Granted, you never thought something like that would happen to you and you genuinely thought you'd covered all your tracks – no social media posts, phones off, hotels and reservations booked under pseudonyms and you thought everything was perfect.
"...you would think you'd be a little more excited for the season, Minghao." His name pulls you back to the present, and you realize your hand is freed of his on your lap, slightly limp and cool.
"I am excited about the season, Junhui. I'm excited to reunite with a few of the other drivers, and I had the worst time adjusting to the off-season this year. You can even ask Soonyoung, I was restless." Minghao shrugs, and you put a soft smile on your face as the camera pans to you. It pans away just as quickly, and you shift next to him as he clears his throat. His hand grips at the fabric of his pants as Junhui moves the attention to Soonyoung, and fingers grab the underside of your chair and pull you closer to him. He slides his hand over your thighs and interlocks your fingers once more, almost as if he was losing his mind without your touch.
Despite the closeness…you and Minghao were not labeled as anything more than just friends. Friends, coworkers, lunch buddies. You would go out shopping together, you'd join fellow drivers and engineers at outings, you'd spend time exploring cities side-by-side…
Sometimes, you'd end up back in your hotel room. You'd end up in his lap, the two of you tipsy off red wine and the berry taste lingering on your tongues as you pawed at his belt and the hands you admired pushed your skirt up your thighs, grip bruising against your skin. You'd end up in your bed, his hand tugging on your hair and holding you close to him, the sound of skin on skin and choked, muffled moans embarrassing.
You simply sit and listen to the chatter around you.
The rest of the interview went on with your mind filling of your nights with Minghao – whether you were fully clothed or not decided if you bit back your smile or stuttered on your answers. The glint in Junhui's eyes never disappeared, and your wary demeanor in front of the camera never waned, but neither did the warmth of Minghao's skin on yours. Junhui wrapped up the interview with the sponsorship announcements and your goodbyes – your own sounding a bit strained as you waved at the camera with a soft smile.
"You are both nauseating." Jihoon spoke up the moment the cameras were cut, and you scowled as your teammate stuck his tongue out at you. Minghao's grip on your hand didn't loosen as he stood, pushing his chair in with a bitten grin. "When are you guys going to stop hiding under tables and around corners? It's not like we don't know."
Neither of you reply as the photographer makes you all pose in front of the Radio Delta sign. You leave little space between you and Minghao, your hand holding his hidden behind your hip. Your ring digs into his skin, but he doesn't move away from you as both smile for the flashing camera. You feel him press his lips to your temple quickly before Jihoon makes a gagging noise, and you throw him a dirty look as Minghao's arm wraps around your waist gingerly. "It's one thing for us to know, Ji. You know that." Junhui pipes up as he scrolls through the pictures and chooses one before running his fingers through his hair. "So…lunch on me? Or are you guys busy?" "I'm down for lunch. We can go to that cafe you took us to, what was it? With the braised pork belly rice?" Minghao agrees, grabbing his coat off the back of his chair when you clear your throat. He glances down at you, everyone's eyes doing the same as you pat the back of his hand. "I'm not hungry, you guys go on without me. I'm going to head to the hotel and unpack a bit." You give them a curt smile, grabbing your purse off the back of your chair and moving towards the door as the rest of your team nods slowly. Minghao's eyes hold something you don't let yourself think too hard about as you excuse yourself, waving to all the technicians involved in Junhui's show before one of the security guards you came with gives you a sharp look. His name-tag reads A. Hironaka, BSIS. "Are you ready to head out, ma'am?"
His voice is gruff, and you only nod quickly as he clicks around on his phone. He beckons for you to follow after him, your heels clicking on the linoleum floor the only sound in your ears as you're led out the back to a black van. The same driver from earlier was inside, giving you a quick smile before the guard steps forward to open your door.
"Y/N! Are you sure you don't want lunch? We're meeting Mingyu and Tzuyu at Liu's Cafe."
Minghao's voice rings across the private parking lot, and you don't get a chance to reply before he's crossing it. He's standing next to the guard now, who gives him a nod before slipping around the car to slide into the passenger seat. Minghao's lithe fingers hold the door as you hoist yourself into the car, and you tongue your cheek. "You love Liu's." "I need to know if the team got my room checked out." "Our room, sweetheart. And they did, I got a text. We're cleared."
Minghao's smile is warm as he leans in slightly, his eyes flickering to make sure the partition between the driver and the cab is still up. "I'm with you. Nothing is going to happen, okay?" His hand moves to squeeze your knee lightly, and you can't help but let a pout grace your lips. He lets his hand slide up to your waist, invading your space a bit more as he brushes his nose to yours. "C'mon, pretty girl. You need to eat."
You sigh, pressing your lips to his chastely and moving away before he can kiss back. He frowns, but you press the palm of your hand to his chest as he chases after your lips. Wrapping your arms around his shoulders, your fingers carding through the soft hair at the nape of his neck as he watches your face. "Can I just meet you guys there? I want to at least hear it from their mouths that we're cleared." You admit quietly, and he hums.
"Or…we can order room service. Watch trash reality TV and get you out of this dress." His lips press in soft kisses around your cheeks, and you snort as you lightly smack his shoulder. You feel his lips curve into a smile on the side of your face, before the bite of his teeth on your earlobe makes you gasp. "I'll text Jun." "Tell him I'll make it up to him." You mumble as you slide back into the seat, making room for Minghao to slip in next to you. He nods, closing the door carefully as the familiar beep of the GPS is heard through the partition. You make the choice to sit in the middle seat, your thigh rubbing against Minghao's as you haphazardly pull your seatbelt across your chest. Your stomach swirls as the car starts moving; the light tap of Minghao's fingertips against his phone screen is the only thing distracting you from the weird feeling settling in your lower belly.
It's not really weird. It's normal at this point, but it's weird because you don't know what could come of it. You've gotten it every time you've had to stay in a hotel since the incident. You get it every time you stay at a new hotel. Or an old hotel, or any hotel, ever. You don't trust them anymore, the privacy stripped to the point that you wonder if you'll ever be able to get a room alone again.
Not that you mind Minghao's company. You don't. If anything, you bask in it like a lizard in the sunlight. You take in the warmth and hope it lasts forever, the scent of his soft cologne mixing with your shampoo and lingering in your nose.
The relationship remains unlabeled. It remains confusing, messy, but reliable. Minghao is reliable, you are reliable – and there's no doubt in your mind that Minghao felt the same thundering in his chest when you reunited that morning after the official end of the off-season. You know that his eyes glimmer with excitement when he sees you, not only because he's your friend, but because…well, there's something more. Something in the kissing, in the touching, something in the way your lips form around his name and the way you worship every inch of him like he'd disappear if you closed your eyes. Something about every pet name that slips out of his mouth, in the way he pulls you into him by wrapping his fingers around your neck gently…
Something about Minghao. God, something about him.
The ride is silent aside from the jazz bleeding through the speakers, with Minghao's hand holding yours against his thigh. Your head is leaned slightly on his shoulder, his cheek against your hair as you both look out the tinted window, watching people pass by. You see a billboard for Junhui's radio show, your best friend's face smiling back at you from fifty feet above ground.
The driver pulls into the porte-cochère before you know it, and you unbuckle your seatbelt with a soft thank you through the partition. There are a few people standing around the front as Minghao cracks the door open, your security guard already standing outside as he pushes it further. He slides out, holding your hand tightly as he helps you out. There are no fans, but you can tell the lingering guests are wondering what makes you so important as you duck your head and make your way through the entrance and lobby before you're handed your keycards by the same security guard as you're guided to the back of the lobby, taking a left turn into an office-like room. Inside, there is another security guard standing rigidly, guarding what seems to be a private elevator. Without a word, you all slip into it, with the second security guard following and facing the doors. Mr. Hironaka presses the number 11, before turning on his heel to face you both.
"You are staying on floor eleven in Suite 7B with Mr. Xu. Your personal concierge for the weekend is named Eleanore and her extension is 1-9-9-7. I will be across the hall in room 14B should you need anything, and my room extension is 0-5-2-6. If you are leaving the building or going anywhere within it, you are to take this elevator. You must let your concierge and myself know before doing either." He gives a curt bow of his head, before speaking again. "The cybersecurity team you hired is still stationed in your room. They've asked to check your cellphones and any other technology you might have brought with you for spyware. It should take no more than five minutes." You only nod, and he turns to face the doors as they open, stepping out before guiding you down the hall to your room. Minghao swipes his keycard, opening the door to see the cybersecurity team is staring back at you. They wear serious expressions on their faces as they greet you almost robotically, before a young woman clears her throat.
"Your room has been cleared, we ran our software twice in case we missed anything. All your mirrors are safe, as is your television and your landline. We will need to run software on your phones and any other tech you've brought with you, if you'd like to handle that now before we head out for the night. It will only take a second." She nods politely, and you fish your phone out of your purse as Minghao hands his over without a second thought.
He shrugs his jacket off and hangs it over the back of the desk chair, heading for the bathroom as you toe your heels off in the corner of the room; watching out of the corner of your eye as they plug all sorts of wires into the ports of your phones. A few beeps are heard, murmurs amongst the team sounding in your ears as you grab a hanger out of the wardrobe and beeline for Minghao’s jacket. You smooth it over the wooden arms, tugging the zipper up as more murmuring fills the room before the same throat clearing catches your attention.
"Your room and devices are have passed inspection. Is there anything else my team can do for you during your stay?" The young woman presses more buttons on a remote-like device in her hand, unplugging your phone from it with one hand before holding it back out to you. You shake your head, taking Minghao's phone as the team packs up quickly.
"Thank you. Is there a business card I could get? I'll be in Los Angeles more after the end of my season." You smile politely, and she fishes one out of her pocket, her own smile mirroring yours. "We'd be happily at your service, Miss Song. Take care and thank you for trusting us with your cybersecurity needs."
They exit the room in a uniform line, Minghao popping back out of the restroom to say his goodbyes. You give him a look as you follow behind them, giving them a small wave as you close the door, locking it quickly. You sigh, pressing your forehead to the cool metal of the door when you feel his fingers curl around the slope of your neck, pulling you back lightly. The back of your head hits his chest, the warmth of his hand covering the base of your throat as his arm wraps around your waist.
"Minghao." You groan, but he doesn't dignify you with a response. He dips his head down slightly, pressing his lips to your temple. You let your eyes flutter shut, your hand moving to wrap around his wrist on your neck; feeling his hand around your waist move to your back and slide up, pinching the zipper of your dress between his fingers.
"Minghao, lunch." Your voice is no higher than a whisper as he tugs the zipper down, your skin prickling as the cold air hits it. He smiles against your cheek, nipping at it with his teeth.
"You hate this dress, don't think I don't remember." He gives your neck a soft squeeze, before dropping his hand and turning you in his hold. Your hands press against his chest, his eyes making your cheeks warm as he smiles down at you. "I'll look through the menu and see if there's anything you like while you shower. Deal?" "Join me." You mumble, your fingers picking at his shirt aimlessly. "Please?" "Mmh, I'll think about it. Go."
You huff, worming out of his arms as he chuckles behind you. You turn into the bathroom, pulling the sleeves of your wretched dress down your arms and pushing the bunched fabric down your legs before kicking it to the side. You sigh as you stuff it into the woven basket in the corner, moving about with purpose and fiddling with the shower knobs. The water isn't too strong, but hot enough that you let it go and strip off your intimates.
The water is soothing against your back as you step into it, trickling through your hair and down your shoulders as yet another sigh slips from your lips. You cross your arms on your chest, closing your eyes as you let the warmth wash over you – the warmth of the water, of the security blanket, of knowing Minghao is with you and nothing could possibly go wrong with all the precautions you've taken.
The creak of the bathroom door opening is heard, a soft tsk from Minghao's lips as he moves around, likely picking up your underwear and putting it into the hamper. You can hear the thwip of his shirt being discarded, and you ignore the heat of your cheeks as you feel his presence behind you.
This is how it starts every time. A shower together to mark the beginning of the season, his hands sliding up your wet body and caressing the most intimate parts of your soul as the water pelts you both. A shower that turns into kissing, into sex, into spending your nights after practices and races in his arms in one bed despite all your rooms coming with two.
Even if you slipped into your own bed halfway through the night before you refused to let yourself feel more than him, even if you speculated it was the other way around…nothing meant anything if he didn't say it.
"How are you feeling?" His voice is soft as he swipes all your hair back, his fingers barely grazing the skin of your shoulders as you shrug. You turn, keeping your eyes closed as you let the water run over your face.
"I should've taken you up on the offer to go home with you. The off-season was dreadful this time around." You confess, wiping at your eyes before opening them. He's peering down at you, his gaze gentle as you look away. "I missed you." "You could've called, baby." "And look desperate?" "It's not desperation if I feel the same way, you know. I miss you all the time." "Then why didn't you call?" You scowl lightly, running your fingernails up his torso. He shivers, grabbing your wrists and pulling you forward. You wrap your arms around him, still giving him a nasty look before resting your head against his chest; the thundering of his heart comforting to your restless mind. He cards his fingers through your wet hair, reaching for the shampoo and lathering it into your scalp. He sighs, shaking his head above you.
"I should've. You're right." His admission is laced with defeat, likely feeling your triumphant smile against his skin. "Maybe then you wouldn't have posted that photo of you in the black dress from the New Years Eve party. That comment section was atrocious." "Are you jealous, Xu Minghao? That's not like you." You gasp in feigned shock, feeling his hand slide from your head to your neck, spreading suds across your skin as he makes you look up at him. "Are any of those people in this shower with you?" He says pointedly, a brow raised as if to challenge you. You only smile up at him, your nails digging lightly into his back as he rolls his eyes. "Didn't think so. I can't believe everyone saw you in that dress. Do they know I picked it?" "You are jealous." Your voice is teasing as he tilts your head back to rinse it of shampoo, leaning forward slightly to brush his lips to yours. You almost try to kiss him, missing the ache of his teeth sinking into your lower lip but he pulls away. "I'm allowed to be jealous." "Are you?" "Yes. You're not available and the people should know that."
"But that means a label." You remind him, and he scoffs, rolling his eyes once more. "You said you didn't want one." "No, you said that. I don't see anyone that isn't you, anyway. Have a heart, let me be yours officially." He tries to sound nonchalant, but there's a twinge of want in his voice that you can't seem to gloss over.
The relationship was complicated. You fucked around the entire season, sleeping together, sharing meals and making memories – only to go home at the end of the season without so much as a parting kiss, sealing said memories to the backs of your minds. Him, going home to Haicheng; you, wallowing in the luxury apartment you attempted to make home in New York City.
No home without Xu Minghao.
Or with a twelve-hour time difference between the two of you. You were starting your day and he'd be winding down – but the phone remained untouched. No emails, no texts, no calls – just indirect mentions on Instagram stories and liked photos. Comments of emojis, nothing that someone could take out of context – emojis under a photo of you in Cape Cod for a weekend, a simple see u soon on his Japan visit post for ViVi Magazine.
Though you both knew you wouldn't be in Japan and he wouldn't make the move to try to see you in New York. Even if it was one of the shorter flights either of you would ever take. Even if you got one of the magazines in the mail and posted it on your story to promote a 'friend.' Neither of you would make the move.
Ever.
"You wanna be my boyfriend?" You ask softly, and he sighs above you. His cheeks are tinged pink, hair dripping with water as he shrugs. "Only if that's something you want. We don't have to think about it now, but it's on the table. I know it's not the easiest thing for us. I'm willing to wait." His hand around your neck slides slowly, wrapping his finger in the thin gold chain he gave you for your birthday a few years ago. He tugs at it.
“At the end of the day, it's your choice. I'm just letting you know that it's an option and it's one I'm on board with." "Mmh." You hum, nodding slowly as his hand trails down your chest, knuckles brushing your wet skin in a way that makes your stomach flip. "We'll see how the season goes, yeah? I'll have an answer for you, promise. Just wait for me." You hold your pinky out, and you don't miss the way he nibbles at his lower lip. Hesitance flashes across his features, but you only file it away, pushing your hand into the palm of his on your chest. He tongues his cheek, curling his pinky finger around yours.
He brings your hands to your mouth, pressing his thumb to your lips. You kiss it softly, watching him do the same to yours before pressing them together.
"By the end of the season?" "By the end of the season, I promise." He nods slowly, letting your hand go to trace the slope of your neck with his fingertips. The water is losing its heat as you stare up at him, but the space between you is burning hot as he leans down slightly, nose brushing yours.
"Can I have a kiss?" "One?" "As many as you'll give me."
"What about lunch?" You murmur, your lips barely touching him as his impatience flickers through his eyes. You bite back a smile, feeling his fingers wrap around the base of your throat as you give in to him. His lips are soft but unforgiving, swallowing your contented sigh and sucking you into him. Teeth pulling at your lip, tongue sliding into your mouth with a yearning you feel deep in your stomach every time you reunite.
You wonder if a label will make him want you less. You wonder if eventually, he'll lose himself in you and resent it — resent you.
Something to worry about another day.
STORY OF ANOTHER US – WHY F1 STARS CHOI SAN + SONG Y/N SHOULD HIT THE BRAKES. Written by: Anonymous Thursday, August 27th. 12-minute read | Updated: 5:41 PM.
Author's Note: As this is published, the F1 drivers will be on their way to the Circuit de Spa-Francorchamps for the Belgian Grand Prix. Do not let Y/N's recent win deflect from the fact that she has been involved with a new racer and thus sabotaging his chances at a career in Formula One along the straight and narrow. We refer to both parties by their surnames, so please do not mistake SONG for Song Mingi of the VCARB team.
— Location: Spielberg, Austria. Date: July 10th | Time of Arrival: 6:32 AM.
The Ferrari team was stationed at Enzingerhof as was the Red Bull Racing team. Song Y/N and Choi San were seen arriving at Perschler Hotel following a post on Song's personal Instagram story congratulating Choi on his birthday. In the mentioned birthday post, the two are seen sitting next to each other on an Asiana Airlines airplane (presumably business class,) assuming the teams flew in together. Choi did not reply to the story publicly and then posted around 7:56 AM, with a snapshot of the hotel's breakfast nook – barely capturing Song's recent MAESTRO Jewelry sponsorship wrapped around her wrist in the form of a gold watch on his Instagram story via choi3an. She was not tagged, but suspicions were confirmed when another Instagram story was posted on her respective profile, flashingyou_by, where she posed for a quick mirror shot with fellow Ferrari driver, Lee Jihoon 'Flame', with the same watch caught in the reflection.
On July 11th at 5:34 AM, Song posted another cryptic Instagram story of her hotel room, holding a pair of running shoes and a man's shoulder in a bright red muscle tee was in the corner. Choi later confirmed it was him with a collage of photos posted to his own story showcasing a five-minute mile run with the same shoes Song was holding in the corner of the frame. The two are suspected to have started dating sometime around the beginning of the season, if not before.
— Location: Mogyoród, Hungary. Date: July 16th | Time of Arrival: 4:23 AM.
The Ferrari team had flown separately to Song, and landed an hour before she did. Racing engineers Xu Minghao, Kwon Soonyoung and fellow Ferrari teammate Lee Jihoon 'Flame' were photographed arriving at Hotel Foldana at 3:45 AM, with Kwon and Lee venturing back outside from 3:59 AM to 4:39 AM, returning to Foldana with takeout boxes and brown bags holding alcohol from the local liquor store.
Choi and Song were photographed taking a private car (2016 GMC Yukon) straight off the airport tarmac. Other concerned fans were said to have used inner connections to figure out that the pair had booked a room at the Alice Hotel under Red Bull Racing – thus taking the steps to install recording devices in several spots around the hotel and even using a janitorial master key to install more within the booked room.
▸ Listen Here.| TRANSCRIPT:
5:39 AM: [muffled noises] 5:39 AM: [female voice: SONG Y/N] I missed you…wait, wait…let me put my bag down. 5:40 AM: [male voice: CHOI SAN] Just one, princess. 5:40 AM: [muffled noises] [squealing] 5:41 AM: [SONG] At least ask me how my flight was, you twerp! (laughter) 5:41 AM: [CHOI] I know how your flight was, I was there. You were sitting on my lap. 5:42 AM: [SONG] You could still ask me, you know. It's what a normal boyfriend would do. 5:42 AM: [CHOI] Let's get in the shower and we can talk all you want, pretty girl. 5:42 AM: [SONG] Mmh. [muffled noises] Not so rough, I'm still sore from yesterday. 5:42 AM: [CHOI] I'm sorry, my love. I'll be nicer. [muffled noises] 5:42 AM: [muffled noises] [door slamming]
We can only presume intimacy ensued in the bathroom, as nothing much but muffled whispers were heard in the recording afterward. We have cut the audio to protect Choi's image. This further proves that there is a romantic link between Choi and Song. While an invasion of privacy, as fans and supporters of Choi San we want to ensure that he is getting the best possible shot at a clean career in Formula One after being a life-long karter. Choi went on to place 4th in the Hungarian Grand Prix, three places behind Song who won after placing P4 during Q3.
— Location: Silverstone, England. Date: July 30th | Time of Arrival: 2:33 AM.
Once more, Ferrari and Song have flown separately. Song arrived first, taking a private car off the airport tarmac and caught on film arriving at The Ritz London, 90 minutes away from the Silverstone Circuit. Choi flew in with the Red Bull team, heading for the original hotel booked fifteen minutes from the circuit. Choi does not descend from the vehicle, instead bidding teammate Park Seonghwa and engineers Kim Hongjoong and Ogawa Mizuki a quick goodbye at 3:21 AM and heading towards Song's location.
Upon arrival, Song is heard through more transcribed audios (recording devices placed a day in advance by connections) inviting him in at 4:57 AM.
▸ Listen Here. | TRANSCRIPT:
4:57 AM: [muffled noises] 4:57 AM: [female voice: SONG Y/N] Welcome, welcome. (laughter) 4:58 AM: [male voice: CHOI SAN] Hey, gorgeous. [muffled noises] I'm so tired. 4:58 AM: [SONG] Yeah, me too. Quick shower? 4:59 AM: [CHOI] Mmh, join me? 4:59 AM: [SONG] Yep. [muffled noises] Is your back still hurting? I got some heat patches. 5:00 AM: [CHOI] You're an angel. I love you. [muffled noises] 5:00 AM: [SONG] What did you say? 5:00 AM: [CHOI] Shit, I'm sorry. I didn't…babe– 5:01 AM: [SONG] You love me? San…[muffled noises] San, answer me. 5:01 AM: [CHOI] It just slipped out, I'm sorry…[muffled noises] I understand if you're not ready for that. 5:01 AM: [SONG] Could you at least look at me? Babe. 5:02 AM: [CHOI] Do you want me to go? I'll leave. 5:02 AM: [SONG] I love you. 5:02 AM: [CHOI] Are you just saying that? 5:02 AM: [SONG] You're not seriously asking me that, Choi San. 5:02 AM: [CHOI] Are you sure we're ready for this? 5:03 AM: [SONG] (laughter) I don't think I've ever been more ready to love you. 5:03 AM: [CHOI] It's kind of painful, actually. Loving you. In private, that is. 5:03 AM: [SONG] We'll go public eventually. We just need to keep this to ourselves for a little while longer. It's for the best. 5:03 AM: [CHOI] I know, babe. I know. [muffled noises]...I love you. 5:03 AM: [SONG] Feels good, doesn't it? (laughter) I love you, San. 5:04 AM: [CHOI] Does this mean you'll finally get on top? [muffled noises] Ouch! I was kidding! 5:04 AM: [SONG] Get in the fucking shower, you freak. You smell like airport peanuts and despair.
We have once more cut the audio to protect Choi's image. This is the most damning evidence that Song and Choi have been in a long-term relationship. Other inner connections have started analyzing posts starting at the PR teasing of Choi joining Red Bull Racing at the end of last season upon the retirement of Adachi Yuto, who is now an engineer for VCARB. Several hints at a relationship between the two have piled up dating back to that point and likely before. Choi went on to win the British Grand Prix, with Song coming in second despite getting Pole in Q3 against Choi in P8.
— Location: Ibiza, Spain. Date: August 10th | Time of Arrival: 7:32 PM.
Choi and Song were photographed arriving at the Ibiza Airport four days before the Spanish Grand Prix, landing at approximately 7:35 PM and taking separate vehicles to the Nobu Hotel Ibiza Bay. They checked in separately at approximately 7:54 PM, and insiders found that they were booked into separate rooms. A concierge (whose name we've omitted to protect their privacy) provided intel that the couple seemed frigid and annoyed with another. They were escorted to their rooms, and later vacated within 5 minutes of each other to visit the pool. Aside from photographs being taken as the couple shared a hammock, it was then that our team moved in. We have transcripts from both rooms, as well as some intel from their cellphones that we will not be sharing.
▸ Listen Here. | TRANSCRIPT #1:
10:11 PM: [muffled noises] [door slamming] 10:11 PM: [male voice: CHOI SAN] You didn't have to do that. She was just being nice. 10:12 PM: [female voice: SONG Y/N] Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't know being nice meant undressing you with her eyes? She was practically eye-fucking you, San. 10:12 PM: [CHOI] So you embarrass her? You couldn't let me handle it? I was on top of it. 10:12 PM: [SONG] (laughter) On top of it? She was acting like I wasn't even there. I'm your girlfriend, San. On and off the tarmac, on and off the clock. 10:13 PM: [CHOI] This is your problem, Y/N! You're so jealous sometimes, it's hard to be around you. I can't believe you can't just trust me. I've never given you a reason not to. 10:17 PM: [SONG] It's hard to be around me? 10:18 PM: [CHOI] I didn't mean it like that. Fuck, I never– 10:18 PM: [SONG](whispered) Is that why you wanted separate rooms? 10:18 PM: [CHOI] I'm sorry, my love. I didn't choose my words properly, I didn't want to hurt your feelings. I never want to hurt your feelings. 10:19 PM: [muffled noises] 10:20 PM: [SONG] Eleven days ago, you said you loved me. Does your mind change that fast? 10:20 PM: [CHOI] How can you say that? Honey– 10:21 PM: [SONG] (strained) I think I'm going to turn in. I'm sorry for embarrassing you, I'll apologize to the bartender tomorrow morning. Good night, San. 10:21 PM: [CHOI] Honey, please– 10:21 PM: [muffled crying] [door slamming] 10:21 PM: [CHOI] Fucking hell.
▸ Listen Here.|TRANSCRIPT #2:
3:02 AM: [muffled noises] [door creaking] 3:02 AM: [male voice: CHOI SAN] Honey? 3:02 AM: [female voice: SONG Y/N] (whispered) I'm here. 3:02 AM: [CHOI] Honey, I'm so sorry. I was entirely out of line earlier. 3:03 AM: [SONG] It's fine. 3:03 AM: [CHOI] No, it's not. Don't say it's fine when we both know it's not. 3:03 AM: [SONG] It is, though. I booked my flight back to the mainland for tomorrow afternoon. I'm catching Junhui for lunch before he goes back to Los Angeles. 3:04 AM: [CHOI] Please don't go. Please don't leave. 3:04 AM: [SONG] We're fine. I'm not mad, I'm not being petty or vengeful. I'm just going to catch lunch with my best friend and…I don't know. Shop around Barcelona alone, I guess. 3:05 AM: [CHOI] I can't change your mind, can I? 3:05 AM: [SONG] I just need some space from you. I wish you would've told me I was making you uncomfortable instead of resorting to this. It was never my intention to do that. 3:10 AM: [SONG] San? 3:11 AM: [CHOI] You're the perfect woman for me. 3:12 AM: [SONG] (strained) San… 3:12 AM: [CHOI] I love you…so much. I'm sorry that I didn't communicate my needs better and I understand if you need space. I'm willing to give it. But…please don't ever think that I don't love you. I don't think I've ever been in love like this before. I don't know if I'll ever be in love like this again, if it's not you. 3:13 AM: [muffled crying] 3:13 AM: [SONG] Don't say that. Don't say that because you don't know what the future holds. 3:13 AM: [CHOI] I know what I want it to hold. And it's you, and me, together. I can't live without you, I don't think I could go back to a life where you're not everything to me. Your jealousy streaks are the least of my concerns, I just…please, don't leave me. 3:13 AM: [SONG] San… 3:14 AM: [CHOI] Take all the space you need, all the time you need…but don't leave me. I know I'm flawed. I know I'm not perfect but I'm nothing of a man without you and it pains me to know that I've hurt you. 3:14 AM: [SONG] You can't act like I'm the world to you. You have a career, and you might have someone else in a few years. 3:15 AM: [CHOI] If you think that way, don't tell me you love me ever again. 3:15 AM: [SONG] I love you so much, San.
Song departed from the Ibiza Airport the next afternoon at approximately 2:32 PM, with a defeated Choi lingering at the airport for around 3 hours and 17 minutes before boarding a private plane to Barcelona. Choi landed in Barcelona an hour later, taking a private car service to the Hotel Astoria.
Song is seen exiting the same hotel with radio show host, former F1 driver and proclaimed life-long best friend Wen Junhui, their pinkies linked as they boarded a private vehicle at 7:09 PM. They were trailed to the renowned tapas restaurant La Cova Fumada until 10:42 PM. Song made her departure alone at 10:51 PM, and met with Ferrari race engineer Xu Minghao at Mariposa Negra Cocterleria Artesanato by 11:03 PM. Neither party drank but Xu did sit with Song from 11:07 PM to 1:32 AM, before getting a car together back to the Hotel Astoria. Below we've included an audio recording from the car ride with Xu and Song.
▸ Listen Here.| TRANSCRIPT #3:
1:35 AM: [muffled noises] [door slamming] 1:35 AM: [female voice: SONG Y/N] Hotel Astoria, please. 1:36 AM: [male voice: XU MINGHAO] I've got cash, don't worry about it. 1:36 AM: [SONG] Thanks, Hao. I'm…ugh. 1:37 AM: [XU] Couples fight, sweetheart. And we're all human, we all mess up sometimes. He didn't mean it but you're allowed to feel hurt by it. 1:37 AM: [SONG] Have you ever been in love, Hao? 1:38 AM: [XU] Have I ever been in love? (muffled laughter) Yeah. Once. 1:38 AM: [SONG] What happened? 1:38 AM: [XU] She fell in love with someone else because I took too long to confess. She still doesn't know, actually. 1:39 AM: [SONG] Is she still in love? 1:40 AM: [XU] Painfully. I think the man she chose is her endgame. I don't believe in soulmates…but I did think she and I were something meant to be brought together by the universe. I mean, I could spot her out in a crowd of millions of people. That's how important she is to me. 1:40 AM: [SONG] You still love her? 1:41 AM: [XU] A part of me wishes I'd never met her in the first place, but it's just not the way life goes. I think I'm learning to let go, knowing that she's out of reach. He's a good guy, her boyfriend. I think they'll get married if things keep going well. 1:47 AM: [SONG] Hey, Minghao? 1:48 AM: [XU] Yes? 1:48 AM: [SONG] Thanks for being my friend. I don't know what I'd do without you. 1:48 AM: [XU] Ah, it's second nature at this point. I've known you longer than I haven't. Plus, it's nice to have an emergency contact that actually answers her phone. 1:48 AM: [SONG] (laughter) Yeah, Junhui's shit at that. 1:48 AM: [XU] Hey, Y/N? 1:49 AM: [SONG] Yeah? 1:49 AM: [XU] I love you. 1:49 AM: [SONG] Aw. I love you, Hao.
Song and Xu entered the hotel at 1:53 AM. Song and Choi were not pictured together at all for the rest of the week, only seen shaking hands at the paddock on Sunday afternoon. Song took Pole in Q3 and came in 2nd place to two-time Spanish Grand Prix winner, Park Jihyo of Mercedes. Choi was P9 and came in 12th place.
In conclusion, we do not think that a relationship between Choi San and Song Y/N is healthy for either driver. While Song uses the turmoil of their relationship as fuel for her wins and placements, it only slows Choi down and puts him in pitiful spots on the grid and knocking him down several pegs on winning rosters. As fans, we think it's unacceptable that a seasoned driver is ruining a rookie's career with romance, and we have put together an anonymous petition to get the FIA, Red Bull Racing and Ferrari to intervene and pump the brakes on this kart before it crashes and burns. We only want the best for our Rookie of the Year, and we hope that Song Y/N takes this as a reminder to not intervene with someone's career when hers is already stabilized.
We will continue to update with audio files and transcripts should the relationship not be stopped. Thank you, FIA, from concerned F1 fans all around the world.
– Monza, Italy. | 5 years ago, September 5th.
Your hands were shaking uncontrollably as you scrolled through the blog post. San was seated next to you, his cheeks blazing red as everyone else in the room looked uncomfortable. Your fingers pressed on the audio files, hearing your own voice echoing back at you from the speaker. You gagged inwardly, dropping the phone as the fight you had with San the week before echoed through the room. Minghao grabbed it off the floor, turning the screen off and tucking the phone under his thigh.
Just seven days ago, you sped past the checkered flag in first place. You won the Belgian Grand Prix, with Jihoon sliding past in second and San coming in third. You celebrated in your hotel room with your boyfriend after dinner with your team, fooling around in bed and getting tipsy off hotel champagne.
And now you're sitting in an office the morning of Qualifying, with your breakfast in your throat as you stare at the landline covered in dust on the desk. A trembling, humiliated San to your right, a quiet Minghao to your left and a pissed Jihoon in front of you. Every single PR person on both racing teams is trying to figure out how to get the post taken down, but it's of no use. You know those audio files are probably everywhere by now – romanticizing San's begging, making you both the laughingstock of F1 but furthermore, tainting your careers by airing out your personal, private affairs.
So much for cutting audios to protect San's image.
"We won't tell you what to do." Minghao says softly, "but…it's better to do it now than to wait for Jungkwon to get involved. Cybersecurity is on their way to look at your phones and make sure you're safe."
Seo Jungkwon and Yoon Mirae – the married duo that once famously owned the tarmac now owned two of the teams. Mirae, the first woman in F1, now the owner of Red Bull Racing and famously in touch with everyone in her team, was already present. Her eyes were full of what you want to believe is sadness, but you wonder if it's pity as she crouches in front of you and San.
"We can only do so much to protect you both." She speaks gently, "we're going to have to take legal action as it is, because this blog post and these audios are a direct violation of privacy. Not to mention stalking, abuse of resources, bribing…the list goes on. You know what you'll do, and we will try our best to keep you both safe. I just hope you know that none of this is either of your faults."
She looks between the two of you, and you can only imagine the distress on your face as you glance at San's hands folded in his lap. He's digging his dull nails into his skin, a single tear rolling down his face as he takes a shaky breath.
"Can we get a moment alone, please?" His voice is strained, and you feel a sob try to crawl past the waves of nausea but you force it down. Everyone quietly vacates the office, with Minghao taking your phone and San's in his pocket as he steps out. You watch his head turn from the small window in the door, a deep frown on his lips as he walks away.
You feel a cold sweat settle on your back, your hands clammy as you run them down the front of your jeans. San is staring at the floor, his leg bouncing before a humorless laugh leaves his lips shakily. You glance at him out of the corner of your eye, watching the way he covers his face with his hands as he tries to bite back a sob.
"I love you." You whisper, the reality of what had to happen sinking into your very bones. You turned in your chair, his eyes glossed over as his lips quivered. "I love you, San."
"I love you, too." He murmured, barely intelligible as his voice grew thick. "I love you so much. I can't believe this is happening." You don't have any words for him, simply sliding into his lap and wrapping your arms around him so tight, you weren't sure he could breathe. He sobbed into your shoulder, his fingers digging into your hips as you silently let tears drip down your face. You didn't really know what to make of the situation – you felt violated, your intimate conversations and raw parts of your life were now posted on the internet for everyone to dissect. You were dragged through the muck for the supposed sake of San's career, and everyone around you took hits, too. Your rapport, your guarded life – everything was stripped from you for the man you loved. It's not his fault. It's not. But you can't help but lose your footing on the trust you built.
Minutes feel like hours as you tighten your arms around him, his sobs subsiding into shallow sniffles as he grips the back of your shirt. You swallow your nausea, letting your tears seep into his shirt when a knock makes you hum defeatedly. You barely turn your head to see Minghao opening the door quietly, your phone in his hand as he holds them both out.
"They found spyware on your phones, but it was apparently only installed around the time you were in Hungary. Jungkwon came in during the middle of the meeting and decided to assign you a cybersecurity team to scan your hotel rooms for malware every time you arrive at a new place, or leave the room for an extended period of time." Minghao speaks almost robotically, and you only nod into San's shoulder as your phones are placed on the chair you formerly occupied. "I'm sorry you got dragged into this, Hao." You mumble, your voice almost too soft to be heard but you see him shake his head out of the corner of your eye. "It's not your fault. You couldn't have known, and I'm sorry the two of you are being put in this position." His voice is slightly warmer, and he sighs as he looks down at you both. "I hope that everything works out the way it's meant to for you guys. I'm rooting for you both."
"Thanks, Hao." Your voice is no higher than a murmur, and he hums in response before turning on his heel. "They're waiting for you both to come out, by the way. You're going to have to make a statement, and then they'll decide whether or not you'll be pulled from the roster for the race this weekend." His fingers curl around the doorknob, and you turn your head enough to face him. He looks just as defeated as you do as he glances over his shoulder, "I just thought I should let you know that they expect a clean break. No drama on the paddock and no tears on the tarmac." "Thank you." San's voice is strained, his cheek wet as he leans it against your forehead. You give Minghao a blink of affirmation, and he takes his leave, shutting the door tightly behind him. "Does it have to be the end?" You can hardly hear your own voice, and San's fingers tightening in your shirt say it doesn't. The motion screams that it doesn't – but somehow, you know it is. It's the end, whether you like it or not.
"I think I'll die without you." He snivels, and you let a humorless chuckle slip from your lips as you sit up in his lap, your hands cradling his cheeks gently. His wrecked face and bloodshot eyes make your chest ache, your eyes now too dry to produce any more tears. You run the pad of your thumb along his brows, watching the way his eyes flutter shut as you trace his eyelids. Your hands are featherlight as you press a soft kiss to his pouted lips, feeling his arms constrict around you. You can't bring yourself to pull away, the kiss turning desperate as your hands tangle in his short hair – but he pulls back first, resting his forehead against the slope of your shoulder as you swallow a sob.
"You won't die without me. I'm still here." You choke out, but he doesn't dignify you with an answer as his arms loosen, hands falling down your sides and patting your hips. He sniffles, a sound of disgust coming from his throat as you slide your hands down his arms before interlacing your fingers with his and bringing them between your bodies.
"So…this is it? I'm supposed to sleep without you after sharing a bed for a year?" He murmurs, and you actually let a laugh bubble out of your throat. "You can cuddle with that dinosaur body pillow I got you as a gift last Christmas." You tease, making him scoff as he moves to rest his head against your clavicle. "At least…we did well in hiding it. Not these couple of months, but they didn't catch on until last month. We almost made it, a year in hiding." "I never got to love you out loud." He sighs, and you smile sadly. "God, I want to love you out loud so bad."
"...Maybe in another life." "I'm gonna throw up." "I can't imagine someone being so obsessed with you that they sabotage our relationship. Not to mention, you came on to me." You scoff, tonguing your cheek as you feel his lips curve against your neck. "How could I not? You're ambitious, you're smart…you're gorgeous. It's so easy to love you." His lips brush your skin, making it prickle as you move away lightly. "I've never wanted anyone as bad as I've wanted you. As bad as I want you now."
"San." You groan, "stop it." "It's the truth. If we're breaking up, you need to know everything I feel about you." "I already know how you feel about me." "Did you know that I love the way you smell so much, I stole your perfume out of your suitcase in Spielberg?" "You little rat, I've been wondering where I lost it!" You smack his shoulder, but he only smiles as he plants a kiss to your cheek. You sigh, giving his hands a soft squeeze before looking him in the face. A small smile graces your lips, "maybe…we love ourselves more than each other." "Rookie of the Year, huh?" San leans back in his seat, his head hitting the wall lightly. He closes his eyes, letting out a tired grunt. "I don't even care about that shit." "You say that now, but you are the Rookie of the Year. You're a great driver with insane potential. I shouldn't be the reason you don't get that recognition and that you're painted as someone that's 'hard to work with' for choosing love over success." You shrug, and he only shakes his head. "Can't I have both?" "Not as a rookie. Try again in two years." "Who says someone won't snatch you up by then, pretty girl?" "Shut up." You snort, feeling your cheeks heat as you look away. The heat of his gaze is still intense, but you let out a quelled sigh. "I love you, you know?" "I know, princess. I'll love you to the end of time. You're my first, after all."
His words cause a sharp pang in your chest, with your eyes suddenly teary as you let out a laugh. "I'll be here, always." "Me, too. Let's go."
PUMPING THE BRAKES ON LOVE – SONG Y/N AND CHOI SAN END YEAR-LONG RELATIONSHIP AMIDST ANONYMOUS STALKER BLOG POST. Written by: Lee Ro and Zhou Jieqiong Wednesday, September 9th. 5-minute read | Updated: 3:12 AM.
On August 27th, an anonymous blog post was made under the pretense to allegedly protect Formula One Red Bull Racing driver Choi San from attempted sabotage at the hand of love, particularly by Song Y/N of Ferrari, often referred to as the Ferrari Flash. Choi has only joined Formula One this year, whereas Song is a seasoned driver on her second of ten contracted years with Ferrari – not to be mistaken with Song Mingi of the Visa Cash App Racing Bulls, who has only been with Formula One since the start of this season.
Despite Choi and Song keeping their relationship neatly tucked away for the greater part of a year, an unnamed stalker gathered enough information to put the couple on blast for hiding their romance from the eye of fans. This person of interest managed to go as far as tapping electronic devices in the couple's shared hotel rooms on multiple stops of this year's circuit stops – Austria, Hungary, England and Spain. They also managed to install spyware into their personal cellular devices as a means to gain further intel on their lives, then moving forward to edit and publish these audio files without the consent of either party. Should this person be found, they are facing extreme legal consequences for what they assume to be a simple invasion of privacy.
Amongst all of the so-called information this person managed to gather, they ended their blog post pleading with Red Bull Racing, Ferrari and the FIA (Fédération Internationale de l'Automobile) to end the relationship before Choi could face any serious setbacks as the fans' choice for Rookie of The Year, lest they continue to stalk and harass the couple and posting their intimate moments. Both racing teams quietly addressed the situation with the drivers, and both Choi and Song had posts on their respective X accounts (formerly known as Twitter) announcing the end of their relationship within 12 hours. In case you missed it, see them below.
Choi San (@choi3san) via X:
I am at a loss for words. This complete circus has left my family, my team, my friends and my partner with no words. It is unfair to us that we no longer feel safe in each other's presence, and I hope that whoever is behind this realizes that they are no fan of mine if they felt comfortable enough to strip me and Y/N of our privacy. It is with a heavy heart that Y/N and I part ways after a year of memories together, for the safety of one another and the sanctity of her image. I wish her absolutely nothing but the best and she will always, always have my unconditional love and support. Until the end of time, my heart is yours Y/N. I love you. – San.
Song Y/N (@flashingyou_by) via X:
I am truly astounded at how invasive people can be. From the beginning of my career, I knew things could get complicated should I decide to get romantically involved with anyone whilst in the spotlight – but I never, ever thought it would be like this. To San, I am incredibly sorry to have put you in a position where someone felt brave enough to take our lives and attempt to make them fit for public consumption. I apologize deeply to everyone who was involved in this utter mess, and I hope that whoever is behind this atrocity knows that nothing they do could ever take away that they completely tore away the autonomy San and I had as partners, but more importantly, human beings. Unfortunately, we have chosen our careers and are continuing our journey together as colleagues with no further ties than the paddock and tarmac. We will always support each other, in love, life and work – I love you, San. – Y/N.
Xu Minghao, Song's racing engineer and childhood friend, and Wen Junhui, Song's life-long best friend, radio show host and retired Formula One driver also had some comments to make on the matter.
Xu Minghao (@xuminghao_o) via X:
Hello, this is INFINITE. I am aware that a private conversation I had with Y/N in Barcelona was taken to be made part of a malicious post directed towards her romantic relationship with Choi San. I am in no way condoning this behavior, and I am appalled that a conversation with a friend I have known my entire life had to be made public because of a cowardly stalker not understanding boundaries. For the future, I ask people to carefully calculate their actions and take into consideration that the people you are hurting are human. My personal life, my relationship status and my friendship with Y/N is not something I want exploited, much less used in malicious intent against her and the relationship I was a part in creating. I would appreciate all comments and questions to be ceased, as I do not plan to address or discuss this further. Y/N is my friend before she is my colleague, and I will always respect and support her endeavors and relationships. Point blank.
Wen Junhui (@junhui_moon) via X:
Hello, this is Junhui of 105.7 Radio DELTA. I have been made to know that Song Y/N, someone I care deeply about, has been under fire for a relationship with a fellow driver, of all things. I was also informed that I was followed while on vacation in Barcelona because I met with Y/N while this person was gathering information in order to blackmail her into ending a relationship she cherishes (and has since, succeeded.) I hope whoever is behind this post knows that nobody in the racing, sports reporting, or cybersecurity world likes you. I hope you can't sleep at night knowing that you bullied and harassed two innocent people in love for whatever weird agenda you had in mind. Maybe put that energy into finding a job, or studying for school. This being said, I fully support Y/N and San in all their endeavors, as colleagues or partners. Good day.
Choi and Song did end up driving in the Italian Grand Prix despite learning about this information the day before the race, after crashing their karts during Q1 and setting them both at the back of the grid in P19 (Song) and P20 (Choi.) Despite the odds, Song and Choi came out on top – with Choi winning the Italian Grand Prix with 1:47:06.056 on the clock, and Song hot on his heels, sliding past the checkered flag only 0.415 seconds later.
Choi and Song have both since been pulled off the roster for legal proceedings as well as mental health evaluations. They will not be racing for the following circuits: Sochi Autodrom (Russia), Nürburgring (Germany), and Autódromo Internacional do Algarve (Portugal.) The Ferrari Flash will make her comeback at the Emilia Romagna Grand Prix in Italy, and Red Bull's Rookie of the Year will return for the Turkish Grand Prix.
We hope both drivers are feeling better upon their return, and we hope the two can move forward in their careers with little push back from fans. We are vigilantly watching for updates on whether or not the person behind this malicious blog post will be apprehended. Stay tuned.
— MELBOURNE, AUSTRALIA | 12:03 AM.
"We've been cleared."
Minghao's voice is soft as you use the hotel stairs to stretch, your legs sore from the long flight. You nod your head, slipping your hands in the pockets of your sweatpants as you follow him to the room. He swipes his keycard, the cybersecurity team giving you both tired smiles as they filed out of your room.
"Thank you." You call gently as they load into the elevator, only getting a quick thumbs-up as the doors close. You slink into the room as Minghao holds the door open, seeing your cellphones laid out across the desk in the corner. You don't bother picking it up, instead opting to unzip your sweater and shove it off your shoulders as you kick your suitcase in front of one of the beds.
"I should be awake right now. It's only noon in New York." You grumble, and Minghao smiles as he shrugs his own sweater off, laying it over the back of the desk chair. He slips into it, stretching his arms over his head as you crouch next to your bag, fiddling with the lock before it pops open. "Do you wanna shower with me?" "If I do, we'll be in there for two hours." He snorts, folding his hands on his lower stomach as you throw a rolled sock at him. He giggles, tossing it back into your bag with precision as you thumb through folded underwear and pick a soft pair of pink briefs. "But who am I to say no?" "I'm so awake, Hao. I need to tire myself out but I can't leave the room and bring that poor team back this late." You rest your cheek on your knees, wrapping your arms around your shins as you look at him with low eyes. "I don't like timezones. They don't make sense." "Yes, they do. Come on, I'll wash your hair if you get up now." He lets out a grunt as he stretches his arms over his head once more, the hem of his shirt rising up to reveal a sliver of tan skin. You huff, untangling your arms and standing up as he toes his shoes off, sliding them towards the front of the room. You pluck a random shirt out of your suitcase and your toiletry bag and bunch them under your arm as Minghao peels his shirt off. Your eyes fixate on the smooth skin of his back, muscles flexing lightly as he shakes his hair out.
"I can feel you staring at me, you know." "When you take your pants off, go a little slower. Give me a show." "Yeah, right. Get in the bathroom, pervert." He snorts, rolling his eyes as you swipe your fingertips down his back. He swats your hand away, only for you to grab his hand and interlace your fingers. He tongues his cheek, fighting back a smile as you tug at the knotted string of his sweatpants. "Just a suggestion." You shrug, shooting him a cheeky smile before dropping his hand and making your way to the bathroom. He clicks his tongue behind you, letting you slip into the bathroom before following behind, watching you set down your minimal clothing before leaning against the doorframe and crossing his arms.
"You think you're so funny." "I am hilarious, actually." You give him a pointed look in the mirror as you open your toiletry bag. Face wash, sunscreen, moisturizer…Astroglide. Rolling your eyes, you set it to the side as you find your toothpaste and toothbrush at the bottom of the bag. Minghao makes a noise of amusement as he slides up behind you, caging you between him and the bathroom counter as he grips the edge on either side of you.
"Minghao." Your voice has a warning lilt to it, but he only snickers as he rests his chin on your shoulder. You raise your brow at him in the mirror, "what do you want?" "Who says I want anything? Can't I just be near you?" "Mmh, so you're just trapping me for comfort's sake? You missed me that much on the flight?" "You're a tease."
His chuckle is low in your ear as he smiles at you in the reflection, tilting his head to look up at you. You can't bring yourself to look at him, knowing one glance will utterly crush your resolve and you'd sell your soul to the Devil if that's what he asked of you.
"A tease? Me? You've got it all wrong."
You feel your cheeks warm as his fingertips brush your hip, pushing the hem of your shirt up slightly to feel the heat of skin on skin. Your eyes divert to your reflection in the mirror, your fingers flitting to your ears as you carefully pull off your earrings.
"I don't know, I think I might be spot on. You take 'airport casual' to another level, you know?" His voice is featherlight as you smirk inwardly, reaching around your neck to unclip the random necklace. Your eyes linger on the gold chain that's snug to your throat, but you leave it alone. "At least you wore pants this time."
"I always wear pants, Minghao." "The pink shorts you wore in Los Angeles that did nothing to hide the marks of my teeth on your inner thighs don't count as pants."
"What happened to wanting people to know that I'm not available?" You question with a bitten grin, slipping your necklace into the side pocket of your toiletry bag. His fingertips breach the hem of your shirt, bunching the fabric as he slides it up. Evidence of your intimate moments are littered across your soft belly, and your skin prickles with goosebumps as he stops it right under your breasts.
"If that were the case, you wouldn't have edited these out of your bikini shot from before we left Los Angeles. They'd be displayed, front and center…" His fingers push the fabric a little higher, the bite mark on the underside of your breast now visible, "maybe I should take these up a little higher, hm?"
He looks at you in the reflection, his lips ghosting over the side of your neck as you fiddle with your rings. Silver dragon from Junhui on your forefinger, your mother's old wedding band on your right hand…a simple, gold band with the letter M engraved on the inside on your thumb, matching the one on his and twinkling up at you.
"Maybe you should." You whisper back, slipping the rings off your fingers one by one, but leaving the gold. You wiggle it in the mirror, the sparkle catching his eye. He smiles against your skin, "yeah?"
His fingers slide up to the base of your throat, covering the thin chain he gave you all those years ago, your nipples peeking out from under the bunched hem of your shirt. "Since when does 'airport casual' mean going braless?"
"Since it means I'll get your attention from halfway across the gate." "And you dare say you're not a tease?"
You only shrug, your fingers tracing his bare arm with featherlight touches as your eyes meet his in the reflection. You tilt your head at him, a silent challenge as you feel his other hand palm at your hip. The pad of his thumb slips beneath the waistband of your sweatpants, slow and deliberate. He tugs at it, just enough to see the marks his teeth left on your hip — typically, covered by a pair of lacy underwear.
"You're insane." His voice is no higher than a whisper, but you don't say anything as he wedges his knee between your legs. You oblige, spreading them slightly as you tongue your cheek to suppress a mischievous grin. Minghao was…composed. He was composed and level-headed, and seeing him lose his grip on that was enough to fill your belly with a flutter only he could subdue.
"Can I have a kiss?" He murmurs, fingers sliding up to your jaw with practiced ease to make you face him. You nod as much as his grip will allow, your lips meeting his as his other hand slips beneath the waistband of your sweatpants, teasing its way across your lower belly before cupping your heat. One, two fingers dip further south, cool against your swollen clit as he circles it gently. You gasp against his mouth, earning a low chuckle before he slots his lips to yours in a kiss. Soft, smooth — annoying to your mind as you impatiently nip at his lower lip, making him pull back with a raised brow.
"Don't be a brat." He murmurs, a pout gracing your mouth as he presses himself against your ass. He drags his lips down the slope of your neck tortuously slow, your eyes fluttering shut as you feel the scrape of his teeth against your skin. You tilt your head away, his hand giving your throat a soft squeeze before slipping down to push your shirt out of the way to palm at your breast. His thumb swipes over your nipple, sending a quick shudder down your spine as you push your chest into his hand. "If you're just gonna mess with me—" "Just having my fun, sweetheart."
You ignore the sudden feeling of déjà vu as you roll your eyes; he untangles himself from you, a frown on your lips at the loss of contact as he slides his hand out of your pants with a quick kiss to your cheek. Your cheeks flush at his glistening fingers, feeling them grip at your hip as he turns you to face him. You don't get a chance to speak, the closeness rendering you silent as his lips brush yours before you meet them as you carefully perch yourself onto the counter.
He moves between your spread knees, his free hand sliding up your thigh and slipping back under your sweatpants, your mouth falling open against his at the contact. He kisses down the side of your jaw as his fingers spread your wet folds, tight circles traced on your clit as you force yourself to focus — your lips slotting with his, hard, as he smiles into it at the way you rut your hips against his hand.
Kissing Minghao always makes your skin prickle, your stomach fluttering in excitement…but sometimes, like now, you forget the world around you. You forget anyone else exists as he pulls you close, eyes closed as he slides his tongue into your mouth with ease, tasting like the berry drink he had in the car on the way to the hotel. You forget he's not really yours and you're not really his as you feel his heart against the palm of your hand on his chest, even if it beats as hard as yours.
His mouth is growing desperate against yours, something uncommon between the two of you but so, so welcome. His slips a finger inside, then another — your teeth nipping at his lower lip as he smiles into the kiss, the heel of his palm bumping your clit as the cool metal of his rings makes you jolt. Your hand slides down his chest, fingertips catching at the loops in the drawstring of his sweatpants. You tug at them, the knot falling apart as he sucks on the tip of your tongue, his fingers slowly pumping in and out of you. Your fingers barely dip past the waistband when he shudders, pulling back slightly and looking down at you with swollen lips as he shakes his head.
"Don't." His hand leaves your neck to find your wrist, pulling it away and pinning it to the sink counter as you smile against his lips. You'd be more confident if his fingers weren't curled inside you, but you manage to grin up at him.
"Why?"
Any answer Minghao might've had dies on his throat, a groan replacing it as a knock on the door ricochets through the room. He sucks his teeth, giving a displeased tick of his head before his eyes meet yours. You're annoyed but better at hiding it in the moment, a quiet gasp leaving your lips as he reluctantly retracts his fingers. He doesn't pull his hand out of your sweatpants; instead, featherlight touches against your clit meant to make you squirm.
You're both silent for a moment, Minghao turning to look over his shoulder — as if daring the visitor to knock again. You lean forward, planting your lips against his cheekbone before whispering in his ear.
"Just get the door, Hao. We can finish this later."
"Wanna finish it now, though. I miss my girl." He confesses quietly, still looking over his shoulder when your hand taps his wrist. He pouts, making you chuckle as he pulls his hand out of your sweatpants and begs for a kiss with his eyes. You oblige, softly — when the knock reverberates, making you roll your eyes as he huffs. You grab a hand towel for him, silently watching as he tongues his cheek in frustration before bee-lining for the door. You lean back on your hands, your lower back touching the cool porcelain of the sink. You're slightly embarrassed at the wet sound that rings in your ears as you cross your legs.
"It's…Jun?" He calls out, the click of the lock sounding reluctant as you smile inwardly, quickly pulling your shirt back down and hopping off the counter. Minghao opens the door, and you peek out of the bathroom to see a smiling Junhui being invited in.
"What are you doing here? I mean, nice to see you, but—"
"Hey, Jun!" You interrupt, waving slightly without showing yourself too much from behind the bathroom door. Minghao looks irritated as Junhui grins at you, holding up a brown liquor store bag. "When did you get here? How long are you staying?"
"Considering the way Minghao is giving me a major stink eye, I'm going to assume you're not fully dressed behind that door?" Junhui calls out over his shoulder, making his way to the desk in your room. You snicker as Minghao mimics him, slipping back into the bathroom as you slink out. The sink turns on, and you cross your arms on your chest to hide the peaks of your nipples through your shirt.
"I am dressed, you idiot. We're not always on the verge of coitus, you know." "Coitus? So polished, aren't you? But hey, I'm not stopping you." "You kind of are, sweetie."
"Don't worry, I won't keep you too long." Junhui's grin makes you roll your eyes, but you perch on the edge of one of the beds to indulge him anyway, crossing one leg over the other. Your best friend hums to himself as he sets the food out, with Minghao emerging from the bathroom wiping his hands on a different towel and a scowl on his lips.
"You're real sexy when you're angry, you know that?" Junhui smirks as he pulls a bottle of cheap champagne from the bag, wiggling his brows as Minghao sits next to you. He leans back on his elbows, and you pat his thigh. Junhui makes a face of disgust as he pops the cork, making you stick your tongue out at him.
"What are you doing here, anyway? I know you love us and can't get enough, but I thought you were booked and busy for the season? And how'd you know where we were staying?" You watch as Junhui pours the champagne into plastic flutes from the same bag, handing you one as Minghao's fingers play with the back of your shirt. He plucks at it until Junhui hands him one of the flutes, a twitch in his lip as Junhui winks at him.
"So many questions, dearest. Can't you just wait until I tell you what I've done?" He only smiles wider as he pours himself champagne, and you give Minghao a worried glance as he nibbles on his lip with a shrug. Setting the bottle down, Junhui rolls his shoulders back before taking a seat in the rolling desk chair and moving so close, your knees touch. "I know where you're staying because I booked this room, remember? I told you months ago I'd be coming to Melbourne anyway, because I'm working with Ro, you remember Ro, right? The journalist? Also Jihoon's wife?" "Yes, Jun. We know Ro, we love Ro, we read all her pieces." You roll your eyes, making Minghao bite back a laugh as Junhui scoffs.
"Anyway, I'm working with Ro and her new segment in The Carat. She asked me last season, but I was booked for most of the season with interviews, and then with the MET Gala and the fact that I opened the Oscars of all people…incredible." Junhui raises a brow, making you let out a faux yawn to make him get on with it. You grin as he pouts, before holding up his flute, "but, I have great news. Potentially, if you love me and don't want me to be sad."
"Of course we love you, Jun. You just have horrible timing." Minghao pipes up, earning a smack from you as he giggles. "What's the news? I'm crawling out of my skin with excitement."
Suppressing a smile, Junhui shrugs.
"I've been missing you guys a lot, lately. I feel like we're out of touch," Junhui starts, looking genuinely hurt as he speaks. Your heart sinks a bit, making you sit up a bit as he continues. "It sucks to have grown up together, practically attached at the hip…and then I only see you guys once or twice a year. And Hao…"
You feel your chest warm as Junhui's breath hitches, the man next to you sitting up quickly as your mutual best friend seemingly prepares to bare his heart. He leans in, his hand resting on your knee as he looks at Junhui with a flash of concern.
"I feel like I need to be with you guys, even if it's for a little while. I miss my friends. I know we're all…adults now, with our grown-up jobs and all that but I miss seeing you both, at the same time. I miss staying out late and getting chili oil noodles after a race, I miss doing the stupid poses in the pictures Minghao would take of us. After Minghao left the second time—"
"I didn't think I would let it happen. I'm sorry." Minghao interrupts, and you feel your heart clench at the reminder. It was dumb, really, to feel anxious about it — Minghao chose you, after all. He chose you, over and over again.
"It's not your fault, Hao. Love makes us do crazy things." Junhui chuckles, patting Minghao's knee before giving it a soft squeeze.
"I miss you, too, you know." You pipe up softly, making both men glance at you. "What you said about the dinners, it's been weighing on me. I haven't tried hard enough to keep our friendship alive and it pains me to know that I made you feel this way."
"Don't feel bad for being busy, and genuinely getting so lost in the sauce that you don't know which way is up. I was you, once, remember? I know what it's like." Junhui shakes his head, and you press your lips into a thin line as you nod. "I love you, Y/N. You're my best friend."
"Hey!" Minghao pouts, making the air feel lighter as you and Junhui laugh.
"But, to end this sappy charade and let the two of you get your freak on—"
"Don't rush this for that. We can…'get our freak on' any other time." Minghao shrugs, and you nod earnestly as Junhui smiles inwardly. "After all, we're friends before we're…more."
Lovers, dies on your tongue.
"True, true. I guess…you're right. Anyway," Junhui clears his throat, "I miss you guys. And because I miss you, and I want to be your favorite cock-block—"
"Watch it, Wen Junhui." You snip, pointing a menacing finger at him as he snickers.
"Three years into your career, after the world found out that we all grew up together and had been friends literally our entire lives, Ferrari teamed up with Ro and some other people in their media department to get me back on the paddock. They asked me if I wanted to join you on the circuit calendar, and they'd cover everything, I would just have to report for News 17 for the entirety of the season to make sure they're getting coverage." He nods, his fingertips tracing the rim of his flute. Your eyes narrow in suspicion, with Minghao tonguing his cheek as he fights a smile.
"I couldn't say yes then, because I was just starting in radio and I didn't want to just be known for Formula One. I wanted to have an image outside of McLaren and Kick Sauber, I wanted Wen Junhui, I wanted something to call my own. And then, I got Radio DELTA." Junhui smiles softly, before holding up his champagne flute. "And now…Radio DELTA is going on the road, baby! Can I get a hell yeah!?"
"Hell yeah!"
You're not too sure you process it fully as Junhui animatedly explains more — how he and Ro created F1: Drifting, Danger and Digging Deeper; a segment for The Carat, which just happened to be Ro's magazine. She featured people of all walks of life, often filling the glossy, coated papers with black and white action shots, melancholy think pieces, and long, detailed interview transcripts — until she met Jihoon.
The pages filled with color after that. Beautiful photos shot by her partner, Jieqiong, no longer filtered to fit a certain narrative that paired well with lively articles that wove support in tough spots of guilt and lost motivation of whoever was pictured next to it…
You had yet to sit for your debut in the magazine, constantly dodging Ro and Jieqiong's phone calls and questions from fans about it. You weren't too sure if you were ready for the theoretical Google deep-dive on your life: questions combing through your life before F1, questions about your parents, your friends, your hobbies, who you were before you became the Ferrari Flash.
It's not like you're very sure, either.
But it doesn't matter.
The clock is blinking half past two when the bottle of bubbly is empty and rolling around the floor, Minghao's hand holding the back of your neck as Junhui crawls into the spare bed. He mumbles something about not fucking too loud, not to wake him up — but none of you have anything to do tomorrow, having arrived two days early (three for Junhui) for the sake of it. You and Minghao just giggle, tipsy as you wander back into the bathroom with your fingers interlaced, fully intending to shower before slipping into bed.
He undresses you carefully, one hand tangling in the hair at the nape of your neck as he kisses you messily.
"Do you still—" "God, yeah."
Neither of you address how slippery the shower floor is as he kneels in front of you and hikes your leg over his shoulder, tongue finding your clit almost hungrily. You cover your mouth with your fingers, your free hand carding through Minghao's wet hair, shuddered whimpers falling from your lips loud enough that Minghao smirks into your skin. Soap covers your skin, suds bubbled around your breasts as Minghao rolls your nipples between his fingers from his place between your thighs; the groans from his mouth against your clit from your hand tugging at his hair enough to make you fill the bathroom with a quipped gasp.
Neither of you say much else as he turns you around, the shower tile cool against your cheek. He drags the tip of his cock through your folds, asking twice if you're sure before giving in to your whispered begging for more, please.
For the first time, your whines are muffled by Minghao's hand over your mouth, his dirty words whispered into your ear, his teeth nipping methodically.
And you break your own heart, again, when you get into the same bed after he dresses you, helps you brush your teeth…
Knowing you'll crawl out halfway through the night and sleep on your bed, curled into a ball to avoid Junhui's sprawled limbs and quietly hoping Minghao never notices.
But it's not hard to feel someone climb out of bed.
And it's not hard to miss the heat of them, either.
— Gunma, Japan. | 8 years ago, November 6th.
"This is it."
Minghao is sitting in the passenger seat of Junhui's modded Supra, his fingers dangling out of the window as they pull up next to a white 2002 Acura NSX with blue butterflies plastered along the side. Cars of all sorts are parked around haphazardly, but three are lined up carefully along a spray-painted white line; girls with thick eyeliner lounging with cigarettes slotted between manicured nails, fishnet stockings under mini shorts and heavy boots. A few are scattered about the lot, clinging to each other or men who seem to be their boyfriends; jersey wearing, cigarette smoking, two absences from failing their Women and Gender Studies course type of boyfriends.
Might dump them for the next pretty girl that bats their eyelashes type of boyfriends.
He slips out of the car with Junhui, wiping the hem of his long-sleeve on the lens of his camera. Junhui slides across the hood, perched near his headlight as he clears his throat. Minghao looks around, before Junhui finally spots who he's looking for and calls out.
"Y/N! Get over here!"
Minghao's ears perk at the sound of your name, the sound of it familiar.
He mouths it, the feeling heavy on his tongue as your head whips up from down the line, your hand clenched around a yellow rag that was wiping the hood of your car that's parked to race. Sleek; some type of super car wrapped in pink glitter and with a modded rear spoiler in black, the words 'Pussy Wagon' spelled out on one of the custom tire rims. Minghao bites his lip to stop from grinning.
You're suspicious as you look around the lot, Junhui's voice calling out to you again before you spot him in a bright yellow jacket. Your sudden smile is bright on glossed lips, and Minghao feels his heart drop to his ass as you toss the rag and make your way across the lot. You're wearing green cargo pants, a brown hoodie that makes you look like you're drowning and a ratty pair of high top canvas sneakers.
You look oddly familiar.
"Hey! I thought I wouldn't see you tonight, did you get your paper done early?" You give Junhui a one-armed hug, before your eyes meet Minghao's. They widen a bit, a flash of curiosity blooming in the back of them as you nod politely. "Hello. Are you racing, too?"
He feels a wave of bashfulness wash over him as he slowly shakes his head, your brow raising slightly as Junhui squeezes your shoulder. Your eyes don't avert from him, instead trailing down to the heavy camera in his hand; an ORBIT Tech 97X, equipped with the newest model of the 105mm S2S macro lens, dropped just last week.
You gesture at it with your pinky finger, your skin and nails tinted with smeared red polish. Why is that so familiar?
"Are you on the yearbook committee? I don't think they'll let you use any photos you take here." You lament, as if you know you're letting him down. He clears his throat, shaking his head before unscrewing the lens.
"Oh, no. I'm just…taking pictures for Junhui." He nods, swallowing carefully as Junhui facepalms behind you.
Minghao has transferred to your university for a semester abroad — and it was truly the universe that brought Junhui and Minghao back together after having lost contact years ago. Minghao had misplaced Junhui's house number when he moved back to Haicheng, turning everything over looking for it to no avail; the two hadn't spoken since Minghao left the summer before seventh grade. Funnily enough, Minghao found Junhui's number on a poster pinned to in the dorm hall resident board for an afternoon car meet; texting the number and asking if they needed someone to take pictures. The two met up an hour before, with the two instantly recognizing each other and immediately falling into excited chatter about everything they had missed throughout the years, and Junhui even introduced him to some of his buddies — none of which Minghao bothered to remember their names.
Minghao easily fit into Junhui's friend group here, though quiet — but you were always busy at the garage under your car, or cramming for school. Junhui kept talking about you, mentioning how you used to throw pebbles and mulch at kids who would pick on him and Minghao at the playgrounds — but nothing in Minghao's memory was sparking an image of you.
Until now — with the tint of smeared red polish on your fingertips, the messily untied shoelaces and the small gold hoops that looped through your earlobes. He remembers Mrs. Huang having to pull you aside constantly and tie them for you, the way she'd have to fold the hem of your brown school pants because they were much too long for you. He remembers the gold hoops most of all, because you fought a girl — yes, fought — who wanted to try them on but you said they were from your grandmother and you weren't allowed to take them off.
He remembers being the first boy to ever tell you that you were pretty — on the playground after school, waiting for your father to pick you up. Of course he gave you compliments before that were much more important in his mind; smart, for figuring out long division without Junhui's help, talented, for learning to do a back-flip on the first try. You were eleven then, holding handfuls of mulch and throwing pieces down at Junhui from the top of the slides when he murmured it. You were so flustered you couldn't even say anything back, instead smiling inwardly, your chin to your chest as you threw more pieces of mulch at Junhui. Minghao took it as a silent win.
And he realizes, in losing Junhui's phone number all those years ago — he lost you, too.
"You look…really familiar. Do I know you?" You ask, tilting your head to the side as Junhui visibly squeezed your shoulder again, his eyes pleading with Minghao. You tore your eyes away from him for a moment, looking up at your mutual friend before looking back at Minghao.
"Y/N, this is Minghao."
Your eyes widened, your hand reaching into your sweatshirt and pulling out a locket. You popped it open, only glancing down at it once before gasping.
"Xu Minghao? From class 7-B?"
You bounced on your toes as a blush crept across his cheeks, nodding slowly when you turned the locket to face him. Inside was a picture of you, squished between two boys in dirty uniform shirts, your face smeared with icing from a cake. You, Junhui and Minghao — squeezed together on one chair, smiling brightly.
"Hi." He mumbles softly, and you nod eagerly as you close the locket and shove it into your shirt. He rubs his neck awkwardly, "I just transferred for the semester, so—" "No, I know! Junhui has been texting me about you nonstop but I've just been so busy, I haven't been checking anything and my memory is so shit these days. I'm so sorry, but it really is so nice to see you again. Thought we lost ya for a while, there." Your smile, so bright and beautiful…it makes his stomach flip, his knees slightly weak as he clears his throat.
"It's okay, it's nice to see you, too. You're still pretty." His voice is quiet as he toys with the lens in his hand, but he notices the way your shoulders tense slightly, your breath hitching in your throat. Your eyes flicker away, and you clear your throat as Junhui snickers behind you.
"God, you guys. Act like you know each other!" He bumps your shoulder, making you scowl as you shove him away. "You act like no one has called you pretty before. I call you pretty all the time!"
"That's your job as my best friend, dickwad. And you're not as pretty as he is." "Hey! I resent that!"
Minghao ignored the heat on his cheeks, instead screwing the lens back onto the camera as he listened to you and Junhui bicker. It reminded him of the old times, where the three of you would split a raspberry and cream snowcone but get mad at Junhui for taking all the chunks of ice — eventually, ending in you making Junhui shell out the coins for you to get your own.
"I hate to interrupt, but…" His voice makes you both stop, a pout on your lip as you shove Junhui again, presumably for good measure. "Your tire. It says…it says 'Pussy Wagon', right?"
You immediately perk up, looking over your shoulder at your car across the lot. "Hell yeah! Jun got me the rims for my birthday!"
Minghao bites back his smile, holding up his camera slightly. "Would you like some shots? They're free."
"I love free. Do whatever you want, but I do want a shot of the rims to frame in my dorm." You wiggle your brows, and he lets a laugh slip through as you give Junhui an uninterested look. "Are you gonna race or not? I need to know if I have a confirmed win tonight."
"Are you saying I'm not good enough to beat you? You don't think any of our buddies have what it takes to beat you across that finish line, either?" Junhui scoffs, before shrugging his bag off his shoulder and unzipping it. A wad of cash is hidden in your hand, your eyes narrowing as you quickly cover him with your body. You seemingly tuck it into his bag, and you give Minghao a quipped smile.
"So…how does this race thing work, anyway? Are you guys tracked or something?" Minghao fiddles with the shutter on his camera, and you point upwards, his line of vision following up a winding mountain.
"Pretty simple, we don't get tracked because the race stops if someone gets hurt. We line up here," You foot taps the pavement beneath you, tire marks scattered everywhere, "and we race down this backstreet, which leads you to the east end of the mountain. The trail has been marked as defunct on any online maps you see, but that's because the rangers closed it due to the street racing. We still use it, because one of the rookies has connects with the rangers. Think his name is Mingi."
You roll your eyes, before glancing at the watch on your wrist. Thin, gold. Familiar.
"We have a bit before the race starts. Did you want me to show you some of my mods? I don't know much about photography but you're the artist, maybe you'll find something worth shooting." You try to distract him from the money exchange, but he just files it away as he nods, much to Junhui's delight — who shoots him a sly wink. You eagerly take his free hand, his breath hitching as you drag him across the lot, fingertips cool against his warm palm. You interlace your fingers with his, keeping him close to your hip as you rattle off specs that he doesn't understand as you make it to your car.
"How have you been? I mean, it's been…years." You ask suddenly, and he feels his cheek warm as your thumb strokes the back of his hand before you quickly let go. "Sorry. Force of habit, Jun and I."
"Oh, are the two of you—" "No! God, no. He's a freak. I say that with love, of course."
You snicker, crossing your arms limply, your fingers gripping at the sleeves of your hoodie. He nods slowly, before shrugging. He crouches next to your car, wiping at a bit of dirt on your tire with the pad of his thumb before you quickly lean over the hood of your car and grab the rag. You hand it to him, crouching so close your thigh touches his knuckles as he cleans the rim of your tire. He smiles at the slogan stamped into the pink metal, clicking his tongue as he speaks.
"I've…existed, I guess. Made my mark here and there." "Do you still dance? I remember you were super into that back then." "I retired. I went to Shanghai for a casting and it just wasn't in the cards for me. The universe works in mysterious ways."
"That really sucks, I'm sorry. Do you miss it?" You ask, and he looks over his shoulder, a small smirk on his lips as he raises a brow. Your arms are wrapped around your knees, holding them close to your chest as you peer at him through your lashes.
"You're big on small talk, huh?"
You scoff, rolling your eyes as you look away. "No."
"Yeah? What's next, gonna ask me how I feel about the weather?" He teases, and you tongue your cheek to stop the spread of a smile on your lips. He gives you a wink, watching the way you bury your face in your arms. "How'd you get into this, anyway?"
You seem to lighten up at that, but shrug like it's no big deal.
"Oh, just…watching. Junhui and I would hang out on weekends a lot, and his dad has that sick model car collection, remember? The ones in the upstairs guest room that we weren't allowed to touch?" Your voice is fond as Minghao nods, still wiping at the metal. "Jun's cousins also took us to a lot of car meets and street races when we were still kids, which probably wasn't the best idea because Mr. Wen had to teach us both to drive and we scared him half to death every time we got behind the wheel."
You chuckle, but there's a hint of sorrow in it as you sigh.
"Why did Mr. Wen teach you?" He asks, not looking at you as he sets the rag down. You shift next to him, your knee brushing his as you clear your throat.
"My dad didn't want to teach me." "…Can I ask why?" "My mom was a racer, too, back when we were kids." You mumble, making Minghao still next to you. He glances over his shoulder, watching you pick at a loose thread in your pants. He turns, facing you a bit more as you zero in on the green fabric, your fingertips pinching it limply before tugging it out.
"Hydroplaned across the road she was racing on and crashed into a tree head-on. Died on impact back in 2009."
Minghao feels his stomach sink as you shrug again, giving him a small smile. "It's okay, I've learned to live with it. My dad doesn't know I race, but I'm always extra careful around these parts, anyway, especially this mountain. Turns are kinda tight, you know?"
You pat your knees, before standing up quickly. "I've gotta talk to Jun about some school stuff but you'll be around after, right? We can get dinner, my treat. I'm a winner, after all."
Your hand squeezes his shoulder before you scamper away, leaving Minghao with his heart in his throat. He sits for a moment, thinking back. He remembers your mother a lot more than your father — she always pressed a kiss to your cheek when she dropped you off in the mornings, stamping her bright red lipstick on your skin. She picked you up early during thunderstorms, showing up in the door of the classroom with your yellow raincoat in her hand and a clear umbrella. She had these wide eyes, bright and gentle; and she was always the one who answered the door when Minghao's mother dropped him off at Junhui's house, giving his mother soft smiles and polite greetings.
He remembers Junhui's birthday party the summer he left; your mother had baked the cake, sneaking back into the house for plates when your father caught her at the backdoor. He kissed her cheeks shamelessly, her laughter ringing out as she reached out for you, her hand grabbing your wrist as you walked by. She pulled you in between them, your father's lips landing on your cheek as you squealed when he spun you around. She escaped, the plates in her hand for the cake slightly crushed in her grip. He remembers her shy smile as his own mother teased her, slicing the cake quickly to escape the crooning of parents and children alike.
He remembers her face behind the camera as the three of you were squished uncomfortably on one of the lawn chairs, but Junhui smeared icing on your face just as the camera flashed.
And that's the picture in your locket.
But he doesn't remember anything about your mother ever being a racer. He remembers her wearing suits, pressed and pleated. High heels, a camera strap around her shoulder, a chunky gold ring on her left hand from your father — and sometimes, a thin, gold watch around her wrist.
He shudders, his fingers tightening around the lens of his camera. He busies himself, trying to will away the way your eyes blanked for a moment when you said it — snapping photos of your car, wiping the edge of your license plate…
Catching a shot of you and Junhui leaning against the hood of his car, smiling as you talk to each other, before a staticky megaphone sounds out. You and Junhui wince, a scowl on your lips as you cover your ears. It's too warbled for Minghao to make out what is being said, but it seems everyone around is used to it because commotion starts — cheers and hoots paired with the slamming of doors, your hair bouncing as you sprint across the lot. You don't bother opening the door, sliding into your front seat through the open window with a giddy smile on your face as you meet his eyes.
"Hey, pretty boy! Don't get hit, stand over there!" You yell over the rev of your engine, shooting him a quick wink as he shakes his head, tonguing his cheek as he holds the camera up for a quick shot. You smile wide, the flash barely fazing you as the megaphone sounds again, a pair of girls holding green flags in their balled fists. Minghao makes his way into the crowd, giving polite smiles and throwing a quiet excuse me here and there.
"Ready!"
Minghao turns, bringing his camera to his face and zeroing his lens in on you. Another quick flick.
"Set!"
You grin devilishly, shooting a quick finger-gun at Junhui across the lot. He hoists the camera up again, the light perfect against Junhui's skin…
"Go!"
Flash — and you're gone. Minghao looks through the camera as you and Junhui are speeding down the back road, capturing a satisfyingly blurry shot of your bumpers next to each other.
Minghao fades into the crowds, not bothering to speak to anyone as he takes his phone out. His fingers fumble around, pressing into his social media profile before typing in Junhui's name. His profile is full of pictures of cars, cats, you in the most random situations; standing on the hood of your car, hanging upside down from a tree branch, asleep in a lecture hall at your campus.
Minghao sees that you're tagged in all of them, and he takes a deep breath, his finger hovering over the tag. He presses it, opening it to see you and Junhui filling your public profile, but the most recent post from six months ago. You're holding someone's hand in a mirror, his face cut off by the edge of the mirror.
@/007dash: last of my lover. i'll miss u ♡ make me proud. @/96jeon.
He clears his throat, feeling an odd disappointment settle in his belly. Tonguing his cheek, he scrolls through your profile a bit more — your 'lover' is seemingly nameless, and his profile is full of aesthetic shots of you, his car, his friends…
However, there is no pictures of your boyfriend's face on either profile. Neck down shots, short videos of you speaking but they're muted with edited captions and music. The last post was made a year ago, a short video of you and him in Tokyo with Automatic by Hikaru Utada edited over it. The video ends with a reflection shot of you on your tiptoes, seemingly to kiss him, before the screen going black.
@/96jeon: my first love, i'll make you proud @/007dash ♡
Minghao realizes you are really, truly, loved. By Junhui, by your father, by…lover. He's never had to be there, his absence from your life has never made the world stop turning for you. You've moved on, you've lived, you've loved and you're loving.
He sits with his thoughts for a moment — staring up at the sky. The trees cover a lot of it, but there are a few twinkling stars that he makes out as he lets his mind wander. Junhui had briefed him on your heartbreak, omitting names and certain details but Minghao got the general gist. He understood you were in love, that it was something you had fully thought would be long-term. You'd planned it all with this '96jeon' — the house, the kids, the wedding.
When he left, you were restless. You spent all your time filling it — what used to be Saturdays in the garage turned to 40 hours a week, you studied until your eyes hurt and you'd spend days driving in circles all over the city to feel the wind in your hair. Junhui explained it was the way you coped with heartbreak, that he'd seen you do it once before — with your father, and on pedal bikes. You didn't get into a car for a handful of years after she died. He just hadn't mentioned it was when your mother passed, but Minghao was able to put that together on his own.
On the other hand…sure, Minghao has had a girlfriend. Several girlfriends, actually — but something had always been missing and that was enough to get over them sooner than later. Not enough ambition, too much dependency, even a lack of emotional attachment at one point; Minghao needed balance. He needed someone who had her own goals, who didn't need his money, who didn't want to date him just because he was a pretty face. He wanted…well, he wanted love. In the deepest form, even if it hurt him.
It was unlike him to think that way.
He shook it off, taking the time instead to mingle with other people. Everyone was welcoming, of course, and they were even nicer when Minghao offered pictures for free. Poses were struck, engines were revved, detailing was polished clean for a 10-second moment in the camera — until the screech of tires were heard, paired with Hold It Against Me by Britney Spears blaring through someone's speakers. People begin to crowd, on either side of the finish line, their eyes wide and hollers loud as he looks up, seeing Junhui's green supra making its way to the lot—
When your car slides past him, top down and crossing the finish line with a loud skid. You steer into it, spinning into a tight doughnut and leaving marks on the asphalt as the song playing through your stereo changes — Don't Cha by The Pussycat Dolls blasting as you stand on your seat. His fingers are tight around the camera, hollers of your name ring out as you hop out of the car. Your eyes are sparkling as Junhui skids to a halt right next to you, slamming out of his car as you stick your tongue out at him like a 6-year-old.
For a moment, Minghao sees a gleam of the girl he last knew in your eyes.
And he's sure the flash from his camera is nothing as you scream along with everyone who gathered around you. You taunt Junhui as you hop around him, but Minghao knows better than to think that the smile forcing it's way onto his lips is anything less than mischief laced with adoration. Junhui was a great liar, sure — but there was no way he could be annoyed at someone like you.
"Loser!" You cheer in Junhui's face as he snorted, wrapping his arm around your shoulders and pulling you into his chest as Minghao snaps another photo. It's not in a congratulatory way, Minghao can see the moment the idea sparks in Junhui's mind as he wraps a playful arm around your neck and your eyes widen. You pat his forearm quickly, letting out a gasp.
"I yield! Wait, Jun, please—"
The rest of the straggling racers pump their brakes as they make it to the finish line, cutting their wheels with scowls on their lips. You shriek as Junhui's fingertips dig into your side teasingly, before you manage to free yourself from his grasp and swat at his hands.
"Pay up, losers! Three hundred bucks each and it's all for me!" You brag, snatching the money you'd slipped into Junhui's bag right out of his hand as he held it out to you. The other racers grumbled about fair play and poor sportsmanship as they pulled their wallets out, watching you prance around happily as everyone began to dissipate. You shove the money into one of your cargo pockets, patting the flap shut as you wave everyone off.
"Jun! Wanna go to Tsuki's?" You ask as one of the racers sorely revs their engine in front of you, making you flip them the bird as you walk backwards. Minghao meets you halfway, his chest hitting your back as you reach behind you. As soon as Junhui nods, you look over your shoulder.
"Told you I was a winner." "Never doubted you for a second, Flash."
"Ooh, I like that. Flash." You snort, before you glance back at Junhui. He's putting shrugging his jacket off, tossing it into his backseat before meeting your eyes. "Are you riding with Jun?"
"You want me to ride with you?" He asks coolly as you both make your way back to Junhui, and you don't respond as you reach into your car and turn your stereo down. Junhui slips into his seat, giving you both a look.
"You wanna ride with Y/N? She speeds and her car smells like macaroni." Junhui scrunches his nose as you scoff, kicking his wheel. "My car does not smell like macaroni!"
"And she yells, Hao." Junhui feigns tears, making the younger bite back his smile. You huff, turning away and giving Junhui a chance to give Minghao a pointed look. Go with her, he mouths, and Minghao knows a glaze of worry flashes through his eyes. Junhui waves him off, giving him a comforting smile before calling out to you. "I'll meet you there, alright? I've got some business to take care of."
"Sure thing. We'll save you a seat, Jun." You give him a thumbs up, fiddling with your stereo as you look over to Minghao. You pat the side of your car door, "come on, pretty boy. Hop in."
Minghao does as he's told, sliding in and quietly tucking his camera into his bag before placing it between his feet. He pulls at the seatbelt as Junhui speeds off, honking something offbeat. Minghao clears his throat lightly, only for you to look up at him with a soft smile.
"You wanna cruise or you wanna get there fast?" You rev your engine, and he looks away, shrugging.
"Whatever you want."
You seemingly take mercy on him, taking a nice cruise through the streets. You don't speak either, just letting him look around as softer songs play — 24 Hours by Sunmi, Everything is Embarrassing by Sky Ferreira, Twenty-three by IU…
Lonesome Love by Mitski.
It wasn't long before you arrived at Tsuki's, a homey hole-in-the-wall udon shop in Shibukawa that you and Junhui frequented a lot during your first year at Gunma University. You befriended the owners, quickly meeting the namesake — a white Turkish Angora cat with one blue eye and one brown. The two of you were photographed in the restaurant, posing for a quick Polaroid that rested against the cashier's register. Minghao examined it as you ordered quickly, rattling off toppings before telling him to choose a table as you fished out the money in your pocket. He handed his card to the cashier before you could take it out, earning a scowl from you as the receipt printed and he turned to find a seat. You mumbled something about a bathroom, and he gave you a quick thumbs up as he took a seat in the corner.
"Iced tea!" You state, holding two large glasses in your hand as you came back from the restroom. "Best in the area, brewed in house by the owners."
He takes a quick sip, before the waitress comes over with your bowls. You both thank her quickly, hearing the door open and Junhui appearing with an excited gleam in his eye. You wave him over, "I ordered for you. But I told them you'd be a bit, so go tell them you're here now."
"Thanks," He ruffles your hair, and Minghao watches the action silently as he fiddles with his camera. "I'll be back, gonna talk to Mrs. Iguchi. Eat up, don't wait for me."
You don't seem at all bothered by Junhui's behavior, almost like it's normal for you as Minghao clears his throat. You pause, your chopsticks halfway to your mouth with a bundle of noodles.
"Can I ask you something?" He stares at the broth in his bowl, and you carefully shovel the noodles into your mouth as you nod.
"Sure." You cover your mouth with your hand, chewing carefully as he glances up. Your eyes are wide in curiosity, and you tilt your head slightly before swallowing. "You're okay, right?"
"Do you ever wonder what would've happened if I had never gone back to Haicheng? Do you think we would've stayed friends?" His fingers play with the rim of the glass, and you hum, pursing your lips.
"I don't like to think about the what ifs, actually." You start, before a small smile graces your lips. "But if I really think about it, I think you leaving for Haicheng was an essential part of…growing up, I guess. You weren't meant to stay by our side for the time being but clearly the universe brought you back for a reason."
Your smile is gentle as you shrug, and you rest your chin in your hand. "I think…maybe we would've been really close. Maybe you and I would've ganged up against Jun more often than not. Maybe we would've fought the way Jun and I do, but…it'd be easier with you, I think."
Before Minghao can ask what you mean, Jun returns with a bottle of sake in his hand and a glass of water. He gives you both a quick smile, slipping into the booth next to Minghao. You frown, gesturing at the empty spot next to you.
"We have a guest, Y/N." "We have a ritual, Junhui."
He just rolls his eyes, watching as you scowl and cross your arms, leaning against the vinyl of the booth.
"So." He presses his lips together as he adjusts in his seat, slipping his jacket off his shoulders and kicking you under the table. You jump, his face serious as the waitress drops his bowl off on the table. "Fix your face. What did I miss?"
"Nothing. Eat your food, brat." You stick your tongue out at him, before giving Minghao a quick smile. He smiles back, awkwardly feeling around for his utensils on the table before Junhui clears his throat.
"Did you guys catch up? Did she tell you about the time she tripped down a flight of stairs and—" "Junhui!"
You kick him under the table, but he still manages a smile as he rubs his shin rapidly. "What?! You didn't tell him about the day you learned to fly?"
"Junhui, shut up!" You pout, and Minghao bites back his smile as he nudges Junhui's side with his elbow. Junhui scowls, swatting his arm away as Minghao snickers.
"Leave the girl alone, Jun." "Now you're on her side? How is that fair?!"
"Why would I be on your side?" Minghao scoffs, turning his nose up as he slides his bowl slightly closer. "I'm a neutral party."
"Anyway," Junhui smiles softly, "I have news."
"Do tell, since you've been disappearing on me every few days. It's like you're hiding something from me." Your eyes are pointed as you take a sip from your iced tea, and Minghao notices Junhui's gaze turn a bit guilty as he glances at him. Junhui swallows loudly, his fingers tracing patterns into the cold sake bottle.
You blink expectantly as you slurp another mouthful of noodles, and Junhui clears his throat.
"So, I filled Minghao in a bit on the way here. About, uh, your recent heartbreak."
Your eyes narrow, your cheek bulging from the food stuffed into it. You glance at Minghao, who is rigid in his seat. He lets out a weak cough, eyes avoidant as Junhui tries to clean the situation up.
"I didn't name names. I only…I just told him your boyfriend left." Junhui awkwardly rubs the back of his neck, and you blink again, silently setting down your chopsticks as you swallow hard. "Or, ex-boyfriend, rather."
"Whatever you wanna call it. Just spit it out, Wen." Your voice holds no malice, only curiosity laced with concern as you shift in your seat. You're leaning forward, your lips glistening with oil from the broth of the noodles. "You know you can tell me anything."
"I'm…going to be on the roster for the upcoming F1 season." He whispers, and Minghao watches your face change in seconds. Confusion, anger, excitement…hurt. You purse your lips, your hands on the table flattening as you process the information, before Junhui speaks again. "With Kick Sauber."
You shrink into the booth, and Minghao can't read you fast enough before you're nibbling on your lip. Your eyes are glazed over, and Minghao can almost feel the ache in your throat as you look up at the lights of the restaurant. His hands clench in his lap, enveloping each other as he begins to bounce his leg.
"You're leaving?" "I'll come back. You know I'll come back, I'd never leave you behind."
Junhui's voice is reassuring, but you just nod slowly. Your eyes are brimming with tears, your fingernail tapping against the mahogany wood of the table as you try to clear your throat. You fail, your voice coming out thick as you speak.
"When are you leaving?"
"In March. Second week of March." Junhui's tone grows even softer, as if he's trying to cushion the blow. An angry tear slips down your face, your fingers quickly wiping it away as you sniffle. You tongue your cheek, and you squeeze your eyes shut before running a hand through your hair.
"I'm your best friend. You're my best friend in this entire world, Y/N. I'd never leave you behind." Junhui tries, but you just nod again, blowing a breath out of your mouth before sucking your teeth. You tilt your head, eyes searching Junhui before they land on Minghao.
"Did you already know?" You ask, and he chews his cheek as he nods slowly. A flash of something crosses your eyes as you acknowledge his response with a nod of your own, and Junhui starts slowly scooting out of the booth as if he knows you're going to run. You slide out of the booth entirely, grabbing the strap of your bag and hiking it over your shoulder before looking down at Junhui with what Minghao can only identify as betrayal.
"I can't say what you need me to say right now," You admit quietly, your voice shaky as Junhui tries to get up to comfort you. You step back, "I can't say what I should say right now, and I know that's selfish. I think…I just need some time alone to process this."
Junhui nods, and you don't say anything else as you wipe at your face harshly and whirl out of the shop. Minghao looks at your bowl of noodles, half eaten and your sweating glass of iced tea on the coaster. Junhui sounds off with a defeated sigh, running a hand over his face as he grabs the bottle of sake.
"I told you she wouldn't take it well." He murmurs, and Minghao nods, before clicking his tongue.
"I still think it's better she finds out from you than anyone else, or worse, the media." Minghao replies, when the front door bell rings again. You're barreling back in, and you're still crying but you throw your arms around Junhui and squeeze him tight. The guy looks taken aback, but he quickly recovers by wrapping his arms around your torso.
"You bitch." You sob, smacking his shoulder as Minghao moves back a bit, his fingers fiddling with the lens of his camera. He scoots back more, holding the camera to his face as you press a kiss to the top of Junhui's head. "I hate you. I'm so proud of you. Idiot."
"I know you're experiencing a lot of emotions right now, but you could be nicer." "You could be a better friend and not leave me and Minghao—" "You have Minghao and Minghao has you. I'm always in your heart, Y/N."
The flash doesn't distract either of you, but you shove Junhui away before you can cry anymore. Your eyes are full of what can only be described as fear, but you seemingly swallow the most that you can and wipe at your face shakily.
"I love you so much. Don't call me, dumbass. I'll see you later."
Minghao wonders if he'll ever hear those words from you.
I love you so much.
— Melbourne, Australia. Present Day, Post-Race Results.
Tzuyu CHOU [McLaren | #14]: 1:20:26.843
Jihoon LEE [Ferrari | #22] +2.366s
YN SONG [Ferrari | #8] +5.904s
Jeonghan YOON [Alpine | #4] +35.770s
Jihyo PARK [Mercedes | #1] +56.309s
Seungcheol CHOI [Mercedes | #95] +93.222s
San CHOI [Red Bull | #7] +95.601s
Jongho CHOI [Williams | #12] +100.992s
Mingyu KIM [McLaren | #6] +104.553s
Wonwoo JEON [Aston Martin | #96] +1 Lap.
"Ninth place is fucking insane. P2 to ninth? What the hell happened?" You hear Mingyu mutter as you walk past him unzipping his suit, tugging at your collar and undoing the Velcro strap as Wonwoo shoves his shoulder lightly. Tzuyu is snickering from the front of the paddock, attempting to hide it behind the chewing of a gummy bear from the pack in her hand. "You're laughing? It's not funny, babe!"
"You'll live." "Easy for you to say, from the top."
"Gyu, it could've been worse. Take what you get and be better next time." He shrugs, and you smile inwardly as you manage to skirt past them and grab a water bottle off the table. Minghao is across the paddock, likely talking shop as Junhui interviews him.
"Easy for you to say, old man." "I'm not even that much older than you, dimwit."
"Whatever. Hey, Flash. Nice going out there." Mingyu comments, and you feel your shoulders tense as you glance over. You give him a curt smile, catching Wonwoo's gaze as you speak.
"Maybe if you were three times faster you'd be where I am, Kim. Nice going, though." You chuckle, taking a sip of your water bottle as Wonwoo bites back his laugh, covering his face as Mingyu blinks.
"What?" "You're ninth place. Three multiplied by three is nine. If you were three times as fast—" "I know what she meant, Jeon."
You smile to yourself, looking through the snack table and grabbing for a granola bar when a hand grabs it first. You glance up, seeing the familiar navy blue suit attached to one Choi San. You feel your expression turn somewhat apologetic as you reach for something else, but he places it into your open hand and grabs something else himself.
"P15 to third place is impressive." He says softly, "good job, Flash."
"Thanks, San." Your cheeks warm under his gaze, steady as you shrug, "but it's no big deal. They don't call me Flash for nothing."
He laughs, "I know, sweetheart. See you."
You feel a bit of guilt spread in your chest, knowing that Minghao is only a few feet away. However, you've always just been that way — joining F1 a year after Junhui did and seeing Wonwoo was a hit to the heart like no other. You'd ended up going to dinner to fully tie up loose ends, and now things were as casual as they could be between two first loves.
But San?
You and Wonwoo had been something incredibly private. He was an entity of a first love — nameless, faceless, even voiceless throughout the public duration of your year-long relationship and social media was about you to him. You kissed out in the open without scrutiny, you held hands walking through the streets of your college town, you went on dates without anyone ever thinking anything except two lovers…well, loving.
And then he left.
With San…you were so careful. You tried so hard to keep it under wraps, not really knowing the severity of a relationship in the spotlight but wanting to avoid it anyway. You both loved so hard, so silently — only to be stripped of it all in one go. You were made a laughingstock, you were exposed for being someone in love and while things calmed down, you knew people in your vicinity were still wary of you even if it wasn't your fault.
San's team made it a point to keep the two of you separate in every occasion possible. You were sat on opposite ends of the interview rooms during post-race questioning, you were not allowed to be on the same flights or stay in the same hotels, and you were even told not to stand too close together if either of you placed in the top three on Sundays.
It was miserable, and when you were both taken off the roster, you felt like everything was crumbling in your hands. You didn't feel safe in your apartment in Long Beach, repeatedly having it checked for bugs and even San himself mentioned feeling paranoid at his condo in Los Angeles. After every lead in the investigation came to a dead end, you felt discouraged and any form of contact with San was so limited that you just stopped trying.
You made the move to New York City after your lawyers admitted there was nothing else that could be done, and San made a cross-country move as well — to Miami. You got one last message from him before he changed his number, and you weren't recommended to be given the new one per his legal team's advisement.
Yet, he still looks at you as though you've hung the stars from the sky.
"See you."
Message From: Choi San [old number] [07/10] settled in. just sending this because i miss you and i was told i shouldn't give you my new number to keep you safe. i hope you know i love you, always, and that i'll always be here if you need someone. [07/10] for my birthday, all i ask is you stay for just a moment more. please don't move on right away. please love me a little longer. [07/10] i'll see you next season. (Read: 3:42AM)
— SHANGHAI, CHINA. | 4:32 PM.
"My stomach hurts."
You always feel this way when you land in Shanghai. Junhui's parents always take the flight up to watch you race for the weekend, getting their tickets through your team directly — and bringing gifts from your father, who also gets a ticket.
It's always unclaimed.
He never comes down to watch you race and you can't say you blame him, but you get a single text from him the morning of the race with a simple be safe. He's never in the stands, and you don't blame him — he wasn't very happy when you called him about your college boyfriend leaving to be a racer, then Junhui…then you.
He didn't speak to you for a week after learning you'd signed the contract with Ferrari. He called Junhui and asked him to talk you out of it, only to find out that Junhui was the one who encouraged you to break into the scene after your racing past was discovered by the Kick Sauber team through him. He was upset, and you still called every day at 8PM Shenzhen time — no matter where you were.
Minghao glances at you over his shoulder, his hair damp from his shower as he fishes through his duffel bag.
"You can call him now, babe." "I know, but he already texted me. I know he's nervous and that makes me nervous. I never place well in Qualifying when we race in Shanghai." "You'll place well, you just need to shake it off. I'm certain you could even win."
You groan as you flop onto your hotel bed, earning a hum from your…something as he slides onto the bed next to you. He sits up on his elbow, and you pout up at him as he brushes your hair out of your face carefully. You pucker your lips slightly, begging for a kiss and he obliges, lips soft against yours as he cups your face.
"He loves you anyway." "It's selfish of me to want him to be here, isn't it?" "It's human nature to be selfish, you know."
He presses a kiss to your nose as you turn on your side, draping your leg over his hip and settling into his neck. His hand slips under the back of your shirt, tracing circles into your warm skin as you sigh.
"Sometimes I want to move back, you know." You mumble, "I miss my dad a lot. I think being home would also help me figure out if racing is really what I want, and…"
And we'd be closer.
Minghao understands, squeezing your hip under your shirt.
"You can. You can always move back, you know your dad would love to have you back and Junhui is over here all the time anyway. It's like he never left." "I know, you guys are always hanging out without me! It's like you hate me."
"We don't hate you, angel. Shanghai is just a good halfway point for Jun and me, and if you ever came back home…you could be with us. We could spend time together, but you like New York too much." He teases, but you know there's truth to it. It's not that you like New York, but it's…easier to say that than to say you're a coward. A coward that can't admit her feelings, that can't say what she wants to say so she hides behind the veil of the smog in a concrete jungle she's tried to call home.
It never works.
"If I came back, I'd stay in Shenzhen with my dad." "You came back to Shenzhen three times during the off-season and never once asked to see me, though. So what would change now? At least you'd be closer." "I was homesick." "So am I, any time we're apart."
Silence settles between you as his words sink in, his lips pressing to your face in random patterns. You let your eyes flutter shut, pulling him closer as he plants a kiss on your lips.
"An eight-hour flight is easier than a thirty-hour one, don't you think?" He murmurs against your lips, likely feeling the way you pout because he laughs. "As much as I love just laying here with you, we have lunch plans with Jun, Tzuyu and Mingyu."
"It's almost suppertime." "It's lunch because you didn't eat on the plane. You pushed your food around." "Stop noticing things about me, it's like you're obsessed with me."
Your scoff does nothing to deter him, his smile only growing cheeky as he peppers kisses across your cheeks.
"I am obsessed with you, angel. Get up."
You huff in embarrassment as he pats the swell of your ass before slipping away, your hand swatting at his as he giggles. You force yourself up with a groan, watching him pull a shirt over his head as you click your tongue.
"I'm already in my pajamas." "You should wear your yellow dress. You know the one, with the pockets?"
You change begrudgingly, moving around the room as Minghao watches silently. Your thumb shines with the same gold ring, your neck sparkling with the same thin chain…and he doesn't miss a chance to kiss the top of your head as you pull him close to you for a picture in the hallway mirror.
"Are you posting that?" He asks softly, and you hate the weight his words hold. The weight of being tapped into, of the safe haven he's built around you being stripped and shown to the world for all to speculate. The weight of being discovered, the romance between driver and engineer something not uncommon but it's you. It's you, the Ferrari Flash, debuting another man. Another target for people to dig deep into, as if they don't already have so much information about him.
The difference is that Minghao can still hide from the spotlight, he doesn't owe anyone anything because he's not the one on that stupid tarmac.
You're on it almost every weekend. You chose it, he didn't.
"Are you okay with it?" You let him interlace your fingers as you slip into the elevator, your phone open to the gallery. Hundreds of images of you and Minghao filled it, often filed away to a private folder — dating all the way back to your reunion in Gunma eight years ago, full of videos and stills from his camera and your phone until he left after the semester ended, breaking his phone halfway through his first month back in Haicheng and once more losing you in the process.
"I don't mind." He shrugs, "I can hold my own."
"You say it like I'm throwing you to the sharks." "You're throwing me to the wolves but a death by your hand is all the sweeter."
"Charmer." You roll your eyes, but open your Instagram anyway. You click around, choosing a song for your story as he presses the button to take you down to the lobby. His thumb rubs circles on the back of your hand, his matching ring cool to your skin as you post it, his phone pinging with the notification.
@/flashingyou_by | ♫ Suga Suga - Baby Bash, Frankie J. ↳ 💬 lunch on us? @/xuminghao_o
"Us? I'm paying, angel." "Your money is mine, my money is yours. Loser."
"Doesn't that come with marriage? Shared finances?" He asks, pulling his phone out as the elevator jolts to a stop. You pull your hand out of his, despite having been photographed holding hands and such for ages — stepping out of the elevator as your stomach growls. He reaches for your wrist, pulling you close as a camera flashes in the corner of your eye. He doesn't care, wrapping his arm around your waist and holding you so flush to him that your hips bump as you walk towards the car awaiting you. Junhui is already there, talking to the driver as he leans through the window.
"Doesn't it?" Minghao's voice is soft in your ear as he opens the door for you, giving you a pointed look as your cheeks burn. You stick your tongue out at him, making him do it back as another camera flash goes off. He helps you into the car, and you both greet the driver quietly without a response as Junhui rounds the vehicle to get in on the other side of you.
"Hey, losers. Or should I say—"
You smack Junhui's arm, a scowl on your lips when you realize that the driver is just Mingyu, and Tzuyu is sitting in the passenger seat. Minghao swallows his laughter as you rub Junhui's arm apologetically, his lip jutted in a pout as you pat him.
"I was wondering why the hell you were both greeting me like that. Always lost in each other, huh?" Mingyu snorts, and you feel Minghao's hand pat your knee as you reach forward to pinch Mingyu's shoulder. He jumps, swatting at your hand as you cross your legs and wedging Minghao's hand between them as Mingyu pulls out of the hotel lot.
"How did the two of you become a thing, anyway?" Tzuyu asks curiously, and Minghao tenses slightly next to you before clearing his throat. You catch her eyes in the rear view, wide and inquisitive as you shrug, gesturing at the air.
"I mean, we've known each other for ages, and you kind of just…feel it, I guess. It's not a crush because a crush is lack of information, but it's too much to just be chemistry. It's…something."
"It's romance, is what it is. God, just slap a label on it already!" Mingyu scoffs, earning a shove from Tzuyu as he stops at a red light. Minghao snorts next to you, and Junhui pushes the back of Mingyu's head.
"Leave them alone, Gyu."
"And it's easy for you to say, lover boy. You were ready to get married the moment you laid eyes on Tzuyu." Minghao quips, "some of us like to take things slow."
"Slow? You've been doing this for the last three years! The off-season is full of you both moping on social media and Y/N posting photo dumps that scream 'I miss Minghao.' If you want it, make it happen!" Tzuyu shakes her head, grabbing Mingyu's hand and interlacing their fingers over the center console. Your eyes soften at the sparkle of the promise ring on her hand, next to an M ring on her middle finger as the light turns green, with Mingyu pressing softly on the gas to take a left turn.
"We'll be ready when we're ready." Minghao's voice is soft, with an air of nonchalance that you don't really like. If he notices, he says nothing; his fingers wedged between your knee sliding up slightly. You glance at Junhui, who is typing rapidly on his phone in an open Outlook email to Jieqiong. Leaning back silently, you watch Tzuyu fiddle with the radio as you rest your head on Minghao's shoulder.
"Does your stomach still hurt?" He asks quietly, and you open your mouth to respond as Mingyu looks in the rear view, making you stop.
"Your stomach hurts? Are you sick?" Mingyu's voice is concerned, and you shake your head.
"No. I always get like this when we're in Shanghai for a race." You shrug, before wrapping your hands around Minghao's arm. "You know how Junhui's parents always come?"
"Yeah, his mom always brings us almond cookies. God, I miss those right now." Tzuyu sighs dreamily, and you can practically feel the pride radiating off Junhui next to you as he chuckles inwardly.
"She's here, you know. She'll have some, I think." Junhui chimes in, before elbowing you lightly. "Keep talking, honey."
"Don't call her 'honey.' She's not your honey." Minghao scoffs, his fingers squeezing your knee unconsciously. You cover your face as Mingyu and Tzuyu's eyes find you in the rear view, twinkling with delight as Junhui leans over you to argue with him. "She's my best friend." "Yeah, well, so am I; you never call me 'honey.'" "Because you're gross."
"Guys, she isn't going anywhere, you know." Tzuyu teases, and you feel Junhui shove Minghao's shoulder and slip your hand off your face to see Minghao reaching to pinch his nipple through his shirt.
"Stop it! God, you guys are annoying," You swat Minghao's hand away, grabbing his wrist and pinning it to your thigh as you look at Mingyu and Tzuyu with burning cheeks. "The reason my stomach hurts is because my dad never comes to the races. He lives in Shenzhen, and he gets a ticket just like Junhui's parents do but he never comes."
"Why? You always do well when we're in Shanghai. You get Pole almost every year and if not, you're always top three."
The car falls eerily silent as Tzuyu stops talking, Mingyu carefully turning into a parking lot that you recognize as Lian's Tea House — a place Minghao once took you in the middle of the night during your first year together with Ferrari, and you ate steamed pork buns in a hidden corner booth while crying about your father until your stomach hurt. San hadn't been in the picture yet, and Minghao held your hand the entire time; wiping your face of dipping sauce and tears.
Your lips part, about to answer the question when Minghao clears his throat.
"This place is great. I came here a few times with an old friend, and it's been one of my favorite spots in Shanghai since. Junhui and I are always here during the off season." Minghao taps the glass of the window with his knuckle, and your stomach loses a knot as he squeezes your leg softly. You swallow hard, watching Mingyu reverses into a parking spot, your eyes trained on the leather sleeve of the wheel as the car jolts to a stop. You all slide out of the car, Minghao's hand tugging your dress down smoothly as Junhui rounds the car and shuts your door behind you. You stick between the men as Mingyu and Tzuyu walk hip-to-hip, her hand slotted into the back pocket of his jeans as he drapes his arm over her shoulder.
"I heard they have tea. It might help with your tummy." She talks over her shoulder, and you give her a weak smile as Junhui interlaces your fingers, squeezing your hand with a worried look on his face as you squeeze back. "I'm so excited, I missed the breakfast at the hotel and Mingyu—"
"I woke you up! You went back to bed!" "You could've brought me something back! What kind of boyfriend are you?!" "A good one! A great one, even! I love you!"
You let them bicker as you make it to the front of the restaurant, and Mingyu holds the door open for you all to trickle in. The restaurant is quiet, soft music playing through the speakers as you scan for an empty table.
"Welcome to Lian's Tea House. For five?"
You're barely present as you're seated in a long booth across the wall, your back to the door. The hostess takes your drink orders, your words mumbled as you rested your head back against the booth. No one made you feel bad about your sudden silence — with Minghao and Junhui understanding in depth that the ache in the pit of your stomach had nothing to do with hunger or illness, but longing.
The food came and went — steamed pork buns stuffed so full they burst upon teeth sinking into the soft dough, soft tofu in spicy garlic sauce with ground pork, stir-fried rice cakes with shiitake mushroom and crunchy bok choy bits…
You took bits of everything, but never enough to chew more than twice. You smiled when they laughed, nodded with interest when Tzuyu told story after story of her karting days with Jihyo, shifted in your seat with warmed cheeks every time Minghao's fingers brushed your thigh. You tried to stay involved, to stay present — but your heart is elsewhere, and they understand.
They always understand.
"Does anyone wanna split a honey cake with me?" You mumble as the waitress slips dessert menus on the table, before Tzuyu quickly asks her to snap a picture. Junhui uses the camera on your phone to wipe at his face, making you elbow him before taking it back. You grab Minghao's leg under the table, scooting closer to him as you both smile for the flashing camera. Tzuyu thanks her, before giving you a quick smile.
"I'll split. Gyu's probably about to burst—" "I can eat honey cake! I can so fit a honey cake!"
Junhui snickers next to you as they bicker, managing to order dessert for the table (including honey cake for Mingyu) when you feel your phone buzz on your leg. The waitress returns with plates of dessert, and you slice your piece of cake in half for Tzuyu before peering down at your screen.
[NEW] (2) Messages in: car go vroom (3 members) hao ♡: let's get a separate car. hao ♡: if i see gyu try to kiss tzuyu one more time i'm gonna barf.
You snicker, glancing up to see Mingyu practically devouring Tzuyu with his eyes, leaning into her as she talks to him about one thing or another. Junhui snorts from beside you, before the chat gets two more messages as you type.
[NEW] (4) Messages in: car go vroom (3 members) junhui: talk about wolf in sheep's clothing, look at the way he's looking at her… junhui: me when? :( You: when you stop third wheeling like a loser. junhui: you idiots have to be a couple for me to be able to third wheel, dipshit
"Mingyu, buddy, she's not going anywhere." Junhui scoffs, making him pout as Tzuyu laughs, shoving him away lightly. "We'll get a separate car, don't worry about it."
"He always does this," Tzuyu rolls her eyes, "you don't see Minghao all over Y/N, do you? Have some decency."
"No, but I'm also not your situationship. I'm your boyfriend and I have been for the last four years." Mingyu scoffs, and you pretend it doesn't sting as Minghao tenses next to you. The mood shifts as Minghao clears his throat, but he says nothing.
What can he say if it's only the truth? What can you?
"Mingyu." She grits, but you shake your head quickly as Minghao scoots out of the booth with his wallet in hand.
"It's alright," You shrug, and Minghao gives a curt smile as he disappears behind you. You feel the urge to go after him, but stay glued to your seat as Mingyu apologizes quietly. You only tell him there's nothing to apologize for, but you watch the way your hands tremble as you reach across the table for a napkin.
"What are your plans for the rest of the day?" You ask quickly, desperate to change the subject as Minghao returns, stuffing his wallet in his pocket.
"I think my parents came from Taiwan to see me, or they're on their way. If they're not here by tonight, we're gonna see if we can catch a late viewing of MaXXXine. There's a cinema about an hour out that plays night shows only and we wanna swing by it. You wanna come?" Tzuyu smiles as she spears her cake with her fork, and you feel Minghao's fingers settle back on your thigh as you tilt your head, before shaking it.
"You guys have fun, but I think…I might go to Shenzhen for the night." You clear your throat lightly, poking at your cake. "I miss my dad."
"By yourself?" Mingyu inquires, his eyes filling with worry once more as you smile. "Yes, by myself. I'm a big girl, Mingyu. I can travel alone."
"Well, what if I wanna see your dad, too? You're just gonna leave me here?" Junhui scoffs from beside you, making you elbow him as the rest of the table chuckles.
Conversation moves to smoother topics — Junhui joining the international journey with F1 as a reporter, Tzuyu kicking off the season with a win and setting the mood for the rest of the races, Mingyu dropping subtle hints at an engagement before Tzuyu twists his nipple through his shirt and tells him to stop lying. Something in his eye as he rubs his chest says he might not be, but you think you're the only one who catches it as you shoot him a quick wink.
Minghao says nothing. You hold his hand under the table tightly, the both of you rubbing circles into each other's skin as if to soothe — bruised egos, maybe.
Junhui ends up paying for a separate car to pick the three of you up, with Mingyu and Tzuyu standing in front of the restaurant with you until it pulls up. Goodbyes are exchanged, and you and Minghao slip into the car when Junhui shuts the door. He taps the passenger window with his knuckle, and the driver rolls it down only to get an extra wad of cash slipped into his hand.
"You're not coming?" You ask, your hand barely pulling on the seatbelt as Junhui shakes his head with a knowing grin. "Nah. You two have fun, I've gotta get back to Ro and Jieqiong and explain why you don't wanna sit for the new segment yet again."
He pats the car, and the driver rolls the window up as you and Minghao turn in your seats, watching Junhui take a call before you're turning out of the parking lot. You both adjust in sync, his hand finding yours and interlacing your fingers, resting his head on your shoulder as your driver gives you both a polite nod in the rear view mirror.
Minghao pulls away, and you pretend it doesn't matter.
Because it doesn't. Not when you're nothing more than two people who kiss, two people who sleep together and eventually, two people who part ways.
So it doesn't matter. Not now, not later, not ever.
— Gunma, Japan. | 7 years ago, March 3rd.
"I'm going to miss him."
You're sitting on the roof of your apartment building with Minghao, your coats wrapped tightly and covered with a quilt as you both stared out over the forest greenery. Thick, cushioned blankets lay beneath you, protecting you both from the cold cement flooring as you fight a dejected frown. You glance at your watch, the time reading half past midnight.
Junhui left a week ago — a week earlier than he said he would, for some sort of training. You had dinner at Tsuki's one last time, posing for teary photos but generally letting him go with well wishes and a stamp of your rouge lipstick on his cheek. He hadn't been able to call since, and you and Minghao settled with taking photos together and posting them on Instagram for him to see when he had time. You changed your username, crediting Minghao with the new one in your latest drop earlier that day — a dump of photos ranging from your car to Junhui to you and Minghao, to one of your mother in the middle.
@/flashingyou_by: missing you xtra today @/junonthemoon ♡ (and mommy!!) ↳💬@flashingyou_by commented: and thanks for the new username @/infinitelyyourz :P
"You already miss him, sweetheart." Minghao reminds you, bumping his shoulder to yours as you smile inwardly. Your hands are warm, tucked under your thighs, and you lean your head against his shoulder. He rests his chin on top of your head, clicking his tongue before you sigh.
"I know. But…it's nice to have you around. At least I'm not alone." "You're using me to heal your broken heart." "My heart is not broken, and if you didn't want to be used I think you would've gone back to Shanghai after your semester ended. You're still here."
"So I extended my stay, let me live!" He laughs, your own bubbling in your throat as you look up to the indigo sky. "This is nice, by the way. Thank you for giving me a reason to stay."
"Of course. You're my friend." You shrug, "and you're easy on the eyes. It's a nice change of pace."
"Stop flirting with me, you'll fall in love and then I can't help you." He jests, making you elbow his ribcage. He gasps, swatting your arm away as the blanket falls off your shoulders. You snicker, "as if I'd ever fall in love with you."
"You could, you never know!" He protests, "plus all you do is make suggestive comments. If I knew this was friendship with Song Y/N, I would've considered twice."
"No, you wouldn't." "No, I wouldn't."
You feel your cheeks hot as you bite back a grin, leaning back on your hands as you look back up to the sky.
"You really stayed for me?" "Of course. You think I'd leave you out here on your own?" "You don't owe me anything."
"I know. Doesn't mean I can't give you everything." He shrugs, holding a hand up to the sky and tracing the stars. "Well, maybe now I can't. But I'd certainly try."
"How isn't what you're saying so much more dangerous than me flirting? It's like you're trying to convince me you're this dynamite guy." You snort, and he looks over at you with a shy grin.
"Am I not?" "I never said that." "You're thinking it."
"You don't know what I think, Xu Minghao." You roll your eyes, only to look and see him staring at you with an expectant look. "You can ask, it doesn't mean I'll tell."
"You and your secrets." "I have none, you know that."
"Then tell me what you think," His breath is cloudy in the early spring air, and you snort as you shove him away lightly. He only smiles, running a hand through his hair before leaning back on his elbows and looking up at you. "I never pegged you to be a coward."
You gape, earning giggles from him as you look at him. A scoff leaves your throat as you cross your arms, "I am not a coward."
"And I'm not an engineering student." "…Yes, you are?"
"Idiot." He whispers, and you shove him fully as he laughs loudly. Your fingers dig into his sides, making him squeal as he tries to push you away. You pin him down by swinging your leg over his hips, locking him in with your knees as he wrestles your hands from his ribs. "I yield! I yield!"
"Yeah, you better. Loser." Another scoff escapes you, and you cross your arms on your chest as you watch him catch his breath. He gives you a grumpy look, his hair mussed as he runs his hand through it again.
"You don't play fair. No wonder you win all those races." "I play fair! You're just mean. Junhui would never—"
"Junhui's not me, sweetheart." He sits up on his hands, shrugging as you realize just how close you are to him. You can't speak, suddenly too aware of how warm he is against you, how you can feel the thick material of his jeans against your inner thighs because you chose to wear a stupid skirt out tonight. A stupid, dumb skirt that showed everything if you bent the wrong way — but it was Minghao.
Smart, sweet, handsome Minghao.
It's not like either of you care, clearly — minimal clothing to welcome spring and denim jackets from the back of your closets. The blankets are enough, the warmth of closeness…the platonic warmth of his hand on your thigh when you mumbled about being cold moments after you both got on the roof. He'd buttoned your jacket for you over the green tube top you foolishly chose; pulling you closer by the lapels and likely hearing your breath hitch, and doing nothing about it but bite back his smile.
It wasn't anything serious. You'd convinced yourself already.
"Tell me what you think." His voice is soft, eyes glued to yours as you nibbled on your lip. He grabbed for the blanket without breaking eye contact, draping it around your shoulders as goosebumps littered the skin of your thighs. "Tell me."
"I think you're cute." You admit, staring up at the sky as your cheeks burn despite the biting wind. Your fingers dig into your arms, a motion clearly not missed by Minghao's eyes as he moves your hands away by your wrists. You instinctively move to shove them in the pockets of your jacket, but he interlaces his fingers with one before you can do so.
"You can look at me when you talk, you know," Minghao whispers, his hand squeezing yours slightly as you roll your eyes. "You're so pretty."
"Shut up." You mutter, attempting to twist your hand out of his grasp, but he holds your fingers flush to his chest, yanking you forward in the process. You glance down at him, only to see him already staring up at you — your eyes, your nose, your lips. They linger there for a moment, and you stop yourself from leaning into him as he speaks.
"You're beautiful." "I'm more than just my looks, you know."
"I do know, sweetness. But you called me cute, nothing else. I'm just returning your words." He taunts you, his ring cool against your skin as he rubs his thumb against the side of your hand. "Is that all you think?"
"I think lots of things." You shrug, feigning nonchalance as you let him play with your fingers. You let a breath out through your lips, "there are lots of things I know, too."
"Oh, so you know things? Anything I should know about?" "You mean anything I want to tell you?"
You give him a lopsided smirk, earning one right back as you shrug again.
"I know that…we're on this rooftop." "Right." "Under the stars…missing the same person.." "I don't miss Junhui, that bitch left his dirty socks in my hamper this weekend."
You double over in laughter, hiding your face in the crook of his neck. His arms immediately wrap around your waist, smiling into your jacket as your laugh rings out in the night.
You rest your cheek on his shoulder, wrapping your own arms around him before sighing.
"Is that all you know?" He asks in a hushed whisper, his hand splayed across the small of your back as you breathe in the soft scent of his cologne. Citrus, mixed with something floral — maybe jasmine, maybe ylang ylang. Your nose brushes the slope of his neck as you turn to face him. His eyes follow the soft curve of your jaw, and you think he leans in as your cheek brushes his.
You look down at him, your eyes narrowing slightly as you pass them over his face. He looks at you with something in the depth of his eyes — not expectant, not demanding…but curious. Wondering, what your next step would be, what the next words out of your mouth could change between the two of you.
"I think you want to kiss me."
He gives you an amused look, his lips forming into an ‘O’ shape as he nods. He doesn't hide the smile that spreads on his lips, the tip of his tongue peeking out to wet them slightly.
“You think I want to kiss you? You think about kissin’ me a lot, sweetheart?” He tilts his head, and you tongue your cheek before shrugging.
“I’ve thought about it, once or twice.” “Once or twice?” “Maybe three times, what’s it to you?”
“Maybe it’s everything.” He shrugs, a soft heat trailing up your neck and cheeks as he peers at you through his lashes. “You’re a smart girl, though. I’ll give you that. I just think, personally...”
He leans closer slightly, your breath hitching quietly in your throat. He smiles, one of his hands on your back sliding up and cupping the back of your neck as your fingers dig into his shoulders slightly.
“I think that I know you want me to kiss you.” “I do not.” “Then why are you always staring at my lips?”
“Because they’re...pretty.” You clear your throat slightly, shuddering slightly as you feel his fingertips graze the shell of your ear, before thumbing at your earring.
“Pretty?” “Y-Yeah.” “So...you don’t want me to kiss you?”
His breath is minty against your lips, his eyes scanning your face as he traces your collarbone lightly and tugging at the chain of your locket.
“Maybe.”
“Maybe.” He echoes, nodding his head with pursed lips as his hand traces the slope of your neck. You lean into it, your lips parting slightly as he loosely wraps his fingers at the base of your throat. The cold of his pinky ring against your skin is somehow searing, nothing to compare with the cool midnight breeze.
“Do you...want to kiss me?” “I think you know the answer to that, sweetness. But, I won’t unless you want it, too.”
His fingers press lightly against your pulse point, and you nibble on your lip as he pulls you slightly closer. You can count his eyelashes from the proximity, your hand moving to hold his wrist and feeling the metal of his bracelet beneath it. Your eyes dart to his lips, earning a smile as he leans towards your ear, his lips brushing against the shell lightly.
“You just let me know, yeah?”
He moves back, slipping his hand away from your throat only for you to hold it close to your chest. You pull at his jewelry, slipping rings up and down his fingers and tracing his knuckles silently. You pull off a gold signet ring with a plum blossom stamped onto the face and slip it on.
“Will things change?” You ask softly, interlacing your fingers between your bodies. Your eyes flicker up to his, the tip of his nose brushing yours as you suck in a breath.
“Only if you want them to.” “And if I do?”
“Then we move at your pace. Whatever you want, sweetness.” He shrugs carefully, and you tuck your lip between your teeth as you lean in closer. You can feel the heat of his gaze burning into you, your stomach fluttering as he nuzzles his nose against yours. “It’s up to you.”
You don’t say anything, blinking twice before brushing your lips to his. He doesn't indulge you, smiling against you instead as you meet his eyes.
“What's so funny?” “Nothing, you're just cute."
"Cute?" You echo, your lips touching his as you speak. He nods, his hand moving to card his fingers through your hair. You allow it, letting him tug at the strands on the back of your head to keep you in place.
"Can I kiss you?"
Your hand holding his between your bodies squeezing tightly as you nod, a mumbled please falling from your lips as he closes the gap. You let go of his hand to fist his shirt between your fingers, his own moving to the small of your waist. His lips are soft, patient against yours; your tongue slides against his lower lip, begging for entrance.
"Yellow flag." He mumbles, his fingers wrapping around the base of your throat as he keeps kissing you. "Slow down, baby. We'll get there."
You don't say anything back with embarrassment pooling in your chest, but it quickly washes away as his lips meld with yours. It's easier, smoother to melt into him — you don't even notice when your lips part, his own sucking lightly on the tip of your tongue as your thighs tighten around his hips.
"Hao," you whine against his mouth, only earning a chuckle as he plucks at the buttons of your jacket. "Minghao."
"You can't say my name like that and not tell me what you want." He says pointedly, voice slightly raspy as he undoes the first button. Your teeth nip at his lower lip, pulling at it softly before watching it spring back. "You're so impatient, sweetheart."
"Minghao."
"Whining won't get you anywhere," he tuts. Your lips nearly curve into a frown before he brushes a kiss against the corner of them, "tell me what you want. I'll give it to you."
You shudder as he presses another to your chin, moving up the curve of your jaw as you feel his fingers pop the second button on your jacket.
"If I get to the bottom, and you haven't said anything—" "Just kiss me, please. Anywhere."
He's smiling against the shell of your ear, his teeth pulling at the lobe as you gasp lightly, your hand finding home in the hair at the nape of his neck. "Anywhere?"
"Minghao." "So pretty when you say my name."
"Stop it." You tug at the ends of his hair, a soft groan falling from his lips as he nuzzles your neck with the tip of his nose. His teeth graze the soft skin, his lips featherlight against the sweetest spot as you tilt your head back with a sigh, your skin prickling as he mouths at your throat.
His fingers make quick work of your jacket buttons, plucking at them incessantly as his lips drag along your warming skin. He lets go of your hand, sliding both of his up your thighs to hold your hips as you try to shrug your jacket off one shoulder.
"It's cold, keep it on." He murmurs, his hands grabbing the lapels and holding them tightly. You peer down at him by the slope of your nose, watching the way he tugs at your necklace with his teeth to get your attention. "You'll get sick."
Your hand in his hair pulls him back, his lips pouted as he looks up at you with glossy eyes.
"Isn't the point to get undressed?" You question, your voice full of air. His eyes dart across your face, tilting his head a bit as he tongues his bottom lip, fighting a smile.
"You said kiss. You never said anything about sleeping together, silly." "And if I want more?"
His hands drop back to your hips, squeezing gently as he runs his eyes over you.
"Well, I'd be a dumbass if I said no, right?" He raises a brow, his thumbs slipping under the hem of your shirt, tracing circles into your warm skin. "Pretty girl on my lap…kissing me like I'm the only man in the world and you're not even wearing a bra. I'd be stupid to say no, wouldn't I?"
He pulls at the hem of your shirt, taut against your pebbled nipples, cause of the chilly air. Your fingers card through his hair, running your nails down the back of his neck; your shirt bunches around your navel as his hands slide up slightly.
"I'd say so." You whisper as your hand cradles his cheek, your thumb tracing the seam of his lips. He smiles against it, pressing a kiss to the pad before shrugging. You lean down slightly, your lips brushing his as you speak. "We don't have to."
"I know we don't." He lets your hand slide down his neck, lips parting slightly as your fingers squeeze the sides gently. His fingers dig into your skin, pulling you down against him. Your breath hitches slightly as your skirt rides up, feeling the thick material of his jeans brush against your clothed core. "I don't have—"
"Want you, Hao." Your lips are touching his as you speak, eyes searching his as he lets out an airy chuckle. He presses a kiss to your pouted lips, smiling inwardly as you chase him when he pulls away. His hand moves to cradle your face, your eyes watery as he pulls you closer.
"Beg for it."
He watches the way your eyes widen, your hands on his body stilling as you look down at him. Your cheeks are hot as he squishes them in his hand, planting a chaste kiss to your puckered lips.
"Prove to me that you want it. That you deserve it." He shrugs, watching the way you peer at him through your lashes. He clicks his tongue, gently shaking your head side to side in his grip. "Don't look at me like that, I might fall in love with you."
"One step closer to getting in your pants," you jest, pulling his hand off your face and dragging it down your neck. "Please,Hao?"
He's gazing up at you as your hand on his wrist is slowly stopping on your chest, his thumb instinctively running over the sensitive bud over your shirt. He tongues his cheek, glancing at your chest as you slowly pull the top down, your breasts spilling out and he averts his eyes. You lean closer, pressing a kiss to his lips and trailing up his jaw as he pushes your shirt down to bunch at the waist of your skirt before he cups your breasts in his hands. You pretend not to shiver as his thumbs graze your nipples, forcing yourself not to whine in his ear.
"Want you to see me," you whisper, your lips brushing the shell of his ear as your hand trails down his chest, fingers catching on his belt buckle. You mouth at the slope of his neck, feeling his hands slide to your waist as you suck a soft mark on his clavicle. He groans, his breath quipped in your ear.
"Touch me," your hand slips under his shirt, feeling his stomach cave in slightly at your cool hand. You push his shirt up slightly, your fingertips tracing the waistband of his underwear, plucking it against his hip as you trail back up the other side of his neck, watching his eyes flutter when you pull at the small hoop through his earlobe with your teeth. Your hips grind down against his gently, slowly, as you single-handedly undo his belt buckle; your fingertips popping the button as you drag your lips against the side of his jaw.
"Taste me," your voice is no higher than a whisper against his lips, your cheeks warming as he looks at you with low eyes. The sound of you pulling his zipper down punctuates the kiss he gives you, slotting your lips to his with a purpose to ease the burning ache in the pit of your bellies. You're flush to his chest as cool fingers curl around your throat, your limbs buzzing as he lightly sinks his teeth into your bottom lip, tugging it slightly before pressing a chaste kiss to it and pulling back.
"Want you, Hao. Want to be yours."
"Mine, huh?" His tone is low as you nod as much as his hand on you will allow, your own palming at his painfully hard cock beneath his jeans. He ruts lightly into your hand, your panties sticking to you uncomfortably as his hand slips from your throat. His fingers ghost over your chest, making your skin prickle as he suddenly slides them up your thigh, flicking the hem of your skirt. "Can I touch?"
You nod, a whispered please falling from your lips as his hand bunched the fabric around your hips; his knuckles grazing the skin of your inner thigh as he pulls your flimsy underwear to the side, smirking as you shiver in the breeze. He tuts, glancing at you as he slides one finger between your folds, the pad bumping your clit and making you jolt in sensitivity. He adds another finger, your hand in his pants moving to clutch his shirt as he traces tight circles on your clit, the wet sound filling the air when he moves his hand away the moment a soft whimper slips your lips.
He holds it up, your arousal stringy between his fingers as he tilts his head, "I've hardly touched you and you're a mess, baby."
"If you're just gonna mess with me—" "Just having my fun, sweetheart."
His smile is genuine as he plucks at your lips with his wet fingers, your mouth opening instinctively as your tongue peeks out. He shakes his head, moving the blanket out of the way enough to let you move but not show your current state.
“Lay back.” He instructs, fixing your skirt as you oblige, his fingers pinching the swell of your ass as you scowl. You swat at his hand as you lean back on your elbows, the blankets cushioning beneath you when you feel his fingers hook around the waistband of your panties. You let him slip them down your legs, tucking them into his pocket shamelessly before shucking your shoes off and pulling you closer to him by your ankle. You let out a choked sound between a shriek and a yell, earning a laugh. He hovers over you, the same hand snaking between your legs as he presses his lips to your cheek.
“If you want to stop, you just tell me, okay? We’ll stop.” His voice is soft, and you nod as your eyes meet, and there’s something you can’t place in his as you silently beg for a kiss. He obliges, his fingers slipping inside you with ease, curling up as your thighs try to shut. He smiles against your skin as your jaw falls slack, and you embarrassedly try to hide your face in the crook of his neck as wet sounds fill the silent night.
“Don’t hide,” He whispers as you bite back groans into his neck, “let me hear you. I want to know I’m making you feel good.”
“I’m shy,” You gasp as he finds the spot that makes your vision blurry, making him chuckle as he presses a kiss right under your ear. Your walls clench around his fingers, a whimper falling from your lips as he continues to hit the same spongy spot as he drags his lips down your neck.
“You’re a lot of things, but shy is not one of them,” He whispers, nipping at your clavicle as your nails dig into his shoulders. His hand keeps its pace as a few moans join the sound of your arousal, “that’s it. Sound so pretty for me, don't you?"
His lips trail down your chest, mouthing at the curve of your breasts before pressing a kiss to your left nipple, your thighs trembling around his hand as his tongue circles it painfully slow. Your cheeks heat as a whimper leaves your throat, your fingers flying to his hair as your back arches off the layered blankets. You tug at the jet black tresses as he switches sides, plump lips wrapping around the sensitive bud with a soft suck. A shuddered gasp is heard as he scrapes his teeth against it gently, your eyes brimming with tears of pleasure as you feel the familiar heat building in your lower belly. He swirls his tongue around your nipple teasingly, before kissing up your chest as he pulled his fingers out of you, tracing circles around your clit. He's nipping at your earlobe as your hand tightens its hold in his hair, earning a breathy moan against your jaw.
"Want you to cum on my tongue, sweetheart," His teeth graze the column of your throat, "can you do that for me?"
He's sucking a mark into your skin as you let out an airy yes, only trail down your chest and stomach with featherlight kisses, moving his fingers off your clit before wrapping both hands around your thighs and pushing them apart. Wet kisses are dragged across your inner thighs, teasing and slow as he sinks his teeth into the plush flesh to earn gasps from you, only echoed with his own grunts as you tug on his hair. He laves his tongue over the marks of his teeth as you clench around nothing, sitting up slightly on your elbows to meet his eyes as he drags his tongue through your folds. His eyes flutter shut as the taste of you spreads in his mouth, your breath hitching as he groans into your pussy.
"Fuck." His whisper is barely heard as he buries his face in your center, smearing your arousal all over his chin and lips as he sucks your swollen clit into his mouth. Your stomach caves in with a guttural moan, pleas of yes, yes falling from your lips as you grind your hips against his tongue. He opens his eyes to see your head thrown back, the moonlight shining on the sheen of sweat on your neck and chest, where your fingers have started teasing your nipples; his cock painfully hard in his jeans as he grinds down against the layered blankets at the mere taste of you, the subtle stinging pleasure of you tugging at his hair.
"Hao," You whine, your hips stuttering against his face as your orgasm washes over you with another choked whimper, his tongue continuing its evil ministrations against your bundle of nerves like a starved man. Your thighs tremble at the overstimulation, tightening around his head as panted breaths fill your ears as you pull his head back by his hair. He looks up at you, lips swollen and covered in your juices, eyes watery as he pouts.
"Don't look at me like that." You're breathless as you tap his cheek, his lips brushing against your inner thigh once more. "Minghao."
"Just one more," He pleads, making you shudder as he presses a tentative kiss to your thigh. You almost cave, his lips parting in a breath as you tug him back further, shaking your head. He sits up, hovering over you as you let go of his hair. You glance at his lips, glistening, enticing as your own part lightly.
"Want you to fuck me," You breathe out, making the corner of his lips twitch as he blinks at you. He has an expectant look in his eyes, careful as he leans closer, your tongue darting out to wet your lips as his nose brushes yours. "Don't make me beg, please. Please."
"I haven't even opened my mouth and you're already begging, sweetheart." He teases, pressing a kiss to your parted lips. You slot them with his, the taste of yourself seeping into your mouth and making your skin prickle as his hands move to shove your jacket off your shoulders. "Say please."
"Please." "Say pretty please."
"Oh my God, pretty please." You whine, letting him slip your jacket off onto the layered blankets. He tugs at the hem of your top, before bunching the fabric in one hand and pulling it up your torso. You wiggle around, holding your arms up as his lips brush yours once more.
"With a cherry on top." His voice is sultry in your ear as he successfully gets your top off, tossing it off to the side where your bag lays. You pout, making him bite back his smile. "You're such a brat."
"You're teasing me," You mutter, your fingers moving to pull at his belt loops. "You're not being fair."
"You're just so cute when you beg, baby." "'M not your baby."
"Not yet." He murmurs, making your cheeks hot as he slips his belt out of the loops, rolling it in his hand and tossing it to the side. You peer up at him through your lashes, your hand moving to palm his cock when he grabs your wrist, pulling it away. "Hands to yourself, sweetheart."
You tongue your cheek as he smirks, before he taps your knee. "Better yet, why don't you turn around for me? All fours, pretty girl."
Huffing, you do what you're told; hearing a soft hiss from his lips as you attempt to look back.
"Face forward." He says sternly, his hands grabbing at your hips carefully. You click your tongue, feeling the warmth of one of his hands disappear as he flipped the back of your skirt up. You push your hips back in anticipation, earning a quick slap to the back of your thigh before you feel the weight of his chest against your back. "Be patient."
You nod, the words caught in your throat as he rubs his hand over the stinging skin. "Are you sure?"
"Minghao, please." You let your forehead touch the blankets below you, your thighs tensing as you feel him run the tip of his cock through your folds. You shiver, a broken whine falling from your lips as he taps your clit. "Please, please—"
"Shh, I've got you." He sinks into you carefully, his fingers digging into your hips. Your eyes roll back at the stretch, walls fluttering around him as a punctuated fuck sounds in your ear. Your fingers fist at the blankets beneath you, a soft breath from your parted lips as dull fingernails sink into your hips, and you feel him shudder behind you as his hips are flush to your ass.
You rock back against him, your teeth sinking into your bottom lip as the metal of his zipper brushes your thigh. He doesn't move, instead pinning you to the blankets, with his hand clutching the fabric of your skirt, the other sliding up your back to wrap around your neck from behind. He pulls back slightly, a slow roll of your hips producing an embarrassed whine as the wet squelch reaches your ears.
"So messy," His voice is taunting as he gives another gentle thrust, his fingers squeezing the sides of your throat. "Just for me, right?"
Your cheeks burn as he builds a slow pace, impatience stirring in your lower belly that gets cut by your trembling whimpers and muffled whispers for him to go harder. He doesn't give in, only laughing weakly and leaning down to press his lips to your shoulder. He bites at it, nipping his way up to your ear; feeling the shell grow hot against his lips as he calls you his pretty little slut.
"More," You plead, squeezing around him like a vice and feeling his fingers around your throat do the same. He groans against your neck, giving an involuntary jerk of his hips as you reach back, wrapping your arm around his head and pulling at his hair. "Please, please—"
"You're so fucking impatient," He mutters, holding no anger as he gives into your pleas, his teeth sinking into your shoulder with a hard thrust of his hips. Your jaw goes slack with a breathless sound, the tip of his cock brushing you just right as you melt beneath him. He leans up, grabbing at your hips with a bruising grip as he fucks his cock into you with bitten groans. "So fucking needy, huh? Can't just take what I give you? Always want more."
"Want you," Your voice is broken with every snap of his hips, the sound of skin on skin filling the quiet night as you muffle yourself with the blankets, clawing at the fabric. You hate how quickly you can taste your end in the back of your throat, your thighs trembling as he keeps a brutal pace that makes a few tears trickle down your face from pleasure. Your gasps spur him on, before you feel his hand tangle in your hair, pulling you up towards him gently. Your back hits his chest, his hand moving you to face him as he coos at your wet lashes.
"So cute, huh?" He smiles against your cheek, wrapping his fingers around your throat as you whine softly, "so pretty when you cry, angel."
"Wanna be pretty for you," You whisper back breathlessly, feeling his lips press to your jaw as he buries his face in the crook of your neck, your tears trickling onto his face. "Yours, Hao."
"Mine?"
You nod frantically, your fingers wrapping around his wrist as you feel his thrusts grow sloppier, perfectly hitting that sweet spot as he sinks his teeth into your shoulder.
"Want you to fill me up," You mewl, his fingers tightening around your neck as he whines into your neck, hips stuttering briefly before sinking smoothly into you. "Make me yours."
"You're already mine." His lips brush your neck, gasping against your skin as the band in your belly snaps for the second time, your pussy fluttering around his cock as you feel him twitch inside you, stuffing you full with a shaky groan.
You both shudder as a breeze blows past, your thighs twitching as he rolls his hips against you slowly, riding out your highs together. His hands smooth down your body, palming at your breasts and sides as he peppers kisses along the slope of your neck, the air filling with panted breaths.
He lays you down slowly, massaging your hips and thighs as he pulls out carefully. Any embarrassment leaving your chest as you wince, his palms squeezing your calves before helping you onto your back. You cover your face with your hands, feeling the mix of your releases sticky between your thighs as he reaches over to grab your shirt.
"Good?" He asks softly, pulling you up to slip it over your head. You welcome the warmth of it, your vision slightly blurred as you look up at him with tired eyes. You nod, "great, even. I didn't know you had it in you."
"Whatever that means," he scoffs, making you laugh wearily as he tugs your shirt down to cover your belly. You reach up, running your hand through his hair before cradling his cheek.
"What did you mean—" "Oh, I just…say things."
His cheeks are ruddy as he clears his throat, reaching for your jacket as you grab the collar of his shirt between your fingers. He raises a brow, glancing at your hand before tilting his head at you.
"You just say things? Sounds like bullshit to me."
He tongues his cheek, fighting a smile as he fluffs out your jacket, expectantly holding it out for you to slip into. You shake your head, sliding your arms limply into the arms and flipping your hair out of the back.
"So?" "So…what?" "Minghao."
"I should get you home. We don't have anything to clean you up with here." He clears his throat, and you give him an unconvinced look as he tucks himself back into his underwear, zipping up his jeans and reaching for his belt.
"Your pillow talk is shitty." You scoff, making him gape at you as he shoves your knee playfully.
"It is not! I'm trying to get you home so you can get cleaned up and rest! How is that shitty?" "I said you have shitty pillow talk, not that you're a shitty person. Two separate things."
You wiggle two fingers in front of his face, making him roll his eyes as he swats your hand away. You grab his fingers, interlacing them with yours as he sighs. He leans forward slightly, your eyes widening as he brushes his lips to yours. You kiss him first, holding your hands to your chest as he kisses you back almost lovingly. Almost like he wants this, wants you.
"Should we go again?"
You shove him away from you, rolling your eyes with a laugh of disbelief. He giggles, hovering over you entirely and peppering his lips all over your face as you pout.
"You're not funny." "But I'm yours. So it's okay, right?"
You hate the way your heart beats faster, his face settled into the crook of your neck as one of his hands strokes your thigh. You huff, feeling his fingers squeeze the plush flesh as you limply hit his chest. He meets your eyes, your lip jutted in a pout as he smiles.
"I guess." "You guess? I'm offended."
Neither of you mention anything about your underwear, seemingly in agreeance that they were his now. He rolled up the blankets, tucking them under his arm while grabbing both your bag and hitching it over his shoulder. He smiles inwardly as you try to stand from where he's seated you to collect your belongings, failing miserably as your cheeks burn.
"Well, don't just stare at me! Help me up!" "You're so cute."
He does so, holding you flush to his hip as you both make your way off the roof. The silence is comfortable albeit thick, a slightly limp in your walk making him bite back his laughter as you poke his sides with a scowl. You make it to the elevator that will take you down, your knuckle pressing the button to take you down three flights of stairs. His hand on your hip slides across your lower back, smoothing the waistband of your skirt before slipping his hand into yours.
Your fingers are linked together as the elevator jolts to a stop, any discomfort from the mess between your thighs forgotten as he stops in front of your door. There is something suspended in the air, something neither of you can say but both know is the inevitable change of your dynamic. You can't bring yourself to let go of his hand, the blankets he's holding belonging to you as the silence grows thick.
"Uhm," you start, but he just squeezes your hand. His eyes are glazed in warmth, something that makes your stomach flip and flutter and damn near fall out as he glances at your lips before clearing his throat.
"It's late. You should get some rest." He nods, pressing his lips into a thin line before squeezing your hand again and letting go. Your hand curls into itself, feeling odd that neither of you can seem to move. You nibble on your lip, before rolling your eyes with a frustrated sigh. You grab the lapel of his jacket, pulling him towards you as you press a kiss to his lips. His hands immediately move to your waist, dropping the blankets on the floor as he pulls you flush to him. You tangle your fingers in his hair as he pushes you against the door, before feeling him pull away abruptly, lips slick with your saliva and glitter from your gloss.
"You have to go inside." He breathes against your lips, "I can't say no to you and I'll be here forever if I don't. Go."
"Just one more." "Y/N, go inside."
You sigh, clicking your tongue as his hand on your waist moves to press the code into your key pad. It clicks open, and you bite back your pout as he pulls away. He physically turns you around, pushing you carefully into the apartment. You give, toeing your shoes off as he picks up the blankets and puts them into your coat closet. You're moving to tug your jacket off, only to feel his fingers wrap around your neck and pull you to him, your back hitting his chest and making your cheeks burn as you peered up at him.
"Yes?" "One more and I'm out of here. Just one."
You grin, watching him tongue his cheek in feigned annoyance as you turn and wrap your arms around his waist. He cups your jaw, leaning down to brush his lips to yours softly. It's sweet, the way he slots his lips to yours carefully while wrapping his fingers around your throat like it's muscle memory. Your fingers grip his jacket as you swipe your tongue against his lips, only for him to pull away with one, two, three chaste kisses.
"Wash up and sleep, yeah? I'll see you in the morning." He whispers, and you jut your lower lip in a pout as he rolls his eyes. "Don't pout. If I stay, I'll never leave."
"Isn't that a good thing?" "Not when we both have class tomorrow, and not when I've got a weak heart when it comes to you. I have to leave." "You don't have to—"
He shakes his head, pressing another kiss to your lips. And another, and another before pulling your hands off him and holding them to your chest.
"Get some rest, dream of me." He jests, making you stick your tongue out at him as he plants a kiss to your hairline. "I'll see you later."
"One more." "Y/N." "Last one, promise."
"Let me leave!" He huffs as you curl your fingers around the buckle of his belt, biting back a smile as he cups your cheeks in his hands. He presses his lips to yours, almost fighting back a hunger as you paw at him. He pulls away, holding your wrist away from him as he runs his tongue over his bottom lip. "I am leaving. Goodnight."
You smile up at him, shrugging as you open the door for him.
"Goodnight, handsome. Sweet dreams." "You're horrible. Shut up."
He ruffles your hair as he slips out the door, running a hand through his hair as you watch him beeline for the stairs. A piece of black lace hangs from his back pocket, and you run your fingers over your lips as he disappears with a clamber of his boots on the steps.
You turn into your apartment, carding your fingers through your hair as you lock the door behind you. You head for the bathroom, shedding your clothes like a snake does its skin on the way. Your shower is quick, scrubbing at every crevice with vigor as the guilt of sleeping with your friend sinks into your skin, the taste of him still heavy on your tongue even after you brush your teeth. The marks of his teeth lingering on your skin as you pull on your pajamas, and you feel pathetic for the pooling arousal in your lower belly as you force yourself to stop staring at them and walk into your bedroom with your phone in hand.
Message To: junhui [2:58 AM] hui. don't be mad. promise you won't be mad. [2:58 AM] i slept with hao. [2:59 AM] fuck i'm so stupid.
You drop your phone on your nightstand, your lips still swollen from Minghao's incessant need to kiss you. You try not to think about it, your chest filling with fluttering at the thought of his lips on yours again. The sound of his voice asking you questions when he knew you couldn't respond, his fingers digging into your skin and taking your stupid underwear with him. Flopping on your bed, you let out a groan as you stare at the ceiling, your hand sliding up your chest and resting at the base of your throat but feeling nothing like his — aside from the ring you took that he didn't ask for back. The weight isn't enough, the want, the lustful little itch in your belly not being quenched as you hear a ping from your phone.
NEW! Message From: junhui [3:02 AM] dumbass. call me when you can.
And a dumbass, you are.
Because across campus, there is a nervous Minghao sitting on the edge of his bed — his message thread open to your contact, eight words sitting in the text box waiting for a shaky finger to send it off and never be able to take it back. A nervous Minghao that wonders where his ring is as he thumbs at the fabric of your black panties that he'd stuffed in his pocket.
A nervous Minghao that stares at the blinking text cursor that mocks him as he thinks about your lips, your whines…the way his name fell from your mouth like a prayer. The way he couldn't believe he got the girl, even if just for a moment. A nervous Minghao that also texted Junhui in a panic, only for the guy to respond with "you absolute fool. call me when you can."
A nervous Minghao that realizes he is in love with you, as he exits the message app, the message disappearing with it.
Unsent Message To: flash ♡ [3:03 AM] and by the way…i've always been yours.
Send now?
— Shanghai, China. Present Day, Post-Race Results.
Y/N SONG [Ferrari | #8]: 1:40:52.554
Mingyu KIM [McLaren | #6]: +13.773s
Jihoon LEE [Ferrari | #22]: +19.160s
Jihyo PARK [Mercedes | #1]: +23.623s
Seungcheol CHOI [Mercedes | #95]: +33.983s
Chan LEE [Aston Martin | #99]: +38.724s
Saerom LEE [Kick Sauber | #97]: +43.414s
Seokmin LEE [Kick Sauber | #18]: +56.198s
Wonwoo JEON [Aston Martin | #96]: +57.986s
San CHOI [Red Bull | #7]: +1 Lap.
"Would you look at that?" You nod to yourself as Jihoon yanks his helmet off his head next to you. You punch his shoulder lightly, earning a scowl as he swats your hand away while biting back a smile. Minghao is nowhere to be found, as is Junhui — which isn't unusual, but you're not sure what to do if you're not going to review the data graphs with him. You loop your arm with Jihoon's as Ro makes her way through the paddock with a clipboard in her hand, giving you an amused roll of her eyes as you drag her husband towards Soonyoung.
You feel an odd sense of pride seeing yourself at the top.
"Don't brag, it's not a good look on you." Jihoon pretends to be annoyed, but you wrap your arms around his shoulders and sway him back and forth. "Stop it, you'll make me sick—"
"I overtake Kim easy." You say loud enough for the taller man to hear you across the paddock, earning a smirk as he flips you off from ten feet away. Tzuyu smacks his arm, speaking at him through her teeth as he pouts, only for her to roll her eyes and kiss his cheek before ducking into the air-conditioned building, likely on her way to the bathroom to freshen up. She's sitting for Ro and Jieqiong this week, timeline unclear.
"I'll be back, I'm gonna see if I can find Hao." You smile, squeezing Jihoon's shoulder as he reviews his footage with Soonyoung. They both give you a thumbs up, and you undo the Velcro strap of your suit as Ro returns with a second clipboard.
"Flash! Can I get you for a second?" She calls, and you still. You turn on your heel, a pained smile spreading on your lips as you realize what's to come. She gives you an expectant look, holding up her second clipboard and using it to point at you menacingly. "You've been dodging my calls."
"I don't mean to," You try to lie, but she tuts, tapping your chin with the corner of the clipboard.
"No excuses. I know you and Minghao are heading to Gunma for a week or so before we're supposed to be in Suzuka, so I talked to him and we're carving a day out. I'm sitting you down the day before Free Practice, so wear something pretty and make sure you get some sleep. Okay?"
"Or, or!" You move the clipboard away slightly, her eyes narrowing as she fixes her glasses. "I give you two hours after the race, and I'll pose for the feature photoshoot."
You try to smile as she seems unimpressed, her eyes rolling as she sighs.
"Promise me I'll get you before we're out of Japan." "I promise—" "I'm serious. I have Mingi sitting for Bahrain and if I don't get you in The Carat soon, I'm gonna lose my head."
"I promise I'll sit pretty for The Carat after the Suzuka race. I even pinky promise!" You hold your finger out, and she tongues her cheek as she links your fingers together. "Call me with the deets, okay? I've gotta find Hao for my review."
"Yeah, yeah. Go find lover boy." She snorts, crossing her arms as she turns to walk towards Soonyoung and Jihoon. You turn on your heel, unzipping your suit halfway down to shoulder out of it when you see an ecstatic Junhui running out of the building onto the paddock.
"Y/N!" His eyes are wildly looking around, and you whistle through your teeth as you walk towards him. He whips his head around, excitement clear on his face as he practically sprints towards you. "You'll never believe it—"
"What, the girl who ghosted you last month finally called?" You wiggle your brows as he pulls you towards the building, a waft of cold air hitting your face. You scoff, pulling your arm out of his hold as he looks for your hand. "Hui, you're freaking me out."
"…it's really nice to see you again, sir."
Minghao's voice is soft as Jun interlaces your fingers, pulling you towards the offices. You see Minghao standing in an open one, his headset in his hand as his voice bounces off the walls. You see a hand with a familiar gold signet ring pat his shoulder, your heels suddenly digging into the floor as Minghao looks up at you. His expression immediately changes to worry as he meets yours, his lips parting as your eyes suddenly well with tears.
"Come on, Y/N." Junhui's voice is encouraging as you refuse to let him pull you towards the office. Minghao steps out, whispering something before taking three long strides towards you as Junhui pats your head. Minghao presses a kiss to your hairline, running his thumbs over your cheeks before any tears fall.
“Just take a deep breath for me, okay? In, out.” He smooths his hands over your hair, cupping your face as you breathe in shakily. “You’re alright. Everything is okay.”
“It’s...is it my dad?” Your voice is thick, and he nods with a glaze of warmth in his eyes. You press your lips together, trying not to let your face crumple and let yourself burst into tears as Minghao runs his hands down the sides of your neck, fixing your t-shirt on your shoulders before leaning down slightly.
“Kiss for good luck?” He whispers, and you sniffle before pressing a simple peck to his lips. He cups your jaw lightly, stealing two more before brushing his thumbs under your eyes. You try to take another deep breath, fanning at your eyes as he smiles above you; his arms wrapping around your shoulders and pulling you flush to his chest. You let a singular sob fall from your lips as he chuckles, his laughter vibrating through your face as he holds the back of your neck gently.
“You can cry, but you should at least say hello to him, you know?” He whispers, and you let out an uglier, louder sob into his chest before a shaky breath follows. Your hands cover your face, wiping haphazardly as he unwraps himself from you. You sniffle, his fingers tilting your chin up as he plants a soft kiss on the corner of your lips. “Come on, sweetheart.”
You can't help but hide behind him as you let him take your hand, the crook of his elbow covering you as you reach the threshold of the office. Your father is sitting in a chair with a picket in his hand, your smiling face plastered across it with Ferrari in bold red letters across the top, and FLASH 08 across the bottom. He's wearing one of the many merchandise pieces you'd sent him over the years, this one being a custom windbreaker with your number and nickname across the back, and has a nervous look on his face as he fiddles with the gold ring on his pinky finger — with the number 8 engraved on the face.
"She's here." Minghao's voice is quiet as your father stands abruptly, and you bite back a sob as you skirt around him into your father's outstretched arms. You don't see the way their eyes widen as you let out a sob, both men quickly stepping out and closing the door for privacy. Your father shushes you the way one would a baby, patting your back gently and swaying you back and forth as you cry into his shoulder.
"Why are you crying? Are you hurt?" His voice has the gentle rasp it always does, only making you cry harder as your fingers grip the vinyl on the back of his windbreaker. He hums, pressing a kiss to your hairline before pulling away slightly. He peers down at you, your face covered in tears as he pats your head. "Was this a bad time to come see you?"
"Why are you here? You never come to the races. Not once." You sniffle, and he shrugs as a soft smile graces his features, features you also have.
"I had an inkling you'd need me here. I went to bed and something felt off, but you'd gone to bed so I didn't think to call again. I called Junhui this morning to help me get up here." He nods, a thoughtful look in his eyes before he tilts his head at you. "Is everything okay? I've been worried about you for a few weeks but you just brush it off."
You roll your eyes, tonguing your cheek as you shake your head.
"I'm fine." "You've never been a good liar, Y/N."
"You didn't have to come," your lip trembles, and you wipe haphazardly at your cheeks as more tears roll down. "I never want you to be somewhere that makes you hurt or worry."
Your father smiles, wrapping his arm around your shoulders and giving you a soft squeeze.
"I've come to realize that you'll do whatever you want, whether I like it or not. You're a lot like Mommy that way, you know?" He pats your shoulder, your face crumpling as you cover it with your hands. He pulls you into his chest, shushing you with a hand patting your back. "You're born to be out there. You're a born winner, even when you don't come in first place that crowd loves you. You should hear the way they scream that nickname, Flash? Yeah."
"Flash," You cry into your hands, your heart sinking in your chest as his words sink into your mind. That crowd loves you. Born to be a racer, born to be a winner.
"I'll try harder to be at more of your races. Maybe Suzuka, that's the next one, right? Or—" "My favorite is Silverstone. I'll talk to the team, we'll get you out there. Hotel and all."
You suck in a breath, wiping your hands on the pants of your suit as you pull yourself out of his embrace. He sighs, patting the back of your head as he presses a soft kiss to your temple.
"I'm proud of you, you know. Racer or not, you'll always be my favorite kid." "I'm your only kid, Dad." "Makes it all the sweeter!"
You scoff, swatting his hand away as he laughs before you open the door to see Minghao and Junhui whispering amongst themselves. You wrap your hand around your father's arm, tugging him out as they stop their conversation and stand up straighter. Your father snickers, patting your arm as tired legs trudge along slowly to the cadence of your antsy ones.
"I have a press conference right now, but I'll get you a badge so you can sit in and we can go to lunch with Jun and Hao. There's a restaurant here that makes really good braised pork, you'll love it!"
All the embarrassment and guilt washes away as excitement takes over, and you see Junhui dig in his pocket and pull out a Press pass. He holds it out to your father with a warm smile, bowing his head slightly as he takes it and ropes it over his neck.
"This is kind of nerve-wracking, isn't it? Being famous and all?" He whispers as you all make your way to the seemingly packed interview room, where Jihoon is standing on a chair and looking around. He spots you through the glass of the doors, waving you over frantically as reporters turn, cameras flashing at you through the glass. You squint your eyes only to see Jieqiong running out of the back doors, a stressed look on her face as she beelines straight for you.
"Flash, you're late. Everyone is asking where you are, let's go! Move it!" She grabs your hand, and you reluctantly let go of your father as Minghao and Junhui move to his sides.
"I'll see you after, okay? The guys'll take care of you, promise!" You hold a thumbs up, and your father only smiles, reciprocating as Junhui hooks his arm with your father's as if he were his own. You feel your heart warm, but focus on running into the back room with Jieqiong to get yourself situated. The cameras are flashing and the room is loud as you enter, apologizing profusely to everyone as you take a seat at the end of the table with Jihoon on your left.
Your father is seated already, tucked safely between Junhui and Minghao — heart warm as you're congratulated for winning the Chinese Grand Prix, cheers erupting from all corners of the room but none shining as bright as the three most important people in your life.
After all, you're a born winner.
— GUNMA, JAPAN. | 1:32 AM.
You'd taken a late flight to Gunma from Shanghai, following your father's own flight back to Shenzhen. Your heart was full, sending him home with a ticket to the Suzuka race in exactly two weeks — but your eyes were heavy and your brain was frazzled as you blindly made your way around the apartment, muscle memory lost on you as you fumbled for the light switch.
You find it along the wall, flicking it on and the same low light you hated back then fills the room. Sighing, you drop your backpack, dropping face-first onto the couch you hadn't seen in almost a decade, having broken your lease to it shortly after signing to Ferrari.
But Minghao had seen it almost yearly after. He'd stayed there during his shoot with ViVi Magazine, the furniture still lingering with the scent of his cologne. You nestled your face into the old couch cushion, having bought the apartment on a whim after the owner said it was for sale in an accidental email to you. He decorated it, kept it hidden from the public — a safe, quiet space for the two of you to enjoy, with elderly neighbors who weren't gossips. Or well versed in what it was that either fo you did, only knowing that Minghao was the nice boy that brought them steamed pork buns and honey cake he made himself every time he stayed there.
"God, I missed this place." You grumble, feeling Minghao tug at your boots with a huff.
"No shoes in the house, you'll ruin my carpet." "This is my carpet." "This is my apartment, sweetheart."
You turn on your back, rolling your eyes as he shucks off his coat. "What's mine is yours, Hao."
He shakes his head, clicking his tongue as he looks over his shoulder at you. Your arms are outstretched, beckoning him into your embrace as he sighs.
"You're going to be the death of me, you know that?" "Mmh, I love it when you talk dirty."
He huffs, lightly smacking your foot before climbing onto the couch, sliding into your arms. You laugh as he settles his head on your chest, his lips brushing your clavicle under your thin top. He nuzzles his nose into your skin, your fingers carding through the mess of black hair on the top of his head.
"I miss you." He murmurs, your skin prickling as you let out a laugh.
"I'm right here, Hao." "Eventually, you won't be."
"Ah, you're so negative." You scoff, feeling him push off you and look up to see him staring down at you. "It's not good for the heart to be so pessimistic, you know."
"I'm being realistic, sweetheart." "You're being—" "Shut up."
He presses his lips to yours, catching you by surprise before you quickly melt into him. Your stomach fills with fluttering as he cradles your face, your hand circling his wrist as he nips at your lower lip. He trails off your lips, kissing down your neck as you tug on his hair to get his attention.
"Hao, I have to shower—" "You could be fresh off the tarmac and I would not care." "You're a freak."
"And you're mine, so what does it matter?" His hands move to your waist, pushing your shirt up slightly. "I just want to make you feel good, nothing else. Is that okay?"
His fingers are warm against your belly, thumbs tracing circles into your skin as he lifts his head to meet your eyes. His own are starry, and you feel your heart start beating harder in your chest as his thumbs brush the swell of your breasts. You nod silently, wrapping your legs around his hips and pulling him closer to you.
"It's kind of nostalgic, isn't it? This apartment?" You say suddenly, watching him shrug as he pushes your shirt higher up your chest, thumbs brushing your nipples.
"It hadn't been lived in since you left, you know. The owners couldn't convince anyone to rent or buy, it's like you did some sort of witchcraft to it." He chuckles, making your scoff be cut with a gasp as his head dipped down, pressing a soft kiss to your nipple before swirling his tongue around it. Your thighs tensed around his hips, and you feel him smile against your skin, sucking the sensitive bud into his mouth as you tried to speak.
"Well that just means…" You shiver as he lightly scrapes his teeth against it, an involuntary whine cutting through the air as your fingers tug at his hair. "That just means it was meant to be mine. Just like you."
"Yeah?" He kisses his way across your chest, rolling the slick bud through lithe fingers as he gives the other a tentative kiss. "I'm yours, right?"
"Let's take this to the bedroom." You whisper, "I don't want to sully our couch."
"My couch." "What's mine is yours, Minghao. Just like you are mine, got it?"
You don't miss the blush that coats his cheeks, your hands taking his face and pulling him to your lips. He pouts as you press a kiss to his lips, eyes watery as you pepper his skin with your lips.
"You're oddly emotional today. Come on, I can fix it." "You're mine, right?"
You blink up at him, a concerned look glazing your eyes as you rub the pads of your thumbs under his eyes.
"Yes, Minghao." "Say it." "I'm yours. Just like you're mine. Are you okay?"
"Sometimes I just need to hear it." He admits softly, planting a quick kiss to your forehead before pulling your shirt down. "Bedroom?"
FERRARI FLASH CAUGHT ON CAMERA CANOODLING WITH RACE ENGINEER INFINITE — BLOOMING ROMANCE OR BAITED REBOUND?
Written by: Anonymous Wednesday, March 27th. 3-minute read | Updated: 9:14 PM.
Suspicions of an off-paddock romance between the beloved Ferrari Flash (Song Y/N) and one of Ferrari's race engineers, Infinite (Xu Minghao) have been confirmed as of March 24th. The racer was seen and photographed sharing not one, not two, but five passionate smooches with the engineer.
Song was formerly linked to Red Bull driver Choi San, having a very public and amicable breakup after articles and voice recordings surfaced exposing their relationship through stalking and several breaches of privacy. Both drivers were left incredibly affected and left the roster for a few races that season, but Choi was still named Rookie of The Year with four consecutive wins after his return at the Turkish Grand Prix. Song was photographed congratulating him from a distance, but no more interactions have been recorded since.
Aforementioned suspicions between Flash and Infinite arose after the duo were spotted leaving a New Year's Eve party, with Xu's hand reportedly being a little too low on the racing star's hip to be friendly. The two were photographed for a few days afterward, but the allegations died down before reaching major media outlets, as Song reported back to her $3.2 million-dollar apartment in New York City, whereas Xu was spotted in various cities in China and posed for ViVi's Magazine in Osaka, Japan before settling back in his hometown of Haicheng for the remainder of the off-season. Song was reported to have taken two flights out of LaGuardia and one out of JFK to her hometown of Shenzhen, spending a week on each trip.
Despite the beloved Flash's constant trips to Shenzhen, where she grew up with Xu for a few years; no reports were made of her meeting with Xu while there. Her social media was radio silent for all three trips, and fans speculated from paparazzi photos that the star was spending her time with her father, who tends to keep himself out of his daughter's spotlight.
Mr. Song was also photographed to be standing with Xu, radio show host and former McLaren/Kick Sauber driver Wen Junhui and Song shortly after the kissing photos were taken — and it was heard through Song herself during the post-race interviews that her father had never been in attendance to one of her races before, and she was glad he was there to see her win the Chinese Grand Prix.
A few tears were shed, but our focus is still on Xu and Song. What is to come? Fans have reported seeing them in Gunma, Japan — where the two attended college together along with Wen, and where Wen and Song were first discovered as skilled drivers. Xu and Song have been photographed near Tsuki's, a long-standing udon shop that has several pre-Formula One photos of them and Wen, as well as many autographs and they are close with the shop owners. They have been mentioned to be driving a grey 2000 Nissan Skyline, formerly known to be kept in a car garage as it was Song's first racing vehicle — alongside the pink Kill Bill inspired Pussy Wagon (2000 Honda NSX Type S) we've all come to know and love.
We all had our rising suspicions that our favorite Ferrari team members were anything but platonic, but with years of radio silence between former lover Choi and Song following the exposure of their private relationship and several lovey-dovey statements — some fans are disappointed to know that their favorite ship has ended for good. Choi has not been seen with anyone since his breakup with Song, and this is the first of Song's spottings with another man.
Could it be that our Flash is finally debuting a new beau? Or, maybe, not-so-new — perhaps the two have history that runs deeper than life-long friendship? Keep your eyes peeled, we'll update as we find out more information.
— Gunma, Japan. Present Day.
You've only been in Gunma for four days. You've gone to Tsuki's more times than you can count, sending pictures of Mrs. Iguchi and the namesake cat; you've spent hours hiking through the forests with Minghao, running your hands through flowing streams when it gets too hot…
You've resisted revving your engine back at a couple of stupid kids in glittery Supras and LS swapped Miatas — feeling Minghao's hand on your thigh as your jaw ticks. His gaze reminds you it's not worth it, you can't race the mountains now; but your fingers itch as you let them leave you in the dust in your rental. You tongue your cheek, you grip the wheel; but he presses a kiss to your temple and offers to drive the rest of the way. You only agree because you know better than to give into a short-lived race for a measly two hundred dollars.
Everything is fine. You feel secure in Gunma, having spent so much time wandering the streets and spending time in obscure shops with Junhui and Minghao as college students; everything is still where it was then, as is your heart, warm and full when you're greeted by name by the older women who don't care that you race karts for a living. Older women who don't care that you're an adrenaline junkie, because they remember your soft cheeks and starry eyes from long nights of studying with sweating cups of iced coffee and half eaten cream sandwiches.
Everything is fine.
The article pings on your phone halfway through your second bowl of takeout udon from Tsuki's. It's from Junhui, followed by several messages telling you not to do anything rash and just read it. To just tell Minghao, who is sitting next to you on the bed — who sets down his bowl he moment he sees you pick up your phone, the white-and-black article filling your screen.
He can't tear his eyes from you as your lower lip starts trembling, his hands finding your thigh as he peers over.
"What's wrong?"
You don't answer, your thumb stilling as a picture comes across the screen. It's from Shanghai — Minghao, in his all-black ensemble, holding your cheeks as he kisses you. You're half dressed in your racing suit, your face crumpled the way it is before you burst into tears; and a second picture shows him holding you to his chest, a third showing him kissing the corner of your lips. He takes the phone from you, scrolling back to the top as you shove your bowl onto the nightstand and kick yourself out of bed.
You pace like a caged animal, your heart practically beating out of your chest as Minghao sits silently, staring at the screen before turning your phone off and sliding it facedown on the nightstand. You slide your hands through your hair cupping the sides of your neck as Minghao's phone pings incessantly. You look up, watching him flip it over to see Junhui's contact flashing across the screen.
He stares for a moment, before answering.
"Hey, Jun…yeah. Yeah, we saw it….I don't know. Uh huh. Yeah. No, she's right here…"
You shake your head at Minghao, holding your hands out as you feel your heart in your throat.
"She can't talk…I'll call you later. Jun…Junhui, I said I'll call you later. Uh huh. Yeah. Bye."
Minghao can't tear his eyes away from you, you feel the heat of them on your back as you turn away. Your mind is racing a million miles a minute, the feeling of your chest tightening far too familiar to the first time this happened — with San, five years ago.
"I must be cursed." You laugh in disbelief, turning to face him. "I'm cursed, that's the only way this keeps happening. I pissed off a witch or made some sort of binding covenant with the universe unknowingly."
"Y/N—"
"What were you thinking? Kissing me out in the open?" Your eyes are wide as you think back to the Shanghai race, your hand moving to pull at your necklace as you walk past the foot of the bed, your thighs brushing the bunched duvet. "What was I thinking? Did I just throw caution to the fucking wind?"
Your spiral is momentarily paused by his hand grabbing the pocket of your shorts, pulling you to him. Your eyes burn with tears as you let him, and you let out a pitiful sound as he settles his hands on your hips.
"Just take a deep breath for me, okay? In, out." His words are too familiar, "you’re alright. Everything is okay."
The same words he said in Shanghai, just moments before kissing you. Moments before those photos were taken.
"Everything is not okay, Minghao! Didn't you see? Didn't you read the article? People know, people have been anticipating this for years. How is that not detrimental to my career? To my image? To yours?" Your voice is dripping with something you can't place, but you can tell it's nothing positive as it sours on the back of your tongue. You push his hands away, ignoring the clink of your matching rings, ignoring the plum blossom signet ring on your forefinger that you stole from him all those years ago.
"We should just end it. We just…we put out a statement that it was a lapse in judgment, that it didn't mean anything. We'll get Ro and Jieqiong to counter the article, they know us. Their word holds more weight."
"Is that what this is to you? A lapse in judgment?" His is soft, any feelings masked by his obvious patience. You give him a look, and it must hold something, some sort of weight, because he repeats himself.
"Is that all I am to you?" "That's not what I said." "Then what are we doing?"
You don't have an answer for him. Your mind races to the week before the season, the first night in Los Angeles where you promised to have an answer for him by the end of the season. Where you knew he was giving you an out, because you know that though Minghao is patient, and Minghao is forever someone that holds you in high regard…he's human.
And he won't wait forever.
"Let's end this." You whisper, "let's end it and we can spare ourselves the ridicule. I can handle it. I signed up for it, I signed that contract and I put myself in the public eye. You didn't. Don't let me stop you from reaching higher."
Minghao stares at you, hurt evident in the back of his eyes as he swallows hard. He nods silently, his fingers feeling around absently across the nightstand before snatching up his phone and his wallet. He slides off the bed, nearing you quietly before giving you a wayward glance.
"Say something!" You yell, your voice thick from holding in your cries. He scoffs, shutting his suitcase that's open on the floor and setting it upright. "Minghao!"
"What? What do you want me to say, Y/N? You want me to beg? Should I get on my knees and beg you not to leave me, when that's all you've ever done? How can you expect me to keep hurting myself to keep you happy? To keep you with me when I know you don't want me?"
His voice trembles, low as he covers his eyes, yanking the handle of his suitcase up.
"I can't. Okay? I can't do it anymore. You're not choosing me, you never choose me." He lets out a shaky breath, "every time I think we're moving forward, you pull away. It's always something, it's your career, it's our friends, it's the press, it's your fear. What are you so afraid of? Why are you so scared of being loud with your feelings? Why?"
"Because I deserve privacy. I deserve to—" "I'm not saying you don't, but what about me? What do I deserve from you? After all these years, shouldn't I deserve something that isn't the tip of your boot when you kick me out of your life because it's convenient?"
His voice cracks, and he curses himself as he moves around the room, shoving shirts and sweaters into his duffel. Your lip trembles as you hold in a sob, watching him haphazardly zip up his bag and shove it over his shoulder. He runs a hand over his face, stopping it over his lips as a wounded sound tries to fight its way out.
"Minghao."
You can't move from your spot at the foot of the bed, your fingers grabbing at the fabric of your shorts as he runs a hand through his hair. He slides his phone and wallet into his pocket, tossing his key to the apartment onto the dresser in a smooth glide.
"Minghao." "Stop saying my name like it means something to you."
He lets out a defeated sigh, teary eyes looking at the annoyingly bright lights in your lamp. He blinks rapidly, before meeting your gaze. You're sure you don't look any better, your sniffling louder than his as he fights himself internally. To leave, to leave you.
"Do you remember the first time we slept together?" His voice is a whisper, white-knuckling the strap of his duffel. "March third. It was a Tuesday, and we were on the roof after we went to Tsuki's for the first time without Jun."
You can't bring yourself to respond, your tears flowing down your cheeks as you're frozen in place. Your fingers are numbing at how tight they're curled into your shorts, but he lets out a humorless laugh, running a hand over his face as he fights back tears. You've seen Minghao cry a total of two times — when you were named Rookie of the Year seven years ago, and when he came over to see you breakdown, alone in your hotel room, after the exposé on your relationship with San was released.
"I think that was one of the most memorable nights of my life. I thought, just for a moment, that I got the girl." He tongues his cheek, "Even after I left Japan and I cut contact, I never moved on. I never wanted anyone else, but I couldn't have you because you didn't want me. You wanted a good time, and I was a good time. I was a great time, even."
He grabs his suitcase, letting another trembled breath out.
"I don't want to just be a good time. I don't want to know that I keep choosing you, over and over, and you can't make up your mind. You say it's not about San, it's not about me, it's not about the press…so it's about you. You are the one stopping this, because I don't care if people photograph me kissing you. I don't care if the FIA fines me. I don't care what anyone thinks about the way I love you, because it's me doing it. Not them."
Your heart drops at the three words he glosses over, how he says them with ease, like he's known his whole life.
"Eight years, not counting our school days. Eight years of knowing you, missing you, wanting you. Eight years of choosing you, over and over again, even when everyone told me I was making a mistake because you were too focused on your career, because you have a one-track mind. Years of knowing that I can't sleep after you slip out of bed in the middle of the night, but I still beg to have you in mine even if just for a few hours. So much can't be good for the heart and soul. " He speaks to the floor, before looking up at you.
"And leaving you gets harder and harder as the time keeps going. But that's just it, isn't it? Time keeps going, we keep growing and…we're not growing together. Your career is important to you, our friends, keeping an image that you're a winner. Everyone loves the Ferrari Flash. Everyone loves watching you skid past that finish line first, asking you questions, looking at you pose for magazines and organizations. Everyone loves Flash, number eight on the tarmac and number one in their hearts, right?"
He steps forward, his hand warm as he presses it to the center of your chest.
"When do they get to love Y/N?" His voice is soft, and you blow a sob out of the side of your mouth as he wipes your cheeks carefully. His hand grabs yours, his thumb rubbing over your matching ring before he gently pulls it off. You close your hand, but he slips it into his palm anyway. He pulls off his own, looking at them closely. Looking at your initials engraved on the insides, he lets out a sigh and slides them onto the dresser.
Your lashes are wet with tears as you look up at him, his fingers carding through your hair as he plants a kiss on your hairline before he meets your eyes.
"When do I get to love you? Is it any time soon, or should I wait for the next life?"
"Minghao." Your voice trembles, but he just shakes his head.
"Stay. This is your home, too." He strokes the back of your head, "I'll take the couch and fly to Suzuka first thing in the morning. I'll see you there, hm?"
"Minghao, please—" "Goodnight, Flash."
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PROTOCOL | choi seungcheol {teaser}
SYNOPSIS. Choi Seungcheol has always been about structure, authority, and control𑁋loyal to his duty in a city where criminal situations become a matter of life or death. On the other hand, you’re reckless𑁋seemingly guided more by your instinct and heart than the rules you’re meant to follow. But as duty forces you both together, Seungcheol finds the protocol he’s bound to stand by begin to bend. PAIRING. sergeant/tactical officer!choi seungcheol x rookie officer!fem!reader GENRE. smut (minors dni 🔞), coworkers/ideological enemies to ???, fluff, angst, hurt/comfort, slow burn, action, police au WARNINGS (FOR TEASER). usage of guns, idk just a lot of sexual tension HAHAH WARNINGS (FOR FULL FIC). unrealistic portrayal of a police department, guns, violence, injuries (both cheol & reader get hurt at some point), blood, crimes being committed, workplace misogyny (reader is in a male-dominated career & men are shit), cursing, mentions of scars, discussions of trauma (cheol needs a hug), lots of bickering and arguing, kissing, making out, terms of endearment, oral (f. receiving), body worship, praise + slight degradation + dirty talk, dom!seungcheol who turns kinda switchy, riding, soft to kinda rough sex, more tbd WORD COUNT (FOR TEASER). 1.4k WORD COUNT (FOR FULL FIC). 15-20k maybe idk
notes: hello!! uhh it's my birthday woo and i'm celebrating it by gifting you all this teaser 💗 kudos to this fic and getting me out of my writer's burnout cuz i am having sm fun writing so far! if you are interested in being tagged when this fic comes out, feel free to send me an ask or leave a comment !!!
“Your grip has too much wrist in it.”
The words don’t fully register at first, especially when the shadow behind you steps even closer. Close enough for the temperature in the room to increase and for your pulse to flutter in your throat. Close enough you’re able to feel it more instead of hear it.
You turn your head just enough to see him. He wears his uniform like armour, as if it’s part of his skin. His shoulders are squared, one of his hands resting by his duty belt, and the nameplate at his chest gleams under the harsh lighting of the training facility. Your eyes lock for a split second, and it’s intense enough that you straighten your spine instinctively.
There’s no softness in his expression, yet no harshness as well𑁋just that same cold detachment he always wears. But it still feels as if you’re being pinned to the wall with nothing but a simple glance. His presence alone seems to demand precision, like it dares you to screw up just so he can see how you recover.
Seungcheol’s eyes flicker downward to your stance.
“Try again,” he instructs sternly.
You offer a steady nod. “Yes, sir.”
However, when you bring the gun back up and zero in on the paper target ahead, your body is tense for entirely different reasons and the gun feels heavier than usual. Nonetheless, you suppress the thoughts aside, readjust your stance, plant your feet to the floor, and attempt to pretend that the room is empty with only you and the target.
And Seungcheol, apparently.
You fire.
Just ahead, the bullet tears through the paper, hitting the centre mass, but still just the tiniest bit off. A casual person may think it’s a perfect shot, but it’s clear that Seungcheol doesn’t have the eyes like any ordinary human. And judging by the subtle shift in his posture, he doesn’t look pleased at all. He takes in everything𑁋your breathing, your stance, your barely concealed frustration.
Then he steps closer to you. You feel the warmth from him radiate onto your back.
“May I?”
The way his voice drops sends goosebumps crawling underneath your uniform and up your neck. You can’t tell if it’s from nerves or something else.
When you glance back up at him, it hits you just how damn close he is.
You swallow the lump in your throat. “Go ahead, sir.”
Seungcheol leans in even further, his chest momentarily brushing against your back. He reaches out to your shoulder, before slowly𑁋torturously𑁋dragging his fingers from your tricep to your forearm, skimming at the edges of your sleeve to guide in your elbow gently.
“Relax,” he murmurs quietly, and you swear his voice hits you like a whisper right next to your ear. “I’ll always ask before I touch you, yeah?”
The words land softly around you. His tone isn’t authoritative𑁋not entirely, at least𑁋but it carries that same precision of boundary he uses with everyone else.
For a few moments, Seungcheol doesn’t move, his hand lingering for perhaps a second longer than intended at your elbow, his fingertips softly grazing against your skin there. You hear his breath even out at your nape, before he starts adjusting your arm with the smallest hint of movement. By degrees, not inches.
“Your grip is good, but your wrist is taking in all the recoil,” he tells you, coaxing your muscles to loosen with a small tap at your forearm. “In this line of work, tension is your enemy. Don’t fight the shock𑁋absorb it instead. You can’t let the weapon have control over you.”
The palm of his other hand then lands gently on your lower back, his warmth seeping through the crevices of your uniform. Your posture stiffens from the pressure as his fingers press into the space between your shoulder blades. It’s not inappropriate or invasive, yet there’s a strange kind of intimacy in the way he aligns your body under his expectations, as if he’s done it a hundred times already.
“Your spine is stiff as a statue,” Seungcheol remarks, a sliver of amusement behind his words. “Loosen your upper body a bit.”
You fight the urge to roll your eyes, but fail anyway. He notices. “Kind of hard to do it with a Sergeant glued to my six.”
“Then pretend I’m not here.”
“Easier said than done,” You retort back without thinking. “You march around the place like a ticking grenade.”
He huffs a breath at that. Not fully a laugh, but just barely crossing into that territory. A chuckle, maybe. Or a scoff, most likely. You think this is the first time you’ve ever heard that kind of sound leave his mouth.
Seungcheol leans in again, this time letting his palm drag from your lower back and down to the curve of your hip. His touch is as light as a feather, barely there at your waistband, pressing just enough to tilt your stance enough so that your weight is distributed to both sides of your body equally.
“Don’t lean too forward,” he instructs smoothly. “You can’t let yourself anticipate the shot. When you do, you’ll lock up, which throws off your aim in the field.”
You allow yourself to yield under his touch, starting to feel everything coming into balance now.
“Now breathe in, and let everything get quiet,” Seungcheol says.
You do as he says, and suddenly everything feels more sharper and clearer around you. Your breathing settles and your heartbeat begins to slow. Behind you, Seungcheol does the same, as if he’s manifesting the grip of the gun through your hand.
“Good. That’s it.” The simple praise heightens your encouragement, his voice low as if only you are meant to hear it. Seungcheol steps away from you now, but the heat of him still lingers around you. “Finally, squeeze the trigger, and fire.”
When the gun shoots, you immediately feel the difference.
The recoil snaps back into your wrist once again, but you’re stable enough so that your body moves with the shot instead of resisting and messing up your stance. And when you gaze ahead at the target, the bullet cuts through the middle. Dead centre mass.
A hum of approval from Seungcheol behind buzzes through your ears.
“Again.”
You fire. It hits the centre again.
“One more time.”
You squeeze the trigger and shoot one last time. The paper target jolts from the force, and you blink at the perfect hole you formed through the torso. Lowering the gun, you turn your head to look at him, already seeing him standing with his hands clasped behind him and his dark eyes shifting from the torn target and back to your face.
“Better,” Seungcheol says simply.
And damn, it’s only a singular word, yet it feels like an entire sentence from him.
You tilt your head slightly at him, your breathing regulating. “Just better?”
Seungcheol lifts a brow. “Do you want a gold star?”
“That was a lot of instruction for just one word of feedback, Sergeant.”
His eyes still refuse to leave yours. “Would you rather I say nothing at all?”
You shake your head while unloading the empty magazine and placing the gun at the ledge for the next officer in rotation to use. Seungcheol is still watching you closely, his gaze following your movements. Not in a judgmental manner, but moreso… curious.
“Coming from you, sir,” You begin coyly with a shrug. “A little more praise wouldn’t hurt.”
That’s what seems to get him𑁋almost gets him. You catch the way his jaw tics, the way his facade crumbles just slightly under your words, how the corners of his lips twitch up like he’s trying to hold back a smile of his own. You don’t exactly mean to tease, but for some reason the thought of pushing his buttons just a little sends a thrill of amusement underneath your skin that you don’t entirely hate.
“Mouthy little thing,” Seungcheol grumbles underneath his breath, his own head shaking like he can’t believe he’s having this conversation right now. Or if he can’t decide whether you’re fearless or stupid.
You both don’t realise how long you’ve been holding eye contact until the last officer in your rotation fires their last bullet and unloads the gun. You step aside for the next officer to take your place, slipping your headphones off your ears and letting it rest on your shoulders. Seungcheol clears his throat right beside you.
“You’re dismissed,” he says finally. “Good work, officer.”
Before you can respond, Seungcheol is already walking away from you. Even after whatever the hell you both just shared, he still moves like a man with control woven into every cell in his body.
Still, you managed to get another two words of praise out of him, and that in itself feels more than just a victory.
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