The story goes that two people who shouldn't be together met and still fell in love. The woman eventually hurt the man who deeply loved her. But this man still tried to protect her and died.
How foolish.
No. I watched the interview. The composer said that in the story, the man believed until the very end that it was fate—even if it was a wrong fate.
Summary: You have a secret — you have a daughter. A four year old little girl who's the bright definition of summer sun. You have another secret, the father is nothing but a bartender at a local beach bar where you had a vacation a few years ago. With your reputation on the line, you forced yourself to keep them hidden from the world and thankfully, Jake was willing to hide his daughter and agree with your conditions — until he decided he doesn't want to for his daughter's sake, leaving you questioning your life as a career woman and a mother.
Second installment of Big reputations series.
✰ Song inspirations: So it goes… by Taylor swift, Love by Lana del rey, Saturn By SZA
✰ Word count: 19.4k
✰ Tags: CEO au, small town au, co-parenting, aged-up characters (Jake’s 28, reader’s 27,) kidfic, fluff and fluff!!! smut somewhere there, this is just a wholesome fic with very minimal angst i swear, reader and jake have feelings for each other (they just couldn’t confess lol,) down bad! sim jaeyun (and he drives a motorbike, now that’s fucking hot), family issues and eldest daughter rage, mentions of pregnancy ofc and abortion, kpop idols as characters. Not proofread.
✰ CW: plot with porn lol ofc, p in v sex, unprotected sex (stopppp,) kitchen sex, clothed sex ig, getting caught oops, dom! jake, sub! reader, breeding kink goes hard brrrr, mutual masturbation, usage of “mommy” and “daddy” but as a pet name rather than a kink, praise hahaha. Shitty smut ahead, my horny brain’s dead af.
✰ Asul’s note: made it before November ends so that it’s still falls under Jake’s birth month yay :D also I’m eyeballing everything, especially the business stuff, let me live!! I love sim jaeyun so much so i present you dilf! Jake!!! BARK BARK. Also Seonyangdo’s a fictional town and name. enjoy this wholesome fic and not proofread once again. this is so completely self-indulgent and i love sim jaeyun so much once again <3.
Running a company, despite inheriting it from your parents who had inherited it from their parents up to their parents, wasn’t that easy. But you’ve learned the hard way. Having to grow up being exposed to the world of businesses and investments, you knew what to do and what not to do the moment your parents passed down the title on you.
The answer was simple: discipline. You just need discipline to keep your company stable. Your office hours and working days are completely fixed and sorted based on agendas. Some may say that you’re too organized and there’s no way it won’t work — but it did for you. Three years had passed, and you kept your parents’ company stable in terms of its net worth and reputation.
Three years may be short, but it was enough for your young age. Some may say that you're a privileged nepo baby whose parents passed down the title to you without any hesitation, but you’ve been preparing this ever since you were a kid, and you wanted to prove everyone that despite the nepotism you received, you still worked your way up to be respected as one of the well-known CEOs in South Korea.
You were an icon. Your name was in every business section in newspapers and magazines. One of the promising young billionaires in your country. Beautiful, charismatic, and intelligent. Youngsters look up to you as an inspiration.
You’re also well-known for your fixed and organized schedule. It never fails to be brought up in your interviews and talks. But you brushed it off with a laugh, stating that having a fixed schedule and routine helps you in running the company without any faults.
Mondays would be your weekly recap of last week’s updates and accomplishments. Just light tasks and internal meetings to ease up the following week. You’re focused on the internal employees inside your office, accommodating as many concerns as you could within the eight working hours.
Tuesdays and Wednesdays were heavier. External meetings and business events would be entertained. You run these days with bitter coffee and tooth-rotting cakes to keep your energy throughout the day. These are the days where you work overtime, thinking that it's better to work overtime, so that you’d be able to keep the other days free on your schedule.
Thursdays were last minute schedules. Unexpected emergencies and moved meetings due to unforeseen circumstances would land here. They’re heavy, and sometimes, you’re required to work outside your office. Meetings with potential clients and grievances which leaves you drained before the clock strikes five.
Lastly, on Friday — it’s your favorite day because Fridays are your half-day.
You’re only available during Friday morning, in case any important documents or updates are required, your employees could squeeze a few minutes on your Friday morning for that, and once the clock strikes twelve, you turned into a modern-day Cinderella and had left the building.
No one questions why you do half-days during Fridays. Well, that’s the perks of being the company’s boss.
Today was no different from the past Fridays you had. Your desk computer had turned off, your desk tables were clean, and you just zipped your office bag before you pushed your desk chair inside your table.
Your smile was wide as you closed your office lights. Stepping out of your office, your heels clanked against the marbled tiles of the twenty-fifth floor of the building.
“Goodbye Sunghoon, see you on Monday!” you cheerfully bid to the man who was startled by your voice.
“Hold up missy, it’s only eleven-fifty,” your executive assistant-slash-best friend, Park Sunghoon stated, making you stop to turn around to him who made his way out of his desk.
“It’s near twelve, let your boss be ten minutes early for her half-day,” you sassed and Sunghoon laughed at your comment.
“I think I forgot to tell you that you have a scheduled online meeting with Mr. Wen at two-thirty this afternoon,” Sunghoon informed and your eyes went wide.
“What did I tell you about external meetings? You know I’m not available during Fridays for that,” you nagged and yet, Sunghoon’s teasing laughter echoed inside the floor.
“I’m just messing with you,” he teased and a smack on his arms was all you could give.
“Bitch,” you muttered, rolling your eyes.
“I know you’re eager to go home to them,” Sunghoon smiled before giving you a huge paperbag which you didn’t notice that he was holding.
“What the hell is this?” you asked as you received the paperbag.
“Coloring materials — books, crayons, pencils, all sorts. Heard my godchild’s great at drawing,” he smiled. “Got to make sure my ‘best godfather’ title won’t be snatched by Riki.”
“You spoil her too much,” you commented as you looked at the inside.
“It’s nothing,” he shrugged. “Now go before your employees get a glimpse of you and hold you back.”
You hugged Sunghoon one last time before leaving your office. As the elevator closed, your smile became wide along with your heart thumping out of excitement
Every Friday, you’d travel five hours to a small town outside Seoul.
To say that it was a small town was an understatement. The humble town of Seonyangdo resides on the west sea. A warm beau during summer and a cold comfort during winter. Seonyangdo was a quiet town with a few people living in the small village. They're a knit-tight community who knows everyone that they’ll know whether you’re a tourist visiting the place.
It was your safe haven. You didn’t mind driving for five hours every Friday to travel to Seonyangdo. You couldn't. Especially when the long baywalk of the sea welcomes you after passing by the bridge that is considered as Seonyangdo's entrance. You’d arrive there just in time for the sunset, welcoming you with the warm breeze of clean and salty air. The orange and pink hues of sky would be your guide as you drive towards your exact final destination.
You parked the car in front of the house. The small wooden gate was already open. Staring at the small humble house in front of you, you couldn’t help but to feel giddy and excited to see them again.
As you're busy grabbing your things from the passenger seat, you hear the door of the house open, making you turn around with a smile.
In Seonyangdo you weren’t the CEO of the largest construction firm in South Korea. You were just you. A simple woman living peacefully in the small town — a mother, to her four-year-old daughter who could compete with the sun in terms of brightness and gleefulness.
“Mommy!” her voice was high-pitched as she excitedly ran towards you. You closed the door of your car quickly before proceeding to hug your daughter and lift her in your arms.
“Hi baby,” you whispered, kissing her hair that smelled like salt air. Her shirt’s wet which alarmed you. Quickly, you placed her down to the ground. “Aely, you’re sweaty, were you playing outside while waiting for me?”
Your daughter nodded excitedly. “Dada said that I could play with Kino and Yuri at the beach today because I got five stars, look ma!” she shows off her hands, huge stamps of red stars were painted on her skin, which made you smile as you held her tiny, chubby hands.
“Oh, my baby is so smart!” you kissed her cheeks once again before brushing her hair. “Let’s go inside now alright? Have you changed into a comfortable one, what do you say?”
Aelia nodded eagerly before she ran off inside the house once again, passing by Jake who was standing in front of the door, watching the scene earlier fold.
“Hey,” he greeted with a lazy smile.
“Hi Jake,” you smiled back.
Ironic to your well-disciplined and sophisticated reputation today, you used to be a young and reckless fresh graduate years ago.
You’re not going to let yourself be thrown into your parent’s company as soon as you receive your diploma. You wanted to enjoy your freedom as an unemployed young adult. That is why after your graduation, you packed your bag and chose the smallest, most strange yet beautiful beach town in South Korea.
That’s where you ended up at Seonyangdo. Seonyangdo was small and wasn’t a tourist-catching town. It was less crowded and hidden, but their beach was a gem in the west. Its population was less than five thousand, which made you even more content with your chosen destination.
Seonyangdo was Jake’s hometown. That’s where you met him, at night, at the local beach bar that stood idly by the bay. The moment you walked into the bar, your eyes were already on him.
To say that he was hot was an understatement, Jake looked like the gods themselves had carved and brought to life. He wore a simple white shirt with the sleeves rolled back, exposing his strong and lean muscles and arms. Along with his unruly, jet-black hair and soft puppy-like smile that greeted you when you entered the establishment — that’s when you had set your goal to at least get his attention.
It was easy for you though. Jake was a natural flirt but a gentleman at least. He entertained you throughout the whole night. Took care of you like you were the only customer there. He didn’t let you drink too much alcohol and even though you could afford to buy the whole bar establishment itself, he gave you half a discount to every cocktail you ordered.
You spent your days in Seonyangdo with Jake. It was a summer fling, you insisted, but you couldn’t hide the fact that there were butterflies in your stomach whenever he’s beside you, laughing, smiling, and acting like it’s only the two of you in the room.
Oh but the two of you were young and wild. It was obvious that you two were eager for more. The sex was too good and intimate — too intimate for a summer fling, but you two didn’t care because what mattered was how close you two were every time you two did it.
Which shouldn’t surprise you when you found out you were pregnant a month after you left Seonyangdo. Your world crashed. It can’t be. This wasn’t part of your plan. You were only twenty-two. You were young and had a clear view of her future. Getting pregnant wasn’t one of them.
You had options. A lot of options. You knew that your parents would be very disappointed when they found out that you got pregnant, especially when they’re preparing you to take over the family business. You could’ve simply got rid of the fetus and moved on with your life — but you didn’t, because something was holding you back to abort it.
That’s why you packed your bags, lied to your parents that you wanted more time for yourself before working for their company, and drove to Seonyangdo for Jake.
Fatherhood at a young age wasn’t part of Jake’s plan either, but as you confessed to him that you’re pregnant and you were planning to keep it, all he could think of was to make sure that the baby would grow up with loving parents and a happy family.
You were just planning to inform Jake about your pregnancy. But as soon as he took responsibility for it, you decided that it was best to hide your pregnancy in Seonyangdo. Hidden, cared, and loved not only by Jake but also by the townspeople. They didn’t mind the news, but instead, they were overjoyed that a baby would be arriving in their community. Nine months later after an enduring labor, your daughter was born.
Aelia was born during summer. At the time of one in the afternoon where the sun beamed at its brightest. It was significant, the older folks said.
She was the brightest warm for you and Jake. Aelia was the splitting image of you. Everyone can see it but when she smiles — she got her father’s puppy-like smile. Everyone cooed at your daughter and small family. It felt right for you and Jake. You remained in Seonyangdo for another year, wanting to take care of Aelia and live a simple, mundane life with Jake.
But your small town life came to an end at some point. Your parents are now eager to have you work for them, forcing you to go back to Seoul, leaving Jake and Aelia in Seonyangdo.
Jake knew what life awaits for you in Seoul. He’s not going to let Aelia hold you back from achieving your career and future. That’s why he was willing to hide Aelia from your world. He was fine taking care of her on his own, assuring you that he had the townspeople of Seonyangdo to help him when you were hesitant to leave. You two compromised. You promised to visit them during weekends despite the tiring travel because you're not going to let yourself be an absent mother to your own daughter.
Three years had passed and you had adjusted to your setup with Jake. The three of you were an open secret in Seonyangdo. Everyone in the town knows that you were a well-known figure in Seoul, but for the sake of Aelia, they kept their mouths shut for her safety.
Jake’s house was small, enough for the two of them — for the three of you every weekend. Back then, he was renting a small room nearby the beach, but ever since Aelia came, he moved into a bigger, cozier one for his daughter’s well-being.
Something about his house felt like him. The mismatched furniture, the small kitchen, and potted plants outside. It feels cozy, like a home for you to come to.
“Thank you,” you warmly said as Jake placed down the plate of curry in front of you.
“It’s nothing,” he shrugged as he returned to the kitchen. You started digging on your food, and you couldn’t help but to feel relaxed. Nothing beats home-cooked meals. You didn’t care if it was instant curry blocks along with some uneven chopped vegetables. Something about the way Jake always prepares home-cooked meals for you every Friday night eases your heart.
It feels welcoming. Hearty you could say, it couldn’t beat those expensive meals you eat at high-end restaurants in Seoul. In Seonyangdo, you could let all your walls down. There are no people watching your every movement. There were no fake smiles and personalities to tolerate. You don’t feel controlled in the small town, which is why you consider it as your safe haven.
“It’s pretty!” Aelia shouted from the living room, and hurriedly, her small steps made its way towards you. “Mommy, thank you!”
“Baby, Uncle Sunghoon got that for you,” you told her as soon as you noticed what she was holding — the box of crayons that Sunghoon had bought for her. Her eyes smiled wide as she stared at the box.
“It looks expensive,” Jake commented as he stared at the box.
“Really? I didn’t know, Sunghoon just gave it to me, along with some stuff,” you told Jake.
“Typical Sunghoon,” Jake chuckled. “You have to take care of it, Aelia okay? Don’t break it immediately.”
Aelia nodded, “can I use it now?”
“Of course sunshine, you can use it now,” Jake ruffled his daughter’s hair which made the child shout in glee before stepping out of the dining room, leaving you and Jake in a comforting silence.
“Hungry?” he asked, eyes locked into you who continued eating.
“I wasn’t able to eat lunch,” you answered.
“Of course you don’t,” Jake laughed. “Excited to see Aelia?”
“Obviously,” you rolled your eyes.
“What about me then?” he teased.
You didn’t answer but instead you placed down your utensils. Your plate was clean and not a single grain of rice was left. “Thanks for the meal Jake,” you spoke before standing up and going towards the living room.
Your relationship with Jake was blurry. You don’t know what’s the label between the two of you but one thing for sure, you two are prioritising on raising Aelia.
You told him that you didn’t mind if he dated other girls, and he as well, doesn’t mind if you date other guys too. But it never crossed your mind to look for someone else. You were too focused on your career and Aelia to find love — and it seems like Jake thinks the same way too.
Both of you never crossed each other’s boundaries. It was as if the two didn’t have a blissful, youthful summer love affair. Perhaps you two are too afraid to destroy the setup. You knew about co-parenting nightmares. Emotions blinding each other and realizing that you two aren’t compatible at all. It scares you that Jake might not be deeply in love with you and everything you two were just something fun and casual for him.
That’s why three years later and you let your feelings for Jake be buried somewhere in your heart. It’s hard to deal with your feelings, and you’re not scared to admit that it hurts to feel that there is still that fluttering feeling that ignites in you whenever he’s near or whenever it was just the two of you.
There was not a day where you thought of what would happen if you’d crossed the line.
But for Aelia’s sake, you never tried to. You chose to give her a complete family rather than have your love be reciprocated by Jake.
-
Saturdays for you are family day. You make sure that you spend your day solely for Aelia. No phone calls, no messages or emails. Your phone’s on a “Do not Disturb” mode and sometimes, you would even leave it inside your bag.
Today, Aelia wanted to go to the beach. The sun’s out but not too hot that it’ll leave you irritated, while the breeze was cool and fresh, which was a perfect weather for a family outing.
You parked your car by the roadside. Turning off the engine, Jake had already left his seat, going towards the trunk to take out everything you brought for the outing. The cooler, a basket full of homemade sandwiches and snacks, and of course, Aelia’s donut floater.
“Mommy can I swim now? Please?” Aelia excitedly said as you helped Jake with carrying the bags.
“A minute baby, we have to put a sun screen on you,” you told her, but it seems like your words fell deaf to your daughter’s ears as she raced towards the seaside.
“Aelia!” you shouted and before you could move, Jake had placed his hand on your shoulder.
“Relax, the waves are small, she’s used to the water,” Jake casually said but that didn’t remove the ease on your heart.
“Still, you know how dangers lurk around somewhere.”
“It’s not, let her discover things.”
“So that explains why her legs are full of scratches and wounds?” you raised an eyebrow.
“It’s part of being a kid,” he argued.
You didn’t say another word. Jake raised Aelia himself. They lived in Seonyangdo wherein there were less vehicles and people walked. Nature is part of their town and dangers were seldom compared to living in the busy streets of Seoul. She had a different childhood from you after all.
After finding a good spot and placing down the beach mat. Aelia and Jake dived into the deep water first, leaving you alone to look after your things.
You watched as Jake taught Aelia how to swim, his wide smile beamed against the warm sun. He guided Aelia while the little one struggled to kick her feet against the salty water. They laughed and that makes your heart giddy, hearing their laugh and the calm waves of the sea felt relaxing after a week of hard work.
You smiled at the scene. Their smiles really mirrored each other. Day by day, Aelia is now slowly resembling Jake — bright, hyper, and enthusiastic. Moments like these will always remind you that you were lucky that Jake was Aelia’s father.
You find yourself reading a novel that you’ve been trying to finish whenever you have free time. The beach only has a few people around, enjoying their free time to swim and relax. Jake and Aelia continued playing in the sea while you were left in your own world, enjoying your “me time.”
“Mommy, mommy!” A few minutes later, Aelia left the water. Running towards you with excitement which made you place down your book before grabbing her small towel which she rejected immediately but instead, she grabbed you by your arms, pulling you with all her strength.
“Mommy, let’s swim!” she said as she continued tugging your arms while you chuckled at her actions.
“Baby, no one’s going to look after —”
“Switch with me,” Jake butted in. You didn’t even notice that he’s standing next to Aelia. Your eyes darted on his thin white shirt that wasn't able to hide his strong chest and carved abs. Jake stood there with confidence and his signature smile as he brushed his wet hair.
Fuck. You almost drooled at the sight. It was the same Jake Sim you fell in love with when you were twenty-two.
Perhaps you stared at him for too long that Jake had to call you out again, snapping you out of your thoughts while he only chuckled.
“Alright — just a minute,” you stood up from your place, brushing off the sands from your legs before you removed your shirt and shorts, leaving you in a one-piece swimsuit.
“Still pretty as ever,” Jake wolf-whistled and you glared at him.
“Shut up,” you said despite your cheeks turning red. You pulled your daughter and the two of you proceeded to submerge into the cold water.
“This is nice,” you hummed as you let your body float on the salty surface. Meanwhile Aelia was relaxing on her floater, following your pose on her floater.
“I want to be like this forever mommy,” Aelia said which made you hum.
“Really sweetie?”
“Yup! I want us to stay in the water forever!” she excitedly said, making you chuckle.
“Baby, we couldn’t do that, our hands will wrinkle,” you said before returning to your normal position, you swam towards your daughter who’s smiling widely in front of you. You couldn’t help but to smile as you booped her nose out.
“But I want to be with mommy forever,” she pouted and that thought only made you chuckle softly.
“We’d be together baby okay? Mommy’s not going anywhere,” you said before giving her a kiss on the head. “I love you, Aely.”
“Aely loves mommy too!” she shouted and proceeded to give her a hug.
You spend the following time teaching Aelia how to float. Guiding her as she attempts to float while your hands are underneath her back.
“You’re doing good, Aely, that’s it! Don’t be tense! Just feel the water —” you stopped your words when you heard a loud laughter coming from Jake’s direction.
But it wasn’t his laugh. The voice was feminine, making you stop to glance at Jake’s direction and the view made your smile drop.
There’s a woman talking to Jake. She was wearing a two-piece bikini set that was too skimpy for her body. You watched as she laughed so hard that she’s throwing her head back.
Jake was smiling. Arms crossed, showing off his defined arms that you always had the urge to bite — his stare remained at the girl as he talked to her so casually that it felt like two former colleagues reuniting and having an idle talk.
And that makes your blood boil suddenly.
Then it happened, her hands on Jake’s chest — you almost forgot that you’re holding Aelia. You watched as Jake didn’t even falter by her action and that made you scoff internally.
You suddenly grabbed Aelia by her waist, carrying her out of the water, which left her confused.
“Baby, can you stay on the shore for a minute?” you asked. “Mommy just needs to bring dada so we can swim together, alright?”
“Okay!” she answered without any hesitation.
Aelia stayed on the shore, letting the small waves hit her body as she sat there, while you made your way towards Jake and the girl.
“Jake,” you called out, making them turn their attention to you.
“Yeah?” he asked casually like he wasn’t flirting with the girl.
So you smiled at him sweetly before you wrapped your hands around his arms before leaning against it. “Our daughter is looking for her dad right now, she said she wanted us to swim together.” before you darted your stare at the girl, giving her a small smile. “I’m sorry but we have to go.”
“Oh! I was just asking directions to the bus stop —”
“You’d see the waiting shed for the bus if you walked for ten minutes from here to there,” you stated, pointing the wrong direction before giving her another smile. “Hope that helps, bye!”
You didn’t even wait for her to say another word. You pulled Jake away from her, feet stomping against the warm sand.
“Jealous?” Jake laughed.
“I don’t want Aelia to see her dad talking to another woman, she’d think you’re unfaithful,” you stated.
“Hey, for the record, you did say I can date another woman,” Jake pointed out, making you stop.
“Well did you?” you asked.
“No.” he answered back and somehow, that eased your heart.
“Good, then lets just keep the loyal parents image for Aelia,” you concluded before you proceeded to drag him to the waters where Aelia was shouting in joy to see her parents together.
-
The day passed by in a glimpse. Suddenly, the sun was slowly setting down as you packed your things inside the trunk of your car.
A simple dinner of kimchi jjigae and side dishes were served as soon as you arrived at Jake’s place. Aelia lets out a loud yawn a few minutes after she finishes her meal. You volunteered to tug her to sleep while Jake was left to clean the table and dishes.
“No more bed time stories baby?” you asked before you could even grab the storybooks on her bookshelf.
Aelia shakes her head before rubbing her eyes. “Just…want, mommy.”
“Of course Aely, mommy’s going to be here,” you said before you sat on the edge of the bed. Brushing her hair, you hummed a soft lullaby that you heard when you were a kid. You sat there for a few minutes before Aelia had drifted to sleep.
You looked at her softly. Smiling wide as you could see her resemblance to you.
“Goodnight baby,” you bid before kissing her hair. You turned on her night lamp and closed the room light before leaving the room.
“She’s asleep now,” you announced as you walked towards the kitchen where Jake had finished placing the plates inside the cupboard.
You hummed at his words. Leaning against the counter, you watched as Jake grabbed two cans of beer from the fridge. He hands one to you which you accepted without any questions.
The two of you stood there in the kitchen. Silence emitted inside the place as both bodies felt weary from the beach today. You two were a few feet apart, quiet and settling down with the distance between the two of you.
You heard Jake chuckle all of the sudden, you turned your head towards him who’s smiling ear-to-ear.
“I just remembered the scene earlier,” he shared before giving you a teasing look.
“What’s so funny about it?” you asked, raising an eyebrow.
“You were jealous,” Jake teased.
You scoffed, “jealous? Excuse me Jake, I was just making sure Aelia doesn’t see her dad talking with another woman.”
“Sure y/n, use Aelia as an excuse,” he smirked before taking a sip on his beer.
“You’re so infuriating,” you mumbled. “Letting her touch you — ew.”
“I just had the charm,” Jake casually said.
“Sure you do.” you laughed sarcastically.
“Yeah well, that’s why I got you pregnant —”
“Oh my god, can you stop with that?”
“Well it’s the truth,” he laughed.
You didn’t answer anymore but instead, your eyes remained at him. Jake’s smile was wide — almost teasing. It was the same boyish smile that you fell in love with years ago.
“What? Cat got your tongue?” he teased but your gaze remained.
“Do you ever regret it?” you asked with a serious tone, and for the first time ever since Aelia was born, you had asked him that question.
Jake’s smile faded, expression shifting into a confused one. “What?”
“Getting me pregnant?” you asked.
But Jake, with an assuring gaze and fond smile spoke, “if I regret it, I wouldn’t be here with you.”
You nodded, shifting your attention on your can, you took a small sip as the atmosphere became quiet — somber you must say. It had you wondering if it was your fault.
“Did you regret it?” he asked you back, startling you.
“Getting pregnant?” you asked.
“Keeping Aelia,” Jake clarified and you quietly stared at him.
A small yet soft smile formed on your lips, “never. I would never regret keeping her.”
“That’s good,” Jake sighed. “Glad we’re on the same page then.”
“We were young and reckless, but there’s not a moment about us that I’d ever regret Jake,” you opened up.
“Us?”
Shit. Your eyes widened — you just opened Pandora’s Box. You and Jake never brought up that summer. You think it's awkward, especially when it resulted of Aelia.
But tonight felt different with the beer and your jealousy seeping — you wanted nothing but assurance from him.
“Yes, us — whatever we had, I’d never ever regret it,” you confessed and everything almost slipped from there.
Jake stared at you for a good minute. His eyes gazed darkly as he placed down his beer can. You remained calm, leaned against the counter as you held a staring contest with him.
“Do you?” you asked in the midst of the silence, watching him walk closer to you, closing the distance between the two of you — your breath hitched and your heart started beating fast.
“No.” he answered too quickly that it meant he didn’t have to think twice about it — and that thought had eased your heart.
“Good.”
The first kiss was breathless. Jake took action first, grabbing your face with much force that you basically bumped into his lips. Still, you didn’t care about it, you reciprocated it with the same energy. Arms wrapping around his neck, you pulled him close to you until you found yourself trapped against the kitchen counter.
“We — we shouldn’t do this,” you reminded him as the two of you separated, and yet your arms were still around his.
“But we want to,” Jake rebutted, and you didn’t object at all but instead, kissed him once again like you were starving for his taste, because just like what he said, both of you want this.
Your relationship with Jake was blurry. When Aelia came into your life, you two agreed to prioritize being a parent to her. Aelia was a catalyst for you two to mature quickly and be responsible young adults in a snap.
But tonight was different. Suddenly, you’re that twenty-two year old girl who flirted with the bartender in a small town. Your actions were rash and maybe you could blame the low alcoholic drink you just drank, but in your mind, you knew that you were just hungry for Jake.
Maybe it was jealousy that’s talking. It left a sour taste in your tongue seeing that girl flirt with Jake. You had that urge — to claim him yours.
Or maybe, all the years of yearning for him all broke down tonight. It was an itch that you’ve been wanting to scratch. The years of silently loving him and wondering of crossing the line — you had enough of it. You wanted Jake and now that opportunity gave you a moment to be alone with him, you jumped into it.
Jake didn’t stop, but instead he grabbed you by your waist and placed you on top of the counter. Placing himself in between your legs, he had you drowning in his lips and moans. His hands finding its way on your nightgown, cupping your breasts against the silk cloth as his long fingers flickered against your erected nipples.
“Always so gorgeous for me,” he whispered, hands attempting to yank it down when you stopped him.
“Aelia might wake up,” you told him.
He raised an eyebrow. “You just told me that she’s fast asleep.”
“That doesn’t mean she might not wake up any moment.”
“Being careful, aren’t we?” Jake teased. “Do you want me to stop or —”
“No.” You quickly replied. “I want — I need you Jake.”
Jake hummed, smiling teasingly as his hands rested on your thighs.
“You need to be more specific love.”
“I —” you gulped. “Need your cock — please, fuck me again.”
Jake didn’t answer you but instead, he kissed you once again, taking your breath away as his kisses became more aggressive, more hungrier than it was.
“You’re crazy,” he whispered to you. “Want me to fuck you here? Right here?”
“Need you so bad please,” you begged, a small whine escaping your lips. “Need your cock daddy.”
Jake cooed, “mommy’s cock hungry? Does she care if her daughter might walk into the kitchen all of the sudden?”
“Jake —” you weren’t able to finish your sentence when Jake licks a stripe on your throat, earning a gasp from you. He began leaving small kisses on your neck downwards your collarbones which left you whimpering by the soft touch.
“Come on love, your words are rules here,” he hummed against your shoulders, his smirk evident knowing that a few caress and touch from him had you melting.
“Fuck, use me Jake, I don’t care — fuck me til I can’t walk, breed me. I don’t care!” you exclaimed, earning a soft chuckle from him.
“Easy right? Mommy’s going to get what she wants, don't worry,” he kisses you once again. This time it was much softer, much delicate and careful — like he was tasting every inch of your lips, and that only swelled your heart with pride.
His hands find their way to slip inside your night gown. You could feel the warmth of his hands going upwards your stomach, caressing the stretched skin of your tummy which made him chuckle darkly against your shoulders.
“You were so beautiful carrying Aelia,” Jake said as he stared at you with longing. “Fuck — you’re so round and swell, and — I might fuck a baby in you again.”
His words sent chills to your body. You could feel your core getting warm and wet as you bite your lips in an attempt to hold any sinful sound you could emit.
“You want that? Make you a mommy again? Fuck you dumb and breed you ‘til you’re leaking with my cum?” he asked.
“I want it,” you eagerly replied, not caring about the consequences afterwards. It felt deja vu. The same question and same answer years ago. “Jake please — put a baby in me again. You’d love it. Imagine Aelia as an older sister. That would be cute right?”
Jake was stunned. He didn’t hesitate anymore and just grabbed the ends of your nightdress before shoving it up to your waist.
“You planned this didn’t you? You wore this flimsy dress just to get fucked again, right?” he taunted, hands immediately circling on the wet patch of your panties which made you shudder against his touch.
“So wet and eager, I can’t wait anymore,” he tugged your panties down, exposing your wet pussy that’s glistening with slickness. His fingers slid down on the entrance, which made you throw your head back at the sudden contact with his slender digits.
“Doing great for me love,” he whispered to you hands guiding your thighs to be spread wider. “Why don’t you help and prepare daddy for your pussy?”
With his order, your hand reached his pajama pants, his cock already printing against the soft fabric. You didn’t think twice but to tug his pants down along with his brief. Jake’s length sprang free, hard and already leaking with pre-cum. You could only gasp at the view as you spit on your palm before wrapping it around his cock.
“Good girl, so fucking good for daddy,” Jake cooed as he inserts one finger inside you. Your walls clenching against his fingers as he slides it in and out, which had you throbbing on the counter.
You stroke his cock faster — more eager and aggressive as you squeeze hard at every chance you reach his tip. Your thumb played with his slit, making him hiss at your action. Before he could react more, you tugged his shirt to pull him to another heated makeout session that intensified the tension between your bodies.
“Always so feel good for me — fuck your squeezing my fingers tight, what more if I fuck you with my dick?” he taunted. His long, slender finger played inside you, scissoring and curling your g-spot which made your legs twitch.
“Found your spot huh? Do you want to cum using my fingers mommy?” he asked as he fastened his pace.
Eagerly you nodded, “please! Want to cum on your fingers.” you begged as you continued stroking his dick harder, hoping that you’d give him the same energy as he gives to you.
“Fuck — that’s right baby, make me cum too,” Jake ordered as he could feel his body tensing with the way your hands fisted his dick. His breathing became unstable. He found himself thrusting against your fist while his right hand continued abusing your pussy.
You came first. Legs shaking and closing against his arms as an unstable whine left your lips the moment Jake finger-fucked your g-spot harshly. He didn’t stop when you told him to, but instead, he fastened his pace more, making you wince at the overwhelming pleasure.
It didn’t take him a while before Jake reached his high. He groaned against your shoulders. Almost losing his balance as your hands continued to stroke his dick, releasing the thick, warm liquid that spilled on the floor and on your hand.
Catching each other’s breath, Jake was first to remove his fingers out of your pussy, making you whimper of the sudden loss, but he merely chuckled before he grabbed the kitchen towel to wipe off the cum on both your hands.
“Want more?” he asked, and you only nodded.
Jake kisses you once again before he spreads your thighs once again, revealing your sensitive, twitching pussy from the previous orgasm. He looked at you once again and you eagerly nodded as a go signal.
Jake slides inside with ease, and yet, your walls get ripped by his girthy length. Your hands reached to get a hold on his arms as Jake peppered you with kisses to divert your attention from the pain.
“Does it hurt?” he asked, and you whined as an answer. “Well, you’re fucking tight mommy — tighter than ever, couldn’t even take daddy’s cock that well?”
“Careful please.”
Jake hushed you quietly, with a much slower pace, he started thrusting inside you, wherein the first thrust knocked the air out of your lungs.
“You’re so warm and — fuck,” Jake thrusted once again. “You birthed Aelia and still so tight — always tight for me love,”
“So — so big, daddy,” you mumbled between your moans. “Faster please, I can take it.”
Jake started to fasten his pace. A precise thrust that bumps into your spot at every movement. The kitchen was filled with nothing but the sound of bodies slapping at each other. Both of you were too immersed with the act as both groans and moans were the only thing that left each other's lips.
If it wasn’t enough, you wrapped your legs around his waist, locking him deep inside you which made him chuckle before tilting your head for a kiss. You hold him close to you, arms around his neck, playing with his hair as you respond to his kisses. Meanwhile his arms hold your waist for balance while he continues to thrust inside you.
Sex with Jake has always been like this. The obvious small details that give away that you two weren’t just lusting for each other. The kisses weren't just for pleasure and the way both of your bodies moved was not just for the sake of getting off. It was obvious that there’s more than that — unspoken feelings, wanting more than what you two have. A deeper intimacy that is scary to say outloud, hence, you both let your actions do it.
This was the first time you two crossed the line ever since Aelia was born. Something shifted and perhaps there was a trigger — a desire. A hunger to be claimed by Jake and be assured once again that you’re the only girl that he’ll have his eyes on.
Your possessiveness reeked with the way you snatched him away earlier. Jake was right, you were jealous, and of course, you were too prideful to admit it. Scared that it might scare him away.
So feeling Jake inside you. Chest to chest as both your lips raveled onto each other, assured you. It gave you hope that there’s still fire igniting between the two of you. And though you had no plans of igniting it more, all you wanted was to keep it alive.
The two of you found your rhythm. Brushing against the spot that made your toes curl, he lifted your waist wherein you weren’t sitting on the counter anymore. The new angle was much better and his dick kissed your cervix much deeper. It became more intense and raw that you couldn’t help but to arch your back out of pleasure. He kisses your bare skin, worshipping you like a goddess while you fall under his touch.
“Jake — ah! — gonna cum,” it didn’t take a while for you to feel the heat pooling inside your stomach. Your hold on his nape tightened, almost tugging his luscious hair which earned a soft groan from him.
Jake was moaning against your skin, he could feel your pussy tightening against his dick. It made him shudder under his breath. Your warm walls engulfed his cock as he continued his precise movement, not wanting for the heat to die down.
“Want to cum mommy? Cream my cock before I spill my cum on you?” he taunted before he thrusted deeper inside you.
“Jake! Jake —” you started to babble his name. Eyes shut as Jake fucked you until you were a whimpering mess, you couldn’t even answer his question, you were too cock-drunk by how he moved inside you.
“Open your eyes,” Jake ordered. “Look at me love. I want to look at you while you cum.”
With tears in your eyes, you opened your eyes. Looking at his raven-colored ones, you couldn’t help but to bite your lips as the heat in your stomach became more intense. You were holding your whimpers as you stared at Jake’s eyes and you cursed internally — he looked at you so soft and gentle, that it felt like he was making love with you instead of just a reckless sex.
“Go on mommy, cum on my cock,” Jake stated and that was your cue. Your pussy tightened and your orgasm came crashing down. You bit your lips harder to conceal the moans, scared that Aelia might wake up from the noise, while Jake started to chase after his high.
“Fuck — going to cum too,” Jake breathed. Resting his forehead on your shoulders as he fastened his thrust inside you. You were still coming down from the high but Jake wasn’t stopping. You could only do nothing but cry as Jake continued using like a fuckdoll for him.
“Fuck! Fuck!” he shouted before he released his cum inside you. Jake couldn’t help but to place you down on the counter, his breathing heavy and unheavy as he sloppily thrusted inside you, making sure that there’s not an ounce that would spill out of your pussy.
“So…warm, fuck,” you whispered against his head which made him chuckle darkly.
“So good, so good for me after all this time,” he whispered back and you didn’t say anything. The two of you sat there, catching your breath as the high slowly dissolved between the two of you.
“Mommy?” the two of you were startled when the door creaked and closed. Light footsteps against the wooden floor became loud making you push Jake out of you.
“Fix yourself!” you whisper-shouted before you jumped out of the counter. Hurriedly, you tugged down your night gown and fixed the fallen strap while Jake pulled up his pajama pants, cursing softly that his cock was still aching hard even after the act.
“Mommy?” Aelia was rubbing her eyes when she entered the kitchen. Voice droopy as she holds the brown dog plushie her Uncle Riki gave her.
“Hi baby, nightmares?” you asked casually, trying to act normal even though you could feel something dripping down your thighs.
Aelia shook her head. “Are you and dada fighting?”
Both your and Jake’s eyes widened. You let out an awkward laugh, “why — why would you think of that baby?”
“I heard shouting, and you were screaming dada’s name,” she said innocently, making you groan while Jake chuckled in amusement.
“No, no, baby, we weren’t. We were just talking, sorry we were loud, I guess we got a bit drunk and got carried away,” Jake vaguely excused. “Do you want to tug you back to bed, baby? Mommy needs a bit of air to breathe due to the drink.”
Your daughter let out a yawn instead. Too drowsy to argue, she turned her heels and left the kitchen.
The silence beat into the two of you. With the high of the act coming down, your mind washed over the fact that you two crossed the line.
“We shouldn’t have done this,” Jake started and for a moment you were quiet, before you nodded.
“Right. I guess it was the beer,” although it was such a lame excuse to blame it on a can of five-percent fruity alcohol, you two were convinced that it was just that — not because of the pent-up feelings you two had for each other.
“Let’s just forget about this,” he suggested. Tone formal and calm, acting like this was just a one-night stand for the two of you. “For Aelia.”
Right. It should’ve hurt you when he said those words. But then you remembered — you two are focused on your daughter.
“Of course,” it was the only thing you could say before nodding. “For Aelia.”
Jake nodded. Convinced as he let out a deep sigh. “I’ll tug Aelia back to sleep, I’ll return —”
“It’s okay Jake, I’ll clean myself up,” you told him. “It’s my safe day today too, don’t worry about knocking me up again.”
Although your words felt teasing from your perspective, Jake’s blank expression didn’t falter, he only gave you a nod and a simple, “alright, goodnight.” before he left the kitchen, leaving you standing there while you could still feel him inside you.
It could’ve felt more intimate for you, but now, all you could feel was how pathetic you were for him. Resorting to such brass action that might lead to another unexpected incident again.
-
Sundays are your lazy days.
Literally, lazy days. Jake lets you sleep ‘til noon (that is if Aelia doesn’t barge into your room because she wants to eat breakfast with you.) or maybe if you’re feeling productive, you’d play with Aelia or help Jake with the chores.
Today’s Sunday was different. You’re lounged casually on the couch, watching some Disney Pixar film along with Aelia — which she abandoned to color on her new coloring book. You didn’t mind at all, since you’re midway into the film
But your peace was disrupted when your phone rang all of the sudden. You knew that ringtone. It’s for emergency emergency purposes. The type of calls that you need to answer or perhaps a sign for you to pack your things and return to Seoul.
There were only five people who you placed on that ringtone; Jake, Sunghoon, your parents, and younger brother. So when you picked up the phone, you were already guessing who decided to disturb your peaceful Sunday.
“Hi dad,” you greeted. Pressing the pause on the remote control, you excused yourself and went out of the house to get a better signal.
“Where are you? I contacted Sunghoon and he said "you're out of town, what for?” he asked.
“Just somewhere, why?” you asked him back.
“You’re supposed to be here helping us, it’s mother’s eighty-fifth birthday, have you forgotten?” your father lectured, which made you groan lightly.
“Right, right, I forgot, I wasn’t —”
“Forget it, just be here, your grandma’s expecting you. Wearing something formal, this is a formal event.”
The call ended without any goodbye. Just a short order from your father which made you stand there frozen, a bitter smile forming on your lips as you stared at your phone’s lockscreen.
Usually, you’d go home after the sunset. It’s a bit late in your perspective but it didn’t matter to you if you arrived in Seoul late-night. Especially when you only have the weekend for your daughter — you wanted to make the most out of it after all.
You had no choice. You couldn’t ditch your grandmother’s birthday. All your relatives will be there and it would be suspicious if you’re absent and you’re just somewhere in South Korea.
So with an apologetic smile and sorry, you informed Jake and Aelia that you need to go home early due to an emergency. Aelia was quite fussy about it given that it was just eleven in the morning, but Jake brushed it off, knowing that these circumstances couldn’t be controlled.
You placed down your bag on the backseat before closing it. You returned to Jake and Aelia who were patiently waiting for you to bid your goodbye.
“I’ll return on Friday okay? I’m sorry that I have to leave early,” you sincerely told your daughter who did nothing but to accept your hug.
“Mommy, can me and dada visit you next time in Seoul?” Aelia asked the moment you two broke out the hug.
“Why would you want to go to Seoul sweetie?” you asked her back.
“Because that’s where you live and I want to live in your house, dada said it’s huge and tall on the top of the building,” your daughter explained, stretching the words 'huge' and 'tall' along with her raising her arms.
You gave Jake a glance but he only shrugged, “she was curious.”
“Maybe next time sweetie okay? You get to visit me instead,” you smiled, cupping her soft cheeks before giving it a soft peck.
“You promise?” she asked, raising her pinky finger which made you stare at it for a minute.
“I promise,” you swore before intertwining your pinky finger with her. You don’t even know when you’d allow her to visit you in Seoul. Maybe when the time’s right, you could show her to the world. But not right now, maybe someday — and hopefully, that when that day comes, she’d understand why.
You hugged her one last time before you glanced at Jake. He only gave you a small smile which you bitterly reciprocated with a fake one. Ignoring the small pinch in your heart after last Saturday night’s act.
You went inside your car, rolling down your car window, you looked up to Jake who had carried Aelia in his arms.
“Drive safe there, text me when you get home,” he reminded and you nodded to his words.
“Alright, I’ll be going now,” you bid. “See you next week?”
“See you.”
“Bye mommy!” Aelia shouted once again. You gave her a smile before you turned on your car’s engine.
Jake watched as your car disappeared from his sight. It always feels bitter to watch you drive away from their place. It was a constant reminder for him — your place was in Seoul, not in Seonyangdo. He knows that his hometown was your safe haven, but it will never be your home.
“Dada,” Aelia called out, tapping his cheeks which made him hum in response.
“What is it baby?” he asked, placing her down but Aelia shakes her head.
“Does mommy love me?”
Jake became quiet. He stared at Aelia whose eyes gleamed with innocence. His throat got stuck, not knowing what to say as his eyes remained at his daughter.
He didn’t expect that Aelia would question your love for her. He doesn’t understand why, but it hurts him. Jake could feel his heart shattering into pieces.
Sure, you weren’t there when she lost her first tooth, or when she won first place in a drawing competition, but you were trying — he could see it. You drive five hours every Friday just to be with Aelia. You tried to make sure that you’re attentive to her and everything she loves.
You never, ever tried for once, neglected her, so hearing those words from his daughter, he wondered what Aelia sees in you that made her ask him that.
“Why — why would you say that? Mommy loves you of course, she’s just busy, okay?” he stuttered. His hands held onto his daughter’s arms a bit tight while his eyes widened out of panic.
“She’s always away, does she not like living here? Is Seoul much prettier than here?” Aelia asked once again.
“No, of course not baby, I just —” Jake wasn’t able to say anything but instead, his lips turned into a straight line. In a minute of silence, he carried Aelia in his arms as he let out a sigh. “She’s busy working for you okay? She needs to save money so that you could have a bright future. When you grow up, you might follow in her footsteps and work in Seoul in her office, do you want that?”
Aelia’s curious expression beamed into a bright one. “I want that! I want to be like mommy when I grow up!” she excitedly said, making Jake nod.
“That’s great baby,” he spoke as he delicately placed a kiss on top of her hair. “Tell that to mommy when she visits you okay? Don’t worry sunshine, Friday will quickly approach without you knowing. Okay?”
“Okay!”
Jake smiled at his daughter, brushing her soft hair, all he could about was her question earlier. Wondering if this was now a sign for him to change some things with your setup.
-
“You look like you haven't slept for years,” Sunghoon commented the moment you entered the floor. Monday arrived and somehow, it felt heavy for you to return to your office.
“Tell me about it,” you groaned. “I need coffee right now.”
“Some hot americano or some iced mocha latte with two pumps of salted caramel syrup and extra ice?” your executive assistant asked.
“The latter, thanks,” you said without any hesitation.
“How’s your weekend by the way?” Sunghoon asked as he followed you inside your office. He sat casually at the long couch nearby while you went straight to your desk.
“It was alright, beach day during Saturday — by the way, Aelia loved your gift for her,” you started.
Sunghoon grinned, “that’s great to hear. Ordered your drink now, it’ll arrive in twenty minutes.” He glanced at you once again. “You seemed stressed for someone who just got home from Seonyangdo.”
“No — I just, we had an event last night because it’s grandma’s birthday,” you leaned against your chair. “Turns out it’s just a blind date for me in disguise.”
Sunghoon laughed. That mocking laughter of his that wants you to throw him out of the building. But you couldn't do anything as the headache throbbing on your head wasn’t helping.
“How’d it go?”
“Fucking bad — dad tried me to setup with someone in his forties! Oh my god, he was so awful too, bragging about his divorce with his wife! It sounded like he was the problem.”
“Well he was.”
“I’m just tired of them setting me up on blind dates. They’re eager y’know? They’re telling me that I’m at the appropriate age of marriage and no one would want me if I reached my thirties,” you ranted.
“Sounds like to me, that they just want you to settle in and give them grandchildren, they aren’t getting any younger either.”
You heaved out a sigh, “they brought that up too.”
Sunghoon didn’t answer. He looked at you warily as you gave him a knowing smile before you leaned on your seat, “you know it always makes me wonder if I reveal to the public Aelia.”
“Are you ready for it? The criticisms, the comments, and hate?”
But you faintly laughed, “I’ve learned to ignore those shits growing up, I think I can manage it — but Aelia and Jake, I’m still trying to protect them.”
“Do it when you’re ready then,” Sunghoon advised.
“What if I told you that I am not?”
“What’s holding you back then? Jake?”
A thin line formed on your lips. Nodding as you remember that Saturday night. The mixture of heaven and reality that happened that night. The blissful ignorance you two danced on later on Sunday — Jake was the only thing that was holding you back.
Jake was also your secret. He was the man who knocked you up. The father of your daughter. You admit that his social status and job isn’t going to be pleasing to the public’s eyes. You could’ve not care about it, but you don’t want Jake to be the target of harsh comments too.
Maybe, there’s a part of you that wants to tell the world that the three of you are a happy family — not just a co-parenting setup. It sounded selfish on your part but you knew that Aelia’s too young to understand your relationship with Jake. In her eyes, you two are together. A loving parents who loved her dearly, when that’s even far from reality.
“The situation’s still unstable,” you admitted before glancing at your best friend. “Me and Jake, I admit Sunghoon, our relationship’s still blurry and that’s holding me back.”
Sunghoon groaned after hearing your problem, “then confess?”
“I did.” you confessed and before Sunghoon could react, you got him first, “not verbally, but we — something happened to us last Saturday.”
“Oh my god,” Sunghoon complained. “You two fucked again!? Did you really confess to him or did you just miss his dick?”
“Don’t worry about it, he told me that we pretend it was nothing after cumming inside me,” you brushed off quickly. “Clearly, we’re prioritizing Aelia, so that means that we’ll have to stick to our setup.”
“That quickly!? Wow, suddenly he’s a responsible man,” your best friend sarcastically commented.
“It’s fine — it hurts, yes, but it’s fine. It was a reckless act too, so it was a good thing he snapped me out of it before I fell for him harder.”
Sunghoon whistled slowly before he stood up from his seat, “no more confessions?”
You shook your head as an answer.
“And when Jake wanted to make some changes with the setup, what then?”
You blinked to his words. Quiet as you shrugged, “I’m okay with it, he’s still Aelia’s father after all.”
“Even if it means telling the public about Aelia? And may I add — this doesn’t mean that he wanted your co-parenting setup with him?”
“We'll cross that bridge when we get there.” you stated and Sunghoon stared at you for a moment before a chuckle in disbelief escaped his lips.
“That’s what you said to me when you told me you were pregnant and I asked you what’s your plan with the baby,” Sunghoon pointed out, like it was a nostalgic thing that happened.
“Don’t worry, no more stupid decisions after this,” you convinced and Sunghoon only stared at you with an unconvinced expression before he left you alone inside your office.
-
You didn’t expect that what was only a conversation with your best friend would happen too quickly — within the same week.
It was Thursday. You were in your office sorting some documents and contracts that you needed to read before signing when a visitor came.
A knock on the door made you lift your head towards the sound. The wooden door opened, revealing Sunghoon who had a soft smile on his face.
“Someone wanted to talk to you,” he informed and before you could say another word, Jake entered your office, making you stop.
This was the first time Jake has ever visited you in Seoul. He looks rough, wearing a black leather jacket and gloves, which meant that he drove all the way from Seonyangdo to Seoul just to talk to you. Something rare for him to do so.
You felt your heart stop for a second — you’re used to calls and messages from him, even during emergencies. But this one — something about his visit to you tells you that there’s more to it.
“Where’s Aelia?” you asked as you stood up from your seat. Eyes darting behind him while your word carried with fear.
“Don’t worry, she’s in Seonyangdo, Riki and Rei’s taking care of her for the day,” Jake casually replied, which made you sigh in relief.
“That’s a bummer, I miss her,” Sunghoon butted in and Jake chuckled at Sunghoon’s comment.
“You can go visit her in Seonyangdo, you know?” Jake suggested.
“I would, if only y/n doesn’t have me working overtime,” your assistant teased, earning a glare from you.
“Anyways, can you give us a moment for a while, Hoon?” Jake asked, and your best friend gazed at you.
“It’s okay Hoon, it may be something important,” you convinced.
Sunghoon smirked, “alright lovebirds, want me to close your security camera for a while?”
“Hoon!”
Sunghoon laughed softly before he left with the door closing in a soft shut. You stared at Jake for a second before you moved once again.
“You didn’t say you’re visiting, I could’ve prepared some food for you,” you stated, going through your desk’s drawers where you keep some snacks for yourself.
“It’s okay, I don’t want to take much of your time.” he insisted, making you stop as you placed down the pack of biscuits on top of the table.
“What is it by the way?” you asked.
“Aelia’s daycare center is going to have a field trip here in Seoul next month,” Jake stated. “It’s like a whole family day trip kind of thing and at least one guardian should go.”
“You couldn’t accompany her?” you asked.
“I could, but she wants her mother to come with her,” Jake crossed his arms. “It’s going to be held here in Seoul, and you know how badly she wanted to go in Seoul just to see you.”
“What exact date?” you asked.
“On the tenth,” he answered.
You stopped immediately. That’s the same exact date for your investor’s meeting. This meeting basically summarizes your accomplishments and upcoming future projects. All of the board of executives will be there — this includes your father, mother, and other relatives. This will prove to your family that your company’s stable and earning under your leadership.
“I have an investors’ meeting at that exact date,” you glanced at Jake. “I couldn’t come, can you do it? Or maybe Riki or Rei?”
Jake stared at you for a moment. “As much as I want to, Aelia wants you to come with her.”
You looked at him confused, “why me?”
Jake laughed, “why not? You’re her mother. She wanted her mother, do you even know how many achievements and events in her life have you missed?”
“Jake, I have a life here in Seoul — you know how busy I am with my life.” you explained.
“Of course you do.”
“Jake,” you called out as you flinched at his sarcastic remark.
“You really couldn’t spare time for Aelia in this one?” he asked one more time. His tone filled with disappointment which drilled guilt into you.
“This is an important meeting Jake, my family — investors, everyone will be here,” you stated. “Even if I wanted to, I couldn’t leave the meeting for a field trip.”
Jake clicks his tongue, a more disappointed expression was written on his face. “it’s not just any field trip y/n, it’s Aelia’s first family field trip and she wants to spend it with you.”
“You don’t understand Jake.”
“I know, and I may not know how running a business works, but you need to understand that the moment you decided to keep Aelia, you should’ve known that she has to be your priority too.”
You were stunned, quiet as Jake’s lips turned thin. He walks over you. Expression serious and arms still crossed. “You had choices y/n. When you were pregnant, you had choices — get rid of it, placed it in an orphanage or something, but you chose to keep her and raise her. I respected that decision of yours and I fulfilled my duties as her father. Now, I care about my daughter and there are some things that she wanted that only her mother could fulfill.”
“I know, but not right now okay? Maybe, next time, I’ll be there —”
“Your daughter is tired of understanding. Aelia is tired of waiting. Do you even know what she told me when you left last Sunday?” he asked and before you could even speak, Jake got you first. “She asked me if you really love her. She asked me that y/n and I don’t know what to say.”
You were flabbergasted. Your heart started to shrill in pain by the thought of your daughter doubting your love for her. Unknowingly, your fist balled, nails digging on your palms as you conceal yourself from crying.
“It was an innocent question y/n, but it hurts me that she had asked that, because it meant that your love wasn’t enough for her,” Jake lets out a deep sigh. “And I’m not going to let her grow up understanding her mother who’s always away and couldn’t be there for her. I am not going to have her adjust to this setup especially when I know that you’re lacking in some ways.”
“What do you want me to do? Tell the world about us? About Aelia? Is that what you want Jake!?” you shouted, but Jake remained unfazed.
“No,” Jake firmly said. “Show up to Aelia. That’s what I want. It’s just as simple as that. I don’t care about us, but I care about my daughter who wants to spend her first field trip with her mother.”
“You’re making me choose,” you told him with an accusing tone. “You’re making me choose between Aelia and my company.”
But Jake scoffed in disbelief. “The choice is yours, just like five years ago, it was also your choice whether to keep Aelia or not. Just because you have a life here and I agreed to keep her in Seonyangdo, doesn’t mean you’d get away with being a mother to her.”
You became quiet for a moment. Heart hurt as you stared at him for a minute, tears started to leak “that’s too much Jake.”
“Truth hurts I guess? I’m just being a good father to my daughter,” he shrugged so casually that you hate him for that — and you hate yourself because what he said was true. “I swore to myself that I’ll make sure that Aelia gets to have the loving parents that she deserves, and I couldn’t do that alone, you know? She needs her mother too.”
“Just this time Jake, please,” you muttered, completely desperate. “I’ll make up to her, I promise.”
“Don’t say that to me, the choice of showing up for Aelia is yours, not mine,” Jake pointed out. “But don’t act surprised if Aelia grows distant to you.”
You weren’t able to say another word when a knock on the door interrupted you two.
“Hey, sorry for the interruption, but your meeting with Mrs. Song will start in twenty minutes,” Sunghoon informed.
With that, Jake looked at you and bitterly smiled, “I’ll be going now, don’t want to have you late on your important meetings.”
“Jake —”
“By the way, Aelia knows I was going to meet you, and she wanted to give you this,” Jake fished out a crumpled, folded paper from his jacket’s pocket and handed it to you. The paper felt heavy in your hold as you only stared at Jake, but he only gave you a smile.
“You know, she wants to be like you when she grows up.” Jake shared. “So I hope you’d think about the field trip, I’m not rushing you. You have a whole month to think about it.”
He didn’t say goodbye to you, he gave Sunghoon a small nod and quick goodbye before leaving your office.
“What — are you crying? Did he hurt you?” Sunghoon quickly asked as he entered the office.
“No, it’s nothing serious,” you quickly brushed off, sniffing the tears away as you grabbed the tissue from your box and gently wiped the tears away. “I got it Sunghoon, I just need to compose myself.”
“You sure? We can move it —”
“No, it’s fine, I know Mrs. Song doesn’t want sudden cancellations, inform them immediately, okay?”
Sunghoon didn’t say anything, he just quickly nodded as he left you alone inside your office.
As soon as you felt yourself calming, that’s when you realized that Aelia’s gift to you remained on your hands. As you opened the paper, you saw Aelia’s drawing of you and her.
She drew you and her together. Just you and her. With her scribble that says “I love you mommy!” along with a pink heart drawn by a pink crayon.
It was your final straw. The tears burst out without any warning. Your hands gripped onto the paper tightly as you continued to cry your heart out — filled with guilt, hatred, and disappointment at the thought of rejecting your own daughter’s wish.
-
Jake didn’t mean to guilt trip you.
He slumped onto the soft couch in his friend’s house. Tired from driving back and forth from Seoul to Seonyangdo, Jake felt his body weary and exhausted as he hastily removed his leather gloves.
“You’re here early,” Riki greeted, placing down the cold glass of water at the coffee table which Jake ignored. His eyes closed as he tried his best to regain his energy.
“How’s Aelia?” Jake asked.
“Watching some cartoons with Rei,” the younger male answered and Jake nodded.
“Look dude, you can crash in for tonight, we don’t mind. I mean, your house is ten minutes away, but you’re clearly exhausted and Aelia’s probably on the brink of sleeping,” it was almost nine when Jake arrived in his hometown. He didn’t even choose to eat dinner, he was just eager to go home to his daughter.
“Thanks but no thanks, I don’t want to intrude you guys,” the older male answered, making Riki chuckle.
“Since when did you guys ever intrude on us? Come on, we’re here to help and we kinda expect that you’d be arriving late night,” Riki explained. “I already changed the bedsheets in the guest room, so be my guest.”
Jake could only smile as he nodded, “thanks dude.”
“How did it go by the way?” Riki asked out of nowhere, and he was answered with a disappointed stare before he became quiet.
“That’s fucked up,” Riki commented.
“I don't know how to say it to Aelia,” Jake shared.
“Just say it, don’t make up some white lies and have her thinking that her mom could make it, it’ll hurt her that she’ll be waiting for nothing.” his friend advised.
“Better said than done,” he simply shrugged.
“Well, at least you’d be there.”
“I’m always there for her.”
Jake was tired. Tired of being there — not because he’s tired of being a father to Aelia, but because he felt like he had to make up to all your lapses.
He knew that you’re not meant to stay in Seonyangdo. You were born in Seoul. Grew up with a silver spoon on your mouth. Everything about your future was fixed and planned by your parents, and a pregnancy at a young age shouldn’t stop you from your career and future.
That’s why he agreed with your condition. Jake agreed to take care of Aelia when she was only one and you returned to Seoul to take over your parent’s company.
He remembers those sleepless nights. Aelia’s endless cries and tantrums. Jake had a hard time adjusting her to drink on baby bottles. She was always restless. He remembered the apologetic look he had whenever he drops Aelia in his parent’s house or in Riki’s place because he has to work his shift at the bar, because even though you were sustaining Aelia financially, he doesn't want to rely on your money fully.
But all his efforts paid off with good results. Jake was there when Aelia took her first steps, when her first word was “dada,” and how as day passed by, she grew up into a cheerful and bright girl who embodied the sun’s brightness.
He was happy that he was able to raise Aelia well. Jake was fine with your setup and he didn’t mind at all. But there were days that Aelia would ask about you, would search for you, and Jake was helpless — and his pure heart couldn’t bear to lie to his daughter.
As Aelia continues to grow, the more she yearns for her — a mother figure, someone she could look up to. Jake knows that Aelia had grown envious of her other classmates. He noticed it by the way Aelia would stare at her classmates who were picked by their mother, because in her class, Aelia’s the only one who gets picked up by her father.
It's the littlest things. The way Aelia may grow without any guidance by a feminine figure in her life. She was adventurous, a bit tomboyish based on his observation. Sure, Jake was great at raising her daughter into a kind and well-mannered child, but it wasn’t enough, she still needs her mother. She still needed someone she could look up to.
When Mrs. Kim announced to her class about the fieldtrip, the first thing Aelia asked was,
“Can mommy come with me?”
After asking Jake that question a few days earlier, Jake couldn’t bear in his poor heart to say no to Aelia. He has to prove to her that you love her and the only way he could do so was for you to show up.
He knows that it was dick move for him to show up to your office unannounced and corner you about Aelia’s request, but he had no choice. He was helping you too — he knows that you have a life in Seoul, but he wanted to remind you that you also have a daughter who’s waiting for you in Seonyangdo.
“Dada!” Jake hugged Aelia as soon as they made contact. Lifting her and swinging her lightly before planting a kiss on her cheek.
“Hi sunshine, did you behave well here?” he asked.
“She had some cookies that Mrs. Ryu dropped off earlier, so I guess she’s a bit hyper tonight,” Jake turned to Rei who answered for her instead. “Hopefully it’ll wear off before bed time.”
“Dada, will mommy come?” Aelia asked which made Jake shift his attention to her.
Oh right. That one.
“Aelia, listen,” Jake started before placing his daughter down. “She’s not going to come.”
His daughter’s forehead creased, “Why?”
“Because mommy needs to talk with some important people,” Jake explained carefully as he stared at Aelia who’s sinking in his words. “She’s very busy that day, that’s why dada will come with you okay?”
“But dada, you’re busy that day too,” Aelia pointed out and Jake softly chuckled.
“Yeah, but I’d drop it off for you.”
“Why can’t mommy come? We’ll be in Seoul, she’s in Seoul,” Aelia rebutted and Jake swore internally because why does his daughter have to be this smart.
“Aelia, she’s busy, she’ll make up to you next time —”
“No! I want mommy!” the kid shouted, surprising Jake.
Aelia rarely threw tantrums. Sure she fusses about things a lot but it never reached this far.
“Aelia,” Jake firmly scolded. “Stop being so stubborn.”
“No! I want my mommy! Mommy!” she shouted.
“Aelia!” Jake authoritatively shouted and yet, Aelia wasn’t fazed by his father’s voice.
“I hate you! I hate you and mommy!”
Jake was frozen. Eyes wide as he couldn’t sinked into his mind that Aelia just said those words. He wasn’t able to do anything when Aelia struggled out of his hold and ran towards Rei’s bedroom. Ignoring the two other adults inside the house and slamming the door shut.
“I’d take care of it,” the older girl volunteered, leaving a sulking Jake in the living room. He returned to the couch, slumping down as he brushed his hair out of frustration.
“I can’t believe it.”
“It’s alright,” Riki assured, arms patting Jake. “She also has to learn that she won’t be able to get what she wants all the time.”
“I can’t believe she said those words to me.” Jake breathed.
“She didn’t mean it. She’s a kid, I’m pretty sure she’s just sad that her mommy couldn’t go.” Jake knew that, and yet, it still hurt him that Aelia said those words to him. He couldn’t even wonder where she learned to say those words.
“This is all my fault.” Jake groaned.
“No. This isn’t yours. You did your part and there’s nothing she can do about it.”
“I — I shouldn’t have tried harder. Convince her —”
“Jake hyung, just forget about her. Clearly, she’s not going to choose Aelia over her career, because if she did, she’d say yes without any hesitations,” Riki pointed out.
“I have a month, Riki,” Jake rebutted. “I gave her a month to think about it.”
“You think you’d change her mind within a month?”
“I hope so,” Jake said in defeat before glancing at his friend. “I hope so, Riki. This is about Aelia after all.”
-
The view from your office never fails to amaze you.
It was ten in the evening. The whole building was empty — saved from yourself who just finished an international call with an investor.
Now, you stood in front of the glass wall of your building. You could see the whole business district of Seoul — the sky towers, high-rise penthouses, and busy streets. You stared at it for a whole good minute, deeply pondering about your life.
Aelia’s drawing lay inside your desk’s drawer, reminding yourself that you need to buy a frame for it tomorrow. The call with Mrs. Song went through and safe to say, everything was settled and cleared at each other’s party.
Despite the relief in your shoulders wearing off, you admitted that your mind was afloat throughout the rest of the day. Up until now, you’re still afloat. The view in front of you has turned blurry as your focus is departing somewhere.
“Thought I’d find you here,” you were startled by a masculine voice. Turning around, you see your best friend who’s wearing his workout clothes. The bottle in his hands indicated that he just finished his routine.
While you’re still in your office attire, tired, stressed, and hungry. You gave him a small smile before you returned your stare at the view. Sunghoon walks up to you, standing beside you as he imitates your action, he crosses his arms as he looks at the view in front of him. Just like you, Sunghoon was always in awe with the view from the floor.
“She’s not taking it well,” you shared, making him glance at you. Sunghoon didn’t say a word when you showed him the message Jake sent to you.
Jake: She wasn’t happy with the news. You still have a month though, I hope you’d change your mind.
9:36 PM
“What’s your verdict then?” he asked.
“I — just this once can I be a bad mother?” you asked with a defeated tone. “I know she’s my responsibility. I know that Sunghoon! But, not all the time, I’d be there for her — and it could happen with Jake, not all the time, he’d be there for her.”
“Just because you missed one thing doesn't equate you to being a bad mother,” Sunghoon pointed out. “But the thing is, Jake’s been with her ever since she gained consciousness of herself, but you, you’re still not that present in her life y/n.”
“I know.” you admitted, and that thought deeply hurt you.
“So you’re choosing the meeting?”
Biting your lips, you nodded while Sunghoon didn’t say a word. He knows that it’s hard on your part too, that’s why he didn’t comment furthermore.
“I’m doing this for her after all,” you whispered. “Just like what my parents did for me, just like every parent in this world would do for their children.”
“Sacrifices, I guess, are meant to be made,” he commented.
“I don’t like it too, but I have to,” you stated. “Does that make me a bad parent?”
Sunghoon glanced at you. “You’re doing this for Aelia, I’m pretty sure she’d understand it someday — just like what you were with your parents.”
“I always hated this company,” you confessed. “I didn’t even like that I have to inherit our family business, but slowly, I grew to love it. I've come to realize that I was lucky that my parents were able to provide me with stability.”
“Even if they’re emotionally distant with you?” he asked and you could only bitterly laugh.
“I guess parents love in different ways.” you shrugged and the two of you shared a few laughter.
“Hey, you’re different from your parents okay?” Sunghoon assured, tapping your arms as he gave you a gentle smile. “You’re not like them. You don’t have to love Aelia the same way they loved you.”
You stared at him before a bitter smile escaped your lips. “Thank you.”
“Just make up to her after this meeting,” Sunghoon advised. “She’s only four, you have all the time in this world you know? It’s not like it’s the end of the world if you didn’t show up once.”
“But Jake —”
“Jake was just trying to guilt trip you,” your best friend assured. “And I get his part because Aelia’s still his daughter, but he’s acting like you’re leaving Aelia for good. While you missy, are guilty about it because you’re also thinking about disappointing Jake too.”
You chuckled in disbelief. “You caught me.”
“Don’t be so bothered by it, he’d understand, the same way he understands that you have to leave Seonyangdo to take over the company, he loves you.”
“Now you’re exaggerating.”
“Admit it, you wanted to hear those words too,” Sunghoon teased and you only smacked his shoulders out of frustration.
“Thank you,” you breathed. A deep sigh escaped your lips, knowing that you’re assured and seen by someone who knew what you went through. “Seriously, thank you Hoon.”
“I’m always your ride or die no matter what.” Sunghoon smiled, making you smile back at him. The two of you fall under silence as you shift your attention towards the view again.
“Are you nervous for the meeting?” he asked out of nowhere.
“Not at all.” you commented and he only laughed.
“Of course, you aren’t.”
-
Weeks passed and the investor’s meeting was fast approaching. Between the last minute reports and coffee fuels, the day finally had arrived.
You weren’t nervous per se, but you couldn’t help but to think about Aelia. It’s ten in the morning. They’re probably on their way to Seoul now. Your guilt still lingers, especially whenever you visit Aelia, she would always ask you to accompany her to her field trip.
And between the white lies and “I’ll think about it okay?” you’d notice how every visit, she doesn’t bring it up anymore. She probably had given up, and the way Jake looks at you disappointingly added more to your guilt.
You tried to encourage yourself. Convincing that you’re doing this for Aelia — this is just one day, and after this, you’d make sure to make up to her. Probably let her stay over in Seoul for a week. That would be nice, or perhaps, an overseas vacation. Anything, just for her to be happy again.
“They’re here,” Sunghoon announced.
You only gave him a nod, giving him a signal to escort the other investors towards the conference room, while you stood up to escort your family personally.
“Hi dad, hi mom,” you greeted them with a formal hug which they reciprocated.
“You look tense,” your mother warmly said. “You’ve been doing this for years, you shouldn’t be worrying about this anymore.”
You gave her a small smile, “I always get nervous whenever you guys are around.”
“Don’t let us down then,” your father commented. Your genuine smile disappeared as you nodded to his words.
“Of course I won’t,” it was the only thing you could say.
They didn’t comment furthermore, both your parents went straight towards the conference room. That’s when you noticed your younger brother trailing them, making you grab him by his arms.
“What are you doing here?” you asked, surprised.
But he only gave you a bitter smile — so much for a fourteen year old. “To learn, they said. It’s better to know these things at an early age.”
Looking at him felt like deja vu. You remembered the first time your parents brought you to a meeting, you were twelve and barely aware of the business world. You doze off midway the meeting and were given a scornful lecture on the way home, leaving you crying inside your room.
It shouldn’t surprise you that they’re also training your younger brother to join the company. You could only loosen your hold on him.
“They got you too, huh?” you joked and your younger brother only laughed at your comment.
The two of you entered the conference room together. He found his seat at the corner, while you went in front wherein Sunghoon was busy arranging the presentation on a laptop.
“You’re ready?” he asked, and you only nod at his words.
With a smile on your lips. Voice loud and clear, you were able to steal everyone’s attention inside the room. Chin up, straight body, and with a confident tone, you started your presentation.
You were not nervous deep inside. You were confident at every report you explained. Detail by detail, you answer every question from the board without even stuttering. Your smile becomes wider and confidence boosting up as you continue your talk.
The investors were impressed, but your parents — they haven’t said anything, and though it bothered you, you didn’t let it falter your momentum. You continued with your report. Accomplishments, goals, and surveys were shown, your company has improved and its net worth has doubled than last year.
Midway, your parents started asking questions. The type that should have you stuttering, but you didn’t. You managed to compete with it. You had always known that your parents will always be your biggest critic until the day you died. They prepared you for this, and you’re going to show them that you didn’t fail not only as the CEO of the company, but also as their daughter.
Then came the comments. The critics that were useless, unrelated to your reports. The backhanded compliments that will have the whole room laugh while you stood there in silence because you’re used to this. They do this to weaken you, to lower your self-esteem because if you can't handle it, then how will you survive the real world?
But today felt different. The words were heavier and something inside you was churning. You felt sick as your parents continued spewing jokes about how you couldn’t actually lead the company because you’re a female. They even complemented Sunghoon who was put into a more awkward situation.
You burst. A sharp “Please be quiet.” slipped out of your lips. It wasn’t loud, but it commanded the whole room.
Everyone fell into a deep silence, with a heavy tension brewing as you stood there with your eyes remained on your parents. “Please be quiet if you have nothing good to say.”
“Y/n? What is this?” your mother’s eyebrow raised, you could see the disappointment on her face as your eyes remained on her.
“I am not going to stand here and listen to every back-handed and snobbish comment you throw about my leadership when I have done nothing but to keep it stable and running after you handed it to me,” you told them before a chuckle in disbelief escaped your lips. “You think I couldn’t do it? You shouldn’t have given it to me then. You could’ve just given it to your youngest child because it seems like you’re also preparing him to enter this company.”
Your parents were taken back. Surprised to hear you talk back to them. Your younger brother looked at you with confusion. The tension became more heavy as your expression became cold and sharp.
“I am not going to spend the rest of my day being belittled by my own family when —” your lips trembled, your breath stopped as you looked at them with anger. “When I should be spending this day with my daughter instead.”
A gasp — suddenly, there’s commotion inside the room. Your parents’ jaw dropped but you remained there, calm and easy.
“y/n? What is the meaning of this?”
You stared at your father, “my daughter is in Seoul right now, she’s on this family field trip and I didn’t show up because I chose this company over her! And now I am regretting my decision especially when you couldn’t even see all my efforts and hard work for this company! Three years and I’ve done everything to keep this company stable and reputable when it was on the edge of bankruptcy when you handed it to me.”
“You’re so ungrateful!” your mother shouted, making you glance at her, eyes prickled with tears as the years of their absence had finally gotten into you. “We poured all our hard work just so you could have a bright future! We shouldn’t have given this company to you!”
“Like you have another choice,” you sarcastically remarked. “I saved this company and yet, it’s not enough for the two of you — and I am saying this as your daughter, not as the chief executive officer of this company, but you two will never ever be satisfied with everything I do and I had enough of it.”
“Are you telling us that you’re quitting!?” your father angrily pointed his fingers at you.
But you only chuckled at his words, “no. This is my company. I am just not going to let any of you control my life and leadership here.”
You threw down the papers on the table. Letting it scatter as your parents stood there appalled by your action. You gave them a smile before you glanced at Sunghoon who only nodded as an assurance.
“I’ve done my part in this meeting. I won’t be entertaining questions anymore, especially stupid ones,” you stated. “Now if you excuse me, I am late for my daughter’s field trip. My executive assistant will continue from here on, since you like him better than me anyway.”
“Don’t you dare walk out of this room y/n,” your father ordered as you walked your way towards the glass door of the conference room. “The moment you stepped out of this room, you’d be completely out of this company.”
You looked at him, dead in the eye as you heaved out a sigh, “after giving it to me, you’re going to throw me away suddenly? I guess you never treat me as your daughter at all. Thanks for enlightening me with that one.”
“Don’t you ever talk to your father like that!” your mother shouted. “After everything we’ve done, this is how you're going to repay us? A child? Is this why you stayed in that cheap town years ago!?”
“Yes,” you answered. “And believe me, for the past three years I managed to balance being a mother to her and running this company, something you two couldn’t do to the two of us.”
You left the room. The place fell under a commotion. Your parents were filled with rage and disappointment as their heads ached, your other relatives started gossiping about your secret daughter, while the rest of the investors were left confused by the sudden scene.
Sunghoon cleared his throat loudly, looking at everyone who turned their attention towards him, he only smiled as he stared at the paper that you left for him, “now let’s settle down please, we still have a few documents to report, shall we?”
-
Aelia’s huge gasp was all Jake could hear as she looked through the telescope inside the Namsan Tower.
He watched her daughter with a smile on his face as Aelia tries to lift the device but it doesn't even budge.
“What do you want to see, sunshine?” he asked.
“Mommy’s house,” Aelia answered. “Maybe I could see it from here!”
Jake, although felt bitter at the mention of you, only laughed. “Seoul is pretty big sunshine, you couldn’t find mommy’s place here.”
“Is it far?”
Jake wasn’t sure either. “I guess, I’m not familiar with Seoul yet.”
That’s when Aelia removed herself from the telescope, glancing at Jake with a pouted expression. “I wish mommy’s here.”
Jake brushes her hair, with a bitter smile, he softly said, “next time okay? She’d be with you.”
The day drifted in bliss. Wandering Seoul was a bit tiring but Jake was still amazed by the city nevertheless. After lunch, they found themselves by Love Padlock where Aelia was curious about the written messages on each lock. Reading it out loud as Jake trailed behind her.
“Jae…jaeyun! Dada, is this yours?” Aelia pointed out a small yellow lock in the middle of the thousands.
“Maybe, maybe not,” Jake teasingly replied. “Unless it has mommy’s name on it too, then it’s not mine.”
Aelia creased her forehead before she glanced back, “it’s not mommy’s name! Dada you’re a cheater!”
Jake laughed, “me? Cheating? I would not.”
“Then why is mommy’s name not written there?” Aelia stomped her feet out of anger. Her pout widened and her arms crossed. Jake swears he just wants to hug his daughter because of her cuteness.
“It may be someone else, sunshine, you know that there’s a thousand Jaeyun’s out there,” Jake explained.
“Then prove it!” Aelia shouted.
“What?”
“You have to put a lock there for you and mommy!”
Jake only stared at Aelia, holding his laughter at his daughter’s silly antics.
“She’s right.” but his heart stopped for a second when he heard a familiar voice. “You should put a lock here.”
“Mommy!”
Jake was frozen when he watched as Aelia passed by him. He could only turn around as he saw you in front of Aelia — hugging her tight as you were holding a pair of locks. You were still in your office clothes — a black slacks paired with a designer blouse in a neutral shade. Your smile was wide as you squeezed your daughter tight, while your soft hands rubbed her back.
“I’m sorry I was late, mommy’s really, really sorry,” you apologized to Aelia once you broke out from the hug. You smiled as you cupped her cheeks dearly. “But don’t worry now, okay? Mommy’s here now, we’ll enjoy the rest of the field trip right?”
Aelia squealed in joy as she hugged you once again before planting a loud kiss on your cheeks, “you’re the best mommy! I love you!”
“I love you too, Aely,” you whispered to her.
Jake was still appalled as you approached him. Hands holding Aelia tightly as you gave him a small smile.
“You’re here.” It was the only thing he could say, but you could see in his face that he was washed over with relief.
“Sorry I was late,” you apologetically told him.
“No — it’s okay, your meeting?”
“Sunghoon got it covered,” you shrugged. “And I may or may not have told them that I am going to my daughter’s field trip.”
His eyes widened. “What!? How —”
“Let’s talk about it later Jake,” you assured before giving him the lock. “How about you fulfill Aelia’s wish first?”
Jake reluctantly accepted the lock. He stared at you for a second before he moved. Finding a spot where he can write on the orange lock, and returning a few minutes later. Your names were written with his messy handwriting but Aelia was excited to find a spot for it and had it locked along with the thousand others.
“Mommy can you keep it?” Aelia asked, handing you the key which you accepted without a beat.
“Of course baby, then we’ll return here after a few years, what do you think?” you suggested.
“I want that mommy!” she excitedly answered, jumping out of joy as she tugged your hand. “Mommy, I want to go there!”
You only laughed as you let your daughter pull you to wherever she wants. “Alright, slow down Aely, we have the whole afternoon for this.”
The three of you had moved to the nearby park. With Aelia walking first, you and Jake trailed behind her, quiet yet the seeping tension between the two of you were starting to leak. Jake was wary, while your eyes were focused on Aelia who’s following a trail path, careful to not step onto the grass.
“Some are staring,” Jake opened up and you only hummed.
It shouldn’t surprise you. In broad daylight, you’re walking beside Jake — an unknown man in your life while following a four year old who’s the splitting image of you. It was a brewing scandal for your image, but you only smiled as you continued your walk.
“I don’t care,” you shrugged. “Unless you're conscious by the stare, we can leave this place for your safety.”
“Don’t worry about it, I got it covered okay?” you assured. “But for now, let’s just let Aelia enjoy her field trip."
The weight on Jake’s shoulder loosened. He only gave you a nod as you smiled back at him.
The afternoon was filled with nothing but warm happiness. The two of you let Aelia wander around the place. Her curiosity beamed in that she kept on running around. It did stress Jake especially in crowded places, but you only laughed at him as you tagged along to your daughter’s adventures.
The three of you met with the rest of the class at a nearby spot where the daycare center’s teacher, Mrs. Kim, held a small picnic for her class. There were parents and familiar faces there too, you only greeted them with a smile and had small talk before you returned to the bench where Jake and Aelia were waiting.
“How did you even find us?” Jake asked as he held the half-bitten sandwich.
“I asked Mrs. Kim about your location,” you confessed. “Do you know how huge this place is? I was looking for almost fifteen minutes before I found you two!”
Jake only laughed, “thank you, for showing up.”
“I was late though.”
“Still, you show up,” Jake justified. “She’s been talking about you the whole trip.”
You gasped, leaning against your daughter who only squealed at your action, “did you baby? Oh! Mommy’s so, so happy to hear that.”
“We tried looking for your house mommy!” your daughter shared.
“Really? It’s a bit far from here, you know,” you answered, making her gasp in excitement.
“Can we go? Dada, can we please go to mommy’s house?” Aelia pleaded, looking at Jake with her sad eyes and pout making her father freeze.
“I — I don’t know baby, we have to return to Seonyangdo after this —”
“Actually,” you laughed at his words. “I already asked Mrs. Kim, if you two could stay here in Seoul.”
Jake’s eyes widened along with Aelia’s gasp, “really mommy!?”
“Wait, y/n, we don’t want to intrude —”
“Jake, I live alone, don’t worry,” you assured. “You’re not intruding on me, you two are my family.”
Jake wasn’t able to say anything. He only nodded and returned to his snacks. He seemed flustered by the thought and you only stared at him with soft laughter escaping your lips before you returned to your snacks.
The whole afternoon felt tiring for you, stressful at first especially when you walked out of the conference room — but you’ve made up your mind. You knew the consequences and you were confident that you won’t be removed from your position.
Sunghoon’s message from you a few minutes later was a confirmation that your position will remain, removing the relief from your shoulders before you sent him your thanks for saving your life there. You closed your phone and let the fresh breeze of the afternoon ease your mind.
It didn’t take a minute for you to feel Aelia’s head bumping against your arms, you looked to her side and her eyes were half-closed.
“She’s on the verge of sleeping,” you laughed as Jake stood up from his seat and carried his daughter in his arms.
“She’s tired now, we should get going now,” Jake suggested while he rubbed Aelia’s back.
“I’ll inform Mrs. Kim about it, just wait there alright?” Jake nodded at you before you went towards the teacher and informed her that the three of you will be leaving now.
“I’m really glad that you arrived for Aelia,” the old lady smiled. “I know how busy your job is, but I am really happy that you’re here. Aelia looks up to you a lot.”
Her words warmed your heart. You could only give Mrs. Kim a hug as gratitude for her words. Breaking from the hug, the old lady glanced at Jake who’s standing cluelessly as he swayed his body to comfort his sleeping daughter.
“You’re lucky with Jaeyunnie too,” Mrs. Kim stated. “Keep him, alright?”
You only chuckled at her words, “of course. There’s no way I’m gonna let him go.”
You bid goodbye to her before you returned to Jake with a smile on your lips.
“We’re good to go,” you told him.
“Alright,” he smiled at you. “Let’s go home.”
You stopped for a second. Heart beating fast as Jake’s smile felt warm against the golden afternoon.
Right. Home.
It made you smile, “of course, let’s go home, Jake.”
-
The door of your penthouse floor swung open. Revealing a huge living room that felt like the size of Jake’s whole house.
“Woah, it’s huge!” Aelia excitedly shouted as she ran towards the couch, standing there and jumping in joy. Seeing her all hyper once again after napping on the drive home only made you laugh as you walked inside while Jake closed the door.
“Aelia! Get down there,” Jake shouted as soon as he noticed his daughter was still jumping on the couch.
“It’s okay Jake,” you said as you dropped off your shoes on the racks. “Feel at home.”
Jake watched as you approached Aelia, sitting beside her who immediately sat down with you.
“This is so pretty! And huge!” Aelia exclaimed.
“You like it here?” you asked, and your daughter eagerly nodded.
“Yup! I want to live here!” she excitedly replied.
“Do you want to see the view outside?” you asked before grabbing her into your arms and carrying her towards the huge windows of your penthouse.
Aelia’s eyes widened. A soft gasp escaped her lips as she pressed her hands on the window. Gazing at the golden afternoon of Seoul city. Skyscrapers and buildings stood tall against the busy city as the whole sky was painted in pink and orange skies.
You didn’t even notice that Jake had stood beside you. He stared at the view outside. Unsure and somehow, small even though it was mesmerizing for him. Jake knew couldn’t compete. This is the place you grew up with. This was your view for years of living here in Seoul — far from the small house he rents in his hometown.
Jake wondered, what could he even bring into your life?
“Dada, can we live here?” Aelia excitedly asked Jake who snapped out of his thoughts.
“I — actually, if y/n want to,” he insisted and you only stared at him before a smile formed on your lips.
“Aelia, could you go sit on the couch for a while? Mommy wants to talk to Dada first,” you told your daughter as you placed her down on the floor.
“Is it important?” she asked innocently and you only brushed her hair.
“Yup, it’s important and for adults only, now, be a good girl and go sit on the couch please?” you answered.
“Okay.” Aelia answered before going back towards the couch. You watched her for a second before you turned your attention towards Jake.
“I’m sorry,” Jake blurted out first, catching you off-guard. He looked at you embarrassed as he darted his stare at the window.
“Look, I know how important your career and company is, and I didn’t mean to ruin your meeting and future. Now that I think of it, it was stupid of me to guilt trip you into attending Aelia’s field trip, but at the same time — how could I not do it? I did it for her too.” Jake explained before a deep sigh escaped his lips.
“Jake, don't apologize,” you assured. Hands grabbing his, you lightly squeezed it which made him look at you. “I’m the one who should say sorry. You’re right, I should’ve been more of a mother to Aelia. I should’ve known better when I chose to keep her.”
Jake nodded. An assuring smile forms on his lips as he squeezes your hands back.
“The truth is, I kept her because of you,” you confessed, and immediately, Jake’s eyes widened out of shock. “I kept her because she has a part of you and I don’t want whatever we had that summer to just be a passing time for me.”
“It may be indecisive and too rash for us. I wasn’t expecting you to take responsibility for her but I was still glad that you did,” then, you laughed bitterly. “You’re even a greater parent to her than me, and I thought that our setup was fine and alright. I mean, I sustain her and visit her weekly but when we had that talk, I realized that what I am doing isn't enough.”
He didn’t say anything. Jake let you explain everything, watch as the soft smile on your face turned bitter.
“I guess I thought it was okay because that’s just how I was raised, my parents weren’t that present when I was a kid either, so I thought it was okay, because I convinced myself that they’re doing it because they love me,” your lips trembled as your hand started to become cold. “But I knew that I could show my love to Aelia differently, and I want to make it right. So, thank you Jake for knocking some senses on me.”
His forehead creased. “What are you trying to say?”
“I’m going to tell the public about our relationship,” you admitted. “I don’t want to hide it anymore, I don’t want any weekly visits and poor attempts at becoming a mother. I wanted to be there for Aelia — that is, if you want it too.”
“You’re okay with that?” he asked you back.
You nodded. “I don’t want Aelia to think that I am ashamed of her — of us, I want to give her a bright future too, and if I could, I should be more present in her life, you know?”
“But your company, your image —”
“What? You think I couldn’t multitask? They aren’t going to kick me out of my position just because of it,” you laughed. “My parents were already mad at me, but I was planning to cut them off since I’m tired of them controlling me.”
But Jake’s face remained soft and scared, “you’re okay with it? I have nothing to give you. They’d think you’re reckless, having a baby with a town boy, it doesn’t sound good —”
“He is a great father to my daughter, that’s what matters,” you whispered. “And I love that town boy, I couldn’t see myself with anyone other than him.”
Jake wasn’t able to say anything. His lips turned into a thin line as he looked at you who only gave him an assuring smile.
That was his signal. He lets go of your hand and reaches out for you, who instinctively melted into his touch.
“You don’t know how long I’ve waited for you to say that,” Jake confessed, thumb caressing your cheeks. “From the moment we had Aelia — us, when we were raising her peacefully in Seonyangdo, I wanted that. A family, but I don’t want to trap you, so I stayed in a corner, contented with us.”
“You did it for me?” you asked, appalled.
“I was scared — and I don’t want to dwell on my insecurities, but — why me? You could do much better.” he told you.
“Because you’re you, there’s no other explanation other than that Jake.” you stated with a smile on your face, your words were light and genuine that something inside Jake’s neverending insecurities was eased. “I just know, from the moment I first saw you, I don’t want anyone else other than you.”
He stared at you, eyes almost watery as a deep sharp of exhale escaped his lips — almost a sigh of relief, the only thing he could do was to pull you closer to him. Jake had trapped you in his arms, warm and tender as he pressed a deep kiss on top of your head.
“I love you,” he confessed. “I love you so much and we’ll make this family work, alright? Us and Aelia, I’ll make sure that we’d be a happy family.”
“Thank you too Jake,” you answered. “I love you too, I’m sorry, if I made you wait for too long. You don’t know how much I wanted to tell you how much you mean to me. I was just scared of ruining what we have.”
“I understand don’t worry, but I’m here now, I will always be here,” he then breaks out of the hug and faces you. “If things go wrong, I’ll be here, I won’t leave your side, and — there’s always a place for you in Seonyangdo.”
“It’ll always be my safe haven.” you told him.
“It could be your home too.”
Right. Because your home is where Jake and Aelia are. Whether in Seoul or Seonyangdo, as long as you’re with them, you’re home.
A teary smile was all you could do before you nodded eagerly. “Of course — I love that, I would love that Jake.”
“Don’t cry now, pretty,” he chuckled. “We’d be okay, right? Should we go tell Aelia about this?”
You nodded at his words. Jake gave you a quick kiss on your temples before he guided you towards Aelia who’s actually watching the two of you.
“Why is mommy crying?” your daughter asked, making you burst into tears further.
“Those are just happy tears baby, okay?” Jake assured before he pulled her close to him. “Listen Aelia, mommy and I discussed something very important, and we would like to hear your thoughts.”
“Are we going to get a puppy?” she asked innocently.
“Depends on your answer,” Jake laughed. “But, mommy wanted Aelia and Dada to move here in Seoul with her. That means we get to live together forever. What do you say sunshine?”
Aelia’s eyes widened. Her mouth went agape before she jumped in joy. “Yes! I would love that! Can I sleep here tonight?”
“Of course baby, but are you sure? We’re going to live here forever now,” you clarified, making her stop, eyes wide.
“Here? Forever? What about Uncle Riki and Auntie Rei? And my friends! And grandpops and mama? Wouldn’t I be seeing them anymore?” she asked.
“We could still visit Seonyangdo Aelia. It’s just, we’ll move here so that we can see mommy everyday, not during weekends anymore. If that’s okay with you, alright?” Jake explained further and your confused daughter thought about it deeper.
“Can I sleep with mommy if we move here?” she asked, and you only chuckled.
“Sure baby, we can share the bed, and dada will take the couch,” you teased.
“Hey!” Jake called out.
You only laughed at his defeated face along with your daughter. That’s why it surprised you that before you could even move, Jake had his arms wrapped around you already, lifting you in his arms which made you yelp out of fear while Aelia’s squeal and laughter echoed inside the whole place.
“I can’t wait for what the future awaits for us,” Jake confessed as he looked at you dearly. His arms around your waist while you place yours on his shoulders.
“So do I,” you softly confessed. “And I’m glad that it’ll be you Jake.”
Jake could only smile before he leaned close for a kiss. You quickly reciprocated it but it was cut short when Aelia made a fake gagging sound.
“Ew! No kissing in front of me!” she shouted, crossing her arms like a diva.
Jake laughed before he removed his arms from you, “how about a hug instead?”
Aelia ran towards the two of you. Jake had carried her in his arms, warm as Aelia wrapped her arms around Jake’s neck before she leaned on his shoulders. Meanwhile Jake pulled you close to them, his free hand around your waist as you hugged him along with Aelia. Planting a kiss on your daughter’s back before leaning on it. Jake’s hold on you tightened making you sigh in relief.
“I’m so happy,” Aelia mumbled, making you and Jake glance at each other.
“We’re happy too baby,” you told her.
“And we’ll make sure that you’ll be happy forever, alright?” Jake assured before looking at you once again.
You only gave him a smile as you answered, “of course.”
Letting the tranquility take over, you felt yourself relaxed at the warmth of the two of them. There were no more fears and what-ifs. Your future with Jake and Aelia is now stable. And as you look at the bright orange sunset of Seoul city, the only thing you could think of was the upcoming days with your lover and your daughter, whom you loved dearly.
A frosty first encounter encounter in the paddock before the Miami GP has Jay swearing to himself that he'd never give you—rich, pretty, and just about everything that the people pleasers in Formula 1 had seemed to care about now—any of his attention ever again, given the way you managed to light his nerves on fire in the five minutes you'd been there.
But his ego runs deeper than he thinks, and when he runs into you once more—this time high off of winning the Formula 1 race, and standing at the top of his world—at a street race by the shoreline, it's hard to resist the challenge you throw his way.
The race ends in your win, and while the loss may have stung him a bit, it's your simple little condition for winning that infuriates him the most: he goes on a date with you. A date by itself isn't the problem, but the fact that you're the one woman he's sworn to be forever off-limits is.
But a win is a win, and Jay's more than happy to play this little round of cat-and-mouse between the two of you—and as one date turns into two, two to three, three to four till he no longer keeps a count anymore—as he patiently waits for the day that he can finally sink his fangs into you and declare himself the winner.
Except, now you're getting on his nerves in a way much different than before, but Jay has no intention of stopping anytime soon, not when he's in this deep and with his arm wrapped around your waist as he smiles for the press.
It's for the love of the game, after all.
pairing: f1 driver!jay x street racer!f!reader
genre: e2l, romance, f1 au
word count: fic wc TBA, teaser wc: 1640
warning(s): will be tagged accordingly as per the fic when it's posted
asher's annotations: 8.5k into only the intro for this fic... damn me and my inability to write anything below 3k, but ANYWAYS. i present to you jay's proper fic debut on user sjynlvr's blog, which is.... drumrolls mildly toxic e2l with f1 driver!jay and a f!reader who's sort of based off of suki from 2 fast 2 furious (2003), along with a few tweaks here and there, hehe 😝 fair warning, i say sort of, because the inspo is definitely suki, but i didn't want y/n to feel like a copy of her, so if you want a full suki!reader, you're in the wrong place, darling 🤷🏻♀️ i will probably be working more on this faster than usual bc i'm kinda pissed off from the recent developments in actual f1 regarding my drivers.... so have this please while i try to get back to a low cortisol state....
this fic is based off of this post of mine.
ANYWAYS (again) taglist for this fic is now open! please leave a comment/send an ask if you would like to be tagged when it comes out <3
It had been a fucking tenth of a second.
It had been the last turn of the “track,” one that curved sharply around a record store and into the free stretch of road along the coastline. The tracks at F1 circuits are made of a special kind of material, made to withstand the high temperatures from the tyres and cars racing over them—but ordinary roads are not.
The asphalt slips and slides at such temperatures, even if only a little bit—and it makes all the difference in the way a driver determines a braking strategy. Jay, clearly not having had accounted entirely for the possibility, made the slightest miscalculation about his braking time and distance at that particular corner.
And that miscalculation was all you needed to keep your lead over him.
He'd crossed the finish line just after you. And he knows he should be proud of himself, because he had a whole new car—this one not as graceful as a car in the Formula races would be—that he went headfirst into racing with, having zero prep and practice with it.
He should be proud of himself because he still came in at P2 to the crowd's rambunctious screams, echoing in his ears just as loud as the cheers at the Miami International Autodrome had.
But, fuck, all he feels is dread and more dread, as the realisation of what he'd just done came to a halt into the street of his thoughts, just as the Eclipse does in the middle of the crowd.
Not only had he just lost to you of all people, to pour salt over the already festering wound, he'd also put his career into jeopardy. All because he couldn't fucking keep his annoyance to himself. He exhales softly, leaning back into the seat and watches the familiar way you celebrate with the crowd. Clearly, this wasn't your first rodeo, and probably not your last, either—but he's pretty sure he might as well kiss goodbye to his dreams of being a World Champion and racing to his heart's content.
He lets his hands stay rigidly on the steering wheel at a ten-and-two, his knuckles white and the leather under his fingers warm from the death grip he'd had on it the entire time. Closing his eyes, he lets himself get another agonising five seconds alone, before he pulls the door open and steps out.
People scream louder the moment his feet touch the asphalt again, and he resists the urge to cover his ears. Shutting the door behind him, Jay makes his way over to where you're standing next to Marcus, who's holding up a thick stack of notes and grinning wide. “P2, man. Zero prep and practice,” he pats Jay's shoulder, braces glinting under the low lights of the street lamps. “You sure you've never done this before?”
“I'm sure I'd know if I've done this before.” Jay gives him a silent nod, and winces internally as he catches sight of you and your godforsaken smirk again. “So,” you drawl lazily, crossing your arms over your chest as you lean against the door of your car. “P1 goes to P2. Pretty good for a rookie like you, I'd say.”
Jay's jaw flexes at the backhanded compliment, and he fights the urge to snap back. Stop, he pinches his arm discreetly, you've already done enough damage, Jay. Don't let her get to you. “Congratulations,” he says, giving you a small nod of his head. “You… drove well. First is still first.”
He notices the way your posture straightens, and the way you narrow your eyes at him as your energy shifts subtly. He doesn't look back at you again, his gaze roaming over the crowd and the way their all holding up their phones to film and cheer, as Marcus leads the charge enthusiastically.
Yeah, he's pretty sure he's fucked.
He sighs, rolling his shoulders as he takes in the atmosphere once again—neon lights, a titillated crowd that can be both his redemption and death, and the sound of the sea water crashing the shore—because if this is his last race, he might as well enjoy it properly.
When he meets your eyes again, he's surprised to see that your expression is completely blank. There's no trace of that condescending smirk or the sardonic roll of your eyes that only seemed to be directed at him. Instead, what he finds is quiet recognition, before it too disappears with the pass of the wind, and you're grinning devilishly once more.
Jay watches you make your way over to him, and subtly shifts his stance to stand parallel to the car, eyes following every movement you make with quiet, burning intensity. “Say, Park,” you purr, coming to a stop right in front of him. There's a look on your face that he recognises as pure trouble as you twirl a lock of your hair around your finger, and his brain screams for him to get away. Yet, as if drawn to the asphalt by the earth's gravity, his feet remain firm in their place, and you finally lean in, erasing the last of the distance between the two of you.
“Couldn't help but notice that you're in a bit of trouble,” you glance towards the phones that are still filming, before your eyes come back to rest on him again. “A bit of an unfortunate occurrence, I must say.” Jay swallows the lump firmly sitting lodged in his throat with great difficulty, and shoves his hands into his pockets to hide the way they tremble just the slightest—whether from anger or anxiety, he's not sure now—because the way you're looking at him makes him feel like revealing even the smallest vulnerability will have you pouncing on it.
“I'm aware,” he glances down at you, shuffling to stand straighter. “I suppose there's nothing much that I can do about it.” He watches you study him for a bit longer, before you tap your fingers against the glass of the Eclipse's windows. “You're surprisingly accepting of a lot of things,” you quip, and he barely stops himself from rolling his eyes at the answer. “I'd rather accept the obvious facts and move on, rather than to stay back and argue for a fight I know I'd lose. One step back doesn't mean it shuts the door. It could also be the path to another one too.”
“Surprisingly philosophical too,” the amused lilt to your voice is hard to miss, but your grin grows wider as you lean in close enough that he can smell your perfume again. “But what if I told you…. that I could fix your little ah, issue, here?”
He raises a brow at that, before his gaze narrows in distrust. In this corner of the world, nothing came for free. Especially if it came from someone who was born into wealth and had just about everything she could ever want. He knows he should be careful, but hell, if the thought isn't tempting. He's always been one to adapt to new environments quickly—and in the brief time he's spent here, he's understood that you've got at least some amount of sway amongst the crowd and crew here.
So he bites the bullet, and goes for it. “What's your condition?” Your eyes light up, and a slow smile spreads on your face again—and he catches that there's hints of relief mixed with the predatory nature of it—but he ignores it in favour of staring you down again.
“Go out on a date with me.”
Jay blinks as the words register in his mind. “What?”
You roll your eyes, tapping your foot impatiently against the ground. “I know you heard me right the first time, Park.”
You're absolutely correct—he did hear you right the first time, but the proposition itself seemed so… ridiculous to him, that he couldn't believe it and doubted his own ears about what he'd heard.
But one look at you, and he understood you were serious about it. A winner was the one who set the conditions, and he knew that better than anyone else. Tonight, you'd won fair and square against him, and this was the condition you'd set for him. Although, if he were to be honest with himself, he did enjoy the race. Sure, it was illegal and he's absolutely wrong for liking it, but it was the same thrill and adrenaline that he felt as he does when he's driving his Red Bull.
And fuck, if it means he could continue to race, he'd uncap the bottle and drink the poison himself.
“Ah, seriously. If you don't want to, just say it, you asshole—” You're just about to turn away from him, when Jay’s arm snakes around your waist and pulls you close to his body.
The wide-eyed look you have is enough to have satisfaction settling back into his bones, and this time, it's Jay's turn to smirk devilishly, the warmth of his skin unmistakable against your own, as he leans in to whisper into your ear while the crowd screams louder at the sight of the two of you.
“Tell me when and where, and I'll show up, sweetheart.”
Then he's letting go of you with a wink, and you stare at him, flabbergasted, before bursting out into loud laughter, clutching your stomach. Jay grins, leaning back against the car, much more relaxed now.
Yeah, he's sure of it all. The chalice of poison rests in his hands, and he knows that he'll be the one drinking it in the end anyway, but he's pretty sure he can stall the inevitable for a bit longer, if—no, for when—he flips some tiles to his own advantage.
SUMMARY: after ferrari’s golden boy crashes in order to save his teammate, he is stuck at the hospital with burns all over his body. between long shifts and the hospital’s desolation, he brings a light in your life that is hard to forget once he’s free to go home.
WARNINGS: feat enhypen RIKI and JAKE. hospital settings, medical terms, mentions of car crashes, blood, burns, mentions of death (brief description, not detailed), mentions of abusive parent, medical conditions, lmk if more. NOT PROOFREAD.
a/n: i believe this could’ve turned out better but i wanted to publish my babies (i’ve been writing them since this summer) so please lmk your thought and opinions!! 🩷🫶 RIKI’S SEQUEL IS OUT!!
The emergency room had seen chaos before, but tonight felt heavier.
It started with sirens, loud and insistent, even through the thick hospital walls, and a nurse rushing in with wide eyes and a shaking tablet.
“Two criticals inbound, Formula one accident. One with full-body burns and head trauma, the other with a compound leg fracture and suspected internal bleeding.”
You didn’t look up until the gurneys were rolled in. The automatic doors swung open with a hiss, letting in two stretchers, wheeled fast.
The first man on the left stretcher wasn’t moving, blood was matting the dark fringe of his hair, and his face was pale under the running crimson.
His racing suit, at least, what remained of it, was slit down the middle already, soaked through.
The other one was conscious, barely. He was moaning low, his gloved hand clutching at his stomach.
His helmet was off, but there were burn marks curling along the side of his jaw, climbing his neck like vines. His left eye was bloodshot, and blood was crusting near his temple.
Someone called names, the trauma doctor barking orders, nurses scattering.
"Male, in his twenties, suspected third-degree burns, signs of cranial impact, get a scan, now!”
You walked beside them, flipping through the patient file as quickly as it populated.
Blood type, height, weight, nothing else yet. No names. Just codenames and a tag: F1 INCIDENT – NIGHT PRACTICE RUN.
The burn patient was rushed straight into the burn unit. The younger one too, the boy, he looked like a boy, no older than nineteen, with a mess of internal damage. You heard the word “rupture.” Someone else said “splintered bone.”
The moment the doors shut behind the burning team, you exhaled and leaned against the wall.
“Oh my God.” One of the nurses beside you whispered. “That’s Lee Heeseung and Nishimura Riki… holy shit.”
You blinked. “Who?”
The girl stared at you like you had three heads. “Heeseung? He’s like… a living legend in F1. He won Monaco last year blind in one eye… you seriously don’t know?”
You shrugged. “Not really my thing.”
She shook her head. “Well, it’l be now.”
And in fact, two hours later, you were re-assigned.
“Y/N, you’ll be in the burning unit monitoring, in a private suite.” The charge nurse handed you a clipboard. “VIP patient.”
You glanced down at the name, written in capital letters: LEE HEESEUNG
The report was horrifying, with skin grafts that started on both arms and his left shoulder, smoke inhalation damage that would be treated by manually removing it with a tube in the lung.
Followed by a nasty concussion with swelling that had the neurosurgeon double-checking his pupils every ten minutes, and last but not least a multiple rib fractures from the crash impact.
He’d been put in a medically induced coma for the first few hours, and the sedation wouldn’t wear off until sometime tomorrow. You’d be there to monitor vitals, manage the IV, prep for re-evaluation.
His room was on the east wing, he kind of suite reserved for politicians or royalty.
You slipped inside quietly. Heeseung looked worse now that everything was cleaned up.
The bandages made it more real, he gauze that circled half his head, the IVs in both arms, the oxygen line.
You adjusted the chart at the foot of his bed, but there was a whisper of movement behind you that distracted you.
The man that stepped in wasn’t that tall, with tousled hair and hoodie slung half-off his shoulder. There was dried blood on his jeans.
“Are you the nurse assigned to Heeseung?”
You nodded. “Just got here, are you family? Visiting hours are over.”
“I’m the— uh, manager. My name’s Sim Jake.” He extended his hand, but it trembled, so he dropped it. “Sorry, I— fuck, I can’t think. Is he stable?”
You nodded slowly. “He made it through all the check ups without surgery. He’s sedated, but stable. We’ll have to monitor him for the next 24 hours very closely, especially with the head injury.”
Jake exhaled so hard his shoulders dropped. “And Riki?” he asked quietly.
“From what I heard, he’s still in surgery.”
He pressed his palms together, his eyes were red-rimmed, like he’d been crying or lacked sleeping “They said it was gonna be a regular night, y’know? pre-race laps. Heeseung didn’t even wanna go.”
You stayed quiet. You’d seen people talk to cope, and you learned how to let them.
Jake stared at the bed, at Heeseung’s unconscious body, and then sat down heavily in the corner chair.
“There was a malfunction,” he said slowly. “In Riki’s brakes, his car didn’t slow down on the fourth turn. It’s a corner he usually takes at normal speed, but he went full throttle tonight, he really wanted to impress everyone.” he swallowed, “he didn’t know. Couldn’t have, there was no control. He was headed straight for the barricade, and spectators were there… families with kids.”
You frowned slightly, brows pulling.
“Heeseung… he saw it. He was in front Riki but he saw what was about to happen, he heard it from the communications radio,” he sighed “so he— he pulled out of line, he s werved into his path.”
Jake’s voice cracked. “He used his own car to stop Riki’s, took the hit full-on, it exploded on fire on impact.”
Your throat felt tight. You glanced at Heeseung again, this time a little different.
“He sacrificed himself,” Jake said, hands fisting in his lap. “To stop Riki from plowing into the stands.”
You didn’t know what to say. You didn’t know how anyone could choose that kind of pain on purpose.
“He’s gonna live, right?” Jake asked, suddenly boyish. Less like a manager and more like a friend.
You nodded slowly, gaze still on the man lying in the bed. “We’ll do everything we can.”
🏁.
He slipped in and out of consciousness through the long stretch of the night, a haze of morphine clouding over his expression every time he stirred.
Most of it was just moaning, incoherent words under his breath, sometimes Riki’s name.
other times it was just soft whimpers, sharp exhales that caught against his bandaged ribs.
Once, around 3:40 AM, he jolted awake with a short cry and tried to move. His hands jerked upward instinctively, maybe to protect himself… maybe reaching for a steering wheel.
You had to catch his wrist gently and murmur softly until he settled again. “It’s okay,” you whispered, thumb brushing over his knuckles. “You’re safe, you’re not in the car anymore.”
His eyes fluttered beneath bruised lids, and for a second, he stared right through you.
His lips parted, dry and cracked. You held a straw to them and helped him sip water, watched him wince even from that tiny effort, and then he was gone again.
Back into the warmth of sedation, head rolling softly to one side. Morphine dripped slow into his IV. You monitored the levels and checked the rate. You replaced the saline bag when it was almost empty and you didn’t leave the room even when your shift technically ended.
By morning, you were back at your post before the sun had even fully risen.
You weren’t due for another hour, but you couldn't stay home knowing he might wake again confused, aching and… alone.
But when you entered the room, he was already awake. Well, barely, but it was something.
The soft hum of the monitor greeted you first. His vitals were holding steady, but the real sign was the way his eyes, still a bit unfocused, and a little raw, tracked you as you stepped in.
You set your clipboard down quietly and met his gaze. “Hey,” you said softly.
He blinked slowly, then frowned. “Fuck,” he rasped, “I’m not dead?”
His voice was hoarse, painful to hear, but you managed a small smile. “Not yet, sorry.”
A weak huff pushed from his chest, maybe a laugh, or maybe a cough, you couldn’t tell. He shifted, then immediately grimaced, body locking stiff.
“It’ll hurt,” you warned, reaching out to adjust his pillow. “Your ribs are still healing.”
“No shit,” he groaned, swallowing hard. “Why… why can’t I feel my neck? and my chest and arms feel—“ another cough “numb.”
You hesitate, then walked to the bedside. His eyes were clearer now, but clouded with the edge of something worse than fear. The dread of what he didn’t know yet.
“You have third-degree burns on your neck and parts of your chest and arms. The reason you can’t feel them is… because the nerves are gone.” You tried to explain it as easily as possible.
His eyes flicked downward toward his shoulder, then to the heavy gauze wrapping his forearm. He didn’t move, just stared. “Am I—” His voice caught. “How bad does it look?”
You exhaled. “Bad,” you said honestly. “But they did a clean graft. You’ll get function back, most likely. The nerve endings yes… maybe not sensation in some areas. But it’s early, the burn team will know more after the swelling goes down.”
He closed his eyes for a second, jaw clenching.
Silence stretched. Then, his throat worked, voice more broken than before. “Riki?”
You nodded slowly, folding your arms. “He’s alive, though still unconscious. He had internal bleeding, and a compound fracture in his left leg. He’s in post-op recovery now, but he’s stable.”
His entire face tightened, like the weight of it had finally dropped onto his chest. His fingers clenched weakly around the edge of the sheet, and he looked away, toward the window where the morning light was just beginning to creep in through the blinds.
“Good,” he said quietly. “Good. He— he’s just a kid.”
You sat down in the chair beside him, scribbled a note on the chart, and glanced over.
“He’s lucky,” you said softly. “that you were there.”
He didn’t answer.
You knew Jake was still outside. He’d arrived early again, eyes red, pacing the hallway like a ghost. You’d seen him hovering through the glass window earlier, glancing in, debating whether or not to come in.
Now, as Heeseung winced and shifted slightly, you knew he wouldn’t want to deal with him yet.
“You’ve got someone outside,” you said after a pause. “Jake, right? Your manager.”
Heeseung closed his eyes.
“I don’t have the energy for him right now,” he muttered. “He’s just gonna yell.”
“Then he can wait.” you stood, heading toward the door. “You need rest, not a lecture.”
You stepped out quietly and met Jake’s eyes. He stood up instantly. “Is he awake? Can I—?”
“He’s not in the mood to talk,” you said, keeping your voice low but firm. “He’s in pain, and he’s processing. Maybe come back tomorrow?”
Jake’s face fell, but he nodded, rubbing his hand over his mouth, murmured something that resembled a ‘thank you’ before stepping away.
When you returned to the room, Heeseung was still awake, eyes half-closed, the tension in his shoulders loosened by a fraction. “You want me to turn the lights down a bit?”
“Yeah,” he mumbled. “My eyes hurt.”
You moved to the wall, dimmed them until the room was cast in soft amber.
And when you returned to your seat, he glanced over, lips cracked, voice barely above a whisper. “…What’s your name?”
“Y/N.” you replied “I’ll be your nurse for the time you stay here.”
He blinked. “You’re the one who was here last night.”
“Yeah,” you said softly. “You tried to punch me when I held your hand.”
His brows creased. “Did I?”
“You missed.” You shrugged and a ghost of a smile touched his mouth, the first one real enough to settle.
🏁.
When you pushed the door open after your lunch break, it was with the quiet intent of checking Heeseung’s vitals, maybe adjusting his IV line again.
You expected him to still be in pain, perhaps trying to sleep it off. You did not expect what you found.
Three nurses, all hovering around his bed like moths to a dying flame.
One was adjusting his blanket even though it was already neatly draped, another was holding a spoon of soup like it was some kind of sacred ritual, and the last one— oh, she was massaging lotion onto the one patch of unburned skin on his hand with a focus that was frankly excessive.
Heeseung looked… tired. Not just physically, but emotionally drained, like he wasn’t sure what to do with the attention.
His eyes met yours almost instantly as you stepped in, and something like relief washed over his features.
You didn’t smile. “Out,” you just said, sharp but calm.
All three of them froze, as if you’d pulled the fire alarm. One nurse looked like she might argue, but you raised your brow just slightly, and she faltered.
“But we were just—”
“I’m sure you were,” you cut her off smoothly. “He’s under recovery care, not an autograph booth.”
The room grew ten degrees colder.
They scurried out with muttered apologies, not meeting your gaze. One of them left behind the bowl of half-stirred soup and a chocolate pudding cup on the tray.
Heeseung watched you settle the tray on the adjustable table and pull it close to him.
“So,” you said, lifting the spoon from the bowl, “how many fangirls have snuck in while I was gone?”
He grimaced slightly. “Only them, I tjink… one kept calling me ‘hero.’ I tried to play dead but they didn’t leave.”
You smirked faintly, scooping up a small portion of the lukewarm soup “Didn’t your mom ever teach you not to fake injuries for attention?”
He gave a weak chuckle. “Pretty sure I didn’t have to fake anything.”
You lifted the spoon to his lips, watching as he took the soup carefully, his lips parting just slightly, eyes grimacing a little at the taste. His neck muscles twitched, probably from strain, and he exhaled hard after swallowing.
“Jesus,” he muttered. “Is that soup or dishwater?”
“Hospital cuisine,” you said solemnly. “Five-star micheline.”
He took another spoonful, slowly, wincing just from the movement of his jaw.
He still looked rough, his color wasn’t good, skin pale and slightly ashy from the burn meds. His arms were stiff at his sides, bandaged still, and you could tell the hunger was there, but the effort… not so much.
You opened the pudding cup next, gave it a little stir with the plastic spoon. He looked at it like it was the most edible thing he’d seen in weeks.
“Oh thank god,” he said. “I’ve never been so excited for fake chocolate in my life.”
“Open up,” you said, and he did, the sweetness seeming to go down easier than the soup. He sighed, eyes fluttering closed for a moment.
“I thought I’d feel better today,” he murmured. “But I still feel like shit.”
“You’re not even forty-eight hours post the accident yet,” you reminded him. “Your body’s still trying to decide if it wants to forgive you.”
He shifted then, just a little, then a little more. “Careful—”
“I wanna sit up more,” he mumbled, already pressing one arm against the bed, trying to push himself.
You leaned in, firm but calm. “Heeseung, stop.”
“I can’t just lie here—”
“You literally must.”
His eyes flashed with stubbornness, but then he grimaced hard, pain tightening his mouth.
You reached out instinctively, palm flat on his shoulder, not the burned one, holding him still.
“Don’t be stupid,” you said quietly. “Your ribs are still cracked, you won’t win against gravity.”
His jaw clenched. “I hate this.”
“I know.”
He looked away, toward the window. The light outside was gentler now, filtered through the clouds.
His face was drawn, and you could see it in the way he held himself, he wasn’t just sore, he was frustrated
The kind of man who didn’t like stillness. Who probably measured his self-worth by his speed.
“You’re scheduled to remove some of the smoke still in your lungs,” you told him, “It will not be pleasant.”
“Great,” he said sarcastically, “On a scale from one to ten?”
You thought about if for a minute, “I’ve never done it, but I will not lie that I think it will be a solid eight.”
You adjusted the pillow behind his back carefully, angling the bed up a little more for him. He didn’t resist this time, just watched your hands.
“You’re not useless just because you’re healing,” you said, mentioning the previous conversation. “You saved someone. That’s not something your body gets over in a day.”
Heeseung was quiet for a long moment, the sound of the heart monitoring a steady pulse beside you.
“…he’s still not awake, right?” he asked softly.
You nodded. “Still out, but stable.”
He didn’t respond to that. Just stared out at the window again, jaw working.
You finished cleaning up the tray, wiping the corner of his mouth where a little pudding had smeared.
Your fingers brushed along his chin lightly, and for a second, his eyes dropped to your hand.
When you pulled back, he exhaled slowly.
“Thanks,” he said, voice lower now.
You didn’t smile, but your voice was soft. “Stop trying to get up, and I’ll bring you something that actually tastes like food tomorrow.”
He tilted his head slightly, as if considering, then gave a small nod.
“No fangirls,” you added, pointing an accusing finger towards him.
He smiled, just barely. “Only you then?”
You rolled your eyes and stood.
“Don’t push it.”
🏁.
Days blurred together like a long breath you couldn’t quite finish taking.
Outside, the world carried on, traffic, sunrises, clouds rolling over the hospital’s concrete edges, but inside that room, things moved slower.
Jake came every day now, just after lunch, always bringing a different set of sports magazines or articles printed off from the web.
Heeseung barely read them, but he listened when Jake talked about regular things, probably as not to overwhelm him with the fact that races continued wven as he laid on a hospital bed.
A video someone posted of Riki doing stupid tricks in a go-kart. They didn’t say much about the boy himself, not with him still in the ICU, but you could feel the tension crackle in Jake every time he left, like walking out of that room meant abandoning someone else who couldn’t speak for himself yet.
You didn’t press him, and yoou didn’t ask questions.
You were too busy with your own routine.
You came into Heeseung’s room just before the evening shift change.
The light outside had gone pale blue, casting long shadows across the tile floor.
You rolled in a small cart with the supplies, like bandages, ointments, saline and gauze. He was already sitting up a little, watching you.
His face still bore the bruises of the accident, but the swelling had gone down, and his eyes tracked your every movement now, sharp and clear.
“You get a new uniform?” he asked, voice less raspy than before but still colored with something teasing.
You raised an eyebrow. “It’s the same one you bled on two days ago. We just wash them sometimes.”
“Hot,” he murmured, then hissed softly as he tried to adjust his shoulder.
“Don't be cute,” you muttered. “It’s wound cleaning day.”
You started with his head. The bandage there had to be changed slowly, carefully, because the skin underneath was still raw and sensitive.
You gloved up, peeled back the old gauze from his temple, then gently dabbed at the edges of the injury with a saline-soaked pad.
He winced, but didn’t complain. Not like he had the first time. “You’re quieter than usual,” he said.
“You want me to make small talk while I pull the rest of your scabbed flesh off?” You raised a brow at him. He let out a breathy laugh and closed his eyes. “Yeah, I wouldn’t mind the distraction.”
You wrapped the fresh bandage around his head, secure but loose enough not to give him a headache.
Then you moved to his chest. He shifted again, the sheets falling to his lap as you pulled the gown down and exposed the burns that still ran like brutal red streaks from just below his collarbone down to the edge of his ribs, spreading across his right shoulder and part of his upper arm. Some had darkened and some peeled.
But all of it looked painful.
You dipped a gloved finger into the ointment and began carefully applying it over the healing areas.
You didn’t flinch at the way the flesh had hardened in some parts, blistered in others. You’d seen worse.
“You okay?” you asked softly.
“Yeah,” he said through his teeth. “Feels like acid.”
“It’s just medicine.”
“I know, but I like being dramatic.”
You gave a short laugh, smoothing the ointment into the side of his neck, then placed new gauze over it, pressing down gently to secure it.
“I don’t know how you do this every day,” he said after a while “I mean, taking care of people like this…. like me. It can’t be the easiest job.”
You shrugged, taping down the last piece. “I’ve had harder patients.”
“Oh yeah?”
“Yeah. There was this guy once who thought flirting through third-degree burns was charming.” you teased.
He chuckled, and you moved to his arms next, slowly peeling back the old dressings.
His skin twitched under the fresh air, his fingers curling instinctively. You worked in silence for a while, glancing up only when you noticed him watching you.
“What?” you asked.
He tilted his head a little. “Nothing, you just never talk about yourself.”
You finished smoothing a patch of ointment along his bicep before answering. “There’s not much to say.”
“Bullshit. You’re in here every day, making sure I don’t die of infection or morphine withdrawal. You clean me, feed me, fight off the occasional fangirl. You’ve gotta have more going on than this.”
You paused. Then looked up at him… you didn’t really have an entertaining life outside the hospital, so you opted for something safe. “I’m also assigned to another patient.”
He blinked. “Yeah?”
You nodded, wrapping his arm now. “A kid about nine years old. He came in with a collapsed lung.”
Heeseung stilled slightly. “Accident?”
“No.” you gulped. “His father beat the shit out of him.”
Something in his face twisted then, slow and ugly. You continued softly. “He’s doing better now. Still needs the oxygen support, but he’s laughing again. Oh, and he loves dinosaurs.”
Heeseung’s voice was low. “Do people like that guy, his father, just get to walk around free?”
“It’s… complicated.” You said, your hands working focused. “He’s on the loose, police are searching for him.”
“Fuck.” He exhaled sharply, then looked away. “I thought I had it bad.”
You finished dressing the last of his wounds, peeling off your gloves with a soft snap and tossing them into the bin.
“You did,” you said quietly. “Pain doesn’t need to compete.”
He looked at you again then, for a long time. You weren’t sure what was in his eyes exactly. Respect, maybe sadness. Something softer, too.
“Thanks,” he said.
You gave him a faint smile, then reached for the blanket again, pulling it over his legs gently. “Don’t move too much tonight.”
“No promises.” Heeseung shrugged.
“I’ll sedate you if I have to.” you threatened.
He smirked. “Wouldn’t be the worst thing you’ve done to me.”
You rolled your eyes, gathered your supplies, and started toward the door. Before you stepped out, you glanced back.
He was still looking at you. Not like a patient looking at a nurse.
Like a man trying to understand someone he suddenly realized he didn’t know at all.
🏁.
Riki woke up the following week.
The update came in quietly, just after sunrise, passed from the ICU nurse on duty to your floor with that same hushed relief you’d felt pressing at the back of your ribs since the accident.
He was conscious, but weak. He was. fading in and out of sleep, but breathing on his own, and whispering broken sentences when someone leaned in close enough to hear.
You didn’t rush to tell Heeseung.
You waited until you finished your morning rounds, changed his bandages, fed him half of his usual breakfast. He didn’t complain today. Not once, and that alone told you his mind was elsewhere.
It wasn’t until you were refilling his IV fluids that you finally told him.
“Riki’s awake,” you said simply, not looking up as you slid the fresh saline bag onto the pole.
The stillness in the room shifted sharply.
Heeseung’s voice was instant, a little breathless. “When?”
“This morning.” You turned to him. “He’s in the trauma unit now. They transferred him just after stabilizing.”
He didn’t say anything for a second. His hands flexed slightly at his sides. “Can I see him?”
You hesitated. “You’re not exactly in any shape to—”
“I can sit,” he cut in quickly. “If I sit in a wheelchair, I can do it. I swear I won’t move. Just— five minutes. Please.”.
He was still so pale. The bruising around his eye had darkened into a dull ochre. The bandages on his neck peeked out from under his gown. His arm was trembling just from lifting the glass of water earlier.
He wasn’t ready. But you also knew he’d never feel ready, and something told you he wouldn’t rest until he saw Riki for himself.
You sighed, pulling your gloves off. “Alright, but you don’t lift a finger. You move wrong and I’ll have you sedated for real this time.”
He smiled weakly. “God, that’s hot.”
You shot him a flat look. “Try me.”
You brought the chair around slowly. He watched every motion as you locked the brakes, looped the IV pole onto the hooks, and adjusted the footrest to keep his legs steady. Then came the hard part.
“Okay,” you said gently, moving to his side. “You’re gonna need to lean forward on three. I’ll brace your back. Use your left arm if you can. The right’s still healing.”
He nodded once, already concentrating “One… two.. three.”
He grunted as he moved, your arm slipping under his to guide his weight forward. It took everything in him not to scream, you could tell.
His ribs were like cracked glass, one wrong shift and he’d shatter. But he bit it back, his jaw clenched, and let you ease him into the wheelchair slowly.
Once he was seated, you adjusted his gown to keep the bandages covered, re-checked the IV tube to make sure it wasn’t pulled, and only when everything was steady did you release a breath.
“You good?” you asked.
He nodded slowly. “Yeah.. fuck. I feel like a grandpa.”
The trauma unit wasn’t far, but you still took it slow. Every bump in the linoleum seemed to jolt through his bones.
You moved carefully, guiding the chair down the hallway, keeping your hand on the bar, and checking on him every few seconds. He didn’t talk, he just stared straight ahead.
When you reached Riki’s room, you paused at the door. “You sure?” you asked.
Heeseung nodded quietly and so you opened the door slowly.
The lights were dimmed inside, soft beeping of monitors the only sound.
Riki was lying still, propped slightly against the incline of the bed. His skin was a mess of bruises, purple and green splotches painting across his arms and cheek. A heavy cast swallowed most of his left leg, raised and elevated on a cushion.
There were faint stitches near his collarbone, and you saw the tremble of his chest with every breath.
But his eyes were open and conscious, staring at the white ceiling.
When he saw Heeseung, something in his expression cracked. His mouth moved first, like he wasn’t sure what to say. “Heeseung…”
Heeseung tried to lean forward but flinched instantly. You stepped in and pressed lightly on his shoulder.
“Careful,” you murmured.
“I thought you were dead,” Riki said, voice hoarse and small.
Heeseung swallowed, eyes shining faintly. “So did I.”
Riki blinked rapidly. “They said you— why the fuck did you stop in front of me like that? That’s not…” He trailed off, voice thick. “That’s not how this is supposed to go.”
Heeseung stared at him for a long moment. “You were headed for the barricade.”
“You should’ve just let me crash.” Riki snapped.
Heeseung’s voice was low, steady. “No, i really shouldn’t have.”
The silence between them settled like a weight. You didn’t speak, nor did you move. You saw how Heeseung’s hands gripped the armrests, how Riki tried to blink away the water in his eyes.
“You look like shit,” Riki finally said, a faint smile twitching at his lips.
Heeseung gave a tired breath of a laugh. “Yeah. So do you.”
You looked between the two of them. “I’ll give you a few minutes… just don’t make him laugh too hard. His ribs won’t survive it.”
🏁.
Two more weeks passed, and the days started blending again, though in a different rhythm now.
Rehab was slower, less frantic than the ER, but harder in other ways.
You watched Heeseung try to curl his fingers around a towel for ten full minutes one morning, sweat beading along his brow while the physical therapist kept encouraging him softly, and he just clenched his jaw and tried again and again, even when the pain clawed up from his shoulder into his teeth.
The nerves in his right arm were slow to wake. Some hadn’t at all.
But he worked through it, every day. There were setbacks and ghost pains and frustration.
A dozen nights when he asked you to help him sleep with medications because the sensation of nothing in his arm felt worse than agony.
You tried your best to support him, to give him the strength he was missing.
He could get a game of cards with you each time he managed to complete an exercise, and though he struggled to hold the cards in hands, he looked forward to it.
He always did, but one day you didn’t arrive at the time you usually did.
You always checked in after the rehab sessions. Always adjusted the pillows, changed his IV port, sometimes brought him sickeningly sweet tea even though it wasn’t officially allowed.
That afternoon, he returned from physical therapy looking exhausted and stiff, arm strapped carefully in the sling again.
You would be waiting for him, and even if he felt tired, he was excited to tell you about his progress.
But when he got in there were no cards and no you.
He was half-dozing when the door finally opened, with but the footsteps weren’t yours. The nurse on duty came in to check his meds, and as she adjusted his meds she told him you were coming but were just running late.
She went away, and when the door opened again some time later, it was you.
You came in fast, too fast and your steps uneven. Your scrubs were wrinkled, your hair pulled back hastily.
You didn’t even glance at him, just went straight to the counter and dropped your bag like your hands didn’t know what to do with anything.
“Hey,” he said, quietly.
“Hey.” You replied hurriedly.
He tried to push himself up further in bed, and that simple movement sent a spasm through his ribs. He hissed but kept watching you.
Your hands were shaking as you reached for the gloves. You put them on hastily and put some morphine drops in his IV line.
Or tried to, because the needle kept missing. You tried again and again.
“Hey.” He murmured, brows furrowing. “Are you okay?”
“Of course,” you gulped, voice shaky, “Why wouldn’t I be?”
But he didn’t buy your lie, so he said more firmly, “Y/N.”
You stopped moving and dropped your hands on the medicine counter. “I lost him.”
The words came out too sharp and too sudden. You hadn’t meant to say them like that. You hadn’t even known what you meant to say until they tore out of your mouth.
He blinked slowly. trying to piece the words together. “The kid?”
You turned slowly toward him, your eyes wide and glassy, and you laughed, a short and broken sound. It caught in your throat. You clutched the edge of the t counter like it could hold you up.
“I— I did everything. Everything I was supposed to. He was smiling yesterday… and… and he even asked me to draw dinosaurs on his oxygen mask. I told him I would after he ate his dinner.”
He didn’t speak, he let you rant, because he knew you needed not to be strong for once. You needed a shoulder to cry on.
You stepped forward, then dropped to your knees before you even realized it. The medical equipment fell from your hands.
“He started coughing and he didn’t stop,” you whispered, voice already breaking. “His lung… it filled with blood. He couldn’t breathe and we couldn’t intubate fast enough. He choked in front of us. In front of me.”
Your hands pressed to your face. “I tried… I tried so fucking hard—”
Your sobs ripped out of you, loud and uncontained, ugly sobs that rocked your body. Heeseung reached out before his body could protest. “Come here.”
“No,” you gasped. “I can’t— I’m not supposed to—”
“Come here.” He repeated firmly.
You crawled toward the bed on your knees, hands shaking too much to reach for anything.
He managed to lower his good arm toward you, fingers trembling as they brushed against your shoulder.
You pressed your face to the side of the bed, arms folded awkwardly under you, and sobbed into the blanket.
He winced, but he kept his hand there on your back. His thumb moved in slow, unsteady circles, his voice hoarse as he whispered, “You did everything you could.”
“I didn’t save him.” You snapped.
“Sometimes… sometimes you can’t.” He tried to reason. “I promised I’d come see him tomorrow.” You whispered brokenly.
Heeseung’s breath hitched, and he closed his eyes like he could carry the weight of that grief for you.
“I keep seeing his face,” you whispered. “He looked so scared.”
“I know that feeling,” he murmured. “I know, I see the fire every night.”
Your fingers curled into the blanket. He moved his hand and brushed your hair back behind your ear. The gentlest touch he could manage.
“You made him forget the horrors he went through,” he said softly. “You were there. That matters more than anything.”
You couldn’t stop crying, couldn’t even pretend to be the composed nurse anymore.
You weren’t her right now. You were just you, kneeling on the floor beside a patient who had become more than just a chart.
You stayed there, head buried into the side of the bed, tears soaking through the sheet, while Heeseung lay still, chest tight, body too raw to offer more than the steady, quiet presence you’d once given him.
Eventually, your sobs softened, worn out. Like the grief had burned through you fast and left only ash behind.
He spoke again, voice slow. “You can sit up here, if you want.”
You shook your head. “I don’t want you to move.” Even in your pain, uou cared more for him.
“I won’t.” He shifted his hand slightly, inviting. “Just stay beside me..”
So you did, because you weren’t really in the right state of mind to list all the reasons why you shouldn’t.
You climbed onto the edge of the bed slowly, not to disturb the tubes or bandages, and leaned gently against the side of his body. His good arm curled around your back.
Just for a moment you let yourself be held.
🏁.
It was quiet between you for a long while. His hand was warm where it rested on your back, too warm for someone who’d spent the last few weeks surrounded by machines and medications and cold gauze.
You were still curled into the side of the bed, your cheek resting just beside the edge of his chest, body limp from the sobbing.
“Hey.” He finally spoke.
You shifted, barely lifting your head. “Mh?.”
He angled his neck enough to glance down at you. “Wheel me downstairs.”
You blinked slowly. “Downstairs where?”
“The cafeteria.”
You pulled back just enough to look at him properly. His face was worn, but his expression was serious.
You stared hard. “You’re not allowed down there yet.”
He shrugged with one shoulder. “Neither was I allowed to have Jake’s candy bars, but I’ve had three Twix and two mini bags of Doritos this week, and I haven’t died.”
Your brows lifted. “You’ve been cheating on your meal plan?” He gave a faint smirk. “Religiously.”
“You sighed, pressing your fingers to your eyes. The last thing you wanted to do right now was escort a stubborn F1 driver out of his room for snacks like he hadn’t nearly burned alive three weeks ago.
But the truth was, your chest still hurt. The grief still sat in your bones, but it was quieter now, and something in his voice had shifted.
“Fine,” you muttered, standing. “But you’re wearing your sling, and your hospital bracelet stays visible. If anyone asks, you’re on a medically supervised movement.”
“Lord,” he murmured. “You make rule-breaking sound so sexy.”
You rolled your eyes, but the ache in your chest had already started to soften.
You helped him into the chair again, slower this time, letting him lean into you more than usual.
His body was getting stronger, but not by much, and even the act of standing made him wince. You adjusted his IV pole and tucked the light blue blanket across his lap before wheeling him carefully out into the corridor.
The hallway was mostly quiet as night shift had already begun. The elevators pinged with soft dings while you descended.
“Did you bring me down here to flirt with the volunteers again?” you asked as the doors opened on the ground floor.
“No,” he said. “They don’t make eye contact anymore. I think you scared them off.”
You snorted. “Good.”
The café was dimly lit, the kind that looked like it was trying very hard to pretend it wasn’t inside a hospital.
You wheeled him to a table tucked in the corner, far from the noise of people or the murmur of the vending machines.
You walked up to the bar and ordered what he’d asked for, a hot chocolate with no whipped cream, and a bottle of water. The cashier rang it up, and just as you reached for your hospital-issued card, a hand beat you to it.
Heeseung had wheeled towards you, alone, and handed over a credit card without a word.
You looked at him sharply. “What the fuck are you—”
“I wanted to.” Ahe said quickly, “And I used the good arm.” He waved it for good measure.
You narrowed your eyes. “I’m on shift. I can’t let patients pay for—”
“I’m a grown man in a wheelchair, who needs your help standing while peeing, I think you deserve this.”
You stared at him for a second longer, but he didn’t waver. So you let it go, you took the tray with the drinks, careful not to spill the hot chocolate, and returned to the table.
When you set it down in front of him, he reached out for the bottle of water. He pushed the hot chocolate toward you.
You blinked, then frowned in confusion. “This is yours.”
“I ordered it for you.” He explained as if it was the most obvious thing.
Your hands hovered for a second. “You asked for it.”
“And then I gave it away.” He met your eyes, gaze soft but unwavering. “You’ve had a shit day, well, week. I figured chocolate was a safer bet than tequila.”
You slowly sat down, wrapping your hands around the warm cup. It steamed against your skin, thick and sweet-smelling.
“You still shouldn’t be paying for me,” you muttered.
“I crashed a million-dollar car. You think I’m worried about six bucks?”
You shook your head, trying to hide the way your lip tugged up just slightly.
He leaned back a little in the chair, the bottle of water resting between his thighs. “You’re allowed to sit here,” he said, voice quiet. “Not just as my nurse but just as you.”
You stared down at the cup. “I don’t think I know how to be just me anymore.”
“You do,” he said softly. “You just haven’t had time to remember.”
You took a slow sip and the warmth bled into your chest. “I think I hate hospitals,” you whispered.
He tilted his head, watching you carefully. “So do I.”
You wheeled him back before the nurse on dinner rounds made it to his floor.
Heeseung didn’t say much on the way up, he just kept his eyes ahead, arm still nestled in the sling, the blanket pooling loosely around his waist.
You stopped the wheelchair in front of his room, and opened the door wide enough for the chair to slip in.
He shifted a little as you rolled him in, wincing when the chair hit a bump in the threshold. “Careful,” he murmured.
“Sorry,” you replied quickly, helping him ease into a comfortable position beside his bed before turning off the wheelchair brakes.
You were efficient again, going through motions you’d done a hundred times, but your fingers still trembled slightly when they brushed his wrist, adjusting the IV.
“Thanks,” he said quietly. “For taking care of me.”
You turned toward him. “It’s literally my job
“It’s more than that,” he said. “You didn’t have to sit with me. You didn’t have to cry where I could see you.”
You swallowed, eyes briefly dropping to his blanket. “Yeah, well, I guess I’m not very professional.”
“You’re too pretty to cry,” he said simply.
You rolled your eyes, stepping toward the cabinet to grab a clean set of saline wipes, trying to cover how your heart stuttered at the way he’d said it— like a fact, not a compliment.
“Don’t start,” you warned. “I’m not starting,” he said. “I’m just saying.”
You turned back to him, arms crossed, and leaned against the cabinet. “Alright, fine. How are you feeling? Really.”
He blinked at you, then tilted his head slightly, making a face. “Sore.”
“Where?” You asked.
He shifted, jaw tightening as he angled his neck. “My neck mostly. Probably the burn. It feels like it’s pulling when I sleep.”
“That’s because you keep turning your head instead of using the pillow support,” you said, walking toward him again.
You reached gently toward his collarbone, pulling back the loose hospital shirt to peek at the gauze that covered the worst of the scarring.
“You should kiss it better,” he said then, voice suddenly low.
You stopped, frozen in place. Your hand froze an inch from his skin, and his eyes flicked to your face, watching you for a reaction, but not pushing.
His lips tugged up, a faint, boyish grin pulling the corner of his mouth.
You stared at him, chest tight, then sighed through your nose and leaned in, fast, before you could think better of it, and pressed a quick kiss to the edge of his cheekbone.
Just enough to feel the warmth of his skin under your lips, to let the tension between you shift into something that made your stomach twist.
His smile widened, the surprise obvious on his face.
“Hey,” he whispered, gaze following you as you straightened and stepped back. “That was nice.”
“Don’t let it get to your head.” You said, holding a threatening finger to his face.
He laughed, low and hoarse. “Too late.”
You grabbed your clipboard, pretending to check his chart so you wouldn’t have to look at him while your face still felt warm.
“I should go,” you muttered, already walking toward the door. “Dinner shift’s starting on the east wing.”
“Wait—”
But you were already pulling the door open, glancing back at him just long enough to catch the way he looked at you now.
You didn’t say anything else. You just stepped out, your heart pounding loud enough you were sure he could hear it, and let the door shut behind you with a soft click.
🏁.
By the third day of your ten-hour shift stretch, you could recognize the tone of the call button chime before the light even blinked above the door.
It was always Lee Heeseung’s, allways at the most inopportune moments— just when you had your gloves snapped on to help with someone else’s chart, or when you were halfway through prepping a new IV bag.
And by now, you didn’t even need to guess what he’d say.
“My pillow fell again.”
“My water’s too warm.”
“I finished the tissue box. I sneezed once and now it’s gone.”
“I think my skin feels itchy, but like, only a little. Is that bad?”
“Do you know where the remote is?”
Six times that day, and it wasn’t even five p.m.
So this time, you walked in before the chime finished echoing down the hall, your hands on your hips, the door swinging shut behind you with a firm thud.
“Okay,” you said, standing just inside the threshold, your brows raised. “I know you’re bored, and I know hospital life isn’t exactly thrilling, but unless you’ve developed a new infection or spontaneously combusted again, I really don’t want to hear another call button chime from this room today.”
Heeseung looked up from the bed, blinking at you with the most unapologetically fake innocent expression you’d ever seen.
“You don’t have to scold me like that,” he said, lifting a hand with mock pain. “It hurts my feelings.”
“It hurts my back,” you snapped, “to walk this hallway six times because you suddenly forgot where your mouth is after wiping it.”
He cracked a smile then, slow and crooked. “That one wasn’t urgent, I just missed you.”
You blinked at him, deadpan.
“I’m serious,” he added quickly. “I’m not trying to be annoying. I mean, I am. But not… only.”
You slowly stepped closer to the bed, your arms crossing over your chest. “Heeseung.”
He lifted both hands in surrender, careful not to stretch his burned arm. “Alright. alright, I’ll stop. I’ll be good.”
You narrowed your eyes. You knew he felt alone, F1 season continued, Jake had meetings with his whole department since both his drivers were out and he was afraid he’d be replaced.
You knew, but it didn’t mean he had to drive you insane too. No pun intended.
“I’m sorry,” he said again, softer this time. “I know I’m being a pain in the ass, that you’re tired, and I know it’s not fair to ask for attention when there are patients who actually need you.”
That startled you a little. His voice was sincere now, not playful.
The kind of honest that didn’t come easy to men like him, the men used to winning races and smiling through sponsors’ press conferences and interviews. But he looked small now, even as he sat upright in the bed, chest tight in the bandages you changed every morning.
“I’m just—” he exhaled, his fingers twitching over the blanket. “I’m scared to leave. That’s the truth.”
You frowned, stepping to his bedside without thinking. “Why would you be scared of leaving a hospital?”
“Because I look like this.” He motioned vaguely to his body, to the sling, the burn that peeked from beneath the hem of his collar. “Because I haven’t seen a mirror in weeks, and I know I’ve looked better. Because my hair’s gross and I’ve lost weight and I smell like antiseptic, and I’ve been stuck in this bed thinking that I’ll never feel like myself again.”
You opened your mouth, but he wasn’t done. “And because I finally got the courage to want something for myself. And that something is you.”
The words landed hard. You felt your arms drop slightly, hands now loose by your sides, the air between you suddenly tighter than before. You blinked your eyes, unsure if you were seeing or hearing his words right.
Heeseung looked up at you again, slower this time, less sure of himself than you’d ever seen him.
“I know you don’t owe me anything. You’ve been taking care of me because it’s your duty, and I’ve probably pushed boundaries I shouldn’t. But…” He swallowed, breath shallow. “I wanted to tell you now. Before I get discharged, because the second I’m out of here, I’m gonna be back in recovery, back in press cycles, and everyone’s going to ask about the crash and Riki and the damn brakes, and I’m not going to get to just sit with you… or make you laugh, ormake you roll your eyes like that.”
You stared at him, speechless, as if your body had finally shut down.
“I just needed you to know,” he said finally. “When I’m back on my feet and when I look like me again… I’m going to ask you out, properly. If you’ll let me.”
Your heart was pounding, because somewhere deep down, maybe you’d known. Known from the moment he reached for the hot chocolate and slid it across the table. Known from the way he watched you like you were the only anchor he had left.
You didn’t know what to say, not yet. Your mouth felt dry and your chest felt tight, but your feet stepped closer anyway, drawn like a magnet.
You didn’t kiss him this time. You didn’t touch him either. You just looked down at him, eyes skimming his face, the new pink of his healing skin, the glint of defiance still in his expression.
“You still can’t press the call button,” you said quietly.
His smile broke again, wider this time. Like sunlight on rained down pavement.
“Alright,” he whispered. “Then I guess I’ll just have to wait for you.”
🏁.
You didn’t see Heeseung for almost three weeks.
He still came to the hospital, that much you knew, rehabilitation was mandatory, even for someone as stubborn as Ferrari’s golden boy.
He was scheduled twice a week for physical therapy, and he visited Riki when he could, sometimes staying an hour or more in the kid’s room.
But your shifts never overlapped. It was strange, how easily someone could vanish into the same building you worked in, the same halls you’d memorized with your eyes closed.
You didn’t try to ask around. You didn’t dig through records or prod the therapists in the staff lounge.
You didn’t let it show on your face that every time the elevator dinged on your floor, your eyes flicked up before you could stop yourself.
He was healing at home now. Taking care of his own burns, which had scabbed and scarred over with that red-purple finish that made your heart twist the last time you saw them.
You imagined him moving stiffly through some fancy condo, with his water always cold, pillows never out of reach, tissues unused because there was no one around to pass them.
However, you saw Riki often. He was in less pain now, and more alert to his surroundings.
Still sour most days, snappy and restless from staying still for so long, but there was a spark there, something sharp behind his eyes when he talked about rehab. He wanted to walk, he wanted to drive again. Even if it was far off for the time being.
“Heeseung comes in all weird,” Riki muttered one afternoon while you adjusted the IV tubing above his bed. “Like, in baseball caps and hoodies. As if people won’t recognize him if he covers half his face and walks with that stupid gait.”
“Maybe he’s trying not to get mobbed,” you murmured, flicking the drip line with your nail. “He had fans even in the hospital.”
“He just doesn’t want people to look at him,” Riki said, a little quieter. “Not until his skin looks normal.”
You didn’t answer that. You just gave him a sip of water and changed the subject, but it stayed with you.
That night, for the first time, you opened Instagram and typed Ferrari into the search bar.
The page was easy to find. It was verified, with the bold logo, all red and gold and glory.
You scrolled past the highlight reels, the merchandise links, the footage of pit crews moving like insects in reverse. You skimmed captions about sponsors, about prep for the next season, about hopeful outlooks. And then you found his name.
Lee Heeseung, back in training. Slowly regaining strength in his right arm, working with team specialists twice a week. Determined to be ready for next season’s opener.
There was a photo. Blurry, and taken from behind. Heeseung bent forward, sweat soaking through a dark training tee, fingers curled over a steering simulator.
His profile was partly visible, bandage still over the side of his neck, his jaw clenched, dark hair longer than it had been in the hospital.
He looked thin and tired. But he looked alive.
You stared at the photo for longer than you should have. Then, against your better judgment, you hit the follow button.
You didn’t expect it to change anything. You didn’t expect him to see it, even, his feed was full of likes and mentions from fans all over the world, probably flooded every minute.
But something about it made you feel closer. Like you’d walked into a corner of his life no one had given you permission to touch.
Like you were choosing to see him now, not as your patient, not as a body in bandages, but as someone aching to be more than that.
You still didn’t see him in ‘real life’, but you started noticing the gap he left in your day.
The way your shift felt a little quieter without his voice drifting out of his VIP room.
How your eyes scanned the hallway out of habit, expecting his lanky frame to come sauntering around the corner with a sarcastic comment ready. How the call button in his old room remained untouched, almost dusty with disuse.
You didn’t let yourself think about it too much. You had other patients. You had other wounds to clean, other charts to fill.
You had boys younger than Riki who didn’t know what comfort felt like, who cried into your sleeves when no one else was looking.
But late at night, when you walked home in silence, something in you still flickered with that unfinished sentence. With that look in his eyes the last time you left his room.
🏁.
Saturdays weren’t yours to work, but the fire from three nights ago had overflowed the ER.
Nurses had been calling out, supplies were low, and patients kept pouring in with second-degree burns and smoke in their lungs, soot in their hair and soot in their blood.
You hadn’t had lunch. You barely remembered what you’d eaten for breakfast.
Your scrubs were wrinkled, your badge strap sticky with someone’s dried medication, your shoes creaked wet from a mop bucket you stepped in by accident. All you wanted was to go home, shower, and sleep for fourteen uninterrupted hours.
So when you stepped out the side exit, your usual escape route to avoid the busier front doors, and found a sleek, glimmering black car parked right in the middle of the access road, you groaned out loud.
“The hell…” you muttered under your breath, narrowing your eyes.
You looked around first, no security in sight and no staff nearby.
The car was expensive, way too shiny to belong to a low waged doctor, but the way it was angled made your jaw clench.
Right in the path of emergency lanes. If an ambulance pulled in, it would have to slow down, stop before it hit it and possibly lose a life.
You stepped toward the driver’s side window without hesitation, rapping your knuckles against the glass firmly.
You didn’t expect it to roll down that fast. And you definitely didn’t expect him.
Heeseung turned toward you slowly, lips twitching up into the smallest smile, his eyes scanning you like you were a familiar song playing again for the first time in weeks.
He had a hat on, but he pulled it off the second he saw your face. His skin had lost the swollen, raw shine, there were still scars on his jawline and neck, but they were faded now, pinked and healing.
“Hi,” he said quietly.
You just blinked, hands mid-air, paused knock on the window. “What— what are you doing here?” you asked.
“I was waiting for you,” he said like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “Your shift ended half an hour ago.”
“I stayed behind because the trauma and burning bay was still full.” You explained, brows furrowed.
“Yeah, I heard about the fire.” His brows dipped a little. “I figured you wouldn’t leave on time.”
You glanced at the car again, then back at him “You’re parked in the middle of the road.”
He shrugged, leaning his elbow against the wheel, lazy and composed and so infuriatingly calm. “You always said I was reckless.”
“That’s not— Heeseung, you can’t park here. What if an ambulance came in?” You nagged.
“Then I would’ve moved.” His smile widened slightly. “I saw you coming out. You were holding your bag like it was about to break.”
You looked down at your satchel, at the way it was sagging from your shoulder, the straps barely stitched. You hadn’t realized he was watching.
“You look exhausted,” he said. “I didn’t mean to scare you or get in the way. I just… I wanted to talk to you.”
You hesitated, swallowing hard. “You could’ve texted.”
“I don’t have your number.” You paused again, jaw tightening. The handsome fucker was right.
He read the hesitation in your expression because his voice softened when he added, “It’s not anything heavy. I just wanted to see you…. talk. If that’s okay.”
“I should go home,” you said, but your voice didn’t sound as sure as it should have.
“I know,” he replied, tone level. “I’m not trying to trap you. I just… thought maybe you’d want to come for a short drive.”
You opened your mouth to protest again, but he must’ve seen it in your face, that flicker, that tiny weakening you always had with him, because he leaned across the passenger seat and pushed the door open.
The smell of his cologne wafted out faintly, clean and unfamiliar. Not the antiseptic you used to associate with him, but something warmer.
“Fifteen minutes,” he said. “And I’ll drive slow.”
You stood there another heartbeat before sighing heavily and slipping in, dropping your bag between your feet. “You can’t park like that again.” you grumbled, pulling your seatbelt on.
“I won’t,” he said, already shifting the gear. “Unless it gets me your attention.”
The car was too smooth, barely a hum beneath your thighs as he pulled onto the road.
He didn’t take the highway. Instead, he drifted toward the north side of the city, where the buildings thinned and the roads turned narrow and winding.
You didn’t say anything for a while, and the radio was off, creating a not so awkward silence.
The windows cracked just enough for the wind to kiss your temples. Heeseung kept one hand on the wheel, the other resting near the gear shift. His fingers tapped to a rhythm only he heard.
You finally asked, “Where are we going?”
“You’ll see.” he smirked.
The hill was quiet. Just far enough from town that the lights behind you blurred into a string of distant sparks, like stars upside down.
He pulled up to the edge, beside a lookout you vaguely recognized from photos, some popular spot kids used to park and drink or kiss in late at night.
But now it was just the two of you, and the sun was melting behind the skyline, leaving streaks of orange and dusty violet stretching across the horizon.
He killed the engine as you sat still, unsure. He turned to you. “You’ve been following the Ferrari page.”
You flushed before you could stop it, your eyes darting to the glovebox. “You noticed?”
“You think I wouldn’t?” he asked, tilting his head. “Your username has your badge number and Jake asked me if it was you when he saw the notification. He’s the one who runs the profile.”
You cringed. “I misclicked.”
“I like it that you follow it.” He took a breath, shifting to face you slightly. “I wasn’t lying that day. I know I was half gross with hair oily and calling for tissues every five minutes. But I meant what I said.”
You chewed your bottom lip, hands clasped together on your lap.
“I’ve thought about you every damn day,” he said, voice low. “Every burn I cleaned, every stretch I did to move my arm again… it was all with your voice in my head, lecturing me, cussing under your breath, or humming while you changed my dressings.
He chucked softly, “I’m not trying to romanticize what you did— it was your job, I know that. But you were the only part of that room that didn’t feel like pain.”
Your throat tightened. The silence around you pressed against your chest.
“So,” he said, after a moment. “Now that I’m here, and I don’t look like a half-melted wax figure, I’m going to ask again.”
He leaned in a little, not enough to touch you. Just enough to make the air shiver between your knees.
“Would you go out with me?”
You looked at him, really looked at the scars that would never fully fade, at the honesty stretched across his face. At the way his fingers curled and uncurled on his thigh, nervous.
Not Heeseung-the-racer. Not Heeseung-the-patient. Just the man who held you when you broke down and offered you hot chocolate to cheer you up.
“…You’re still kind of a pain in the ass,” you whispered.
He grinned, soft and warm and so stupidly pretty. “I’m hoping you like that about me.”
You rolled your eyes and looked away. But your voice cracked into something almost smiling as you said, “Okay.”
His inhale was slow, asif he didn’t believe you yet.
“Yeah?” he asked, like he needed to hear it again.
You turned back to him and nodded. “Yeah.”
🏁.
You hadn’t meant for it to happen so naturallyx, but the nights at his place started slipping into your week like a warm spring breeze.
He picked you up after long shifts when you didn’t feel like taking the bus, and you’d slip into his fancy car still in your scrubs, smelling faintly of antiseptic and latex gloves, too tired to talk.
And he never asked you to. He just opened the passenger door, let you rest your head against the window, and drove home in silence, music turned low and hand reaching across the console to hold yours.
His mansion, because there was no way around calling it that, wasn’t what you expected.
You thought it’d be filled with trophies and screaming red logos, but it was just neat and quiet.
His bedroom was painted in soft shades of gray and navy, his kitchen smelled like coffee beans and a hint of vanilla, and the couch was so wide you’d often curl up in the corner with a blanket and not move for hours.
You didn’t have the energy for fancy dates or being out in public. You certainly didn’t want to be photographed, you didn’t ant some journalist writing a two-paragraph caption about how Heeseung’s latest girl was just some tired nurse with eyebags and oversized jackets.
And Heeseung never made you feel small for it. Whatever he chose for his life you didn’t have to force yourself to be a part of.
Most nights were spent curled on the sofa, a Netflix movie you barely registered playing in the background.
You would start the evening upright, knees tucked in, a warm drink in your hands, and end it slouched sideways, your cheek against his shoulder, breath even and shallow as sleep claimed you halfway through the plot.
He’d carry you, sometimes. Tuck you in and kiss your forehead lightly. Other nights, you made it to bed on your own, and he would join you an hour later, warm and silent, pressing himself carefully to your back, still stiff because of his healing skin.
He had noticed your pills early on. The first time, you thought you’d been slick about it, hiding them behind your hand as you opened the bottle near the sink.
But he leaned over and asked, “You okay?”
You nodded, embarrassed, trying to swallow them quickly. “Just for digestion, y’know? My stomach gets weird after long shifts. I don’t always… well, can’t always eat right after I see something.”
His expression softened like you’d pressed a hand over his chest. He didn’t say anything right away, he just took the glass from your hand, poured you another, and passed it back silently.
“You don’t have to explain it,” he said quietly. “I get it.”
You weren’t sure he could get it. He didn’t have to hold broken children or stitch the soft skin of dying women, and he didn’t have to stand still while a monitor flatlined.
But he had burned for someone else. He’d jumped in front of a car going too fast to stop, taken the brunt of it, let himself be crushed and concussed to save a boy who wasn’t ready to die.
So maybe he did understand.
When you came over one Saturday morning, he was more animated than usual.
He was wearing a dark sweater and cargo pants, with hair half-damp from a shower, and his bandage finally gone from his wrist, his body almost healed.
He still couldn’t grip with his right hand properly. He said the nerves were healing slowly, but he’d been trying.
“C’mere,” he grinned, reaching for your bag to drop it by the entrance. “I want to show you something.”
You blinked at him, one eyebrow rising. “Show me what?”
“Just come.” He tugged at your hand and pulled you toward the garage.
You hadn’t really stepped inside the main garage before. The house had two: one for his daily cars, and the other for, well, whatever this was. The second he flipped the lights on, you saw it.
His car. That car.
The one that had been twisted into fire and pain months ago. The one you’d seen on the news, reduced to smoldering steel.
Now it sat before you, with a brand new frame, the same number, and the same paint job, the shine of it almost surreal under the ceiling lights.
“You got it back,” you murmured.
“I got her back, my Scarlet.” he said, voice soft with affection. “It’s not exactly the same frame, and we’ve upgraded a few things. But… yeah. She’s mine again.”
You walked slowly around it, trailing your fingers just barely along the side. “And you’ll drive again.”
“As soon as they let me.”
“And your hand?” He held it up, flexing it in the air. “Still annoying as hell. But I’ve been cooperating with the exercises.”
You smiled, turning to him. “That’s a first.”
He grinned, full of boyish pride. Then he nodded toward the other side of the garage. “There’s someone else I want you to meet officially.”
You followed him without question.
Jake was waiting near the workbench, hands shoved in his pockets, his hair tied back with a cap. He looked better than the last time you’d seen him in a panic outside the hospital room, pacing the hall and begging for updates.
“Jake,” Heeseung said, his voice low but proud, “this is Y/N.”
Jake smiled and extended his hand. “You’re the nurse who yelled at the three others for pampering him with pudding.”
You laughed as you shook it. “They were fangirling and he was still high on morphine. Someone had to keep his ego in check.”
Heeseung groaned behind you. “You’re never going to let that go.”
“Not a chance.”
Jake grinned even wider. “I like her.”
“She’s not just my nurse anymore,” Heeseung said quietly, and when you glanced back at him, he was looking straight at you. “She’s my girl now.”
The words shouldn’t have knocked the air out of your chest the way they did. You weren’t sixteen anymore, you’d had men call you worse and sweeter things in the heat of a moment, but this— this was soft and real.
You didn’t say anything right away. Just smiled, nodded a thank you to Jake, and let Heeseung lead you upstairs again, through the back hallway.
When the door to the garage closed behind you and the silence settled again, you reached for him before he could say anything else.
you pressed your hands to his cheeks gently, careful of the last faint scar that still lingered along the side of his jaw, and kissed him.
He stilled at first, stunned. Then he leaned in, warm and steady, one hand sliding to your hip, the other brushing the back of your neck.
It was the kind of kiss that made time pause. With no rush, no fire behind your teeth. Just slow, deep breaths and the rhythm of his lips against yours, like he’d been waiting too long to ask again.
When you pulled away, you stayed close, your forehead resting against his.
“You are a wonderful person, Lee Heeseung.” You breathed out.
“You make me better.” He murmured.
You smiled, kissed the tip of his nose, and said, “No, that’s all you.”
in which heeseung dies before you ever have to risk losing him.
pairing: heeseung x fem!reader || wc: 19.3k || cw: best friends to ???, heavy angst, grief, mourning, yearning, slow burn, mutual pining, hurt/no comfort (at the beginning), confessed-too-late, kissing, found family/friendship group dynamics, mentions of enhypen’s jay, jake and sunghoon, and le sserafim’s chaewon and yunjin, teasing, use of petnames, swearing, spoiler: happy ending || warnings: major character death, accidental overdose (not graphic but mentioned), depression, alcohol, suicide and substance abuse references, intense emotional distress and grief || a/n: very much inspired by taylor swift’s ruin the friendship. i hope you love this as much as i did <3 (and that you don’t cry as much as i did)
you’re in the middle of a thursday that feels like any other thursday when the call comes.
it’s late afternoon, the kind of gray november light that makes everything inside your apartment look softer than it is. you’re on the couch with your legs tucked under you, laptop balanced on your thighs, half-reading emails you keep meaning to answer. the radiator clanks every few minutes like it’s trying to remind you it’s still alive. your phone buzzes on the coffee table, face down, and you almost ignore it because it’s probably just another work call from your boss.
but it buzzes again. and again. three times in a row.
chaewon’s name lights up the screen.
you smile before you even pick up. chaewon never calls unless it’s something good or something catastrophic; she’s a texter through and through. you swipe answer and press the phone to your ear.
“hey, chae—”
her breathing is wrong. it’s too fast, too shallow, like she’s been running or crying or both.
“hey,” she says, and her voice cracks on the single syllable.
you sit up straighter. the laptop slides off your lap and thuds onto the cushion beside you. “what’s wrong?”
there’s a long pause that feels like drowning. you hear her swallow, hear the faint sound of traffic behind her, wind whipping against the speaker.
“it’s heeseung,” she finally says.
your heart does something strange — skips, then stutters, then drops straight through the floor.
“what about heeseung?” you ask, but you already know. you don’t know how you know, but you do.
chaewon starts crying then, not loud, just quiet and broken, the way people cry when they’ve been holding it together for too long.
“he’s gone,” she whispers. “he died. tuesday night. they found him wednesday morning. i— i didn’t know how to tell you. i’m sorry.”
the room spins. or maybe you do. the radiator clanks again but it sounds miles away. you stare at the wall across from you, at the tiny crack in the paint you keep meaning to fix, and you wait for the words to make sense.
they don’t.
“what do you mean,” you say, calm, too calm, like you’re asking about the weather. “what do you mean he died?”
“overdose,” chaewon says, and the word lands between you like a gunshot. “they’re saying it was accidental. painkillers and… something else. his mom called me this morning. the funeral is on saturday.”
you close your eyes. you see him instantly — you’re seventeen, and he’s leaning against the hood of his brother’s jeep outside lakeside lounge, one boot crossed over the other, grinning at you like he knew every secret you were too scared to say out loud.
“are you okay?” chaewon asks, voice small.
you open your mouth. nothing comes out.
you try again. “i don’t— i don’t know what to do or say, i—”
“come home,” she says. “please. just… come home.”
you nod even though she can’t see you. “yeah. okay. i’ll— i’ll get a flight.”
after you hang up, you sit very still for a long time. the apartment is quiet except for the radiator and the low hum of the refrigerator. you keep waiting for the tears, for the screaming, for something big and cinematic, but nothing comes. just a hollow ringing in your ears and the sudden, brutal awareness that you haven’t spoken to lee heeseung in four years.
four years.
the last text you sent him is still in your phone because you never delete anything. you scroll to it now with shaking fingers.
december 2021. you were home for winter break, sophomore year of college, and you run into him at target. he was thinner than you remembered, eyes a little too bright, but he hugged you so hard your feet left the ground.
you: it was good seeing you today. don’t be a stranger, okay?
he never replied.
you had told yourself he was busy. you had told yourself you were busy. you had told yourself a lot of things.
now you stare at that unanswered text until the screen blurs — not from tears, not yet, just from refusing to blink.
your thumb hovers over the call button under his name. you press it before you can think.
it rings once. twice. then his voicemail, the same one he’s had since junior year: “yo, it’s heeseung. leave a message or don’t, i probably won’t listen anyway.”
beep.
you open your mouth. nothing comes out. you hang up.
the tears come then, sudden and violent, like someone turned on a faucet behind your eyes. you curl forward until your forehead touches your knees and you cry the way you haven’t since you were a kid — messy, breathless, ugly. you cry for the boy who used to drive you home when you missed the bus, who saved you the last mountain dew at every party, who once wrote “you’re my favorite person” on the inside of your chemistry notebook in sharpie so you’d see it every day for the rest of the semester.
you cry because you never told him you loved him. not in the way that mattered. not in the way that might have ruined the friendship.
you cry because now it’s too late, and “ruin the friendship” feels like the cruelest joke the universe ever played.
when the crying stops, you’re empty. you book the earliest flight you can get — 8:15 tomorrow morning — and you pack without thinking. jeans, black sweater, the boots you wore to senior prom because you can’t find anything else. you pull the yearbook from the back of your closet and flip to the page where he wrote, in his messy half-cursive:
“don’t forget me when you’re famous, loser. love always, h.”
you trace the letters with your thumb until the ink smudges.
you don’t sleep.
at 4:47 a.m. you’re sitting on the floor of your bedroom surrounded by photographs you haven’t looked at in years. you, heeseung and chaewon at the lake, summer before senior year, all sunburned shoulders and cheeky smiles. you and heeseung in the photo booth at the fall festival, making dumb faces, his arm slung around your neck. you and heeseung on the football field after the last game, confetti in your hair, his letterman jacket over your shoulders because you were freezing.
you find the one you’re looking for at the bottom of the pile: the two of you at sixteen, sitting on the tailgate of his brother’s jeep under the lights of the gallatin county fair. you’re looking at the camera, grinning, but he’s looking at you. you remember that night so clearly it hurts. he had just beaten you at ring toss and won you the ugliest stuffed giraffe in the world. you named it seungie and kept it on your bed until you moved away.
you’re still holding the photo when your taxi arrives.
the airport is a blur. security, coffee you don’t taste, boarding. you take the window seat and stare at the clouds the whole flight, replaying every almost you ever had with him.
you should have kissed him the night he drove you home in the rain after your first prom.
you should have kissed him the night he showed up at your house at 2 a.m. because he couldn’t sleep.
you should have kissed him every single time he looked at you like you were the only person in the room.
you should have ruined the friendship.
the plane lands harder than it needs to. you walk through the airport like a ghost, rolling your suitcase behind you, eyes swollen, throat raw. chaewon is waiting at arrivals in the same hoodie she wore in high school, the one with the bleach stain on the sleeve. when she sees you she starts crying again and you meet in the middle and hold each other so tight it hurts.
“i’m sorry,” she keeps saying into your hair. “i’m so sorry.”
you don’t say anything. you just hold on.
in the car she tells you what she knows, voice careful, like she’s handling something fragile.
it happened at his apartment. alone. his mom hadn’t heard from him in a couple days — normal lately, she said — and when she went over… she found him.
they’re calling it accidental. prescription stuff mixed with alcohol. he’d been struggling for a while, chaewon says. pain pills after an old football injury flared up again. then harder things when those stopped working. he never told you. he never told anyone, not really.
“he asked about you,” she says quietly as she merges onto the highway. “all the time. every time i saw him. “how’s she doing? is she happy? tell her i say hi.” i always told him to text you himself. he always said he didn’t want to bother you.”
you stare out the window at the familiar blur of the suburbs sliding past.
“i wish he had,” you whisper.
chaewon reaches over and squeezes your knee.
the funeral is tomorrow. you’re staying at her place tonight. you could’ve stayed at your parents’, but the idea of sleeping in your old bed felt impossible. heeseung’s old t-shirt — the black one he left at your house in senior year and never asked for back — is still folded in the bottom drawer. you aren’t ready to smell it and realize it doesn’t smell like him anymore.
chaewon’s parents hug you at the door like you’re still a teenager. they give you the guest room that used to be yours half the weekends in high school. the walls are still the same soft yellow. there’s still a polaroid of you, chaewon, jake, and heeseung taped to the mirror — homecoming, junior year, all four of you in a pile on the football field.
you sit on the edge of the bed and stare at it until the edges blur.
you pull out your phone again. scroll to his contact. thumb hovering.
you type:
i’m home. i’m so sorry i wasn’t here. i’m so sorry.
your finger hesitates over send for a long time.
then you delete it, letter by letter, until the screen is blank again.
you lie back on the bed fully clothed and stare at the glow-in-the-dark stars chaewon’s dad helped her put up the summer before senior year. you and heeseung had laid right here one night that same summer, whispering about the future like it was something you could hold in your hands.
you close your eyes and you can almost feel him beside you, warm and solid and alive, laughing under his breath at something stupid you said.
you whisper into the dark, voice cracking:
“i should’ve kissed you anyway.”
you wake up before the sun does.
the house is quiet except for the soft creak of old wood settling. chaewon’s childhood cat, muffin, is curled at the foot of the bed like nothing in the world has ended. you didn’t sleep at all. you just laid there counting the glow-in-the-dark stars until they faded into morning.
the clock reads 6:12 a.m. the funeral is at eleven.
you sit up slowly. your body feels borrowed, like someone else’s bones are holding you together. the black dress is hanging on the back of the door where chaewon put it last night. simple, long-sleeved, knee-length. you wore it for your grandfather’s funeral three years ago and swore you’d never wear it again.
you shower in water so hot it stings. you watch the steam curl around the fish stickers still stuck to the ceiling from 2017 and you think about the day heeseung helped you put them up — chaewon's wish. he had stood on the edge of the bathtub with a wet sponge, laughing when you almost fell trying to reach the high corner. he caught you by the waist and said, “careful, loser. can’t have you breaking your neck before college.”
you turn the water colder until you can’t feel anything at all.
downstairs, chaewon’s mom has made coffee and pancakes nobody will eat. she hugs you without saying anything and you breathe in the familiar scent of her vanilla lotion and almost lose it right there in the kitchen.
chaewon appears in the doorway wearing the same black dress she wore to her uncle’s funeral last year. her eyes are already red. she doesn’t speak, just hands you a mug and takes your hand.
you sit at the vanity while she does your makeup because your hands shake too hard to hold the eyeliner steady. she keeps it simple — concealer under your eyes, a little mascara, nothing that will run too badly when you inevitably cry, and little blush. "to help you look less like a ghost." she tries to joke. but she’s crying, silent tears that drip off her chin onto the carpet.
“you know what? i keep thinking i’m going to see him walk in,” she whispers. “like this is some sick joke and he’s going to text us "gotcha" any second.”
you nod. your throat is too tight for words.
she lines your lips with the soft pink color you used to share in high school. her hand is steady even though her breathing isn’t.
“there,” she says when she’s done. “you look beautiful.”
you look like a ghost wearing your own face.
the drive to first presbyterian takes twenty-three minutes. you count every one. the radio stays off. chaewon’s knuckles are white on the steering wheel. you watch the town slide by like a memory you’re not ready to live inside again — the gas station where heeseung used to buy you blue raspberry slushies, the overpass with all the faded graffiti, the turn for lakeside beach where you spent half your summers.
the church parking lot is already full. you recognize too many cars. jake’s silver civic. sunghoon’s mom’s minivan. jay’s truck with the dent in the tailgate from the night you all tried to fit six people in the backseat.
you sit in chaewon’s car longer than you should. people stream past the windows in black coats and quiet voices. someone’s baby is crying somewhere. the sky is grey.
“i can’t do this,” you say. your voice sounds like it belongs to someone else.
chaewon reaches over and squeezes your hand so hard it hurts. “you don’t have to be strong. just… one foot in front of the other. i’m right here. everyone is.”
you get out.
the cold hits you like a slap. november air sharp enough to cut. you pull your coat tighter and follow chaewon up the stone steps.
inside smells like lilies and candle wax and too many people breathing the same air. the foyer is crowded with faces you haven’t seen since graduation. some of them try to hug you. some just nod with wet eyes. someone’s aunt you don’t even know presses a tissue into your hand.
then you spot them, clustered near the memory table like they’re holding up the wall with their shoulders.
yunjin sees you first. she’s in a simple black dress, hair pulled back with the same silver clip she wore to every formal since sophomore year. her eyes are already red, mascara smudged at the corners, but the second she spots you and chaewon she opens her arms wide and doesn’t let go until you’re both folded into her. she smells like the same peach perfume she’s worn since 2016. “i'm so glad you're here,” she whispers into your hair, voice thick. “we’re here. we’re all here.”
jake is right behind her, jacket too big like he borrowed it from his dad, tie crooked the way it always was. he doesn’t say anything at first, just pulls chaewon into a hug so tight her feet leave the ground for a second. when he lets go his eyes are glassy and he tries for a smile that doesn’t land. “traffic was a nightmare,” he mutters, like any of you care about traffic today.
jay shows up two seconds later holding two bottles of water he stole from the reception table. “move, idiots, let them breathe,” he grumbles, but his voice cracks halfway through and he shoves one bottle at you and one at chaewon like hydration is the only thing he knows how to fix. jake immediately snorts, “you literally just said the same thing to me in the parking lot,” and jay snaps back, “yeah, because you drive like a blind grandma,” and it’s the same dumb bickering they’ve done since freshman year, only today it sounds empty, like muscle memory trying to fill the silence where heeseung should be rolling his eyes and telling them both to shut up.
sunghoon is leaning against the wall beside the guestbook, arms crossed, wearing the black suit his mom probably forced him into. his hair is too neat, like he spent twenty minutes in front of the mirror trying to look okay and still failed. normally this is when he’d make some terrible joke about heeseung haunting the buffet or something, but today his mouth stays in a flat line. when you catch his eye he just lifts one hand in a tiny wave, then looks down at his shoes like the floor might open and swallow him if he speaks.
chaewon reaches for him first. sunghoon lets her hug him, arms hanging limp for a second before he finally wraps them around her and buries his face in her shoulder. you hear him mumble something that sounds like “this is so fucked up,” barely audible.
yunjin links her arm through yours and chaewon’s like she’s physically holding the three of you together. jake and jay stop arguing the second they notice. for once nobody tries to fill the quiet.
you’re all just standing there in a crooked half-circle, six kids who used to stay awake all night, talking about how cool they'd be when they got to adulthood.
yunjin squeezes your arm. “we’ll get through this,” she whispers. “together. like always.”
jay clears his throat, eyes on the ceiling. “yeah. group effort. no one left behind, right?” his voice wavers on the last word and jake elbows him gently, no heat behind it this time.
sunghoon finally looks up. his eyes are bloodshot but dry, like he ran out of tears on the drive over. “he’d hate this,” he says, so quiet you almost miss it. “all of us crying in our fancy clothes. he’d call us dramatic and idiots.”
a tiny, broken laugh escapes someone — maybe chaewon, maybe you — and for one second the six of you are breathing the same air you breathed at seventeen, when the worst thing that could happen was a failed test or a breakup or getting grounded for sneaking out.
then the laugh dies, because heeseung isn’t here to laugh with you, and the hole he left rips open all over again.
yunjin rests her head on your shoulder. jake reaches over and squeezes the back of your neck, quick and grounding. jay mutters something about needing air and disappears toward the side door, shoulders shaking. sunghoon just stares at the memory table, like he’s waiting for heeseung to walk out of one of the photos and tell them the joke’s over.
chaewon threads her fingers through yours and holds on tight.
there’s a table by the guestbook covered in photographs.
you stop breathing.
heeseung at eight years old with missing front teeth. heeseung in his football jersey sophomore year, helmet under his arm, grinning like he owned the world. heeseung and his older brother at christmas — both in ugly sweaters, his brother holding him in a headlock while he laughs so hard his eyes disappear. heeseung at graduation, arm slung around your shoulders, making bunny ears behind your head while you laugh so hard you’re crying.
and then the big one on the easel.
his senior portrait. the one his mom made him retake three times because he kept making faces. in this version he’s looking straight at the camera, soft smile, eyes bright, hair a little messy the way you always liked it.
you reach out and touch the edge of the frame like you’re expecting it to be warm.
it isn’t.
yunjin’s hand finds the small of your back. “come on,” she whispers. “let’s go inside.”
the sanctuary is packed. you recognize almost everyone. teachers. old neighbors. half the football team. people who used to sneak you beer at parties. people who cried with you at your graduation.
you all move toward the sanctuary like a single bruised organism — six bodies that used to be seven. no one speaks. the only sounds are dress shoes scuffing on tile, yunjin’s not-so-quiet sniffles, and jake’s shaky inhale every few steps.
mrs. kim, the old lady from down the street who used to invite you all over to eat her delicious chocolate muffins, spots you in the doorway and immediately waves you over to the pew she’s saved near the back, third from the end, same one your group always claimed for youth group movie nights. she pats the bench like it’s the most normal sunday in the world. you almost lose it right there.
chaewon slides in first, then you. yunjin squeezes in on your other side and immediately grabs your hand, lacing your fingers so tight it hurts in the best way. sunghoon follows, sits on the aisle, and rests his elbows on his knees like he’s holding himself together with his own arms. jake drops down next to him and stares straight ahead, jaw clenched so hard you can see it jumping. jay takes the end seat, back ramrod straight, but his knee keeps bouncing until sunghoon reaches over and stills it with one hand without looking.
the six of you fill the entire pew, shoulder to shoulder, knees knocking. just like senior year pep rallies, except no one is laughing and the air smells like lilies instead of gym floor and cheap deodorant.
the casket is closed. thank god.
you’re not sure any of you could handle open.
yunjin’s thumb keeps rubbing slow circles on the back of your hand. chaewon’s head drops to your shoulder for a second, then lifts again like she’s scared to take up space. jake’s leg starts bouncing the second sunghoon lets go. jay’s fingers drum silently on his thigh (three beats, pause, three beats), the same nervous rhythm he used to tap on the cafeteria table when heeseung was late to lunch.
no one says it out loud, but you all leave the exact same empty space in the middle of the row: the spot where heeseung would have slid in last, throwing his arm across the back of the pew, stealing someone’s program to doodle on, whispering dumb commentary until yunjin elbowed him and chaewon threatened to move seats.
the gap stays empty.
none of you dare fill it.
there’s a giant spray of white roses on top. a framed photo from his last birthday — twenty-four candles, his smile huge, frosting on his nose. someone put his letterman jacket over the back of a chair up front like he’s just stepped out for a minute.
the service starts.
you don’t hear most of it.
the pastor talks about light and legacy and a life cut short. heeseung’s cousin reads a poem you don’t follow. then his older brother walks to the podium.
he looks exactly like heeseung but taller, harder around the edges, like someone carved the softness out of him years ago. he’s wearing the same black suit he wore to their grandfather’s funeral. his hands grip the sides of the lectern so tight his knuckles go white.
“heeseung was my little brother,” he starts, voice rough. “he followed me everywhere when we were kids. copied everything i did. stole my clothes, my cds, my jeep, my friends. drove me insane.”
a few people laugh through tears.
“but he was the best person i ever knew. he had this way of making everyone feel like they mattered. like they were the only person in the room. even when he was hurting, he still showed up for people.”
his voice cracks. he looks straight at the casket.
“i should’ve shown up more for him. i should’ve seen it. i’m sorry, man. i’m so fucking sorry.”
he can’t finish. he just stands there shaking until their dad comes and leads him back to the pew.
then his mom stands up.
mrs. lee looks smaller than you remember. her hair is grayer. she’s wearing the pearl necklace heeseung bought her for mother’s day senior year with his walmart paycheck.
she doesn’t cry. not at first.
“my youngest boy,” she says, voice steady, “loved harder than anyone i ever met. he loved his friends like family. he loved this town. he loved music and driving too fast and making people laugh even when he was hurting.”
her gaze sweeps the room and lands on you for a moment. her eyes are the same warm brown as his.
“he talked about you kids all the time,” she says. “especially one of you.”
your heart stops.
she doesn’t say your name but everyone knows. you feel the weight of every stare. chaewon’s hand finds yours under the hymnal and squeezes until your fingers go numb.
“he kept every picture,” mrs. lee continues. “every note you ever wrote him. every stupid voice memo. he said you were the best parts of high school. he said—” her voice finally cracks. “he said he wished he’d been braver.”
the silence that follows is suffocating.
then she sits down and the dam breaks. people are crying openly now. someone beside you — probably yunjin, but you feel too numb to check — is sobbing so hard their whole body shakes.
you stare at the casket and you feel it like a physical thing — this giant, gaping hole where he used to be.
when it’s over, people start filing up to pay respects. you stay seated. your legs won’t work.
mrs. lee finds you anyway.
she walks straight to your pew and kneels in front of you like you’re the one who needs comforting. her hands are cold when she takes yours.
“he loved you,” she says simply. “he never stopped doing it.”
you try to answer. all that comes out is a broken sound.
she pulls something from her pocket — a small envelope, worn soft at the edges. your name is written on the front in his handwriting.
“he asked me to give you this,” she says. “if anything ever happened. i didn’t know— i didn’t think—”
she presses it into your palm and closes your fingers around it.
then she hugs you so tight you can feel her heartbeat.
when she lets go, she’s crying. you didn’t think she had any tears left.
you clutch the envelope like it’s the only real thing in the world.
outside, the graveyard is worse.
the wind has teeth. everyone huddles under black umbrellas even though it’s not raining. the casket is lowered slowly while a recording of heeseung singing “how to save a life” plays from someone’s phone — off-key, laughing, seventeen years old, the summer you all thought would never end.
you stand at the edge of the hole in the ground and watch dirt hit polished wood and you think: this can’t be real. this happens to other people. not to us.
chaewon and yunjin stand beside you the whole time. jake and sunghoon are on your other side, shoulders shaking. jay can’t even look.
when it’s over, people start drifting away. hugs and murmured sorrys and promises to text. you stay until it’s just you, chaewon, and the fresh pile of earth with a temporary marker that still says beloved son and brother like words can hold what’s gone.
the envelope burns in your pocket.
you wait until you’re back in chaewon’s car, heat blasting, windows fogging, before you open it.
your hands shake so badly you almost rip it.
inside is a single sheet of notebook paper, folded into a perfect square the way he used to pass notes in chemistry. and a polaroid — the one from the fair, you and him on the tailgate, you looking at him while he looks at the camera.
you unfold the letter.
“hey loser,
if you’re reading this, i fucked up pretty bad, huh?
i’m sorry. for everything i didn’t say. for every time i almost texted you and didn’t. for every almost that stayed an almost.
you were my favorite person. always. even when we stopped talking. even when i was too proud or too scared or too high to pick up the phone.
i loved you. not just as my best friend. you know that, right? i think you always knew.
i should’ve kissed you that night after prom when we sat in my brother’s jeep for two hours pretending we weren’t about to ruin everything. i should’ve kissed you every single day we had.
i hope you’re happy. i hope someone loves you loud and brave and never lets you wonder.
if i could go back, i’d ruin the friendship in a heartbeat.
love always,
h.
p.s. play “off my face” at my funeral. tell them it’s because i was obsessed with justin bieber. don’t tell them it’s because of you.”
you read it three times before the words stop blurrying.
then you fold it back into its perfect square and press it to your chest like you can hold him there.
chaewon doesn’t ask what it says. she just starts the car and drives.
you watch the cemetery disappear in the rearview mirror and you whisper to the empty air where he should be sitting shotgun:
“i loved you too, idiot.”
and for the first time all day, it starts to rain.
chaewon’s house smells like cinnamon and the same laundry detergent it’s used since 2009. her parents hug you too long, whisper that you’re family, always have been. you nod into their shoulders like a robot. chaewon tries to steer you toward the kitchen, toward tea or soup or anything that pretends normalcy is possible tonight, but you stop in the hallway, hand on the banister.
“i need to go home,” you say. the words come out flat, like someone else is using your mouth.
chaewon blinks. “you are home.”
“no. my home. the old one. just… i need air. i need to walk.”
she opens her mouth to argue, sees your face, and closes it again. she knows this version of you: the one that used to sneak out at 2 a.m. when feelings got too loud. she just grabs her keys.
“then i’m driving.”
you shake your head. “i’ll walk. it’s ten minutes. please.”
she hesitates, then presses her old hoodie into your hands. the one with the bleach stain on the sleeve. “text me every five minutes or i’m calling search and rescue.”
you promise. you step outside and the november air bites your cheeks raw.
you don’t plan the route. your feet do.
gallatin road is quiet for a friday night. the streetlights buzz the same orange they always have. the shell station is still open, neon beer signs flickering. you pass the spot where heeseung used to idle his jeep while you ran in for blue slushies and sour gummy worms. you can almost hear him yelling “hurry up, loser, i’m not made of gas money” through the open window.
you keep walking.
the overpass comes into view, grey concrete tagged with layers of spray paint. most of the names are faded now, but you find the one you’re looking for halfway up the railing: hee + you, carved with his house key the september it rained for nine days straight. the letters are worn soft from weather and fingers tracing them over the years. you run your thumb across the grooves and feel the sting behind your eyes start again.
you remember standing right here, september senior year, grass still glistening from the afternoon storm. he’d driven you both out “for air,” which meant he wanted to smoke and you wanted to pretend you didn’t notice. he leaned against the hood, hair damp, hoodie sleeves pushed up, smiling like the world was simple.
you’d wanted to kiss him so badly your chest ached. his girlfriend — soojin — had been away at her cousin’s wedding in busan. it wasn’t an invitation, but it could have been. you stayed on your side of the hood, hands in your pockets, talking about college applications and whether the south's weather was better than the north's. safe things. he dropped you off at 1 a.m. and you both pretended the air in the jeep wasn’t electric.
you should’ve kissed him anyway.
you walk faster.
the turn for lakeside beach is dark, chain across the entrance, off-season. you slip under it anyway. the gravel crunches under your boots. the lake is black glass tonight, reflecting a half moon. you find the old parking lot and there it is: the spot where heeseung's brother's jeep used to sit every friday night junior year. heeseung would steal the keys, pick you up after curfew, drive here with the headlights off so the cops wouldn’t notice. you’d sit in the back, legs swinging over the tailgate, watching whatever game was on someone’s phone screen propped against the windshield.
he always sat close enough that your knees touched. always passed you the warm mountain dew first. always smiled miles wide when you laughed at his terrible commentary. you remember one night in particular: september again, sky huge and star-drunk. he’d looked over at you mid-sentence and just… stopped talking. the game kept playing through the phone speaker, but everything else went still. you had felt it then, the pull, like gravity had shifted. you had both looked away at the exact same second.
you should’ve kissed him anyway.
you sit on the cold ground where the jeep used to be and pull your knees to your chest. the wind off the water is brutal but you don’t move.
prom night is harder to remember without tasting bile.
you had gone with dawon because he asked first and you were seventeen and stupid, and thought if you said yes to someone else the wanting heeseung would stop. it didn’t. you spent the entire night hyper-aware of heeseung across the gym in his rented tux, hair slicked back, with soojin even though she had broken up with him four weeks prior over text. you caught glimpses of him over dawon’s shoulder while “in da club” blasted and the disco ball threw cheap light everywhere.
heeseung had looked at you like you were the only person in the room.
every time the song hit the drop, you’d lock eyes across the shiny wood floor and the wilted orchid on your wrist felt like a handcuff. dawon kept trying to grind on you. you kept pretending you didn’t see heeseung’s jaw clench.
there was one moment, right after the chorus, when dawon went to get punch and you stood alone by the bleachers. heeseung started walking toward you. you remember the exact number of steps: twelve. twelve steps and the entire gym disappeared.
then jake grabbed him, yelling something about a group photo, and the moment shattered.
you’d spent the rest of the night pretending your heart wasn’t sitting in your throat.
you should’ve kissed him anyway.
you don’t know how long you sit by the lake. long enough for your fingers to go numb. long enough for the moon to crawl halfway across the sky. your phone buzzes: chaewon checking in. you text back “i’m alive” and then turn it face-down on the ground.
you speak out loud to the dark water.
“you idiot,” you say. your voice cracks on the second word. “you absolute idiot. i was right there. every single time. i was right there and i was so scared of losing you that i lost you anyway.”
the wind carries the words away like they were never yours.
you stay until the cold seeps into your bones and you can’t feel your feet. then you stand up, brush gravel off your dress, and start the long walk back.
every streetlight feels like a spotlight on every moment you didn’t choose him.
when you reach chaewon’s porch, the light is still on. she’s sitting on the top step in her pajamas, wrapped in a blanket, waiting.
you sit down beside her without a word. she opens the blanket and pulls you into it. your teeth are chattering.
“did you find what you needed?” she asks quietly.
you shake your head against her shoulder.
“i just found more places where we should’ve kissed,” you whisper.
she doesn’t say anything. she just holds you tighter while you cry into the bleach-stained hoodie that still smells faintly like lakeside beach and september rain and the boy who will never drive these roads again.
you wake up in the yellow room again, but it feels different today. the light is harsher, the glow-in-the-dark stars look cheap and childish in the daylight, like they’re mocking you for ever believing in wishes. your body aches like you ran a marathon in your sleep, like every muscle is bruised from holding itself together. the black dress is crumpled on the floor where you dropped it last night, one sleeve inside-out, looking as exhausted as you feel. you’re wearing one of chaewon’s old volleyball t-shirts (the one with her number 7 fading across the chest) and sweatpants that sag at the waist and smell like her dryer sheets and the faint ghost of vanilla body spray from 2018.
chaewon is already up. she’s sitting on the edge of the bed holding two mugs of coffee like an offering, like if she just keeps your hands full you won’t be able to shatter. her eyes are puffy, hair twisted into a knot on top of her head, and she’s wearing the same hoodie she cried in last night.
“morning,” she says softly. “or afternoon, technically. it’s almost one.”
you sit up slowly. the room tilts for a second. your head feels full of wet cement, thick and slow. you take the coffee but don’t drink it. the warmth against your palms is the only proof you’re still alive.
“mrs. lee called,” chaewon continues, voice careful, like she’s stepping around broken glass. “she wants us to come over. she… she has things. for everyone. things heeseung wanted people to have.”
your stomach drops so fast you taste metal. the coffee sloshes in the mug and burns your thumb but you barely feel it.
you nod anyway. you have to.
the drive to the lees’ house is silent except for the click of the turn signal and the low hum of the engine. chaewon keeps glancing at you like you’re made of glass, like one wrong breath and you’ll crack into a thousand pieces she’ll never be able to glue back together. you stare out the window and count the same streets you walked last night like a ghost: the shell station, the overpass, the faded sonic sign. everything looks smaller in daylight. everything looks wrong.
the house looks exactly the same from the outside: white siding peeling at the corners, crooked mailbox with the flag stuck halfway up, basketball goal in the driveway with the net long gone and the rim rusted orange. but when mrs. lee opens the door her face is hollowed out, cheekbones sharper, eyes red-rimmed behind her glasses like she hasn’t slept since tuesday. she hugs you both so tight you can feel her ribs through her sweater, can feel her trembling like a leaf about to fall.
the living room smells like coffee and lilies left too long in water. it’s full of people you haven’t seen in years and some you saw yesterday but already feel like strangers. jake is sitting cross-legged on the floor holding a stack of old vinyls, running his thumb over the worn corners like he’s trying to memorize them. sunghoon has heeseung’s favorite black beanie pulled low over his eyes, the one with the tiny hole near the cuff that heeseung used to stick his finger through when he was thinking. jay is turning a worn-out guitar pick over and over in his fingers, the one heeseung used to flip across his knuckles like a coin trick. yunjin stands by the window with her arms crossed so tight her knuckles are white, wearing heeseung's old football jacket, staring at the front yard like she's waiting for him to pull up in the jeep blasting terrible 2010s rap.
on the coffee table are neat little piles. cds in cracked jewel cases. photographs with curled edges. t-shirts folded like they’re still warm from his body. a basketball with signatures scrawled across it in fading sharpie. a pair of beat-up vans that still have lakeside beach sand in the treads. everyone gets something. everyone gets a piece of him to take home and pretend it’s enough.
then mrs. lee walks straight to you.
she’s holding a shoebox. plain white nike, men’s size 11, the same kind he wore senior year when he swore he was done growing. your name is written across the lid in black sharpie in his handwriting — big, loopy, unmistakable. underneath it, smaller, almost shy: open when you’re ready. not here.
“this one is just yours,” she says. her voice cracks on yours like it hurts to say it. “he started putting it together… a while ago. kept adding things. adding and taking away. told me if anything ever happened to him, you were the only one allowed to have it. he was very clear about that.”
she presses it into your arms. it’s heavier than it should be. heavier than a box of memories has any right to be.
you can’t speak. your throat is sandpaper. you just clutch it to your chest like it might float away if you let go, like gravity might finally decide it’s had enough of you.
people try to talk to you after that. chaewon keeps one hand on your elbow like she’s afraid you’ll collapse. jake tries to hug you and you let him but you don’t hug back. sunghoon asks if you want water. someone’s mom you don’t even know presses a tissue into your hand like tears are the only currency left. you barely hear them. all you can feel is the cardboard edges digging into your ribs and the weight of his name on the lid and the way mrs. lee’s fingers trembled when she let go.
you last twenty minutes. maybe twenty-five.
then you’re moving. mumbling something about needing air, needing to walk, needing anything but the suffocating kindness in this room. chaewon starts to follow but yunjin catches her wrist and shakes her head once, firm. you hear her say, low, “let her go. she needs to do this alone,” and something in her voice sounds like she knows exactly what alone feels like now.
you walk.
it’s colder today. the wind slices straight through chaewon’s hoodie and raises goosebumps on your arms but you don’t feel it. the box bumps against your thigh with every step, a steady thump like a heartbeat you don’t have anymore. people’s voices fade behind you. car doors slam. someone calls your name but you don’t turn around.
the ten-minute walk to your parents’ house feels endless and instantaneous at the same time. your street is quiet, leaves skittering across the asphalt like they’re trying to escape. the porch swing creaks in the wind, empty. the jack-o-lantern your mom carved before they left for your dad's job trip is already sagging, mouth caving in. you still have your key on the ring with your city apartment keys and the stupid miniature lightsaber you won at comic-con last year. it turns in the lock like it never forgot you.
you let yourself in and the familiar smell hits you like a punch to the sternum: lemon floor cleaner and the cinnamon candle your mom always burns in fall and something underneath that’s just home. everything is exactly where it was when you were seventeen. the same faded rug in the entryway. the same crooked family photos on the wall. the height marks on the kitchen doorframe where heeseung used to measure how much taller he’d gotten than you every summer, drawing little arrows and writing “hee > you” in sharpie until your mom yelled at him.
you don’t turn on the lights.
you go straight upstairs, past the living room couch where he used to sprawl with his feet on the armrest while you pretended to do homework and he pretended to care about your calculus notes. your bedroom door is still painted that awful teal you picked sophomore year because it matched the scrunchie you wore every day. the paint is chipped near the handle from years of slamming it when you were mad. you shut it behind you softly this time and slide down until you’re sitting on the carpet, back against the bed, box in your lap.
the room hasn’t changed. same white furniture. same fairy lights strung over the window that burned out two christmases ago. same corkboard covered in faded concert tickets and polaroids and the movie stub from the night you and heeseung saw the fault in our stars and he pretended he wasn’t crying. the bed is unmade because your mom aired it out before they left. the quilt your grandma made is folded at the foot.
you stare at the lid for a long time. minutes. hours. time lost meaning somewhere between the funeral and now.
then you open it.
the first thing on top is the ugly stuffed giraffe from the gallatin county fair. seungie. its fur is matted and graying, one eye missing, one ear floppy. there’s a new note pinned to its neck with a safety pin, paper yellowed and soft:
“still the best prize i ever won. keep him safe for me.”
underneath is the gray hoodie. the one you stole so many times he stopped asking for it back. the one you wore for three days straight after your first college breakup. it’s folded neatly, sleeves tucked in, and it smells faintly like his cologne and laundry detergent and something else you can’t name anymore but your body recognizes instantly. you pull it out and press it to your face and breathe until your lungs hurt. you can feel your heart breaking a little more.
then the mixtapes. five cds in cracked jewel cases, sharpie titles in his handwriting that’s gotten messier over the years:
- songs that sound like driving with her, windows down, summer 2018
- songs for when she’s sad and won’t tell me why (i always know anyway)
- songs that made me want to kiss her and never stop
- songs for the nights i almost called (there were so many)
- songs for after (in case i’m too late)
there’s a flash drive taped to the bottom of the last one labeled simply: play me last. the tape is peeling.
a stack of polaroids rubber-banded together. you flip through them with fingers that don’t feel like yours: you asleep on his shoulder in the back of his brother’s jeep, mouth open, drooling a little. you and him at 3 a.m. waffle house, whipped cream on your nose, his finger reaching toward the camera to smear it on you. you sticking your tongue out at the camera while he looks at you like you personally hung the moon and stars. the two of you at graduation, his arm around your neck, both of you crying and laughing at the same time.
every note you ever passed him in class, folded into tiny perfect squares. some of them have water stains. some have doodles in the margins. one just says i miss you in your handwriting and below it, in his: me too, loser.
the disposable camera from senior skip day you thought got lost forever. it’s still got six exposures left.
and at the very bottom, underneath everything, buried like it was the hardest thing to let go of, another envelope.
this one is thicker. the paper is soft, like it’s been handled a hundred times, folded and unfolded and refolded again. your name is on the front again, but messier, like he was shaking when he wrote it. dated three days before he died.
you open it with fingers that refuse to stop trembling.
“hey loser,
if you’re reading this one, i really did it this time. i’m so fucking sorry.
i’ve started this letter fifty times and thrown every single one away. this is the first one i’m keeping. maybe the last.
i keep thinking about the night after our last prom. how we sat in my brother's jeep for two hours pretending we were just waiting for traffic to die down. you had your shoes off and your feet on the dash and that stupid wilted orchid dangling from your wrist and you were humming along to whatever was on the radio like you didn’t know i was dying to kiss you. i had my hand on the gearshift and you kept brushing it every time you moved and i thought my heart was going to explode out of my chest.
i should’ve kissed you then. i should’ve kissed you a thousand times before then. i should’ve kissed you the first time you fell asleep on my shoulder and drooled on my hoodie. i should’ve kissed you when we were fifteen and you cried in my passenger seat because your dog died and i didn’t know what else to do so i just held your hand until you stopped shaking.
i think i’ve been in love with you since that day. maybe before. maybe always.
i never told you because i was scared. scared of losing you. scared of being too much. scared i’d drag you down with me when things got bad. and they got bad, baby. they got so bad some days i couldn’t see straight. the pills started as “just for the pain” and turned into the only thing that made the noise quiet. i hated myself for it. hated that i couldn’t be the guy you deserved. the one who would’ve fought for you instead of disappearing like a coward.
i tried to text you a hundred times. had whole conversations typed out and deleted. i’d get high and open your instagram and just stare at your face until the screen went black. you looked happy. that was enough. that had to be enough.
there’s a flash drive in here. it’s everything. every song that ever made me think of you. every voice memo i recorded at 3 a.m. when i was too drunk or too high or too sad to call you and tell you i still loved you. every stupid love song i couldn’t listen to without crying like an idiot.
if you listen to it, start with track 7. it’s the one i wrote for you last year and never showed anyone. it’s called “ruined friendship” and it’s about how i would’ve burned the whole world down for one kiss. it’s rough. my voice cracks in the second verse. i was crying when i recorded it. don’t judge me.
i hope you’re happy. i hope someone is holding your hand right now and telling you every single day how incredible you are. how funny and kind and smart and beautiful even when you’re mad and your hair’s a mess and you steal all the covers. if it’s not me, that’s okay. just don’t let them take you for granted the way i did.
i love you. i loved you when we were sixteen and invincible and thought the world was ours. i loved you when we were twenty and pretending we weren’t in love and drifting apart like idiots. i love you now, wherever i am.
ruin the friendship next time, okay? for me. don’t wait. don’t be scared. kiss them stupid and never let them wonder.
always yours,
h.
p.s. the hoodie still smells like me if you bury your face in the left sleeve. i wore it the night i finished this. i fell asleep in it thinking maybe tomorrow i’d finally be brave.”
you don’t cry at first.
you just sit there holding the letter against your chest like it’s the only thing keeping your heart inside your body. like if you let go you’ll bleed out on your childhood carpet and no one will find you until your parents get home next week.
then you find the flash drive and crawl to your old laptop still sitting on the desk under a layer of dust. it takes three tries to get it to read. the screen is cracked in the corner from the time heeseung dropped it trying to show you a youtube video. you click track 7.
his voice fills the room. just him and an acoustic guitar, raw and cracked and perfect. a little too close to the mic, like he was nervous.
“glistening grass from september rain… grey overpass full of neon names… you drive… and it was not an invitation… should’ve kissed you anyway…”
you curl up on the carpet with the hoodie pulled over your head like a hood, sleeves over your hands, the giraffe clutched to your chest, and you cry until there’s nothing left. until your throat is raw and your eyes burn and your ribs ache from sobbing so hard you can’t breathe. until the only sound in the house is his voice singing every almost you never took, every moment you let fear win, every second you thought there would be more time.
outside, the sun sets without you noticing. the room grows dark except for the blue glow of the laptop screen.
you fall asleep on the floor surrounded by pieces of him, the box open like a wound that will never close, the hoodie pulled up to your chin and seungie tucked under your arm like when you were seventeen and everything was still possible.
and somewhere in the dark, you swear you can smell blue raspberry slushies and september rain and the boy who will never again walk through your front door yelling “loser, i’m here!” like he owned the place.
you imagine he’s sitting at the foot of your bed, caressing your skin, making you laugh, telling you it's okay to ruin the friendship, that he's not scared anymore.
you don’t know when you fell asleep, or if you even did. the carpet is rough against your cheek, the hoodie tangled around your limbs like a straightjacket. the room is pitch black except for the faint glow of streetlights slipping through the blinds, turning everything into sharp shadows. your eyes are swollen from crying, your throat raw like you’ve been screaming. the giraffe — seungie — is still clutched in one hand, its floppy ear pressed against your palm.
tap.
tap.
tap tap.
the sound is so faint at first you think it’s your heartbeat echoing in your ears. but it comes again, insistent, rhythmic. three slow, one fast. exactly like—
your body goes cold.
you sit up so fast the room spins. the hoodie slips off your shoulders. the box is open beside you, contents spilled like guts: cds cracked in their cases, polaroids scattered, the letter crumpled where you dropped it.
tap.
tap.
tap tap.
rocks against glass. your window.
you crawl to the window on hands and knees, heart slamming against your ribs. you push the blinds apart with shaking fingers.
he’s there.
heeseung is there.
standing in your front yard under the oak tree, hands in his pockets, looking up at your window with that half-grin you’ve seen a thousand times. seventeen. hair too long, curling over his ears the way it did senior year. wearing the gray hoodie — the exact same one you’re holding in your lap right now. the porch light catches the side of his face, highlighting the tiny scar above his eyebrow from that stupid skateboard stunt that jay made him try.
he lifts one hand in that lazy wave, pinky and thumb out like a surfer. then he mouths: “open up, loser.”
you can’t move. you can’t breathe. your head spins. your fingers dig into the windowsill until the wood bites into your skin.
this isn’t real. this can’t be real. you buried him yesterday. you read his suicide note three hours ago. you listened to his voice crack on track 7 until the laptop died.
but he’s there. solid. alive. picking up another pebble from your mom’s flowerbed and tossing it lightly at the glass.
tap.
you fumble with the latch, hands numb. the window sticks like it always has — did — in may, swollen from spring humidity. you shove it open and lean out, night air cool against your feverish skin.
“heeseung?” your voice comes out a whisper, cracked and small, as if you were afraid.
he grins wider, teeth flashing white. “took you long enough, i'm freezing here. you sleep like the dead, dude.”
the dead. the word hits you like a slap. you flinch.
he doesn’t notice. he’s already jogging toward the drainpipe, the one he’s climbed a hundred times. his sneakers — beat-up converse with the laces frayed — scrape against the siding as he hauls himself up, muscles flexing under the hoodie. he swings one leg over the sill and tumbles into your room in a heap, laughing under his breath.
“graceful as ever,” he says, sitting up and brushing dirt off his jeans. he looks at you then, really looks, and his smile fades a little. “are you okay? you look like you saw a ghost.”
you stare at him. up close, he’s so real it hurts. the freckle under his left eye. the way his hair sticks up in the back from his helmet. the faint smell of axe body spray and spearmint gum — the kind he always chewed before tests.
you reach out without thinking, fingers brushing his cheek. warm. solid. alive.
he freezes, eyes widening. “uh… what’s up with you?”
you pull back like you’ve been burned. your mind is screaming: dream. hallucination. grief psychosis. but your heart — your stupid, broken heart — is pounding like it believes.
“nothing,” you whisper. “just… bad dream.”
he nods slowly, not convinced, but he lets it go. that’s heeseung for you. always letting things go when you need him to. he glances around your room, taking in the teal walls, the fairy lights, the corkboard with all the tickets and photos. everything exactly as it was senior year. no dust. no cracked laptop screen. no empty house because your parents aren’t traveling yet — they’re downstairs, probably watching late-night tv.
wait.
you glance at your desk. no laptop. instead, your old desktop computer with the bulky monitor and the stickers peeling off. the calendar on the wall: may 2019. last week of may. two weeks until prom.
your breath catches.
“hey,” heeseung says, snapping you out of it. he’s sitting on the edge of your bed now, kicking his feet like a kid. “are you gonna tell me why you look like you’re about to puke, or are we sneaking out?”
sneaking out. that’s what this is. what this was. he used to do this all the time senior year — throw rocks at your window when he couldn’t sleep, drag you out for midnight drives or waffle house runs or just sitting on the overpass talking about nothing.
you swallow hard. “where to?”
he grins again, that miles-wide smile that makes your chest ache. “lakeside? my brother's got the jeep in front of my house, but i can hotwire it if he’s asleep.”
his older brother. probably twenty-one, still living at home, still yelling at heeseung for borrowing his stuff without asking.
you nod before you can think. “yeah. let’s go.”
you climb out the window after him — your legs remember the motions, even if your mind is reeling. the drainpipe creaks under your weight. heeseung waits at the bottom, hands out to steady you when you jump the last few feet. his fingers brush your waist and you almost collapse right there.
“easy,” he murmurs. “you good?”
no. you’re not good. you’re losing your mind. but you nod and follow him down the street, sneakers quiet on the pavement. the neighborhood is asleep, porch lights flickering, crickets chirping in the warm may air. it smells like cut grass and impending summer.
heeseung walks close, shoulders bumping yours every few steps. he chatters about nothing — some dumb thing jake did at practice today, how sunghoon almost got detention for skating in the halls again. you listen and nod and try not to stare at him like he’s a miracle.
because if this is a dream, you don’t want to wake up.
if this is time travel — some cosmic do-over triggered by his words in that letter, “ruin the friendship next time, okay?” — then you have to be careful. you can’t just kiss him tonight. you’re too shocked, too raw. your hands are still shaking from holding his suicide note. if this is real, you’ll wait. you’ll make sure. you’ll do it right.
his brother’s jeep is parked in the lees’ driveway, keys probably still in the ignition because he’s forgetful like that. heeseung hops in the driver’s seat like he owns it, fiddles with the wires under the dash until the engine rumbles to life.
“won’t he kill you?” you ask, climbing into the passenger side”
heeseung shrugs, backing out slowly. “nah. he loves me too much.”
your throat tightens. you remember his brother at the funeral, gripping the podium, voice breaking: “i should’ve shown up more for him.”
you look away, out the window at the blurring houses.
gallatin road is empty this late. heeseung cranks the radio — some old taylor swift song from sophomore year — and sings along off-key, drumming on the steering wheel. you watch him and feel the tears prick your eyes again.
“hey,” he says after a while, turning down the volume. “seriously, what’s wrong? you’ve been weird since i got to your window.”
you shake your head. “just… stuff.”
he glances at you, eyes soft in the dashboard glow. “you can tell me, you know. we’re best friends, right?”
best friends. the words twist like a knife. you remember the letter: “i loved you. not just as my best friend. you know that, right?”
“yeah,” you whisper. “best friends.”
he doesn’t push. he never does.
lakeside beach is deserted, chain across the entrance glowing faintly in the headlights. heeseung parks just outside and kills the engine. you slip under the chain, gravel crunching under your feet. the lake is silver under the moon, waves lapping softly at the shore.
you sit on the same spot as always — the old picnic table with the graffiti carved into it. heeseung hops up beside you, legs swinging.
“remember last time we were here?” he asks. “after the spring game? jake dared sunghoon to jump in fully clothed and he did it. that idiot almost drowned his phone.”
you laugh despite yourself. it comes out choked. “yeah. you had to fish it out.”
he bumps your shoulder. “well, jake wasn't gonna do it,” he chuckles. “team effort.”
silence falls, comfortable but heavy. you stare at the water and think about the box. the letters. the plushie. no shoebox in your room. no flash drive. no track 7 echoing in your head.
is that what started this? his words in the letter — “ruin the friendship next time, okay?” — like a spell, a wish granted by some cruel universe. or maybe it’s all in your head. maybe you finally snapped, grief carving hallucinations so vivid you can touch them.
“hey,” heeseung says softly. “earth to loser.”
you look at him. his eyes are warm, concerned. the same eyes that looked empty in his senior portrait at the funeral.
“if something’s wrong,” he says, “you can tell me. i’m here.”
i’m here. the words break you a little more.
you want to tell him everything. about the overdose. the casket. the rain at the graveyard. the letter where he said he should’ve kissed you. but you can’t. if this is a dream, it’ll shatter. if it’s real… you might change everything. ruin it worse.
“i’m fine,” you lie. “just stressed about prom.”
he rolls his eyes. “prom? that’s two weeks away. you got a date yet?”
you shake your head. in the original timeline — or whatever this is — you went with dawon. regretted it instantly.
“me neither,” he says, looking out at the lake. “soojin’s been hinting, but… i don’t know.”
soojin. his on-again, off-again girlfriend. the one who broke up with him two weeks ago. the one who wasn’t there when things got bad.
your fists clench in your lap.
“you should ask someone else,” you say before you can stop yourself.
he looks at you, eyebrow raised. “like who?”
like me. the words stick in your throat. you’re too shocked. too scared. you can’t ruin the friendship tonight. not when you’re still half-convinced you’ll wake up any second to an empty house and a shoebox full of regrets.
“i don’t know,” you mumble. “someone cool.”
he laughs. “very helpful.”
you sit there until the sky starts to lighten at the edges, talking about nothing and everything. school. college apps. his latest mixtape. you soak it in, every laugh, every glance, memorizing him like he could vanish again.
when he drops you off, climbing the drainpipe with you, he pauses at your window.
“night, loser,” he says. but he doesn’t leave right away. he looks at you like he wants to say more.
your heart pounds. the words echo in you head “ruin the friendship next time, okay?”
“night,” you whisper.
he hesitates, then swings out and drops to the ground. you watch him jog across the lawn, disappearing into the shadows.
you close the window and sink to the floor, back against the wall. no box. no letters. no plushie.
but in your pocket — wait. you reach in and pull out a pebble. one of the ones he threw. smooth and cool in your palm.
real.
or dream?
you curl up on the bed, hoodie still on, and stare at the ceiling until sleep drags you under.
you wake to sunlight streaming through the blinds. birds chirping. your mom yelling from downstairs: “breakfast in ten! don’t be late for school!”
school. senior year. may.
you sit up slowly. the pebble is still on your nightstand.
you dress in a daze — jeans, t-shirt, the sneakers with the hole in the toe. downstairs, your parents are at the kitchen table, dad reading the paper, mom flipping pancakes.
“god morning, sleepyhead,” mom says. “you look like you didn’t sleep at all.”
“i had a bad dream,” you mumble, pouring orange juice.
dad glances up. “is everything okay?”
you nod. but your mind is racing. if this is real — if you’re back — then you have two weeks. two weeks to ruin the friendship the right way. to tell him. to kiss him. to change everything.
school is a blur. the hallways smell like floor wax and teenage sweat. your locker is covered in stickers, the combination is still 15-10-01 — heeseung's birthday.
chaewon slams into you at lunch, arm linked through yours. “oh my god, did you hear? jay got caught making out with that sophomore in the janitor’s closet.”
you laugh, but it feels distant. then you see him.
heeseung at the end of the hall, leaning against his locker, talking to sunghoon. he spots you and waves, that easy grin.
you wave back, heart in your throat.
the day drags. in chemistry, he passes you a note folded into a perfect square: i'm bored. draw me something.
you sketch a stick figure of him falling off a skateboard. he snorts when he unfolds it, draws devil horns on your head, and passes it back.
normal. everything normal.
but at the end of the day, he waits by your locker. “wanna grab slushies? my treat.”
shell station. blue raspberry. like always.
you nod. “yeah.”
in the jeep — his brother’s, borrowed again — he blasts the radio and you roll the windows down. warm may air whips through, tangling your hair.
at the station, he buys your slushie and his mountain dew, steals a sip of yours when you’re not looking.
“thief,” you say, swatting his arm.
he laughs. “you love it.”
you do. god, you do.
back in the jeep, parked under the overpass, you sip in silence for a while. the graffiti is fresh — your names carved there, but not worn yet.
“hey,” he says suddenly. “about prom…”
your pulse spikes.
“do you think i should ask soojin?”
no. ask me. ruin it.
but you’re still too shocked. still waiting for the dream to crack.
“if you want,” you say weakly.
he nods, but he looks disappointed. or maybe that’s your imagination.
that night, you lie in bed staring at the pebble. “ruin the friendship next time,” you whisper to the dark.
tomorrow. you’ll do it tomorrow.
but tomorrow turns into the next day. and the next. you’re paralyzed — every time you open your mouth to say it, the words freeze. what if this is real and you scare him off? what if it’s a dream and saying it wakes you up to the empty house and the shoebox and the rain-soaked graveyard? you tell yourself you’ll do it after school, or during lunch, or on the drive to the shell station, but the moments slip away like sand through your fingers. you watch him laugh in the hallway, slinging his backpack over one shoulder, and you think: tomorrow. definitely tomorrow.
the pebble sits on your nightstand like a talisman, smooth and unyielding. every morning you pick it up, roll it between your thumb and forefinger, and whisper “ruin the friendship” like a mantra. but by the time you see him in first period, leaning back in his chair with his pencil tapping against his notebook, the courage evaporates. you pass notes instead — dumb doodles of teachers with devil horns, inside jokes about jake’s terrible haircut. safe. familiar. the kind of friendship that doesn’t end in overdose and closed caskets.
a week melts away like that. may bleeds into hotter days, the air thick with the promise of summer and the buzz of senioritis. prom posters plaster the walls: glittering crowns, disco balls, “a night to remember” in curly font. everyone’s talking about dates and dresses and afterparties. yunjin drags you dress shopping after school on wednesday, twirling in front of mirrors in poofy gowns while you sit on the fitting room bench, phone in hand, half-listening.
“what about this one?” she asks, spinning in a blue dress that makes her look like a mermaid. “too much?”
“perfect,” you say, but your mind is on heeseung.
he texted you last night: can’t sleep again. wanna sneak out? you said yes, met him at the end of your street, walked to the overpass and sat with your legs dangling over the edge, watching cars blur underneath. he talked about college — maybe community college first, stay local, help his mom. you wanted to grab his hand, tell him everything, but instead you bumped his shoulder and said “you’ll figure it out.”
coward.
thursday lunch, you’re at the usual table in the cafeteria — you, chaewon, heeseung, jake, yunjin, sunghoon, jay. the noise is deafening: trays clattering, laughter echoing off cinderblock walls. heeseung’s across from you, stealing fries from your tray like always. his knee bumps yours under the table and you jolt like it’s electric.
“so,” jake says, mouth full of burger, “prom dates. who’s locked in?”
sunghoon shrugs. “i'm going by myself. it's more fun that way.”
jay rolls his eyes. “you mean no one asked you.”
yunjin elbows you. “what about you two?” she points between you and heeseung. “going together? best friends going to prom pact or whatever?”
your heart stops. this is it. say yes. ruin it.
but heeseung laughs first, rubbing the back of his neck. “nah. we’d kill each other by the end of the night.”
everyone chuckles. you force a smile, but it feels like glass cracking. “yeah,” you mumble. “a total disaster.”
he looks at you then, something flickering in his eyes — regret? hurt? — but it’s gone before you can name it.
friday after practice, he catches you by your locker. sweat-damp hair sticking to his forehead, football jersey slung over his shoulder. “hey, loser. walk home?”
you nod, falling into step beside him. the sun’s dipping low, painting the parking lot gold. kids yell goodbye from car windows. heeseung’s quiet at first, kicking a pebble along the sidewalk.
“i’m gonna ask soojin to prom,” he says suddenly.
your stomach plummets. just like before. the words hang in the air, heavy and sharp.
“oh,” you say, voice too high. “cool. she’ll say yes.”
he glances at you sideways. “do you think so?”
“yeah. she isn't over you. never will.”
he nods, but he doesn’t look happy. “what about you? has anyone asked yet?”
“nope.” dawon will, tomorrow. you know the script.
“someone will,” he says softly. “you’re… you know. amazing.”
your chest aches. tell him. tell him now.
“thanks,” you whisper instead.
that night, you lie in bed staring at the ceiling, pebble in your fist so tight it leaves indents in your palm. heartbroken doesn’t cover it — it’s like reliving the funeral all over again, but slower, drawn out over days instead of hours. you’re a coward. you know it. but the fear is bigger than the want, a wall you can’t climb. what if he says no? what if he laughs? what if this fragile second chance shatters and you wake up to chaewon’s yellow room and the weight of four years gone?
saturday morning, dawon corners you at the mall where you’re pretending to shop for prom stuff with chaewon. he’s all nervous smiles, hands in his pockets, shuffling his feet.
“hey,” he says. “um, prom. wanna go with me?”
just like before. the wilted corsage. the awkward dances. the glimpses of heeseung across the gym.
you should say no. change it. go by yourself. or better — ask heeseung.
but you hear yourself say “sure,” because it’s safe. because changing too much might break whatever magic brought you here.
chaewon squeals, hugs you. dawon grins like he won the lottery.
you feel sick in your stomach.
sunday, rocks at your window. tap, tap, tap tap.
heeseung climbs in, flops on your bed with a dramatic sigh. “soojin said yes.”
“congrats,” you say, sitting cross-legged on the floor because being too close feels dangerous.
he rolls onto his stomach, chin in his hands, looking at you. “dawon asked you, huh?”
“yeah.”
“cool, he's a nice guy.” but his voice is flat.
silence stretches. the fairy lights twinkle mockingly.
“we could’ve gone together,” he says quietly. “as friends. it would’ve been fun.”
as friends. the knife twists deeper.
“yeah,” you say. “would’ve.”
he leaves earlier than usual, climbing out the window without his usual joke. you watch him go, heartbeat loud in the quiet room.
prom is five days away. you have the dress — the same one, hanging in your closet like a ghost. you practice in the mirror: heeseung, i like you. more than friends. let’s ruin this.
but the words stick every time.
you’re running out of time. again.
the next days bleed together in a haze of almosts.
monday, four days until prom.
you sit in chemistry, two seats away from him, watching the way he chews on the end of his pencil when he’s concentrating. mr. kim gives a lecture about molarity and you scribble in the margin of your notebook: tell him today. you underline it three times. when the bell rings, heeseung turns to you with that easy grin.
“lunch plans?”
“cafeteria?” you suggest, voice steady even though your palms are sweating.
“actually,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck, “soojin wants to meet up. talk prom stuff. corsage colors or whatever.”
your stomach twists. “oh. cool.”
he hesitates. “are you sure you’re okay? you’ve been this… quiet.”
this is it. open your mouth. say it.
“yeah,” you lie. “i'm just tired.”
he nods, but his eyes linger on you a second longer than usual. then he’s gone, backpack slung over one shoulder, disappearing into the hallway crowd. you stand there until chaewon drags you to lunch, complaining about her spanish oral exam. you nod in all the right places, but all you can think is: coward. again.
tuesday, three days until prom.
dawon finds you at your locker before first period, bouncing on his toes like an excited puppy.
“hey! so, prom. we should coordinate, right? what color’s your dress?”
you haven’t even tried it on yet. it’s hanging in your closet like a bad memory. “um… navy, i think.”
“sweet! i’ll get a tie to match.” he grins, then lowers his voice. “are you excited?”
“yeah,” you say, forcing enthusiasm. “totally.”
he walks you to class, chattering about his dad’s limo rental and the afterparty at jake’s lake house. you smile and nod and feel like you’re drowning.
at lunch, heeseung slides into the seat across from you with a tray piled high. soojin’s not there — she’s at cheer practice — but her absence feels loud anyway.
“dawon is all in, huh?” he says, stealing one of your tater tots.
“i guess so.”
he chews thoughtfully. “he’s a good guy. does he treat you right?”
you shrug. “he’s nice.”
heeseung nods, but there’s something tight around his eyes. “good. you deserve nice.”
you want to scream. i deserve you, you idiot. but the words stay locked behind your teeth.
after school, he texts: shell station run? blue raspberry therapy?
you go. you always go.
in the jeep, windows down, warm may air whipping your hair into knots, he blasts that stupid justin bieber song he pretends to hate. you laugh when he sings the high notes off-key. at the station, he buys your slushie first, hands it to you with a flourish.
“for the lady who’s too cool for prom excitement.”
you take a sip, brain freeze hitting instantly. “i’m excited,” you protest.
he leans against the hood, watching you. “you don’t seem like it.”
your heart hammers. tell him. tell him you’re not excited because you’re going with the wrong person. tell him you’ve loved him since you were fifteen and crying in his passenger seat over a dead dog. tell him about the letters you read in another life, about the song he wrote that cracked in the second verse.
instead you say, “i'm just nervous. big night.”
he nods slowly. “yeah. me too.”
you drive to the overpass after, park under the graffiti that still looks fresh. your names carved there, sharp and new. he cuts the engine and you sit in silence, slurping the last of your drinks.
“what if college changes everything?” he asks suddenly, voice quiet.
“it won’t,” you say automatically. then you think about the four years of silence, the unanswered texts, the funeral. “or… maybe it will. but we’ll be okay.”
he looks at you, eyes soft in the fading light. “promise?”
your throat closes. “promise.”
he reaches over and squeezes your knee, just once, before pulling away. the touch burns for the rest of the night.
wednesday, two days until prom.
you try on the dress after school. navy satin, simple, the one chaewon forced you to buy. it fits the same as it did in the original timeline. you stare at yourself in the mirror and hate how you look — like someone going to a dance with the wrong boy.
your phone buzzes. heeseung: window tonight? can’t sleep.
you hesitate, thumbs hovering. if you let him in, you might say it. or you might not. you’ve had so many chances.
you text back: yeah.
he climbs in at 12:47 a.m., hair messy from tossing in bed. he flops onto your carpet instead of the bed, staring up at the glow-in-the-dark stars you both stuck up junior year.
“remember when we thought these would last forever?” he says.
you lie down beside him, shoulder to shoulder. “they kind of did.”
he turns his head. you can feel his eyes on you. “are you sure you’re okay? you’ve been weird all week.”
your heart is a drumline. this is the moment. the perfect one. quiet room, just you two, the whole world asleep.
“heeseung,” you start.
“yeah?”
you open your mouth. the words are right there — i love you. i’ve always loved you. go to prom with me instead. ruin this friendship, please, before it ruins us.
but the fear rushes in like a flood. what if he doesn’t feel it? what if he pulls away? what if this whole second chance crumbles and you wake up to november rain and a closed casket?
“i’m just… scared,” you finish lamely. “about everything changing.”
he’s quiet for a long time. then he reaches over and laces his fingers through yours, squeezing.
“me too,” he whispers. “but we’ve got each other, right?”
right.
you hold his hand until he falls asleep on your floor, breathing slow and even. you stay awake all night, caressing his skin, memorizing the weight of his fingers in yours, the soft sound of his sleep, the way his hair falls across his forehead.
prom is on friday.
you know you'll either ruin the friendship or lose him all over again.
and you still don’t know which scares you more.
thursday. one day until prom.
you wake up to an empty room. the spot on the carpet where heeseung fell asleep is cold, the indentation from his body already gone. he must have slipped out before dawn, climbed down the drainpipe like he’s done a hundred times. no note. no text. nothing.
your phone stays silent all morning. no good morning, loser. no dumb meme. no stolen photo of his breakfast with the caption wish you were here to steal my bacon.
by first period you’re checking it every thirty seconds. by lunch you’ve refreshed the messages app so many times your thumb hurts. he’s not in the cafeteria. jake says he texted something about a headache and staying home. sunghoon shrugs — probably just tired from practice.
you’re not buying it.
the silence feels deliberate. like after you held his hand all night and said nothing, he finally felt how wide the gap between you has grown. or maybe he’s just sick. or maybe this whole second chance is starting to unravel and tomorrow you’ll wake up in november again, hoodie in your arms, rain on the window.
you float through the day like a ghost. teachers’ voices blur. hallways stretch too long. every laugh in the corridor sounds like his until you turn and it isn’t.
after the final bell, chaewon and yunjin ambush you at your locker.
“okay, emergency sleepover,” yunjin announces, slinging her arm around your shoulders. “tonight. my house. no excuses. it’s literally our last day of real high school freedom before prom chaos takes over. we need to cherish this moment. we might never see each other again after graduation and we'll becom—”
“yunjin,” chaewon groans, “you’re so dramatic. we’re all going to the same community college for at least a year.”
“details!” yunjin waves her off. “this is historic, real night to remember. pack your pjs, face masks, and every embarrassing story you have. we’re making memories.”
you try to protest — you want to be alone, want to drive to heeseung’s house and make sure he’s okay — but they’re already steering you toward the parking lot. yunjin’s driving, chaewon shotgun, you in the back clutching your backpack like a life raft.
yunjin’s house is warm and loud — her younger brother yelling at fortnite in the basement, her younger sister watching youtube in her bedroom, her mom making popcorn and telling you girls to “keep it down to a dull roar.” you spread out in yunjin’s room: fairy lights on, old disney movies queued, junk food mountain in the center of the bed. yunjin insists on giving everyone matching bunny headbands for selfies. chaewon paints your nails a ridiculous glittery purple while yunjin braids your hair and narrates every prom disaster story she’s heard since freshman year.
for a while it works. you laugh until your stomach hurts at yunjin’s impression of principal lee dancing at last year’s prom. chaewon tells the story of how in primary school jake once tried to ask her out by writing it in pizza toppings and spelled her name wrong. you almost forget the ache.
but around midnight, when the movies are over and the lights are dimmed to just the fairy string glow, the conversation drifts.
yunjin is lying on her back, staring at the ceiling. “okay but real talk. prom couples this year are so boring. jay and i are literally just going as friends because neither of us wanted to deal with the drama of asking someone. same with chaewon and jake. it’s like… why does everyone feel like they have to force it?”
chaewon snorts. “speaking of forcing it. soojin and heeseung? no shade but… come on.”
your body goes stiff.
yunjin sits up, eyes wide. “oh my god yes. they have zero chemistry. it’s like watching two cardboard cutouts slow dance.”
chaewon glances at you carefully. “it’s kinda sad, honestly. everyone knows he’d rather be going with someone else.”
yunjin nods enthusiastically. “someone who’s literally been right in front of him since like… middle school.”
they both look at you.
you try to laugh it off. “guys, stop.”
but your voice wobbles.
yunjin’s face softens. she scoots closer. “babe. come on. we’re not blind.”
chaewon reaches over and takes your hand. “we’ve watched you two orbit each other for years. the way he looks at you? the way you look at him when you think no one’s watching? it’s so obvious it hurts.”
your throat closes up. you’ve held it together for days — weeks? — but the dam finally cracks.
they're your girls. you can let go.
“i’m so scared,” you whisper. the words come out tiny and broken.
yunjin wraps her arms around you immediately. chaewon piles in from the other side until you’re sandwiched between them.
“scared of what?” chaewon asks gently.
“of ruining everything.” your voice cracks completely now. tears spill hot down your cheeks. “he’s my best friend. if i say something and he doesn’t feel the same… if he pulls away… i can’t lose him. i can’t.”
yunjin strokes your hair. “sweetie. you’re already losing him. not all at once, but little by little. every day you don’t say it, he thinks you don’t feel it. and he’s going to prom with soojin because he thinks that’s what you want — for him to move on.”
you sob harder. it’s ugly, shoulders shaking, nose running. you don’t even try to hide it.
“i love him,” you choke out. “i’ve loved him for so long and i’m such a coward. every time i try to say it, i freeze. and now he didn’t even text me today and i think he hates me and tomorrow he’s going with her and i’m going with dawon and it’s all wrong and i don’t know how to fix it.”
chaewon holds you tighter. “you fix it by being brave once. just once. tell him. worst case, he says he doesn’t feel the same and you guys take space and heal. but best case? you get everything you’ve wanted since you were fifteen.”
yunjin adds softly, “and honestly? we all know it’s the best case. that boy is stupid in love with you. he just hides it the same way you do.”
you cry until there’s nothing left, until your eyes burn and your head throbs and the bunny headband is soaked. they don’t let go the whole time. yunjin hums an old lullaby her mom used to sing. chaewon rubs slow circles on your back.
when the tears finally slow, you’re exhausted, wrung out, but something inside you feels lighter. cleaner.
“tomorrow,” you whisper into yunjin’s shoulder. “i’ll tell him tomorrow.”
yunjin kisses the top of your head. “good. and if you chicken out, we’re both tackling you until you do.”
“or we lock you both in a room until you finally confess,” chaewon laughs wetly. “we love you, okay? no matter what.”
you nod against them, breathing in the familiar scent of yunjin’s vanilla body spray and chaewon’s coconut shampoo.
you fall asleep between your best friends, heart raw and open, dreaming of rocks against glass and a boy with a miles-wide smile waiting underneath.
friday. prom day.
you wake up tangled in yunjin’s blankets, mouth dry from crying, eyes puffy and sore. the fairy lights are still on, casting soft shadows across the room. chaewon is curled at the foot of the bed like a cat, yunjin’s arm flung over your waist. for a second everything feels normal — sleepover haze, the faint smell of popcorn and nail polish remover.
then you check your phone.
no messages from heeseung.
not a single one. not even a stupid emoji or a “morning loser.” the last text is still from wednesday night: yeah. when you said you’d let him in.
your stomach knots so hard you have to sit up slowly. the room tilts. chaewon stirs, blinks at you with one eye.
“you okay?”
you shake your head. “he didn’t text.”
yunjin groans, rolling over. “it’s only—” she squints at her phone. “9:47. maybe he’s still asleep.”
“he’s never asleep past nine,” you whisper. “even on weekends.”
chaewon sits up fully now, hair wild. “okay. deep breaths. we don’t know anything yet.”
yunjin nods. “he’s probably just… freaking out in his own way. guys are weird. remember when jake didn’t text me for three days after i beat him at mario kart? turned out he was practicing in secret so he could win next time.”
“that’s not the same,” you mumble.
“no,” yunjin admits, “but the point is: radio silence doesn’t always mean disaster. give him space. you’ll see him tonight.”
you want to believe them. you try.
yunjin’s mom makes chocolate chip pancakes and lets you steal all the whipped cream. you spend the morning on the couch watching old prom transformation videos, yunjin and chaewon arguing over whether glitter eyeshadow is back or if it should stay dead. they keep you busy — doing each other’s makeup trials, ranking prom dresses on pinterest, forcing you to pick a lip color even though your hands shake every time your phone buzzes and it’s not him.
you text the group chat with the boys: anyone heard from hee?
jake: nah, he said he wasn’t feeling good yesterday. probably sleeping it off.
sunghoon: dude’s been weird all week tbh
jay: he’ll show. he always does.
it doesn’t help.
by early afternoon, your parents text that they’re heading out for their pre-prom dinner reservation with dawon’s parents. you hug yunjin and chaewon goodbye in the driveway, promising to send pictures later.
the house is quiet when you get home. too quiet. you blast music while you get ready. you shower, shave, lotion, all the rituals, even if you don't feel like it. the navy dress slides on like it was waiting for this exact day. you do your hair the way chaewon taught you, do your makeup carefully so the slight redness around your eyes doesn’t show.
you look good. you know you do. but every time you glance at your phone — still nothing — your stomach knots tighter.
dawon arrives at six sharp, looking nervous in his rented tux with the navy tie he promised. he hands you the corsage — an orchid, just like before — and blushes when you pin his boutonniere on.
“you look amazing,” he says, sincere.
“thanks. you look nice, too.”
your parents take a million pictures on the front porch. you smile until your cheeks hurt. dawon’s parents do the same. finally you escape into his dad’s suv, waving as you pull away.
the gym is transformed — twinkle lights strung across the ceiling, disco ball spinning lazy rainbows, balloon arches by the doors. music thumps from inside, some top-40 remix that makes the floor vibrate. couples spill out onto the lawn taking photos, laughter everywhere.
you step inside with dawon’s hand at your elbow and scan the room immediately.
soojin is there.
but she's alone.
she’s standing by the punch table in a red dress, phone in hand, looking around like she’s waiting for someone who hasn’t shown up. no heeseung.
your heart stops.
dawon leads you farther in, chatting about the decorations, but you barely hear him. chaewon spots you from across the room — she’s in emerald green with jake, who’s already making silly faces for the photographer. she waves wildly, then sees your face and frowns. yunjin is nearby with jay, both laughing at something on jay’s phone. she catches your eye and mouths: are you okay?
you shake your head slightly.
you pull out your phone under the cover of posing for a group photo with the girls. still no texts. you type one to heeseung anyway: you here?
it sends. delivered. no bubbles.
the night stretches ahead like a bad dream you can’t wake from. dawon asks you to dance and you say yes because what else can you do. the floor is crowded, bodies moving under colored lights. you catch glimpses of soojin checking the doors every few minutes, expression tightening.
slow song comes on — some ed sheeran ballad. dawon pulls you in, hands respectful on your waist. you sway automatically, but your eyes keep searching.
he’s not here.
he didn’t come.
you feel the tears prick again and blink hard, staring at the disco ball so they don’t fall. dawon notices anyway.
“hey,” he says softly. “you okay?”
you nod, but it’s a lie and he knows it.
chaewon and yunjin appear at your side like guardian angels. “bathroom break!” yunjin announces, grabbing your hand. chaewon tells the boys something about girl emergencies and steers you away.
in the bathroom hallway, quieter, they pull you into a hug.
“he’s not here,” you whisper, voice breaking.
“we know,” chaewon says. “soojin has been alone all night.”
“maybe he’s sick,” yunjin tries. “or something came up and he—”
“he didn’t text me,” you cut in. “not once. after i held his hand all night and said nothing. he knows. he knows i don’t feel it and he’s… done.”
your voice cracks on the last word.
yunjin cups your face. “listen to me. you are not done until you talk to him. prom isn’t over. the night isn’t over.”
but even as she says it, you feel the weight of the original timeline pressing down — the one where everything slipped away quietly, day by day, until it was too late.
you fix your makeup in the mirror, hands shaking. the music thumps faintly through the walls.
you have to find him.
tonight, you’ll either ruin the friendship or lose him trying.
you pull away from chaewon and yunjin in the hallway, wiping your eyes with the back of your hand. the bass from the gym thumps through the walls like a heartbeat you don’t want to feel right now.
“i need to find him,” you say, voice steadier than you feel. “even if he’s avoiding me. i need to know.”
yunjin nods immediately. “we’re coming with you.”
chaewon squeezes your arm. “let’s get the boys. it'll be easier if it's all of us.”
you weave back into the gym. the lights are low, colored spots sweeping across the crowd. dawon spots you and starts heading over, but chaewon intercepts him with some story about needing girl time. he looks confused but nods, sweet as always.
jake, sunghoon, and jay are by the snack table, ties loosened, sleeves rolled up, looking bored. jake’s got a cupcake in each hand. sunghoon’s scrolling his phone. jay’s leaning against the wall like he’s too cool for all this.
you shake your head. “soojin is here. alone. he didn’t text me all day. i think… i think he’s pulling away.”
sunghoon pockets his phone. “he’s been off for days. kept saying he was fine, but he looked like shit.”
jake swallows his cupcake whole. “we gotta find him. he’s probably at home brooding or at the lake or something.”
jay’s already moving. “my car is out front. let’s go.”
you all follow him out into the warm may night. the parking lot is chaos — limos idling, parents taking photos, kids yelling. jay’s truck is parked near the back, black and lifted, looking ridiculous next to all the rented sedans.
six of you. one truck with a cab that seats five, max.
jay unlocks it. “uh…”
yunjin eyes the cramped space. “this is not gonna work.”
jake, ever the problem-solver (or pushover), shrugs. “i’ll ride in the bed. it’s fine. it’s like five minutes to his house.”
sunghoon snorts. “it’s twenty minutes, idiot.”
“and illegal,” chaewon adds.
jake’s already climbing into the truck bed anyway, grinning like it’s an adventure. “come on, live a little! i’ll hold on to the tailgate.”
jay groans. “if you fall out, i’m not stopping.”
“you love me too much,” jake says, settling in with his tux jacket flapping.
yunjin laughs despite everything. “fine. but if cops pull us over, you’re paying the ticket.”
you pile into the cab: jay driving, sunghoon shotgun, you squished in the middle back between chaewon and yunjin. it’s tight — knees to chests, elbows everywhere. yunjin’s dress poufs up like a balloon.
“this is ridiculous,” sunghoon mutters, trying to adjust his seat.
“shut up. jay, drive,” yunjin says. “we have a best friend to rescue.”
jay peels out carefully, avoiding prom traffic. jake whoops from the back like he’s on a rollercoaster. you catch a glimpse of him in the rearview — hair whipping, arms spread wide, looking happier than anyone should in a truck bed.
“slow down!” chaewon yells.
“he’s fine!” jay yells back.
“he’s gonna fly out on the first turn!” sunghoon adds.
jake’s voice floats in through the cracked window: “i’m living my truth back here!”
you can’t help it — you laugh. it’s short, surprised out of you, but it breaks some of the tension in your chest.
first stop: heeseung’s house.
the porch light is on, but the windows are dark. his brother's jeep isn’t in the driveway. jay parks and you all pile out — jake tumbling over the tailgate dramatically, tux pants dusty.
mrs. lee answers the door in pajamas, hair in curlers. she looks surprised to see six teenagers in prom formalwear on her doorstep.
“is heeseung home?” you ask, voice small.
she frowns. “no, honey. he said he was going to prom. left hours ago in his tux.”
your stomach drops.
“he looked nice,” she adds, trying to smile. “told me not to wait up.”
you thank her, mumble goodbyes. back in the truck — jake voluntarily hopping into the bed again, claiming he “earned the spot” — you rattle off the next places.
lakeside beach: empty. chain still up, parking lot deserted.
the overpass: nothing but graffiti and distant headlights.
the shell station: closed for the night.
waffle house: a couple of underclassmen in the corner booth, but no heeseung.
by now everyone’s quiet. even jake’s stopped joking. the prom glamour feels ridiculous — the glitter on your dress catching streetlights, yunjin’s heels killing her feet, jay’s tie completely undone.
“where else?” sunghoon asks.
you think. the football field. the place behind the bleachers where he used to go when things got bad at home sophomore year. or the old park with the broken swing set.
“the field,” you say. “try the high school field.”
jay turns the truck around.
the gates are locked, but there’s a gap in the fence everyone knows about. you slip through one by one — jake holding the chain link up for the girls, dresses snagging on metal.
the field is dark, floodlights off, just moonlight silvering the grass. and there — under the scoreboard, sitting on the tailgate of his brother's jeep like he’s waiting for a game that ended years ago — is heeseung.
tux jacket off, sleeves rolled up, tie loose. he’s staring at the empty field like it owes him something.
your heart slams into your ribs.
the group stops a few yards away. chaewon squeezes your hand. “go,” she whispers.
jay clears his throat. “we’ll… wait by the fence.”
they retreat, giving you space but not leaving. jake gives you a thumbs-up that’s more nervous than confident. yunjin mouths “you got this” while chaewon presses her hands to her heart like she’s praying. jay leans against the fence with his arms crossed, pretending he’s not watching every second. sunghoon just nods once, solid and steady.
you turn back to the field.
you walk across the grass alone. your heels sink into the turf with every step; halfway there you kick them off completely, leaving them behind like shedding an old skin. the cool blades tickle your bare feet. you carry nothing but his jacket over your arm and the weight of every unsaid word in your chest.
heeseung watches you approach. he doesn’t move from the tailgate, just sits there with his elbows on his knees, hands loosely clasped, staring like he can’t believe you’re real. the moonlight catches the sharp line of his jaw, the mess of his hair, the way his tie hangs crooked and defeated.
you stop a few feet away, close enough to see the redness around his eyes.
“hey,” you say, voice barely above the crickets.
“hey,” he answers. it comes out rough, like he hasn’t spoken all day.
you take a breath that shakes on the way in. “you didn’t come to the prom.”
he looks down at his hands. “yeah. i know.”
“soojin has been waiting all night.”
he winces. “i texted her. told her i couldn’t make it. she’s… probably pissed, and she probably hates me.”
silence stretches, thick and aching. you climb onto the tailgate beside him, leaving a careful foot of space at first. then you shift closer until your knees almost touch. the metal is cold through the thin fabric of your dress.
“why didn't you come?” you ask. the question hangs between you like a live wire.
he laughs once — short, bitter, humorless. “come on. you know why.”
“say it anyway.”
he turns his head. the look he gives you is raw, stripped bare. no walls, no jokes, no easy grin to hide behind.
“because i can’t watch you dance with him,” he says, voice low and cracking on the edges. “i can’t stand in that gym in a stupid rented tux and pretend i’m okay watching dawon put his hands on you, watching you smile at him like— like it doesn’t kill me every second.”
your breath catches.
he keeps going, words spilling faster now, like a dam finally breaking.
“i’ve been in love with you for years. years. and i thought if i just waited, if i was patient, you’d see it. you’d feel it too. but every time i got close — every time we held hands or stayed up all night or sat right here like this — i chickened out. because you’re my best friend. you’re my favorite person. and the idea of losing you was worse than anything.”
his voice cracks completely on the last word. he looks away, jaw clenched, eyes shining.
“and then this week… you held my hand wednesday night. all night. and you still didn’t say anything. and i thought, okay. that’s it. she doesn’t feel it. she never will. so i stayed home tonight because i couldn’t fake it anymore. i couldn’t stand there and smile while you danced with someone else.”
tears are sliding down your face now, hot and unstoppable. you don’t even try to wipe them away.
“heeseung,” you whisper.
he shakes his head. “it’s okay. i get it. we’re friends. best friends. i’ll… i’ll figure out how to be okay with that. i just needed one night to—”
“stop.”
he stops.
you shift closer until your knees touch. until there’s barely any space left.
“you’re an idiot,” you say, voice thick with tears. “the biggest idiot i’ve ever met.”
he blinks, confused.
“i’ve been in love with you since we were fifteen,” you say. the words tumble out, shaky but sure. “since the night my dog died and you drove me around for hours until i stopped crying. since every midnight drive, every stupid note in chemistry, every time you stole my fries and smiled like you knew exactly what you were doing to me.”
his eyes widen.
“i was going to tell you a hundred times this week,” you continue. “every day i told myself today’s the day. and every day i froze. because what if you didn’t feel it? what if i said it and you pulled away and i lost you forever? i was so scared of ruining us that i almost let you slip away anyway.”
tears spill faster now. you don’t care.
“i went with dawon because it was safe. because saying yes to him meant i didn’t have to risk saying yes to you and hearing no. but it’s been killing me too. every second. watching you with soojin. knowing you were pulling away because i was too much of a coward to speak.”
you reach out, trembling fingers brushing his cheek. he leans into the touch like he’s starving for it.
“i love you,” you say. the words feel huge, sacred, terrifying and perfect all at once. “not just as my best friend. i love you so much it hurts. i love you when you sing off-key in the jeep. i love you when you’re quiet and sad and won’t tell me why. i love you enough to risk everything.”
his breath hitches. his hand comes up to cover yours, pressing your palm harder against his face like he’s afraid you’ll disappear.
“really?” he whispers. voice broken open.
“really.”
for a moment you just breathe together, foreheads almost touching, tears mixing on your cheeks.
then he closes the last inch of space.
the kiss starts soft — hesitant, like you’re both afraid it’s a dream that’ll shatter if you push too hard. his lips are warm and trembling against yours. you taste salt from both your tears. his hand slides from your cheek to the back of your neck, fingers threading into your hair like he’s anchoring himself.
then it deepens. years of waiting, of almosts, of unspoken everything pouring out. you shift closer until you’re pressed against him, one hand fisted in his shirt, the other cupping his jaw. he kisses you like he’s been drowning and you’re air. like he’s scared it’ll end any second.
his fingers tangle tighter in your hair, tilting your head so he can kiss you harder, deeper, like he’s trying to make up for every moment he didn’t. you taste tears — yours, his, you’re not sure anymore — and the faint trace of the spearmint gum he always chews when he’s nervous. your whole body is shaking, not from cold but from the sheer relief of it, the terrifying joy of finally, finally having him.
when you break apart, it’s only because you can’t breathe. your foreheads stay pressed together, noses brushing, breaths mingling in the small space between you. you’re sobbing now, full-body sobs that wrench out of your chest like something breaking open after being locked too long.
he pulls back just enough to look at you, eyes wide and wet, thumb brushing frantically over your cheekbones like he’s trying to wipe the tears faster than they fall.
“hey,” he whispers, voice cracking. “hey, baby, breathe.”
the endearment hits you like a wave. baby. he’s never called you that before. not out loud.
you clutch at his shirt tighter, knuckles white, pulling him closer until there’s no space left. your face buries in his neck, breathing him in — warm skin, faint cologne, the familiar scent that’s always just been heeseung.
“i thought i was gonna lose you again,” you sob into his shoulder. the words come out muffled and broken, but you can’t stop them now that the floodgates are open. “i thought— i thought if i said it, you’d pull away, and then everything would fall apart like— like it did before—”
he goes completely still.
you feel it — the way his arms tighten around you, almost painfully, like he’s trying to hold all your pieces together.
“before?” he asks, voice barely audible.
you pull back just enough to look at him. tears blur your vision, but you see his face clear enough — the confusion, the dawning worry.
you shake your head, trying to steady your breathing. “it doesn’t matter. not anymore. just— i was so scared. every day this week i told myself i’d say it, and every day i chickened out because losing you as my friend felt worse than never having you at all. but then tonight, when you weren’t there, when you didn’t text… i thought i’d waited too long. again.”
your voice breaks on the last word. fresh tears spill over.
he cups your face in both hands now, thumbs stroking your cheeks, eyes searching yours like he’s trying to read every secret you’ve ever kept.
“you’re not losing me,” he says fiercely. “not ever. i’ve been yours since we were kids. i was just too stupid to say it out loud.”
you laugh through the tears — a wet, hiccuping sound that’s half sob.
“we’re both idiots,” you whisper.
“yeah,” he agrees, smiling even as tears slip down his own face. “but we’re idiots together now.”
you lean in and kiss him again, softer this time. slower. like you have all the time in the world now that the worst part is over. his arms wrap around your waist, pulling you into his lap on the tailgate. you straddle him without thinking, dress riding up, but you don’t care. you just need to be closer.
your hands slide into his hair, fingers threading through the strands you’ve wanted to touch like this for years. he shivers, hands tightening on your hips.
when you pull back again, you rest your forehead against his, both of you breathing hard.
“i love you,” you say. it’s easier the second time. “so much.”
“i love you,” he answers immediately, voice thick. “god, i love you so much it’s stupid.”
you laugh again, and this time it’s real — bright and watery and full of everything you’ve held back.
from the fence, the cheering starts up again — louder this time, jake’s voice carrying across the field: “get a room!”
you both turn, faces flushed and tear-streaked, but you’re laughing now, the sound bubbling up uncontrollable. heeseung buries his face in your shoulder for a second, groaning, but his arms stay tight around you like he’s never letting go.
“shut up, jake!” you yell back, voice still wobbly from crying.
jake cups his hands around his mouth. “finally! i’ve been waiting for this since sophomore year! my ship has sailed!”
yunjin wolf-whistles, high and piercing. “about damn time, you idiots! i’m crying, my mascara’s ruined, this is your fault!”
chaewon’s jumping up and down with yunjin’s arm around her shoulders, both of them squealing. “i knew it! i told you all in junior year this was gonna happen!”
sunghoon’s grinning wide, rare and genuine. “took you long enough, hee. thought i was gonna have to lock you two in a room myself.”
jay shakes his head, but he’s smiling too, slow clap starting. “congratulations on growing a spine, man. proud of you.”
heeseung flips them off with one hand, the other still locked around your waist. “thanks for the support, assholes. really feeling the love.”
“we love you!” yunjin yells. “both of you! so much it hurts!”
jake starts a chant — your names, over and over, until everyone joins in, off-key and ridiculous. you hide your face in heeseung’s chest, laughing so hard your ribs ache. he’s laughing too, the sound rumbling against your cheek, warm and alive and yours.
“okay, okay!” he calls finally. “show’s over! go back to prom or something!”
“nah,” jake says, already backing toward the fence gap. “we’re good. you two need alone time. gross alone time.”
“don’t do anything i wouldn’t do!” sunghoon adds, smirking.
“that’s not a high bar,” chaewon teases.
the boys start herding the girls away, still bickering and laughing. yunjin blows you both dramatic kisses. chaewon gives you a teary thumbs-up. jay salutes with two fingers. jake yells one last “use protection!” before sunghoon smacks him upside the head.
their voices fade as they disappear through the fence, leaving just the distant hum of prom music and the soft rustle of grass in the breeze.
heeseung looks down at you, eyes soft and shining. “they’re never gonna let us forget this.”
“good,” you say, smiling up at him. “i want to remember it forever.”
he kisses you again — quick, sweet — then hops off the tailgate and offers his hand. “come on. let’s get out of here.”
you take it, jumping down barefoot beside him. he grabs your abandoned heels from the grass, dangling them from his fingers with a grin.
“your brother's jeep?” you ask.
“my brother's jeep,” he confirms. “he’s at his girlfriend’s tonight. keys are under the mat like always.”
you both climb in — he opens the passenger door for you first, ever the gentleman even with tear tracks on his face. the engine rumbles to life, familiar and comforting. he backs out slowly, headlights cutting across the empty field, then pulls onto the road.
windows down, warm may air rushing in, radio low — some old song you both know every word to. he reaches over the console and laces his fingers with yours, resting your joined hands on your thigh.
“where to?” he asks.
“anywhere,” you say. “just drive.”
he smiles — that miles-wide smile you’ve loved forever — and hits the gas.
you cruise gallatin road with no destination, past the shell station glowing neon, past the overpass where your names are still fresh in the concrete. he sings along off-key, squeezing your hand every time the chorus hits. you lean your head against the seat, watching him — the way the dashboard lights catch his profile, the way he glances over at you every few seconds like he’s checking you’re still there.
at a red light, he lifts your hand and kisses your knuckles, eyes on yours.
“i love you,” he says. simple. sure.
“i love you,” you answer.
the light turns green. he drives on.
you lean your head against the window, hair whipping in the wind, his hand warm and steady in yours, and you smile at the open road stretching ahead.
genre: academic rivals to lovers, rich jay au, university au, angst, slow burn
part two word count: 18.1k
warnings: angst, depictions of terminal illness, scenes that occur in hospitals, use of the american (usa) health system (aka receiving medical care is expensive), swearing, slowwwww burn
playlist: this is me trying / cardigan / mirrorball- taylor swift / yellow - coldplay / BIRDS OF A FEATHER - billie eilish / safety net - ariana grande / garden (say it like dat) - sza
note: I AM SO SORRY PLEASE DO NOT HATE ME but part two was well on it's way to being 30k+ and I didn't like how uneven that would have made this story feel. This is part two, and part three will be the final. IT WILL BE, I SWEAR!!!!!!! part three is already mostly written, so rest assured that you will not have to wait nearly as long for it. Also, some of the spoilers I've been releasing are from what is now part three, so know that those moments have not been scrapped. they just haven't happened yet. For now, enjoy part two!
part one
⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖
Park Jongseong is everything you hate. Spoiled, entitled, and the heir to a top conglomerate in the business world you’ve been fighting tooth and nail to break into. You can’t even begin to count how many sleepless nights, skipped meals, and personal desires you’ve sacrificed just for a seat at the table he was born sitting at.
But when a piece of news in your third year of university pulls your world out from under your feet, everything starts to change. Including your feelings towards the one person you thought you’d always loathe.
⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖
Light filters through your half-drawn curtains. It’s brighter now. You’re not sure exactly what time it is, but you’re guessing somewhere just before noon, if the long shadows across the linoleum are anything to go by.
It would be quiet, peaceful even, if it weren’t for the pair of eyes staring at you from the foot of your bed.
“How are you feeling?” Sunoo asks again. It must be nearing the hundredth time this morning alone.
His voice is gentle, but it hits your ears like an accusation.
Put your guilt aside for a second, Jay told you that night in his car, and let people that love you take care of you when you need it.
Avoiding eye contact with your little brother now, it’s still easier said than done. All you can think about is how difficult this must be for him.
If your aversion to hospitals was enough to make your pulse spike at the thought of seeing a doctor, you can’t imagine what he must be feeling now.
But Sunoo isn’t a child anymore. Even since you began university, he’s changed. The years have hollowed out his cheeks, sharpened his gaze. When he looks at you now, it’s with the discernment of an adult.
And with age comes perception. It’s like he can see the gears turning in your mind.
“You don’t have to worry about me, you know.”
“What?” You’re quick to mask the flicker of shock that crosses your features.
It would seem that Sunoo has also become more direct as he’s gotten older. “I can tell that you’re thinking about me. Worrying about me. I don’t think I really need to point out how ridiculous that is.”
He does his best not to let his gaze flicker to the array of IV bags currently attached to the vein in the crook of your elbow, but the implication is obvious enough.
“I’m not worried about you,” you sigh. You are, of course, but he doesn’t need to know that. “I just—”
“Care,” he finishes for you. “Yeah, I know.”
At the end of your bed, Sunoo sighs. He arrived earlier this morning, along with your mother who’s currently speaking to Hana in the hallway outside your room. You’re not sure exactly what kind of conversation they’re having, but the tight, teary smile she offered on her way out five minutes ago wasn’t exactly reassuring.
Since their arrival, it’s been a kaleidoscope of emotions. You kept your promise to Jay. Only two nights passed before yesterday evening, when you finally found the courage to press on your mother’s contact information in your phone’s list of favorites. Your fingers were shaking, but you didn’t back out.
Partly because you knew it would only be worse the longer you put it off. And partly because Jay had been watching you the entire time, brow raised in a silent reminder of the deal you metaphorically signed your name to. At least he’d had the decency to leave the room once your mother picked up.
With a voice that only trembled slightly, you told her everything. Well, most of it.
Your diagnosis, your hospital information, every bit of news the doctor gave you, you divulged to her.
A certain deal struck in a passenger seat, however, remains a secret between you and Jay.
It had taken a fair bit of convincing for your mother not to hop in her car immediately, but once Sunoo and your father had also been filled in, you persuaded them to wait until the morning.
And now, here they are. A mirror image, a sickening sense of warped déjà vu from a scene ten years ago.
Only this time, you’re the one with ruin taking hold in your body and Sunoo’s the one putting on a brave face at the foot of your hospital bed.
Again, your little brother traces the path between IV fluids and your veins with his eyes. You’re not sure if the pain you see reflected is born of memory or the reality in front of him.
“Don’t look at me like that,” you whisper, but there’s no real command behind it. Partly because you know it’s an impossible request and partly because your energy levels are nearing non-existent. “I’m okay, really.”
For a moment, Sunoo just looks at you. His eyes are glassy. You avoid them, mostly because you’re afraid of finding your own reflection.
“What are you talking about?” he finally asks. “No one… we don’t expect you to be okay. I know you have this idea in your head that admitting you’re in pain or things are difficult will be a burden to us, but you’re my family. My sister. Watching you lie through your teeth because you think you’re sparing my feelings is worse than the truth could ever be.”
The weight of his words settles around you, heavy in the air. For a moment, you almost don’t recognize your little brother.
For the last ten years, it’s as if he’s been frozen in your mind. Warped by trauma and the pain of nearly losing someone so important to you, it’s like you’ve still seen that version of him, young and frail and sick, every time you look at him.
But Sunoo is in front of you now. He sits tall. His skin is so radiant it’s nearly glowing. There are dark shadows under his eyes yes, but the hollowness, the emptiness, is gone.
All at once, you wonder just how heavy a burden the weight of your lingering concern has been all these years. It always came from love, of course, but that never made it any less suffocating.
Even if only subconsciously, you’ve treated Sunoo like glass all these years. As if the wind could blow right through him. As if your protection was the only thing keeping his feet tethered to the earth.
But the Sunoo that looks back at you now isn’t in need of saving. His resilience has outlasted things far more severe than just heavy wind. Along with his baby features, he’s lost his fragility.
He’ll always be your baby brother. That will never change. But when you look at him now, really look, you see the beginnings of a man.
Someone with autonomy and agency and the ability to apply them as he sees fit.
So, after a small, shaky breath, you admit to him quietly, “It hurts.”
Something in his gaze fractures, but it doesn’t break.
You continue, “It’s not a sharp pain, really, but it’s there. My body feels different. Wrong. Weaker. It’s like, I can still do things, I think, but they need more effort.”
You haven’t tested that theory. Haven’t really done anything but lay here for the last two days. Time is broken up by the nurses and doctors that visit. And on more than one occasion, Jay.
He’s not here now. He’s kept himself scarce since the arrival of your family, but until now, he’s been a near constant fixture in your hospital room.
Surprisingly, he doesn’t always have much to say. The man you used to spend entire lectures arguing back and forth with is often uncharacteristically mute when he sits in the chair opposite your bed.
Usually, he just asks how you’re doing, if there’s anything he can do for you, if you need him to tell Hana anything for you.
You never do. You probably wouldn't tell him even if you did. But he comes anyway.
After your standard exchange, Jay’s mouth will always part like he has something else to say. He doesn’t commit to it, though. Just sits quietly, a steady presence.
Now, Sunoo is the one to receive your words, to take them in stride.
“Yeah,” he nods. There’s sorrow in his eyes, but there’s strength there too. He can handle this. The truth isn’t too heavy for him. He won’t crumble under the weight of shared pain. “It’s like simple tasks are suddenly difficult. I know what you mean.”
He does. Of all the people in the world, Sunoo probably understands how you feel the most intimately.
Deciding you’ve had enough doom and gloom, you shift the topic to the one shred of good news you’ve recently gotten. “They have to monitor me a bit longer before they decide for sure,” you tell him, “but I’ll probably still be able to attend some classes. A few times a week, maybe.”
“You want to do that?” Sunoo asks. He’s not judging, not demanding. Just asking.
“Yeah,” you nod. “I think… I think some normalcy will be good.” Will make it all a bit more bearable.
Sunoo’s quiet for a moment. And then he says, “If there’s ever a time when it’s not… If you ever want to come home, you have to know there’s a place for you there. Always.”
The sudden sincerity, his earnestness, make the tears that threaten your lashline feel all the more imminent.
“Yeah,” you nod. Even if it’s an offer you both know you’ll never take him up on. “I know.”
Your eyes flicker to the bouquet sitting on your bedside table, the flowers Sunoo brought you. They’re bright, colorful.
Just like him, you think.
Sunoo takes the lapse in conversation as an opportunity to ask you more questions you give him half-true answers to. He asks about your classes, your hobbies, your nonexistent friends.
When he breaches the topic of romance, you roll your eyes. At least this time, you can be honest in your answer.
“I don’t have time for a boyfriend,” you explain. It’s true. You don’t.
Until now, you haven’t had time for anything that wasn’t studying or working or dedicating yourself to seeing his dreams comes true, but you can’t exactly tell him that now.
Luckily, he seems satisfied enough with your answer, even if it does make him frown a bit.
You’re saved from his line of questioning by your mother who reenters the room moments later. Her eyes are swollen and bloodshot, but all three of you do an excellent job of pretending they’re not.
Here in your hospital room, it’s not exactly the family reunion you’d envision for yourself, but you’d be lying if you said there wasn’t something deeply comforting about having Sunoo and your mother close again.
Something settles uncomfortably in your gut when you remember that the reason they’re here, the only reason any of this was possible, was because of Jay.
Even now, smiling at your family feels a little bit too much like incurring an unpayable debt.
Still, you do your best to shake the discomfort and to just appreciate the fact that they could be here at all. Your body might be broken, immune system attacking you from the inside out, but when your mother stands to hug you, when Sunoo takes your hand in his, something in you steels its resolve.
You’re not sure where it comes from exactly — this sudden desire to fight, but it gets stronger with every passing second you spend with your family.
Debts aside, you have something to focus on now. Here, with them at your side, it’s more undeniable than ever.
You want to live.
Whether it’s for you or for them or something else entirely, you can’t quite be sure. But your life suddenly feels like something worth fighting for.
So you don’t complain when Hana brings you a meal that tastes more like mush than food. The flavor hardly matters. If you want to live, you need your strength.
You don’t argue when Doctor Kim explains the next treatment phase, along with its extensive list of side effects.
You just nod. You agree. You try.
For you, for them, for whatever forces are on your side, you’ve made up your mind. You’ll do what it takes, one day at a time. You’ll do what it takes to live.
…..
Between treatment cycles and the near constant vigil your family keeps at your beside, nearly a week passes before you see Jay again.
He’s back to his usual ensemble when he steps through the door of your hospital room after three sharp, distinct knocks one Tuesday morning.
Stepping into the light, you can’t help but give him a once-over. The jeans and sweater he wears aren’t anything flashy, but he manages to make them look good. Expensive.
You sigh. It’s him, after all. Not for the first time, the unfailing unfairness of life seems to manifest in front of you and slap you straight across the face. Here you are, fighting for something as innate as your own life, and he has the gall to step through the door looking like he just wrapped a magazine photoshoot.
Unaware of your inner turmoil, Jay lingers near the entrance.
For a moment, he just looks at you. A barrage of emotions flickers over his features, but he shutters them all before you can put a name to any of them.
“Hi,” he finally says, eyes still scrutinizing.
“Hi,” you return, a bit guarded.
He opens his mouth. Closes it again. A furrow passes through his brow, like he can’t quite decide how to start.
You prepare yourself for the inevitable questions you’ve already grown weary of answering from just your family. How are you? How do you feel? How’s your energy? Does it hurt?
You know they’re all well-meaning, but something in you withers a little further every time you have to answer one of them. Mostly because guilt makes you feel like you’re expected to lie through your teeth.
How are you? Terrible. You’re dying. Your own cells are ripping each other to shreds, tearing apart the remnant of your immune system from the inside out.
How do you feel? Like shit.
How’s your energy? So low it’s laughable. Whatever this disease hasn’t taken from you yet, the IV fluids being pumped into your arm day and night are more than happy to steal.
Does it hurt? That one’s probably the most ridiculous of all. Of course it fucking hurts.
So you sigh, already avoiding eye contact as you prepare to answer whichever line of questioning Jay decides to start with.
But he surprises you.
“I brought you something,” he finally says. It’s not a question.
Slowly, like you’re a skittish kitten, he approaches your bed. Careful not to disturb the flowers, he pulls a sizable stack of papers out from his bag before setting them gently on the table next to you.
“What’s that?” You frown.
“Class notes,” he explains. “The ones from Professor Jung’s and all the other classes we share are from me.” He nods to the pile. “I didn’t know you were also taking statistics and marketing comm this semester. I got those from a couple of your classmates.”
“I…” you trail off, momentarily stunned. “You didn’t have to do that.”
He shrugs, as if the gesture is nothing. As if his effort is meaningless. “I knew you wouldn’t want to be behind when you do come back to class. Speaking of which, Hana told me that you’re doing well. She mentioned that you might be able to try coming to a couple of lectures next week.”
“Yeah,” you nod. The news had come much to your relief. The nurses, of course, haven’t been exactly pleased with your incessant pestering. You’ve made such a habit of asking when you can return to school that they hardly even admonish you anymore. Just answer with resigned sighs that they’re still monitoring your condition and they’ll know more soon.
Doctor Kim had been the one to finally break the news, actually. He was sure to emphasize that he strongly advised against it and would continue to encourage you to rest as much as possible, but if you really wanted to attend a few of your weekly lectures, he wouldn’t be the one to stop you.
You’ll have to adjust, of course. You’ve already reached out to several of your professors. Keeping the details as vague as possible, you’ve made arrangements to complete the majority of your assignments online.
They all said nearly the same thing: because your grades and performance have been so impressive this semester, they’ll allow you to finish your work remotely, as long as you’re still willing to sit your final exams in person.
The only professor who seemed a bit hesitant was Professor Jung. Of course, you know she’d make far more lenient concessions if you told her your true reasons for not coming to class so often anymore, but then she’d probably also give you the same treatment as Doctor Kim. As everyone else who knows your secret.
She’d insist that you forget about your schoolwork and focus only on your recovery. Give up all the effort you’ve already put in and just concentrate on getting better.
You can’t do that. You won’t.
You’re staying true to your word, your promise sworn in the passenger seat of Jay’s car, but you refuse to sacrifice more than you have to.
If there is some form of happy ending on the other side of all this, you still need your degree. You still have your goals, your one-sided promise to Sunoo.
As long as you physically can, you’ll keep up with your studies to the best of your ability.
Jay, to his credit, seems to understand all of this without you having to say a single word. It’s why you suspect he’s shown up in your hospital room with a stack of notes instead of a barrage of questions.
Looking at him now, you consider your other promises forged with his hands on the steering wheel.
If he’s bringing you his personal notes, he must really be convinced of your virtue. Your agreement to let him finish first in your class. Then again, you suppose he could have forged a couple of answers, skipped a couple of key points.
You doubt it, though. Sabotage doesn’t seem to be his style.
Then, you think of the rest of your bargain. The list you made. The things you want to do before you die.
With the charity gala behind you, only three things remain.
Go on a beach vacation
Ride in a convertible
Kiss a stranger
There are the northern lights, too, of course, but you gave up on that dream nearly within the same breath you wrote it with. It’s just too impossible.
So you’re left with three things. Three tasks you promised him you’d see through.
Now, though, you really have no idea how you’ll make it happen.
A beach vacation? You’re already worried about mustering the strength to attend occasional lectures. Much less afford the necessary transportation costs.
Sighing, you suppose it would be better to bring up your hesitation sooner rather than later. Explain to Jay that it just isn’t feasible for you to actively try checking off your bucket list with everything else going on.
Besides, what’s he going to do? Retract his end of your deal? You don’t think he has it in him.
“Speaking of returning to classes,” you venture, “I wanted to talk to you about the whole bucket list thing. Look, Jay,” you sigh, “I know I agreed to complete it, but it really was just a random list of things I wrote right after I got the diagnosis. They’re not—it’s not a real bucket list. Besides, I’ve already done most of the things on it, so—”
“No.” In your hospital room, the word rings loud and clear.
“What?”
“Nice try.” He shakes his head. Smiles privately to himself, like he expected this. “You’re not getting out of it. You think deals are broken that easily? I’d be more than happy to go find your brother and tell him what’s really going on. He was here earlier, wasn’t he? I bet if I just stick around long enough, then—”
Your eyes flash dangerously, narrowed into slits. “You wouldn't dare.”
“You want to test that?”
Your silence is answer enough.
“That’s what I thought,” Jay nods. “And I’m glad you brought it up. We’re going somewhere this afternoon.”
“Excuse me,” you argue. “What happened to asking? Besides, I’m not allowed to leave right now.”
“You are, actually,” Jay counters. “I already cleared everything with Hana. As long as I keep a, and I quote, careful eye on you, we’re good to go. For a maximum of two hours, but I think you’ll find that’s plenty of time.”
“I don’t want to go.” You sound like a petulant child throwing a tantrum. You hardly care.
“You don’t even know where we’re going.”
“I know it can’t be anywhere good.”
“It will probably beat a hospital room, though,” Jay points out. “I’d bet on those odds.”
“My family—” You try to protest.
“Drove back home this morning,” he cuts you off. “They won’t be back until the weekend.”
You flounder for a moment, mouth opening. “If you knew that, then why did you threaten to tell Sunoo earlier?”
Jay shrugs. “I’m patient. I didn't mean I would tell him today. Although,” he considers, “I probably could. I bet I could get one of these nurses to pass along his phone number.”
“That’s confidential, you idiot.”
“I don’t know,” he muses. “They’ve been pretty accommodating to my requests so far.”
You scowl. You bet they have. You’re sure he waltzes in here looking like that, and they’re falling over themselves to fulfill his requests.
“Whatever,” you scoff. “I’m not going anywhere with you.”
“You don’t have a choice.” His smile is entirely too smug for your liking. “This is part of our deal.”
“I don’t remember ‘bending to your every beck and whim’ being part of our deal,” you point out.
“It’s not,” he shakes his head, “but this is.”
“How could it be?” you ask. “It’s not like we could possibly go to the beach right now.”
He’s quiet for a moment, and your eyes widen in shock.
“Jay,” you panic, “There’s no way we could—”
“Relax,” he interrupts. “We’re not going to the beach.” He pauses for a moment, then, as an afterthought, adds, “Yet.”
“Then what—”
“Just come,” he pleads, a bit of begging coloring his tone. “Please,” he adds for good measure.
So you do, grumbling under your breath the entire way to his ridiculously sleek car that he insists on pulling around front so you don’t have to walk any further than necessary.
Sliding into his passenger seat, you scramble to guess where he could possibly be taking you, options becoming more limited the longer he drives.
By the time he pulls off the freeway, you half suspect that he was just trying to get you out of the hospital for a bit.
What you don’t expect, however, is for him to expertly navigate his car into a parking spot in front of the local mall.
“What the hell?” you ask when he slides the gear into park. “What, are you taking me for a pretzel dog at Auntie Anne’s or something? I think I’d prefer the hospital food, to be honest.”
Jay just rolls his eyes.
You continue, “And why did you park so far away? You’re really gonna make a sick girl walk all the way to the entrance from here? The least you could do is drop me off at the front—”
Deciding he’s had enough of your assumptions, Jay cuts you off. “We’re not going to the mall.”
“We’re not?” Surprise crosses your features. “Then why are we here?”
“Because,” he intones, tilting his chin to cast a significant look somewhere behind your shoulders, “we’re going there.”
Turning back, you squint. It’s a bit difficult to see with how dark his tinted windows are, but you make out the outline of the luxury department store. Adjacent to the mall, every shop inside is far out of your price range. You’ve never stepped foot inside. Hell, you forgot it was even there.
“Don’t tell me you dragged me out of the hospital because you’re low on Chanel,” you groan. “Seriously, what am I supposed to do in there?”
For a moment, Jay just looks at you, an open mix of disbelief and mild exasperation spread across his features.
“Oh, ___,” he sighs, entirely too patronizing for your liking. “Always so close to the point, and then it just…” he trails off, raising his hand up and drawing an arc over your head, “misses you entirely.”
“Yeah,” you goad, “I’m so dumb and oblivious you had to beg me to let you outrank me in our class.”
“I didn’t beg,” he argues, a sudden defensive edge in his tone. “Although, now that you point it out, it is kind of ridiculous. How are you so damn smart yet so incredibly—”
“Don’t you dare finish that sentence.”
“Okay,” Jay surrenders, putting his hands up, palms splayed. “Okay,” he concedes, exhaling. “Let’s just go.”
You don’t budge. “Didn’t you hear me? I don’t want to help you pick out another Prada tie.”
“Didn’t you hear me?” he argues back, voice an octave too high like he’s imitating you. “That’s not what we’re doing.”
You open your mouth to hurl another round of questions his way, but Jay won’t let you get one out sideways.
“Just come,” he says, a bit of pleading coloring his voice as it falls back to its usual pitch. “I’ll beg if I have to.”
You’re silent for a moment longer.
“Please,” he adds, and it has the last of your resolve withering in on itself.
Pushing yourself up from your seat takes a fair deal of exertion. More than you care to admit. Wincing, you mask the expression as soon as it comes. The last thing you need is Jay picking up on your discomfort. Your weakness.
But he’s always been too perceptive for his own good. Especially where you’re concerned.
Rushing around from the driver’s side, he stops right in front of you, just slightly too close.
“You alright?” His hands are half outstretched, like he can’t decide if he should reach for you or not.
“I’m fine.” Your words are a thin, frayed thing. Stretched almost as thin as your patience. “Let’s just go.”
Jay still looks like he wants to protest. He checks your expression and thinks better of it.
Still, once you fall into step next to him, he leaves his hands like that. Flexed, ready. Half outstretched like he’s prepared to catch you if you stumble.
You can’t quite decide if his concern makes you want to roll your eyes or let the walls you’ve built with him fall just a fraction of an inch further.
Jay leads you. Steadily, quietly into the entrance of the luxury department store. Immediately, you feel out of depth.
For starters, even the air here seems to be different from your local mall. There are no screaming kids, middle-aged women deep into a gossip session, or twenty-something-year-old part timers trying to shove perfume samples under your nose in front of a Macy’s.
The people here are too… refined for that. They carry themselves differently, like the price tag on their clothes is something worth respecting with good posture and perfect hair.
Even the employees seem in on it. There are no gaudy, ill fitted vests or neon polo shirts with questionable stains. No, the people behind the registers here are wearing suits.
And it’s not just the clothes. It’s their aura. They look expensive, important, worth knowing.
They look like Jay.
And you… well, you’ve seen better days. Your treatment regimen has at least allowed you to keep up with regular showers these past few days, but a hairbrush hasn’t exactly been at the top of your to-do list.
Your jeans are fine, if not a bit faded. It’s not like your simple long-sleeved t-shirt has any stains, but the collar doesn’t lay quite as nicely as it did before the million rounds of laundry you’ve put it through since buying it.
You feel out of place. Like an unwelcome guest.
You think back to Jay’s earlier rebuttal — “It will probably beat a hospital room, though,” — and suddenly, you’re not sure if he was right.
From your periphery, you see a woman take a second glance at you over the top of her wide framed sunglasses – indoors, really? –and begin to wish the spotlessly clean floor would just open you up and swallow you whole.
Jay, at least, seems unbothered by all the sidelong looks. True to his word, he leads you straight past the doors to Prada and Chanel without even sparing them a second glance.
Instead, he walks ahead, you in his wake, down a hallway leading out from the center of the building. It’s quieter, down here at least. Less stares.
Jay doesn’t stop until you’re stood in front of the store at the very end, although you don’t think you imagined the sidelong glances he was passing you the entire way here.
Looking up at the sign, you frown. “How do you even pronounce that?” The brand name looks French, or maybe Italian. Languages were never your strong suit.
For Jay however, it rolls off the tongue easily.
“I’ve never heard of it.” You shake your head.
“It’s a small brand,” he explains. “It’s my friend’s, actually.”
You give him a flat look. “Your friend has a fashion brand.”
Jay shrugs. “He’s building it.”
Glancing in at the stock you can see, your confusion starts to shift. Begins to build deep in your gut with large, uneasy waves that make your footing feel unsteady. Until it looks a lot more like dread.
Because Jay’s friend apparently has quite the eye for evening gowns.
You let the realization settle, understanding beginning to dawn.
“Jay, what—”
“It’s our first step to checking off your bucket list,” he interrupts. “You said you wanted to buy a really expensive dress.”
“Yeah,” you nod, mouth still ajar, “and I did. That dress I wore to the charity gala—”
“Was lovely, so please don’t misunderstand,” Jay placates you with the calm, even tone of someone used to convincing difficult clients. “But I’m not sure it fits the criteria of really expensive.”
“Cost is relative,” you point out, even as some of your pride dies with the admission.
“Naturally,” he agrees. “But this is a bucket list. Once-in-a-lifetime kind of things. Besides,” he nods to the store, “my friend is pretty good. Annoying as hell,” he adds after a moment of consideration, “but he has an eye for evening wear.”
“Jay,” your brows pinch together. “Look, I… appreciate the gesture, but even once-in-a-lifetime things have to be somewhat realistic. And it’s not like getting my card declined during check-out is exactly one of my biggest dreams.”
“Good thing your card won’t be involved during check-out, then.”
“Jay—”
“You promised me,” he cuts you off, gaze suddenly serious. You looked me in the eye that night in my car and you promised me you would try.”
“I am trying—”
“You’re making excuses. You’re coming up with all of these reasons to avoid letting people do things for you. You think I dragged you out of the hospital just for the hell of it? That I haven’t seen the way just walking from here to the car had you breathing heavier than usual? I had to stop myself from offering you a hand over a dozen times today alone, because I know how you’d react.”
“Then just take me back to the hospital, since I’m clearly such a burden to you.”
“You’re not. That’s exactly what I’m saying. You think that every gesture is some kind of transaction. Some kind of score you’ll be expected to settle.”
“Because it is. Shouldn’t you know that better than anyone? Look at what we study day in, day out. Supply and demand. Profit margins. Liabilities. Even this,” you gesture between the two of you, “whatever the hell it is, was a deal. I don’t want to owe you more than I have to.”
“You don’t owe me anything.” His frustration is apparent now, too. In the line of his shoulders, the flex in his jaw. It’s visible, even as he tries to keep his patience steady. “That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you for the last three days.”
“Yeah, well, this isn’t fucking Make-A-Wish either.” Your words are angrier now, chest heaving a bit with the effort. “I’m not some sick doll you can dress up because it eases your conscience and makes you feel good about helping the less fortunate. Go donate to an actual charity if you’re feeling so terribly generous.”
For a moment, Jay goes still. Lips pressed together, eyes trained directly on your face. A furrow appears between his brow.
When he finally speaks again, his voice is low. “Is that how you think I see you?”
You sigh, fighting the urge to let an open palm splay across your forehead. Here, in the quiet corner of an ending hallway, your frustration feels a bit misplaced. “Jay, you dragged me out here to play dress up. How else am I supposed to—”
“For the last three years since I met you, I’ve watched you work yourself to death. Every class. Every assignment. Every test. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you without a scowl on your face and tension in your shoulders. Hell, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you take a break for so much as a fucking minute.”
“Don’t exaggerate.” You scowl. “It’s not like you actually remember me as anything besides an annoying voice that argues against your points.”
Jay doesn’t budge. “Intro to communication.”
“What?”
“Freshman year. Room 112. The lecture hall with the creaky seats and the lightbulb in the back corner that was always out.”
“Jay, what—”
“It was the first class we had together. And we’ve had at least two every semester since. I don’t know where you got this idea that no one ever paid any attention to you. That you got to look and scrutinize and judge and no one would ever glance back at you. People know who you are, ____. They recognize you. They respect you. I’m not deluded enough to think that we were ever friends. Mostly because you’ve always bitten my head off every time I’ve tried to talk to you. But you don’t get to stand there and resent me for things I never did. You don’t get to hate me for whatever kind of person you’ve decided I am all on your own.”
“Jay—”
“I know you’ve made up your mind that life is easier when you do everything all by yourself. I get that this is uncomfortable for you. That letting people help you and do things for you and take care of you fuels that sense of shame you’re always trying to bury beneath bravado. But we’re not here because I think you’re a charity case. And you don’t get to decide what I think about you.”
“And you think you know me? It’s a bit hypocritical, don’t you think? Standing there and telling me who I am and what I think. You don’t know the first thing about me, either.”
“Fine.” His eyes are alive now, sparking with something you don’t know what to do with. “You’re right. Then tell me.”
“What?” You shake your head. “That’s not—”
But he’s not done begging. “Let me get to know you.”
“What’s the point?” It’s so easy to think of rebuttals, to argue against his failed logic. “Even if this does pan out, we’ll be graduating soon.”
“Haven’t you heard? There’s nothing as valuable in the business world as connections. Besides, everyone needs a friend.”
For a moment, you just look at him. Mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. Then, “You want to be my friend?”
Jay’s sigh comes from somewhere deep. “What do you think I’ve been trying to do this entire time?”
“Why?” You still don’t understand. “I’m not even nice to you.”
“Nice people are overrated,” he shrugs. “They usually just want something from you.”
“Jay,” you fight the urge to rub your temple. It’s terrible logic, given that your entire relationship is quite literally hinging on a deal. On wanting something from each other.
“C’mon,” Jay urges, unwilling to back down because of your inner turmoil. “My friend is expecting us. And I told the nurse I’d have you back in a couple of hours.” He checks his watch. A Rolex because of course it is. “That leaves us just enough time,” he concludes.
Staring at the shop entrance, you remain motionless for a moment longer. It would be easy to keep arguing. Easier than anything else, probably. Besides, if you really refused, what could he do? It’s not like Jay would actually drag you in kicking and screaming. Well, not in front of witnesses.
But then you hear it again. That voice in your head. That version of you, younger, more naive, less hardened to the realities of the world.
She, of course, thinks it would be a fantastic idea to go try on dresses for the next hour. To twirl in front of the mirror like a teenager at prom.
You fight the urge to roll your eyes. Of course she does.
Then, there’s another voice. It’s not hers. It’s not Jay’s. It’s just… yours. You, as you are now. And she, you begin to realize, even if only reluctantly, wants this too.
You could still refuse, of course. You’ve had plenty of practice burying your desires. Shoving them beneath contempt and shame and the sham you call selflessness. Jay was right about several of the accusations he just hurled your way, but one sticks out to you now.
It is uncomfortable to let people do things for you. Jay is much easier to handle when he’s at arm’s length. When he’s nothing but an amalgamation of how unfair the universe is when it doles out fortune and wealth and luck.
But your family’s financial situation isn’t his fault. Your diagnosis and dedication to your degree have nothing to do with him.
When he looks at you now, it’s not with expectation. No matter how long you search his open gaze, all you find is hope. Not that you’ll give him something he wants. Not that you’ll prove useful to him in some way.
Just that, for once in your life, you’ll look at the offer he extends without refusing. Without bargaining. Without trying to flip it on its head so that you have the upper hand.
And it’s hard. It tastes like lost pride and stings like guilt. But it also looks a lot like something you’ve been missing in your life for as long as you can remember.
Friendship.
Is this what it’s like? You wonder. Constantly toeing the boundary of what’s acceptable and what’s off limits? Trying, over and over, no matter how many walls you try to plant between you?
It sounds exhausting, you realize. No wonder you haven’t had time for any of it before.
But it also sounds… not comfortable, exactly. But reassuring, maybe. Steady in the way that summer nights are. Movies that you watch again even though you know how they end, because maybe this time, you’ll notice something you didn’t before.
It was never just a dress, you realize. And Jay was never offering you just money. You can’t decide if that makes things easier or a million times harder.
You’re still afraid to owe him things. And something as novel as friendship suddenly feels like a big debt to pay.
Your internal struggle must play out plain as day across your features. Jay speaks before you have your mind made up.
“We don’t have to,” he says quietly. “You can say no. You can always say no.” He pauses for a moment, sighing heavy on his exhale. “But I really hope you don’t.”
Hope. A flighty, fragile thing. It’s made so many of your losses more bitter than they had to be, so much of your effort feel more wasted than it had any right to. But hope has also gotten you here. Has led you through hell and back with a raised chin and shoulders squared.
So, you finally tell him, “Okay,” even if your voice is so low he nearly misses it.
“Okay?” Jay echoes, eyebrows raised.
You look up at him, something vulnerable in your gaze. “Please don’t make me say it again.”
It’s the only request all afternoon that hasn’t been shrouded in sarcasm and your biting attempts at a defense mechanism.
Jay’s eyes widen for a moment. And then he nods, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “Let’s go.”
…..
The inside of the store is even more impressive than the front display, and that was nothing to scoff at.
You hate to admit it, but Jay was right. This blows the Macy’s sale rack you’d picked up your gala dress at right out of the water.
Jay’s friend appears to have a flair for the subtly dramatic. Each gown has a quiet sense of luxury. The designs are beautiful. Feminine in a way that feels like they were made to flatter. But they’re not simple. Each one has something unique to it, an embellishment of beadwork, an unexpected silhouette, a subtle sheen that nearly glows when the light reflects just right.
They feel like artwork, the kind that hangs in museums. Your instincts are practically begging you to look but not touch. You hardly know where to start.
Beside you, Jay is quiet. He trails at a respectable distance, eyes flickering over your profile intermittently.
“Let me know if you see something you like,” he instructs. “You can try on anything you want.” He must mistake your silence for disinterest, because he’s quick to add, “Or if there’s nothing you like here, we could try somewhere else. I think—”
“Jay,” you interrupt this time. “They’re beautiful. Stunning, actually. I don’t…” You glance around the store again, your overwhelm only growing. “I don’t know where to start.”
He hesitates for a moment, weighing his words on his tongue. Then, finally, “I could help, if you want. I saw a couple that I think would suit you well.”
It’s strangely intimate – the thought of Jay looking at dresses with you in mind. The idea of him imagining the way they’d sit against your skin tone, the way they’d curve around your body.
“I – sure.” You look away, then, if only to hide the way heat starts to spread on your cheekbones.
Jay takes his time. With the same careful attention you’ve assumed was reserved for lectures and particularly difficult economics problem sets, he takes a slow lap around the perimeter of the store. Breezes right past some gowns. Stops for long moments in front of others.
Occasionally, he calls over a store attendant, exchanging opinions in hushed tones.
You watch for a minute longer, content to play the role of the observer, before a voice startles you out of your reverie.
“He might take a little while,” the stranger advises, a small smile in his voice and on his lips. “You’re welcome to sit.” He gestures towards the middle of the store, where a large, open area is bordered by several luxurious looking loveseats.
“Thanks,” you nod. Heeding his advice, you take the few steps necessary to reach the closest one. Sliding down into it, you’re almost surprised to see him follow. Quietly, he sits down into the seat opposite yours.
For a moment, the two of you just face each other silently. He’s handsome, in a classic sort of way. Has the same refined, elegant look that you’ve come to recognize so easily on Jay. Mixed with a distinct, boyish charm, you guess his age is similar to yours. Which begs the question—
“Are you Jay’s friend?”
He nods. “Sunghoon.” Extending a hand, he shakes yours with a firm grip. “It’s nice to meet you.”
You give him your name in return.
Sunghoon just grins, eyebrow arching slightly. “Oh, I know.”
That gives you pause. You can’t imagine why Jay would be mentioning you to his friends. Mentally, you dismiss it. Maybe it was an offhand comment on a day your classroom rebuttals were particularly annoying to him.
Pressing into other topics, you look around the store once again.
And its owner. Sunghoon, much like Jay, looks like he’s been around money long enough to be comfortable with it, to get used to the way expensive things feel against his skin. If you had to guess, he’s around your age.
The thought almost makes you want to scoff. A university-aged boy with a fashion brand. Jesus christ, the world really is unfair.
But his age makes the space around you more impressive, too. Even if you’d been born to wealth, you doubt you’d be able to replicate any of it.
Deciding you have nothing to lose, you venture into a conversation.
“You…” you trail off, not sure what the most tactful way of asking would be. Deciding you don’t have enough time to be so concerned with mincing words, you ask, rather straightforwardly, “This is your store?”
Sunghoon nods. Honest from the get-go, he tells you, “You could say that. It’s not exactly a store, though. My mother is the chief merchandiser for a rather reputable fashion house. I grew up in the industry. Discovered I had a passion for the design side of things when I was in middle school. Everything here is just display, mostly. Some of it was made for runway and some are editorial pieces. I haven’t actually produced anything for mass distribution yet, but I’m hoping to start soon. Once I finish school. For now, this is mostly used as a show room. Somewhere to bring people who might be interested in capsule collections or model fittings.” He glances at you, considering, “But it’s always nice to see new faces, too.” He pauses, glances at you again. “And any friend of Jay is welcome here.”
You’re still not sure if the title fits or not, but you aren’t here to discuss the nature of your relationship. Instead, you ask about theirs.
“And you two are friends?”
“Yeah,” Sunghoon nods. “Have been since we were kids. Families run in the same circles and all that.”
You already suspected as much. Biting back any hint of sarcasm, you settle on the most neutral response you can muster. “That’s nice.”
“Most of the time,” Sunghoon agrees. “Although the kid drives me crazy sometimes. I suppose it’s only natural, though.” He smiles, as if reminiscing. “My sister and I never argue, so the universe had to give me someone else to fight with.”
That makes you grin, too. Leaning in like you’re sharing a secret, you whisper, “He can be a little ridiculous, can’t he?”
“Oh,” Sunghoon mimics your posture, “the absolute worst. And so goddamn stubborn.”
“Right?” You incline your head, hands on your knees to support your weight. “You should see him in class. He’s always—”
“I can hear you two, you know.”
Startled at the sudden voice, you turn to look over your shoulder. Jay stands directly behind you, eyes already trained on you, lips pulled into a thin line.
He takes in your wide-eyed gaze for a moment. Some of the annoyance softens from his expression. In a tone decidedly less flat, he tells you, “They’re ready for you.”
A fresh bout of nerves flitters through your stomach. Still, when you remember your conversation outside, you’re sure the worst part of the day is behind you. You can do this.
You’re up against death, after all. What are a few dresses in the grand scheme of things?
Leaving Jay and Sunghoon behind, you find the small fitting room tucked away in the opposite corner. The attendant from earlier smiles at you, tells you to let her know if you need anything.
And then it’s just you, the four walls of the fitting room, and the three dresses Jay deemed most worthy of your attention.
Despite yourself, the sudden lump in your throat is difficult to swallow. You’re not sure how he manages to do it every time, see you right down to your bones.
The three dresses he chose, even amongst the endless options of silk and color and fabric, are really, truly perfect.
They’re understated. Simple in a way that makes them feel tangible instead of out of reach. Even though you’ve never worn anything like them in your life, there are elements of your own style you see reflected. Colors you wear to class because you’ve been told they suit you. Silhouettes that you’ve always gravitated towards.
The first one slips over your head easily, although the back proves more difficult to zip and fasten on your own. Even securing it with your hands pressed to your chest, you can tell it suits you even more than you hoped on the hanger.
It’s beautiful. Truly. Makes even the sallow tinge to your skin and hair mussed from days in a hospital look intentional. Like things worth noticing instead of trying to hide behind.
Pushing the door open slowly, you catch the attendant’s eye. She’s quick to come, helps you fasten the back and dishes out compliments all the while.
Even her attention makes you feel shy. But not in a way that makes you want to run and hide. It’s almost like that night at the charity gala. You feel noticed. Seen, but not in an uncomfortable way. Just… more visible than usual.
Once the last of the buttons are finished, she catches your eye in the mirror. “Shall we?”
You frown. “Shall we what?”
“Show them,” she adds, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.
A sudden flare of heat builds deep in your chest, flies all the way to your cheeks. You imagine stepping out into that open space where Jay and Sunghoon are sitting, their attention, his attention on you.
Even the thought is enough to have your knees feeling dangerously wobbly.
“Oh,” you try to dismiss the idea, voice hushed as you work to evade detection. “That's okay. I don’t think—”
It’s as if he can read your thoughts. Your sudden hesitation.
“____,” you hear him call your name. “Are you coming?”
It’s more than a little uncomfortable as you force your feet to move you from the safety of the dressing room to the central, open part of the store. The space that Jay and Sunghoon are waiting for you in.
There’s no actual spotlight, but the overhead lights suddenly feel blinding, have you feeling a bit like a sample under a microscope. Something to poke and prod at. Something to scrutinize for any visible flaws.
The dress is gorgeous. Sunghoon’s talent is undeniable. It wasn’t made for you, but the way fabric seems to flow with your body instead of just over it makes it feel like it was.
The color is perfect, too. Does something for your complexion, even though it’s been made sallow from illness. Brings color back to your features in a way that makes you want to stare at your reflection a little longer instead of hiding from it.
It’s a bit ridiculous. You feel silly for even thinking it, but you feel… pretty.
This was the entire reason you included an expensive dress on your bucket list. For the simple pleasure you’ve been denying yourself ever since you decided that your money and your time and your decisions never fully belonged to you.
You can count on one hand the amount of times you remember doing something for you. Putting something on your body just because you liked the way it made your reflection look.
It feels personal, like a moment just for you. The thought of parading such an intimate part of your psyche in front of others, in front of Jay, is enough to have your mind spinning.
But your feet are already moving and before you can talk yourself out of it, you’re there. Facing a fear in the middle of the room.
For a moment, it’s quiet.
Sunghoon is the one to speak first. He nods, smile small and genuine. “It suits you. I like it.”
Next to him, Jay remains mute. You watch as his throat works around a swallow, his eyes slightly wide as if he’s suddenly the one on display.
“It’s…” he finally starts. “Yeah. It’s beautiful.” Meeting your eye then, his words are only somewhat strained when he adds, “You look beautiful.”
Cheeks warm, you look down, brushing away at invisible dust along the top of the skirt.
“Do you like it?” Jay thinks to ask after another beat. “Did you want to try on the others?”
You shake your head. He has good taste, and all three of the gowns he had sent to your dressing room are stunning, but something about this one is uniquely you.
You feel like you already know, can already stand by your decision, without trying on the others.
Jay nods like he understands too. He waits until you’re back in the dressing room to settle things with Sunghoon, as if you'll forget the depth of his generosity as long as you don’t have to watch it up close.
Leaving the store with a matte black shopping bag with gold embossed branding hanging from Jay’s arm feels a bit like resignation. Like giving into everything you’ve been fighting against
A million arguments still sit persistent in your throat. It was too much, too expensive. Money that could have been better spent elsewhere. You don’t even have a place to wear it to.
But for the first time in a long time, you don’t really feel like arguing.
Instead, you give Sunghoon one final reminder of your gratitude with a quiet, “Thank you.”
He brushes you off, insists that any time you need a break from the man at your side, you’re more than welcome back.
Jay rolls his eyes at that, but there’s no real malice. And when he hears the way it makes you giggle, he can’t help but smile himself.
It’s a small moment of happiness, a bubble inside the catastrophe your life has become.
But, you think, looking out the window as you drive back to the hospital, soft rock filtering through Jay’s speaker as he hums along quietly, whether you have three weeks or three months or all the time in the world, an afternoon spent dress shopping with a friend will be one you remember with fondness.
…..
Staring at your phone screen, the message thread materializing in front of you is almost too ridiculous for you to believe it’s anything more than a figment of your imagination. A side effect of all the medication you’re on, maybe.
But everything else about the hospital cafeteria, right down to the barely edible food, seems real enough.
Jongseong: When does your family leave?
That was the message that interrupted your meal nearly five minutes ago.
You: In three days
You: Why?
Between bites of barely identifiable mush, he responded.
Jongseong: I’m booking a guesthouse.
You: ??
Jongseong: At the beach
At that, you nearly choke on what the menu claimed was supposed to be mashed potatoes.
Luckily, you manage to keep them down, but it is enough to catch the attention of your younger brother.
“Who are you texting?” Sunoo asks, a glimmer in his eyes that you know wasn’t there before.
“No one.” Your response is too immediate. Too defensive. Shit. It only makes his eyebrows raise further.
“You sure?” he presses. “You seem pretty… engrossed.”
“It’s just school,” you lie, forcing yourself to turn off the screen.
But not before one more message comes through.
Jongseong: Booking confirmed. I’ll pick you up the afternoon after they leave.
It’s like he somehow knows Sunoo has a watchful eye on you right now. Like he can sense that you’re unable to protest the way you usually would.
But whatever. You’ll deal with Jay later. Right now, Sunoo’s curious expression spells a more immediate issue.
“Right,” Sunoo nods, but you can tell he doesn’t quite believe you. Deciding to let it rest for now, he asks instead, “How is school?”
You frown. “What do you mean?”
“Nothing in particular,” he shrugs. “I just feel like every time I ask you about it, you brush it off or change the subject.”
He’s right. You do tend to get cagey whenever the topic of university is approached. Mostly because school is almost always a struggle. And your struggles are something you decided a long time ago not to share with your little brother.
Suddenly, the topic feels a little heavy for the hospital cafeteria. Surrounded mostly by elderly patients, you can at least rest easy knowing that most of them don’t have hearing good enough to eavesdrop. It at least gives you the illusion of a bit of privacy.
“It’s fine,” you shrug noncommittally. “Busy sometimes, but manageable.”
“Fine?” he echoes. “C’mon, there has to be something. No crazy professors or annoying classmates or embarrassing drunken mishaps?”
You shake your head. “It’s not like the movies. My professors are only crazy about citations and formatting, and I don’t really drink much.”
You don’t even bother to acknowledge the annoying classmates comment. Mostly because there’s no way you could breach it without mentioning someone you’re deliberately steering far clear of mentioning.
Hoping to pivot the conversation away from you, you ask, “What about the restaurant? How are things coming?”
“See,” he points out, eyebrows raised in accusation. “That’s what I mean. You’re always changing the subject.”
“I’m not trying to,” you lie. “I’m just curious.”
“Yeah,” Sunoo nods. “Just like I’m curious about you. We barely get any updates. You know, Mom had to find out that you made Dean’s list by checking the university website. She was so proud she printed it out and hung it next to the register in the restaurant. She still talks anyone’s ear off that will listen to hear about it.”
Your heart gives a sudden lurch. It’s true that you haven’t kept up as much as you should. That when you do, you always ask for updates more than you give them.
It’s not like you meant to hide things like your honor roll achievement. It’s just that you always assumed your family was busy enough with their own lives. You didn’t want them to feel burdened by constant updates from you.
But across from you now, Sunoo doesn’t look burdened. He just looks… hurt. Upset at the idea of not being kept in the loop of your life.
“I’m sorry,” you tell him quietly. “I just knew that you were all so busy and I–”
Sunoo shakes his head, cutting you off. “We’re never too busy for you.” He looks at you a moment longer. “We miss you, you know. And it’s not just us. Everybody asks about how you’re doing, here in the big city. Our old teachers, people you graduated with, even Mr. Tim from that ice shop we used to go to as kids.”
“The one with the waffle cones?”
“Yeah,” his eyes soften. “His hip gave out last year, so he hasn’t been at the shop as much. But he comes to the restaurant sometimes, and he always asks about you. Remembers how you always used to order extra sprinkles.”
Something about it makes you emotional. The idea of taking up space in other people’s lives. Of being remembered, of being known. Of being seen and thought of and cherished.
You think of Jay’s words from your last argument.
“I don’t know where you got this idea that no one ever paid any attention to you. That you got to look and scrutinize and judge and no one would ever glance back at you.”
All at once, you wonder if his assessment might apply a bit more broadly than you thought.
“I didn’t know he still remembered me,” is all you say.
“Of course he does.” Your brother’s words are eager, infused with a sincerity you want to shy away from. “Everyone does. We all do. You know,” he adds, more serious now, “That night you called us, I don’t think I’ve ever been more terrified in my life.”
The admission sends a fresh stab of pain, a searing, agonizing, wave of guilt, careening right through you.
It’s everything you wanted to avoid, after all. Making your family worry. Causing them pain. Adding to their burden, to their grief.
“I’m sorry,” you whisper, voice nearly breaking on the last syllable.
“You’re sorry?” Sunoo balks. “Why would you ever be sorry? I’m sorry. All I could think about was that you were alone. How scared you must have been.”
“I…” You trail off, suddenly lost for words. It’s all too much, especially for your current setting. Your throat is beginning to feel dangerously clogged. “I’m fine–”
“You’re always fine.” Sunoo frowns. “You always say you’re fine, and then…” he stops himself, trying not to let his frustration, his sorrow, turn to anger. Softer now, he continues, “And then you’re here. Very much not fine.”
For a moment, you’re quiet. Suddenly forced to see things from his perspective, any argument you could make dies on your lips.
He’s right. If the roles were reversed, you’d feel that complicated mix of frustration and worry, too. If you had to beg and plead for fragments of the truth from someone you cared about, it wouldn’t feel like relief. It would make you worried sick.
“Sometimes,” you admit, voice quiet, “it’s easier to just say I’m fine. To not admit that it’s hard or that I’m struggling. I wanted to make it easier for you. I didn’t mean to make it worse.”
“I know,” Sunoo says. When you look at him, you think he must be telling the truth. There’s no hint of surprise on his features. Just a sad sort of acceptance. “I’m glad you told us. That we could be here. I’m sorry we can’t be here more.”
You shake your head. “It’s already more than enough. I know how hard it is to be away from home and the restaurant.”
Sunoo opens his mouth like he wants to say more, but your mother interrupts, sliding down into the chair next to you. Wrapping an arm around you, she pulls you close into a hug, squeezing gently at your shoulder.
The thought of her combing through your school’s Dean’s list, wondering why you hadn’t bothered to share the achievement with her yourself, sends a fresh wave of guilt tumbling through you.
“How are my babies doing?” she asks. Turning to you she adds, “Is your appetite okay? Do you want me to see if they can bring something else–”
“I’m okay, Mom,” you assure her. “Thanks.”
“Okay,” she concedes, even if she still looks a bit unsure. “If you’re sure. Doctor Kim wants to see in a few minutes. But if you’re not done, I can ask him–”
“I’m done,” you cut her off again, trying to settle her worries with a small smile. Even though the thought of sitting in his office makes you want to crawl out of your skin, you say, “Let’s go.”
The sooner you see him, the sooner it will be over with, after all.
So you go, you and your small band of support, following your mother and Sunoo to the elevator and pressing the button for the sixth floor.
Doctor Kim’s office is still sterile, still lifeless. His awards and accolades hang on the wall like trophies, like terrible, bruising reminders of everything that’s wrong with you. But this time, with the chairs on either side of you occupied by your family, it feels a bit more bearable.
Especially when your mother reaches over to envelop one of your hands in hers. When Sunoo notices the action and mirrors it.
Doctor Kim doesn’t waste your time.
After glancing down at his notes for a moment, he turns to you and says, “You’re responding well.”
A knot unfurls in your chest. You release a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. Next to you, your mother’s grip slackens slightly on your fingers as some of her tension melts away too.
Doctor Kim continues, “Of course, as we’ve discussed previously, treatment is comprehensive. We still have a journey ahead of us. I don’t want to give false hope or misconstrue the severity of your illness, but the preliminary signs are good. Your vitals are strong, and the cells are responding. Today will be your last day in this treatment round. You’ll recover for approximately one week before beginning the next.”
“And in that time?” you ask.
“I advise rest,” he nods, like he expected the question. “As much as possible. I know we spoke previously about potentially resuming classes. It is my duty as your treatment provider to tell you that I must advise against this.”
“But why?” you ask, panic suddenly clawing at your throat. You feel like you’ve been duped, had false hope dangled right in front of your nose only to be snatched away at the last minute. “You said I’m responding well.”
“You are,” he agrees. “Remarkably well. But that doesn’t mean you should be placing your body or mind under any more stress than strictly necessary. After the first round is completed today, it’s likely that you’ll experience severe fatigue during your rest period. This is a natural and expected response, but it will make attending classes far too strenuous for an ideal recovery.” He looks at you, sympathy in his eyes. “I’m more than happy to provide a statement of medical leave for your university. I know it’s not easy, but these are, of course, extenuating circumstances.”
You shake your head, a bit more vigorously than necessary. “I don’t want—”
“We’ll take that statement, doctor,” your mother cuts you off. “Thank you.”
“Mom,” you turn to her, eyes wide. “I can’t just—”
“Of course you can.” She shakes her head. “School will still be there when you’re ready.”
You know it will be. But will your scholarship still stand? Will you still be able to find a tolerable roommate with rent you can afford? Can you live with the guilt of Sunoo needing to wait that much longer to finally see his dream come true?
It’s not just school you’re worried about. It’s everything else, the weight of everything you’ve been pouring your effort into for the last ten years. The culmination of the promise you made to yourself when yours and Sunoo’s roles were reversed.
Letting those things go, even if only temporarily, is more difficult that you can put words to.
Your mom, however, seems to possess the same talent that all mothers do. She silences you with a look.
Fine, you think inwardly, already starting to think of ways you’ll be able to evade her wishes later. For now, at least, you’ll let it rest.
Doctor Kim nods. “I’ll write it immediately.” Looking at your mother, he adds, “If you pass along the Dean of Students contact information, I’ll send it before the end of the day.”
You bristle in your seat but remain silent. As if he can sense your inner turmoil, Sunoo gives your hand a gentle squeeze. When you turn to him, he offers you a reassuring smile. There’s sympathy in his eyes, like he understands how much this means to you, how hard it is for you to let go.
“I know Hana and I have been checking in regularly,” Doctor Kim turns to you now. “But is there anything that’s developed since the first treatment round? Any new pain? Symptoms? Discomfort?”
With Sunoo’s hand still on yours, you shake your head. You tell him you have nothing new to report.
You don’t mention the migraine that’s been beating at your brain since last night, the way it seems to come and go with every new IV bag that’s attached to your vein.
You tell yourself it’s because you don’t want to worry your mother. You don’t want to watch Sunoo’s expression fall in concern.
You don’t want to lose what little ground you’ve gained.
If it gets worse, you promise yourself, even if you know you’re lying, if it doesn’t go away soon, then you’ll tell him.
For now, you figure no one needs to know.
…..
Jay’s car looks even sleeker today. You have half a mind to ask him if he just had it run through the car wash before coming. But then again, the shininess of the paint job isn’t really the most pressing of your concerns.
As you draw closer, your brow furrows. It’s not just the shine that looks different.
“Did you get your car painted or something?” you ask.
“What?” is all Jay says.
“Your car,” you jerk your chin towards it. “It looks different.”
Jay’s feet falter. He turns to stare at you like you’ve just said something asinine. And it turns out you have. Because the next thing he says is, “It’s a different car.”
“It is?” You frown in consideration.
Jay’s mouth goes a little slack. “How did you not— It’s an entirely different brand.”
“Sorry,” you shrug. “I don’t know a lot about cars.”
“Clearly.” He still looks affronted. “I mean, seriously.” More to himself than you, he mutters, “This is a 1962 Ferrari 250 GT California Spyder and you can’t even tell the difference.”
Your stare is blank. “Is that supposed to mean something to me?”
Jay sighs. “No,” he resigns. “You can just worry about looking pretty in the passenger seat.”
At that, you feel the beginning of a flush rising on your cheeks. If you didn’t know any better, you’d think Park Jongseong was flirting.
Suddenly desperate to steer the conversation back to neutral territory, you ask, “Why are we taking a different car? Did you just want to rent one for the drive?”
You really don’t know anything about cars. Maybe he has some aversion to putting more mileage on his own car.
Jay shakes his head again. “This one’s mine, too.”
You shouldn’t be surprised at this point, but your brows raise slightly anyway. “It is?”
“Mhm,” he hums. “I just save it, usually.” A bit quieter, he adds, “For special occasions.”
“This is a special occasion?”
He nods. “Of course it is. Besides, I chose this car in particular for a specific reason.” He’s grinning at you now. “You’ll see.”
“This particular car?” you echo. “What? You have an entire fleet at home or something?”
Jay shrugs, but the smirk that tugs at his lips is unmistakable. “I have my hobbies.”
“And they include car collecting? You know what I used to collect when I was a kid? Rocks.”
“And I’m sure you found some very pretty ones.” Jay opens the passenger door for you before sliding your overnight bag — the one he didn’t let you carry for more than five feet before sliding it wordlessly off your shoulder onto his — into the back seat.
He joins you in the car a moment later, sliding into the driver’s seat. Immediately, he leans over, reaching right into your space as his face comes dangerous close to yours.
The heat on your cheeks is unmistakable this time. Shocked, you nearly trip over your words. “What are you—”
“Glove box,” he explains as his fingers undo the latch. Hands hovering just above your lap, he reaches into it for a dark, sleek case. Opening it, he pulls out a pair of sunglasses. He slides them onto his face, concealing his eyes before putting the case back where it belongs.
He doesn’t close the compartment, though. Instead, he turns his concealed gaze to you. It feels awfully unfair to have his face so close to yours, able to read every single expression that flickers across your features when his own are hidden from sight.
Ignoring the way you fidget under his stare, he tells you, “There’s another pair, if you want them.” He nods towards the glove box. “The sun visors in here aren’t great.”
“Okay.” It’s more of a mumble than an affirmation. Needing to break the intensity of his attention, you turn towards the glove box and pull out the second pair of sunglasses. Only pausing briefly at the embossed Prada logo, you slide them over your eyes.
You try to ignore the fact that these are probably the most expensive thing you’ve ever put on your body. Remembering your recent dress shopping, you amend, well, second most expensive.
Immediately, you’re grateful for them. For starters, you’re on more even footing now. He can’t read you so easily either.
And they do serve their intended purpose well. Despite the chill in the air, it’s one of those rare late fall days where the sun seems to shine with extra ferocity.
As he pulls out of the parking lot, reversing with one hand against the back of your seat, you ask, “How long is the drive?”
“About five hours. A little more if we hit traffic.”
“Mm,” you consider. “That’s long.”
“Don’t worry,” Jay says in a tone that immediately makes you do the opposite. “I have things for us to do.”
“Oh, that’s okay,” you try to dissuade him. “You can just put on some music or something and—”
“Nice try,” he interrupts. “No music this time. I’m asking you questions.”
It’s a nightmare come to life. A confined space you can’t escape as you're subjected to something as horribly incessant as his curiosity.
Your lips pull flat, heartbeat picking up in panic. “You’re not spending five hours asking me questions.”
“It’s fair,” he insists. “Every time I ask you a question, you get to ask me one, too.”
“What is this, a drinking game?” You roll your eyes. “Are we at a dorm party?”
Jay just sighs. “I wish I could give you a glass of wine.”
You balk. “You want me drunk?”
“I want you honest,” he corrects. Glancing at you, he adds, “Something you’ve proven very reluctant to be.”
“Forgive me for not wanting to spill my guts to you.”
“I told you,” he says, suddenly serious. “I want to get to know you.”
“So you waited until you had me in a place I can’t escape.”
He smiles at that. “You’re catching on.”
“Fine,” you sigh. He can’t give you wine, after all. If you don’t like a question, you can always lie. Or just refuse to answer. Besides, there are things he’s said over the course of your strange agreement that pull at your curiosity, too. Things about him that you wonder. Maybe this will be a chance to finally have some answers of your own. “Do your worst.”
Entering the highway, the road stretches out long ahead of you.
Jay starts off easy. Or at least, he tries to. “Why did you choose business as your major?”
For most people, it would be an easy question with a simple answer. For you, it lands right on a subject you’ve been avoiding at all costs.
“It seemed interesting.” You shrug.
“That’s bullshit,” he immediately returns.
“What?”
“You’re the most organized, meticulous, goal-oriented person I’ve ever met. I don’t believe for even a second that you chose your major because it seemed interesting.” His eyes are still on the road. He picks apart your lies with as much effort as it takes to swat at a fly. He tells you, “Give me a real answer.”
Wheels spinning in your mind, you scramble to decide which parts of the truth to give him. Finally, you say, “My family has a restaurant. It hasn’t…. It hasn’t always done so well. I thought that if I learned more about the management and logistical side of things, I could help it get back on its feet.”
“That’s what you want to do?” There’s no judgement in his voice, but his tone is colored heavy by surprise. “Help run your family’s restaurant?”
You shake your head. “Isn’t it my turn?”
He nods, but you can tell he hasn’t let it go. “Alright. Go ahead.”
Suddenly, you’re not sure where to start. There are things you want to ask about his family, about his motives, but they feel too heavy. Too direct.
Instead, you turn his question back to him. “Why did you choose business?"
Jay sighs, and you wonder if the question eats at him somewhere deeper, too. “Family expectation,” he tells you, voice tighter than it was before. “It wasn’t really a choice I made as much as a path I was expected to take. I have grown a genuine appreciation for the field, or at least a deep respect for it. But I wouldn’t say it was my choices that brought me here.”
Right from the get go, he’s more forthcoming that you expected. He’s already divulged more than you thought he might. Either Jay is keeping good on his promise to let you ask just as much as you answer, or he doesn’t keep his secrets quite as close to the chest as you thought.
You don’t respond, just nod in acknowledgment.
Besides, it’s his turn now.
He asks exactly what you expected him to. “Why did you choose to help run your family’s restaurant?”
You bite at the inside of your lip. Something about the road ahead of you has you feeling more honest than wine ever could.
And suddenly, something aches in your chest at the thought of sharing your true feelings. The innermost parts of you that you’ve never told anyone.
“My family’s been through hell and back,” you tell him. “The restaurant did really well, actually, when I was young. But…” you trail off, taking a deep, steadying breath. You have the feeling that if you divulge this particular bit of information to him, there really will be no going back.
Jay sits quietly in the driver’s seat. Waits patiently for your answer.
“But,” you continue, “my brother Sunoo got sick when we were kids.”
“Sick,” Jay repeats, the word heavy with insinuation. “Do you mean—“
It’s not his turn, technically, but you'll excuse it.
“Yeah,” you nod, a rueful smile on your lips. “Ironic, isn't it? Doctor Kim told me when I was diagnosed. It’s genetic, apparently.”
The truth still makes you feel a bit helpless. Jay’s jaw tightens, but he says nothing.
You continue, “My family put everything they had into making him better. Of course they did. We’d do it again, if we had to, no question about it. But it made finances tough. And the restaurant never really went back to normal, even after everything.”
Next to you, Jay is quiet. Anxiety stirs in your stomach as you imagine the gears in his brain turning. As he puts more pieces of your puzzles together, begins to understand even more of the truths you were so determined to keep hidden.
After another long moment of silence, his throat works around a swallow. “I think it’s your turn.”
You breathe. Deciding that this is no time to pull punches, you ask, “You mentioned that your father has certain… conditions for initiating you as a shareholder in the company. Is he always like that?”
“An unsentimental hardass?” Jay clarifies with a scoff.
“That’s one way to put it.”
“Yeah,” Jay nods. “That’s pretty much what he’s like. You know that connections are what keep the business world spinning, and it’s not like he has some moral opposition to nepotism. But it’s been made very clear since day one that I am expected to prove myself. To fulfill any expectations and rise to whatever standards he decides are… necessary.”
“You’d never know. You’re a menace in the classroom.”
The corner of his lips tugs upward. Combined with the sunglasses still sitting on his nose, the sight is devastating.
“That almost sounded like a compliment.”
“Yeah, yeah,” you brush him off. “Don’t let it get to your head. Besides, you know you’re persuasive. I’m here, going to the beach with you right now, aren’t I?”
“I didn’t have to try that hard.”
“I will literally jump into traffic.”
“Fine. You’re so stubborn you make mules look agreeable. Is that what you want to hear?”
“Not exactly, but I’ll take it.” You‘re not sure when it happened, but suddenly you’re smiling too.
After a moment, he asks, “What did you want to be when you were a kid?”
For the first time in a while, you imagine that younger version of yourself again. The one with big dreams and the determination to realize them all. This time, the thought makes you smile.
The nostalgia feels like fondness instead of regret.
“Too many things to count,” you tell him truthfully.
Jay just smiles. “I have time.”
The two of you pass the time like that, his questions veering towards a different kind of invasive the more miles you cover.
When he asks if you’ve ever thought about getting married, you have half a mind to reach across the center console and smack him.
“Why?” You ask instead, infusing your voice with as much indignation as possible. “What is this, a blind date?”
Jay just shrugs. “I’m curious.” He hesitates for a moment. Then he bites. “Besides, if anything, this is our third date.”
Cheeks aflame, you don’t press the subject further.
Thankfully, his questions leave you with less reasons to blush after that.
He learns about your favorite color and you laugh when he tells you about how he fell into the pool fully clothed on his family’s second trip to Italy.
He asks about your summers and you ask about his hobbies. Well, the ones other than sports car collecting.
You’re surprised to learn that he plays the guitar, and rather well you suspect, if the way he gets slightly evasive when you ask if he’s any good is anything to go by.
Time sharpens and then blurs as the road ahead of you does the same.
There are traces of Jay that stay true to your preconceptions. Threads of him that you picked up long ago in lecture halls and still ring true in the passenger seat of his car.
But then he tells you about volunteering at the young learner’s summer camp your university hosts every July.
It makes you smile, thinking of him mustering all of his fraying patience as he explains supply and demand to a group of half interested seventh graders for the third time.
And then it makes you frown, thinking of all the ways you got him wrong.
Because he might be uncovering your secrets, but you're putting together pieces of him, too.
And Jay… cares.
Sometimes quietly, like when he slid your bag off your shoulder and carried it for you without ever saying a word.
Sometimes loudly, like when he scolded you for not pacing yourself on the champagne at the charity gala. When he all but begged you that night in his car to treat your life like something precious instead of disposable.
Loudly, quietly. Whatever it is, it’s always sincere.
Even when you mention a gelato shop you visited once as a kid and he launches into a three minute explanation of all the ways in which gelato differs from regular ice cream. He rambles on about genuine ingredients and slower melting with the same tone he uses to analyze spreadsheets. As if this deserves the same amount of rapt attention.
You just smile. Few things escape his notice. And as it would seem, even fewer escape his care.
You can’t quite decide if being on the receiving end of that makes you feel lucky or indebted beyond reprieve.
Either way, time passes easily.
For long minutes, it’s easy to forget about the diagnosis sitting heavy in your chest.
Until you finally work up the courage to ask the question that’s been weighing heavy on your mind for days.
“Jay?” You try, interrupting his latest rant, this one on the topic of the perfect temperature to sear steak at.
He picks up on your change in tone, the sudden mix of nerves and seriousness. The words die on his lips.
“Yeah?”
You take a deep breath, gathering the last of your bravery. “Why did you make that deal with me?”
For a long moment, he’s quiet. Long enough for your rapid heartbeat to pound a steady rhythm against your eardrums, inside your rib cage.
You almost regret asking. You’re suddenly terrified of his answer.
You brave a glance over at him. In your periphery, you watch his throat work around a swallow, the line of his jaw tighter than it was before.
There’s something raw in his voice when he finally tells you, “I didn’t—I don’t want you to die.”
His eyes are still on the road and yours are still tracing his side profile. You each hold a bit more of the other in your minds.
And Park Jongseong doesn’t want you to die. Whatever reasons he has, whatever lengths he’s willing to go to, the truth sits between you like a fragile thing.
If it weren’t for your borrowed sunglasses, you’d have to squint.
You turn your eyes back to the road, watching the way license plates blur and clouds streak overhead as you continue onwards.
The car settles into silence for the first time since you left the hospital parking lot. Despite his earlier refusal, Jay reaches for the volume knob on his stereo now, lets the quiet, soft hum of his now familiar classic rock playlist fill the silence.
Minutes stretch, and the silence starts to lose its weight. It settles around the both of you in a comfortable way, all the way until you get your first real glimpse of the ocean.
You can’t quite help yourself then. “Oh my god.” Your nose is practically pressed against his window, but decorum is the last thing on your mind.
“It’s pretty, right?” Jay agrees.
The next exit is yours, and soon the highway slows to a narrow, winding street. The trees that line it are dense at first until eventually they thin.
Your glimpse from the highway pales in comparison.
The ocean is… breathtaking. Even from a distance, the crashing waves are fascinating. The way they build and fall, flowing into each other in a perfect, messy, hypnotizing rhythm.
“We’re close,” Jays says, double checking the map. He glances in the rearview mirror before adding, “This street isn’t too busy. Want to know what I meant when I said this car is for special occasions?”
Reluctantly, you peel your eyes from the ocean and look towards him. “Should I be scared? It’s not going to start flying is it?”
Jay tilts his chin, a small smile spreading on his lips like your ridiculous guess isn’t actually that far off.
“You’ll see,” is all he says.
Then suddenly, the roof above you starts to open. Wind plays with your hair, rougher than you expect despite the slow speed. It washes over your face, a fresh, cool breeze with unmistakable traces of salt.
You look up, the late afternoon sunlight nearly blinding despite your sunglasses. The wind is cold, almost bitingly so, as the rest of the roof falls aways. You hardly care.
You laugh, a bright, airy sound that catches Jay so off guard he nearly swerves.
But you can’t help it, the sudden, intense sense of elation.
Jay brought you to the beach in a fucking convertible.
“You like it?” he asks, grin stretching wider as he shouts to be heard over the wind.
You turn to him, eyes wide as you nod furiously. You don’t use words, but you don’t need them. He can see the way excitement lights up your entire face.
He leaves the top down, stealing sidelong glances at you every so often for the rest of the drive.
You lift your hand to the sky, spreading your fingers just to feel the way the wind weaves between them. A peal of laughter bursts from your throat again.
For the first time in weeks, you’re not thinking about your headaches or your diagnosis or the fact that you could very well still be a ticking time bomb.
Right now, it’s just you, Jay, and the wind. A combination of things that make you feel alive in the most riveting, pulse-pounding way. It’s like you’re drunk on it. The wind feels like freedom, like the promise of a future you never dared to dream of.
All at once, you feel like crying. Not because you’re sad, but because you can’t remember the last time you felt this much life flowing through your veins.
You want a million more moments like this, a thousand more memories to look back on with fondness as you age. You aren’t ready to let it go. The thought of it feels like a dagger to the heart. Piercing, gutting, devastating.
Jay is quiet next to you. His eyes still flicker between the road and you. He watches as emotions play out across your features. Hope, joy, and grief, all mixed into one.
His jaw flexes, this time in determination. You wanted beach vacation, and he’s made up his mind that this will be the best fucking one anyone has ever had.
Eventually, the rushing wind slows to a gentle breeze as Jay turns onto a private road, the speed limit decreasing sharply.
Another minute passes before the beach house comes into view, but when it does…
“Wow.” You don’t mean to say it out loud, but the word falls through your parted lips anyway.
Nestled between trees and a perfectly landscaped garden, the house blends right into the beachfront. Two stories tall and a sandy shade of beige, it looks like it was built to belong to the place where it stands.
Looking past it, you see the endless stretch of sand, melting into quiet waves where it meet the ocean. It’s stunning.
Jay slows the car further before shifting into park.
Without the wind from earlier and the hum of the engine, the air around you feels quiet. Still.
And, you realize with a sudden flush, incredibly private. It strikes you, slaps you across the face really, that you’re about to spend two nights with Jay in a secluded beach house with what appears to be no neighbors for miles.
Just you and Jay.
Alone.
“I thought…” you trail off, suddenly desperate for something to fill the silence. “We’re not staying in a hotel?” Even that feels scandalous, but at least there would be other people around to ease the sudden tension.
Jay shakes his head. “It’s off season,” he explains. “Most hotels are already closed for the winter. Besides,” he adds, “this will be more spacious. And the private beachfront is a bonus, too.”
You swallow. “Private?” you echo. “As in…”
“Just us,” he nods, either oblivious to your sudden spiraling or intentionally ignoring it. “If you go half a mile in either direction, the beach is public land, but this little spot right here,” he jerks his chin towards the stretch of beach you can see from the car, “that’s just for us.”
“Oh,” is all you can really manage.
Jay picks up the slack. “C’mon,” he urges. “Let’s go check it out.”
Wordlessly, he takes both of your bags from the back seat.
The walk from the car to the front door is short, but it’s enough to make your breath feel shallow in your chest.
Doctor Kim had warned you that this week would be full of fatigue, but the effort it takes just to walk a few steps is nothing short of frustrating.
The beauty of the beach house is almost enough to make you forget it, though. Almost.
The garden is stunning, even as fall gives way to winter. Less lush than it surely is in the summer months, but the golden brown leaves and shrubbery are still arranged in a way that makes it enchanting.
And the house itself seems to have been given the same attention to detail. Trailing behind Jay through the front door, the space that opens before you is quaint.
Not overly large, the decorations are sparse but intentional. As if the owner knew nothing would ever be able to overshadow the view.
The far wall is hardly a wall at all. Nearly from floor to ceiling, its windows. With a crystal clear view of the beach that belongs to you for the next two days and the ocean it bleeds into.
From here, it’s even more stunning. You feel like you could spend hours here, motionless, just watching as the waves fall into each other, over each other. Battering against the shoreline with an even, flowing rhythm.
It’s captivating. So much so that the sound of Jay’s voice nearly startles you out of your skin when he says near the foot of the staircase, “The bedrooms are upstairs.”
You turn to him, and he motions for you to follow.
Bedrooms, he said. You exhale a sigh of relief. At least you can retain some of your privacy while you’re here.
The second story has the same cozy, lived-in feel as the first. An open central area splits off into two bedrooms on opposite sides of the house. In the center of it all is a balcony.
“Which side?” Jay asks, capturing your attention again. “Garden or forest?”
“I’ll take the garden,” you nod toward the bedroom on the left.
Jay nods, leading the way.
You enter the bedroom behind him, glancing around as he flips the light switch and sets your bag on the ground.
It’s a beautiful room. Simple, full of light, airy colors and textures that remind you of the ocean below. The last of the day’s natural light bleeds through the windows, both the ones on the opposite wall that overlook the garden and the far wall that provides a perfect view of the ocean.
To your left, a door leads to an en-suite bathroom.
And in the middle of the room, pressed close to the seaside window, is a full sized bed with too many pillows to count. White bedsheets are tucked in neatly at the corners, far fluffier than any duvet you’ve ever had.
“I hope it’s alright,” Jay says from behind you. You swear you hear a hint of trepidation in his voice. “Options can be a bit limited in the off season, but I thought—“
“Jay,” you interrupt, eyes still caught on the rolling waves outside the window. Your window. “It’s perfect.”
“Oh,” he returns, voice colored with pleasant surprise. “Good.”
You can still feel his presence behind you, hesitating like he’s not quite ready to leave.
After a moment, Jay continues, “I’ll let you get settled in for a minute. I’ll start dinner soon.”
“Dinner?” You turn to him now, eyebrow arched. “What’s our menu for tonight? Ramen?”
Jay just smiles, a small thing. “Something like that.”
But in true Jay fashion, something like that turns out to be nowhere close to your expectations.
The convenience store dinner you anticipated is all but forgotten by the time you make it back downstairs a handful of minutes later, only to find Jay already hard at work.
Half bent over the stove top, an apron covers his torso as he hums quietly to himself. The smell that fills the kitchen is already divine. So much so that you can’t help but ask—
“What are you making?”
Jay grins at you over his shoulder. The sight is far more devastating than it has any right to be. Coy as ever, all he says is, “You’ll see.”
And you do. Thirty minutes later when he sets the most perfectly cooked meal you’ve ever seen down in front of you on the dining room table.
He pours a can of sparkling water into a wine glass and slides it to you with a wink. “Not the real thing, but I thought it might add to the ambience.”
It’s a joke, more lighthearted than anything, but the consideration hits you somewhere deep.
In an effort to distract yourself, you take a bite of the meat Jay’s just finished grilling. Granted, you have been living off hospital food for the past two weeks but—
“Jay.” Your voice rings out across the table, tone laden with something serious.
He turns to you, eyes wide. “What? Is something wrong? Did I undercook—”
You shake your head. “This is the best thing I’ve ever tasted.”
He flushes. A pretty shade that extends all the way from the tops of his cheekbones to the base of his neck. You have the sudden desire to see if it extends any further, beneath the collar of his well fitted shirt.
“You’re exaggerating.”
“I most certainly am not.” You take a second bite for good measure. It’s just as mouthwatering. “Seriously. How did you do that?”
He shrugs, shy under your praise. “My mom taught me.”
“Your mom,” you echo. It strikes you then that all of your conversations about his family have been quite limited. The sparse details you’ve gotten have only really been about the strained relationship he has with his father. “What’s she like?”
“She’s the best.” Jay’s smile is small but genuine. “Honestly, I think her relationship with my father was based more on family status than a real romantic connection, but she loves her family. She always wanted— wants,” he corrects, “me to be good. Not just good at school or business or running the company, but a good person in general.”
The thought makes you smile. There’s something adorable about imagining a tiny version of him, a ten-year-old Jay learning manners from his mother. It makes sense to you. The lessons seemed to stick.
You suspect it’s why he always insists on opening doors for you and carrying your bags and letting you relax while he cooked dinner despite the fact that he just finished driving five hours. You reconsider your assumption that his small kindnesses have been due solely to your illness. Maybe, you think, he really is just a gentleman in every sense of the word.
Dinner is a rather quiet affair, at least outwardly. Both of you already laid out your most pressing questions on the drive over, and the meal really is delicious enough to keep you silent.
But all the stillness gives your mind space to wander. And wander it does.
Sat directly across from Jay, your eyes keep flickering towards him, falling quickly back to the table whenever he catches your stare.
It’s not like you mean to gawk at him. But there are suddenly things about him that are very difficult to look away from.
Has his jawline always been that sharp? Has his hair always fallen that perfectly over his forehead, just barely brushing the long eyelashes that frame his dark, intelligent eyes?
You’ve known what Jay looks like for years. But it’s always been the back of his head that you’ve stared at. You’ve always assumed you were one step behind him, a few rungs beneath him on the ladder of social standing.
Here, across from the small dining room table, you feel more like equals. Everything about him that used to feel so painfully out of reach suddenly seems like it could fall right into your hands if you worked up the nerve to outstretch them.
And that thought feels… dangerous.
Jay is far safer as an enigma, you’re sure. Someone best kept at an arm’s distance. If you ever dared to let your fingers get too close to him, you’re terrified at just how solid he might feel beneath them.
It’s best, you decide, to keep that space between you, even if it’s only an illusion.
Once again, it strikes you just how alone the two of you are. You have an entire house, an entire beach to yourself. Suddenly, maintaining distance feels like a difficult task.
The shadows outside the living room windows are beginning to extend once the two of you are done eating. Pastel tones paint the sky as the sun dips towards the horizon.
Wordlessly, Jay takes both his plate and your to the kitchen sink. And then you hear his voice behind you.
“Should we go for a walk? We’ll catch the sunset if we go now.”
Turning to him, your nod comes easily. You might still be warring with the proximity, but you didn’t put a beach trip on your bucket list with the intention to stay inside the whole time.
Quietly, you pull your jacket over your shoulders, brushing your hair out of the way. And then you follow him out of the front door.
The sand is cool between your toes when he convinces you to remove your shoes.
“It’s the best part of the beach,” he insisted, but his smile was what truly had you agreeing.
Ever attuned to your needs, Jay notices when your breath starts to become shallower, the repeated motion of stepping over sand becoming more difficult. Then, he suggests that the two of you sit. But not before laying out the blanket he carried down with him.
Half of it rests beneath the two of you, a barrier between the sand and your bodies. The rest of it drapes over your shoulders, a makeshift shelter from the cool evening breeze.
The sun falls closer to the sea with every passing breath. Out here, it’s even more stunning. The vibrant pink and orange hues that streak through the sky, the gentle rhythm of waves against the shore, the salt-filled breeze that plays with your hair even as you sit half-hidden beneath the blanket.
There’s something so peaceful about it all, so beautifully serene. It’s a reminder of just how big, how vast, how endless the world is. And how, even still, it finds a way to distill itself into pockets of perfection just like this.
There are no shooting stars to wish on, no magical genies that offer to grant your deepest desires, but it still feels a bit like a peace offering from the universe. Life was never going to be fair, and for you, maybe never even truly kind. But there is still beauty to be found, still contentment to be had. Moments like this that will eventually fade to memories that you’ll treasure forever.
At your side, Jay looks at the horizon too. Watches as the bottom of the sun kisses the waves. You’re not touching, but you can feel the warmth from his body against your side.
“You can lean on me,” he offers, “if you want.” His voice is quiet but sure. Not small enough to be swallowed by the sea.
“I’m okay,” you assure him.
A moment passes. The sun dips a bit lower. Time seems to move faster now.
“I know,” he returns. “But you can anyway.”
Your first instinct is to protest. To insist that you’re okay, that you don’t need his support.
You sneak a glance at him out of your periphery. Watch as his jaw tightens, as his throat works through a swallow.
He’s nervous, you realize. And he used a bit of his bravery to make his offer.
So instead, you let your head fall gently against his shoulder. It’s a bit uncomfortable at first. The angle isn’t quite right.
Your temple presses against bone and your head wants to loll back to a position that you’re sure will make your neck ache.
It takes Jay only the span of a few heartbeats to adjust. He sinks a bit further into the sand, his hand coming to rest against the outside of your head as he adjusts your angle slightly.
He leaves it there, even as you settle into your new position. Tucked closer into his neck, it’s far more comfortable. You can smell faint hints of his cologne with every inhale.
After a few moments, the hand against your hair begins to move. Gently, Jay tucks a strand of hair behind your ear.
Your eyes are still on the sun. It’s almost entirely vanished now, light fading as it settles into the sea. Jay’s thumb begins to rub gentle strokes against your temple.
The air is cool, but Jay is warm. So impossibly warm and you can’t help but lean a little further into him, into his touch.
Jay sighs, and it scatters across the top of your head.
The sun finally kisses the day goodbye, dipping entirely below the horizon. Neither of you move, eyes still turned towards the sea even as daylight begins to fade.
Jay wraps the blanket a bit tighter around your shoulders before resuming his light touches against your temple. .
The two of you stay like that for a long time, neither of you willing to move, to break the careful peace that’s settled so comfortably around you.
But time presses onwards and by the time a fourth, obnoxiously large yawn escapes you, Jay makes the executive decision to call it a night. You don’t protest as he stands, extending a hand to help you up to your feet. You don’t comment on the way he keeps your hand wrapped in his just a bit longer than necessary, as if he isn’t quite ready to let you go.
The walk back to the house is quiet, nothing but the sound of your breath and the waves behind you to fill the silence.
Jay offers you a hand again, this time for balance as you brush sand from your feet before putting your shoes back on.
Once you reach the house, you trail behind him up to the second floor. At the top of the staircase, he pauses, then turns towards you. You’re halfway to your bedroom when he calls your name.
At the sound, you turn to look at him. For a moment, he just stares at you, fingers clenching at his sides. Then, he makes his decision. You see it in the set of his jaw, the sudden determination in his eyes.
He takes three deliberate strides forward, all the way until he’s close enough to touch. You take half a step back in surprise and he follows, crowding into your space.
“Jay, wh—”
His fingers wrap around your wrist, effectively silencing you as he pulls you into him, arms wrapping around your shoulders in a tight embrace.
For a brief moment, you’re too stunned to do anything. And then, regaining your senses, you bring your own hands tentatively to his shoulder blades, let your face fall a little closer into his chest until your lips are brushing over the fabric of his shirt.
Eyes wide in the moonlight, you take a deep breath in, letting his warmth envelop you.
Jay pulls back, just slightly. He still has his arms around you, but there’s a sliver of space now, just enough room for you to look up at him.
You regret it almost immediately. He’s already looking down at you, something indecipherable in his gaze.
It frightens you. It sends a deep, aching thrill shivering down the length of your spine.
Jay leans closer, and your eyelids flutter shut. For a moment, you think he’s going to kiss you.
You feel his lips against your forehead instead. Gentle, unmoving, just there.
A handful of seconds pass. Or maybe a minute. Wrapped in his arms, time feels like a malleable thing. It’s impossible to be sure.
Whatever it is, it’s long enough for something to pass between the two of you, for something to shift.
Jay pulls back, but he doesn't let you go. Not yet.
“Goodnight,” he whispers, breath fanning over your skin.
Your mind is spinning, suddenly full of desires and thoughts and possibilities that you never stopped to consider before.
“Goodnight, Jay,” you manage to return, breathless and more than a little flustered.
At that, he does pull back. Reluctantly, you disentangle yourself from him, still caught somewhere between possibilities and reality.
Jay doesn’t move, hardly dares to breathe, until you turn, until the door to your bedroom clicks shut.
Once it does, you lean back against it, hand flying to your chest. Your heart pounds in your throat, and your breath is suddenly a rather difficult thing to catch.
You go through the motions of preparing for bed mechanically.
Washing your face, changing into the pajamas you packed, climbing into the ridiculously cozy bed in the middle of the room.
All the while, you imagine it, replay it. Jay looking down at you with intention in his gaze. His arms around you, his lips on your forehead.
You’re exhausted. It’s late. But the thought of Jay, just across the hall from you, so close it’s almost painful, keeps pulling you back to consciousness. Sleep takes a long while to find you.
🦷 soonyoung x f!reader
🦷 1k
🦷 cute/hot makeout? i guess?
🦷 for @gent1es3xy bc she's insane. she found the photos i used so blame her.
🦷 soonyoung has braces obviously. he flips from cute to hot Very fast. tiny bit of blood in mouth. many kisses. much making out. i think it's pretty hot making out. tongues. i... idk.
🦷 i've never had braces btw so hopefully this is relatively? accurate? also i was aBOUT to format and post this when The vernon photo showed up. so uh. idk here have this, happy bday hoshi, i'm gonna go scream into the void now :DDD
Soonyoung has braces. It shouldn't be as hot as it is.
🦷
“This sucks,” Soonyoung declared for the tenth time in an hour. You rolled your eyes, closing the book you were pretending to read.
“You’ve been home for two days, and you’ve said ‘This sucks’ more than you’ve said ‘I love you,’” you said back drily. Soonyoung’s already-plump lips, emphasized by his braces, slipped into a dramatic pout.
“But you know I love you!”
“And I know that this sucks. Soonyoung, you literally got a week of leave because your mouth hurts so much. I’m well aware.”
Soonyoung lowered his head, depriving you of his puffy pout.
It was almost offensive, how pretty he looked. With braces, of all things. But they emphasized the swell of his lips, and the curve of his cheeks, and something about it just… drew your attention. You were having an embarrassingly hard time keeping your eyes away. (Your ‘reading’ position, slouched against the arm of the couch with your knees pulled up on the cushion, allowed a perfect vantage point from which to watch, anyway.)
“I do love you,” Soonyoung mumbled. “A lot. I’m just… I mean, I dunno. It hurts a lot. It’s hard to think about anything else, ya know?”
“Yeah –”
“Wait, no, you’ve never had braces!” he burst suddenly, eyes narrowing as he lifted his head from the back of the couch. “You don’t get it!”
You raised an eyebrow. “Yeah, I guess I don’t? I mean, I’m sure it’s uncomfy, but –”
“Wait.” Soonyoung’s eyes gleamed, suddenly catlike. He leaned towards your half of the couch, the warm light of the desk lamp casting shadows over his honeyed skin and highlighting his impossibly sharp jaw.
Oh, no.
How could someone look so hot with braces?
“Um,” you said eloquently, trying to ignore the heat crawling up the back of your neck as Soonyoung crawled towards you. He nudged his way between your raised knees. “Soonyoung, what are you –”
He just grinned, white braces flashing, one hand landing on your hip and pinning you to the couch. You gasped. Your book slid off your stomach and thudded to the floor, but when you turned to check on it, his other hand seized your chin and dragged you to face him.
Then he kissed you.
You squeaked at first, hands flying up to his shoulders to push him away because his orthodontist couldn’t possibly think this was a good idea – but then his tongue pressed against your lips, and your mouth fell open of its own accord.
It was a little worrying, the dexterity with which Soonyoung’s tongue tugged at yours, but somehow he coaxed you up against his teeth. You lingered on the familiar curve of the back of his teeth, but at his little grunts of insistence, your tongue began to wander towards the front of them.
And the braces.
You almost jumped, and you might have if you weren’t held so thoroughly in place. Little metal dots and thin wires and white rubber bands danced beneath your tongue, so foreign and yet so fascinating. Somehow, you couldn’t get enough.
Then Soonyoung started to pull away. You tried to chase him, mouth searching, but then a sharp pain caught your bottom lip and you cried out, fingers digging into his shoulders.
Your lower lip snapped back into your mouth, tingling and wet. You blinked. Soonyoung stared down, dark eyes widening just a fraction.
“Oh,” he murmured. You just breathed, trying to ground yourself. His thumb pushed just above your chin, tucking your bottom lip over your teeth and into your mouth just enough for your tongue to catch a single drop of blood.
Whoa.
“Look at that,” he breathed, barely distant from you at all. Iron coated your tongue. You just stared, his thumb half in your mouth, brain struggling to form thoughts. “You’ve got yourself a little scratch. Want me to kiss it better?”
You couldn’t speak. You just whined. Soonyoung got it.
He leaned back in, thumb slipping away as his lips molded around your injured lower one. He tugged and sucked and rubbed your lip against his braces, and you faded into the couch, small shocks of pain keeping you tethered. Oh. Oh. Oh. Soonyoung pressed closer, his body hot against yours, and it was all you could do to keep your hands on his shoulders. You knew he liked it when you touched him. You just didn’t have the functioning capacity to grope your way down his arms; not now, when a dozen new sensations were assaulting your shredded lip.
Soonyoung bit down harsher, just for a moment, then let go. Your eyelids fluttered, trying to stay on him but failing as everything kept dipping to black.
“So,” he murmured, his deft fingers rubbing at the swell of your lip, “you get what they feel like now?”
You blinked and stared.
Right.
…The braces.
“Oh,” you managed. You totally hadn’t forgotten about the entire point of this. (As if it was hard, with Soonyoung physically weighing you into the cushions.) “Um.”
Soonyoung’s grin turned a little wicked.
“Maybe you need a reminder?” he said with the most teasing lilt possible.
Then his mouth was on yours, open and hot and wet from the start, tongue working as if to teach you the shape of every bracket and every tooth in his jaw. Every reserve was gone, and sounds fell like rain from your mouth, obscene sounds that made your ears burn – but Soonyoung loved them, you knew he did, because every single sound earned a bite or a squeeze or a growl. Your poor bottom lip felt mutilated, mauled, and it was almost definitely swollen.
Something about that made your breath hitch. Soonyoung just chuckled against your tongue and shifted his grasp on your hip, making his shoulders flex deliciously.
Your hands fell to his biceps then. It was unintentional, until he groaned into your mouth and something sparked inside and you squeezed. Hard.
His braces gnashed against your lip almost instantly. You squeezed again, but this time he flexed to meet you, and your eyes nearly rolled back in your head from the pure muscle.
"is it weird," you ask, touching jeonghan's shoulder with your hand, "that you don't sleep but still stay here with me every night?"
he grabs your wrist gently, his fingers cool, bringing your knuckles to his lips and kissing them. "not weird," he whispers. "i like listening to you sleep. i can sometimes hear your heartbeat."
you tilt your head, "sometimes?"
jeonghan pauses, glancing at you once. "when you aren't snoring."
"woah there, i do not--" you gasp, pulling your hand back from his lips. "you literally look dead when you sleep. and you’re cold. and you steal the covers. and you don’t even get cold!" you flip to face the opposite side of the room, pulling the blanket over you. "and you don’t even sleep…" you mumble.
jeonghan shifts, leaning over your frame. the mattress slightly dips below him when his chest meets your back. "wow…" he mutters, breathing against your neck. "so that’s how it is, hm?" when you don't respond, he softly, as weird as it sounds, smells you. "i'm kidding." he says quietly.
"no you aren't," your voice muffling through the pillow. you feel his forehead rest between your shoulder blades, cool skin pressing into your warmth. "just for that, you don't get any of my blood."
"cruel lover," he chuckles, "forgive me..." he sighs, feeling his fingers slide around your waist, tugging it toward him.
심재윤) being with jake meant never having to think before you spoke. he was the first person you told everything to, no matter how important or stupid it was. but after hearing him call you irritating, even once, you can’t stop wondering if he’s been thinking it all along. what starts as giving him a little space slowly turns into shorter answers, unfinished stories, and eventually, complete silence.
content warning !
emotional hurt, relationship conflict, miscommunication, insecurity, self-doubt, crying, hurt feelings, guilt, comfort, reconciliation, and fluff with angst.
the apartment had that soft late afternoon glow. rain tapping the windows and a candle burning somewhere in the kitchen because you swore expensive candles made the place feel “emotionally moisturized.” jake said that phrase haunted him daily.
you were curled up on the couch beside him in oversized pink pajama shorts, talking with your hands at full speed.
“and THEN she blended the contour with a damp sponge instead of a brush and i’m telling you jake, it literally changed the structural integrity of her face.”
jake blinked slowly from where he sat, one arm stretched behind you. “structural integrity.”
“yes!” you laughed. “like she went from moon emoji to greek statue in thirty seconds.”
he gave a small chuckle at first. he always did. even when he didn’t understand you, he liked hearing you excited. your voice filled rooms too easily. like confetti someone forgot to clean up.
“and okay wait because THEN i started thinking maybe i should try that peach undertone thing? but i don’t know because the lighting in sephora is literally government propaganda.”
jake rubbed a hand down his face.
“mhm.”
you didn’t notice the shift at first.
“and babe, imagine me with that glossy lip combo i showed you? the one with the liner and—”
jake exhaled hard this time.
you paused for half a second. “what?”
“nothin.” but his eyes had already drifted away from you toward the tv that wasn’t even on.
you tried smiling anyway. “no, tell me.”
another sigh.
“baby…” he muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose. “i just… i don’t understand any of this stuff.”
your fingers slowly stilled in your lap.
“i know…” you said softly, trying to laugh it off. “you don’t gotta understand makeup.”
“no but it’s like…” he shook his head. “can you stop talking about it for like, one second?”
the room went weirdly quiet after that.
jake looked irritated in the careless way people do right before they realize they crossed a line.
“it’s just… damn.” he let out a dry laugh. “you’re kinda irritating when you get like this.”
and there it was.
it wasn’t not yelled or cruel. just tossed at you casually like it wouldn’t land somewhere permanent.
your smile faded almost invisibly.
jake finally looked at you properly then.
you swallowed once and nodded a little too quickly. “oh.. yeah. okay.”
jake looked like he had been slapped by his own sentence. just genuinely stunned at what came out of him earlier.
his eyebrows pulled together.
“no—” he let out a breath, almost disbelieving at himself. “no, i did not mean that.”
the bubbly energy that had been bouncing around the room seconds ago vanished like somebody unplugged it from the wall.
you stood up carefully, smoothing your shorts even though they didn’t need smoothing.
“i think i’m gonna take a nap.” you said quietly. “i’m tired.”
you usually argued back. teased him. dramatically gasped and called him rude before talking again five minutes later anyway. but this? this was different. your eyes wouldn’t even stay on him now.
he sat up straighter. “baby, wait, i didn’t mean it like that.”
you nodded again. too nice. too fast. “it’s okay.”
it was the “okay” people use when it absolutely is not okay.
you started walking toward the bedroom.
jake stared at your back for two seconds before standing abruptly. “babe.”
you stopped but didn’t turn around.
he ran a hand through his hair, already hating himself. “don’t do that.”
you looked down at the floor. “i’m not doing anything.”
and somehow that hurt him more.
jake reached for your wrist gently. “baby… look at me.”
you finally did and your eyes were glossy now, trying so hard not to be.
the regret hit him like a truck with brass knuckles.
“shit…” he whispered immediately. “no, no, sweetheart…”
his hand slid up your arm carefully like he thought you might pull away.
“i didn’t mean you’re irritating.” his voice softened fast. “i was irritated. that’s different.”
you gave the tiniest shrug. “it’s fine.”
“it’s not fine if i made you feel bad.”
your face crumpled just a little at that, enough for him to realize how hard you were trying to hold it together over one stupid comment.
jake cursed under his breath and pulled you into him before you could protest.
“you get excited and you ramble.” he murmured into your hair. “i know that. i love that about you.”
you stayed quiet against his chest.
“i’m just an idiot.” he rubbed your back slowly. “a giant one. like medically concerning levels.”
a tiny laugh escaped you accidentally.
“there she is…” he whispered immediately, relief flooding his voice like sunlight through cracked blinds.
you hid your face against him. “you hurt my feelings.”
“i know.” his grip tightened. “i know, baby. i’m sorry.”
after jake apologized. more than once, actually. he hugged you and kissed your forehead and called himself an idiot, and swore he never meant it the way it came out.
but suddenly that sentence would flash through your head out of nowhere.
irritating.
it lodged itself somewhere ugly in your brain and refused to leave.
and you hated that.
because logically, you knew jake loved you.
you knew it every time he pulled you into his lap while playing games. every time he saved the pickles from his burger because you liked them. every time he looked for you first in crowded rooms like his eyes did it automatically.
you knew.
but insecurities are weird little parasites.
they don’t care about logic.
so now every time you got excited, something inside you hesitated first.
you started noticing yourself more. maybe too much.
the way your voice got louder when you were passionate about something. the way you interrupted yourself because your thoughts moved too fast. the way you jumped from topic to topic without warning.
before, it used to feel natural.
now it felt embarrassing. like becoming aware of how loudly you chew. you couldn’t unnotice it anymore.
and the worst part?
jake didn’t even realize how much it affected you because you tried so hard to act normal.
you still smiled, still laughed and still cuddled him at night.
you just… edited yourself now.
when you got excited about something from tiktok, you’d think about bringing it up… then decide not to.
sometimes you caught yourself literally checking his face while talking to see if he looked annoyed.
that part made you feel pathetic.
and the next few days they felt… off.
not in an obvious fighting way, probably worse. but you just got quiet.
jake noticed it almost immediately.
usually when you came home from college, the apartment exploded with noise within five minutes. your bag hitting the floor dramatically. you talking about professors like they were reality show villains. random makeup opinions nobody asked for. twenty different stories tangled together at once.
but now?
nothing.
that afternoon the apartment was filled with the low hum of rain again, the tv playing some random show neither of you were paying attention to.
you sat curled into the opposite end of the couch, knees tucked to your chest while scrolling on your phone silently.
too silently.
jake glanced over from where he sat.
usually you would’ve been halfway laying on top of him by now.
instead there was actual distance between you two.
it bothered him more than he expected.
he muted the tv after a while. “how was college today?”
you didn’t even look up from your phone.
“alright.”
jake waited.
normally that question unlocked a forty minute recap complete with impressions, side quests, and emotional damage.
but that was it.
“…busy, i guess.”
his eyes narrowed slightly.
“busy?” he repeated.
“mhm.”
silence again.
the rain tapped softly against the windows.
jake stared at you for another second before leaning back slowly.
another ten minutes passed and you barely spoke. every answer was short, polite or neat. like you were trying not to bother him.
jake finally tossed the remote onto the couch with a sigh.
“okay, no.”
you looked up finally. “what?”
“why are you acting like that?”
you blinked innocently. “like what?”
“like you’re in a waiting room.”
your fingers paused against your phone screen.
“i’m not.”
“baby, you’ve said maybe six words since you got home.”
you shrugged lightly. “i’m tired.”
jake stared at you.
that shrug almost pissed him off because it was so obviously fake-casual.
he leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “you’re still upset about the other night?”
your eyes dropped back to your phone instantly. “i said it was fine.”
“yeah, and i’m starting to realize that when you say ‘it’s fine’ it actually means i should start preparing my funeral arrangements.”
that almost got a smile.
he scooted closer slowly. “hey…”
you kept staring at your phone even though you hadn’t scrolled in thirty seconds.
his voice softened.
“baby.”
you swallowed. “what?”
“talk to me.”
your throat tightened a little at that because the stupid part was… you wanted to.
you missed talking to him normally.
but now every time you got excited about something, that sentence echoed in your head.
you’re kinda irritating when you get like this.
so instead you just shrugged again. “there’s nothing to talk about.”
jake’s expression shifted immediately.
hurt.
real hurt.
“don’t do that.”
you frowned softly. “do what?”
“shut me out because i said something stupid.”
you finally looked at him then.
“i’m not shutting you out.”
“yes you are.” he said quietly. “you don’t even ramble anymore.”
that word made your chest ache.
ramble…
because before, he used to say it like it was something fond.
now it just felt embarrassing.
you looked down at your lap. “i didn’t realize it was that annoying.”
jake’s face dropped instantly.
“baby…”
“it’s okay.” you said quickly. too quickly. “i’ve been trying to chill out more anyway.”
that sentence hit him like a brick to the throat.
because you sounded sincere.
like you were genuinely trying to make yourself smaller for him.
“no.” jake moved closer immediately. “no, don’t do that.”
you looked confused. “do what?”
“this.” he gestured toward you helplessly. “being all quiet and weird.”
your voice came out tiny. “i thought you wanted me to.”
jake physically flinched and silence filled the room again.
then suddenly he was pulling your phone gently out of your hands and tossing it onto the couch beside him.
“c’mere.”
before you could protest, he tugged you into his lap.
you let out a surprised noise, hands instinctively grabbing his hoodie.
jake wrapped both arms around you tightly. “i was irritated one time.” he muttered into your shoulder. “one time, and now my girlfriend acts like she needs customer service training before speaking.”
you huffed the tiniest laugh despite yourself.
“baby, i miss hearing you talk.” he admitted quietly. “the apartment feels creepy without it.”
you looked down. “really?”
“yes, really.” he said immediately. “i wanna hear about your professors and your makeup theories and whatever random thing your tiktok algorithm taught you today.” he rested his chin against your shoulder, holding you a little closer. “i don’t want you sitting here and second guess every thought before you say it.”
your eyes stung a little at that.
jake noticed instantly and groaned softly. “i meant it baby.”
he pulled you closer against his chest, rubbing your back slowly.
“i’m sorry, sweetheart.” he murmured into your hair. “seriously.”
then after a second.
“…now tell me how college was for real this time.”
you sniffled once.
“my sociology professor accidentally emailed the entire class her grocery list.”
jake blinked.
“…see? this is the quality content i’ve been missing.”
tiny little drabble based on this clip bc i wanted to do a little writing warmup. 429 words.
Seungcheol is cute when he’s concentrating.
His lips are in a pout — his default expression, really — his thick brows are slightly creased together, and his eyes are staring at his phone screen like he’s trying to blow it up.
“Why is this so hard?” he mumbles to himself, his fingers weaving the silk tie around itself again, but all he manages is… a knotted mess. He sighs with defeat, untangling the tie, and struggling to even do that. “I just won’t wear this…”
You giggle as you cross the room over to your wounded puppy-boyfriend’s side. His hands drop to his sides as soon as you pick the tie up, and he watches your deft fingers undo the knot with ease.
“Look,” you say, taking the two loose ends. “Over, then under, then around, then under and through here, then through here… and there you go.” You tighten it and straighten it a little, curling your fingers around it before tugging him closer to you with a grin full of mischief. “Now I can drag you around.”
“Hey…” he whines. “How did you even learn to do that?” he asks, still looking puzzled as he stares at the tie through the mirror. He reaches up, starting to undo your work.
“When I was little my dad let me tie his tie for work because he knew I loved doing it,” you explain, stroking your hands along Seungcheol’s broad shoulders. He always makes you feel a little crazy when he’s in a button-up shirt.
“That’s cute,” he says, and now he’s holding two loose ends of his tie. “I’m trying again… Over, then under, then through-”
“Wrong,” you exclaim, hands darting out to stop his movements. His eyes go wide with exasperation. God forbid you tell him he’s doing something wrong. “Over, then under, then around. Why are you moving so much?”
His head had been moving up and down, glancing back and forth between the mirror and the view right below him. “I’m trying to get all the angles, baby!”
You scoff out a laugh, placing the tie back in his grasp. “You’re confusing yourself. Here. Do as I tell you.”
“Okay. I’m good at that.”
You nod. “So, over… Then under… Then around… Then under and through… And then through that hole you made…”
He pulls the longer end through, and it looks exactly as it should. “Did I do it?”
“You did it!” you say, applauding him gently as he beams at his reflection with triumph. “Congratulations, you’re a real man now.”
✶ ˚｡⋆ when the line of professionalism fades between stolen kisses and hidden touches, it’s hard to go back to the way things were. even more so when the thief is the very man you work with: the one who leaves you confused, but fills your heart with love every time he touches you.
꧖ warnings: cursing. kissing. skinship. drama. romcom coded. hurt/comfort. a bit of angst. crying. confusing relationship (not even a situationship lol). down bad jungwon. no use of yn. not exactly proof read. english isn’t my first language (sorry) — masterlist.
word count: 5.9k
note: hi! this is kinda inspired by “doma” by josean log. such a beautiful song. thank u for reading!!! ╰(*´︶`*)╯♡
doma (noun)
the process of mastering an intense force or emotion.
His lips are slightly swollen, so little that only you, the one who needs to be this close, can see.
Your hands work on the makeup on his lips, trying to find the same lipstick in your kit that you used before.
“I thought you were already ready, Jungwon hyung,” the youngest boy says, looking at the leader as another member of the staff places his jacket in the right place.
Jungwon doesn’t answer.
As you retouch the makeup, trying with all your heart to make your hand stop trembling, his gaze remains fixed on you.
The hypocrisy? It was you.
You were guilty.
Oh, and you can remember it all too well.
One of his hands on your back and the other cupping your chin. Definitely not a messy kiss, but much more than that.
Forbidden.
He hums a little, and when you finish and he has to go, his hand brushes yours in a movement that tries to appear accidental.
It’s not.
Because you notice when his gaze goes back to you one last time as he goes up to the stage.
And you know you’re fucked.
“So… you are transferring?” his voice echoes in the big practice room.
You see his little pout, reflected in the big mirror in front of you. Your head rests on his lap, while his hand slowly brushes strands of your hair out of your face. Even though he is sitting against the wall opposite the mirror, his reactions are so clear in your eyes.
The management offered you a place with their new girl group. You told them you would think about it, since they somehow found out about the offer another company had made to you just a few days ago.
It was a higher position.
“No. I told them I didn’t want to,” you say, and you hear a sigh of relief escape him.
“Good,” he murmurs, looking down at you. “I like it when you are around.”
You don't answer.
Instead, your eyes drift back to the mirror, watching the slow, rhythmic movement of his fingers through your hair.
I like it when you are around.
The words repeat in your head, heavy and confusing. He says it so easily, with that calm that characterizes him. The one that makes you want to understand him, to match his tone to a piece of the puzzle of this emotional mess.
It started like that too. With his stupid calm.
A few weeks ago, the company scheduled a new campaign. A campaign meant a photoshoot. And a photoshoot meant makeup and clothes, so there you were, with a small cup of coffee, trying to survive the cold morning of Seoul while trying to work.
The photoshoot soon changed to a rehearsal; with the new tour incoming, everything felt rushed. Every opportunity to improve was taken by the members of the band.
And obviously, they asked you to stay.
Every opportunity to make content was taken by the company, so a small camera in the form of a vlog was there, and if a little smudge of makeup needed to be retouched, that was your job.
When it ended, you stayed to arrange all your material to return it to its place. It was not much, but after working here for some time, you realized everything was better if it was organized and on clear display.
Jungwon was there too.
It was completely silent, except for his heavy breathing that eventually returned to normal after a few minutes. He stayed there, sitting on the wooden floor, his back against the black wall, looking at his hands folded on his lap.
When you finally finished and went over to tell him it was time to leave, his gaze went up, fixing on you before he spoke.
"Can you sit with me for a minute?" he had asked. No hesitation, just a direct request.
And… you did.
You sat down next to him with your knees pulled up against your chest, the silence of the building now wrapping around you both.
You weren’t friends.
You weren’t strangers.
Just a normal, friendly guy from work. That was all he was to you. Yeah, he was sweet and cute, but nothing more.
“I know we don’t interact that much… but I like talking to you,” he said, looking not at you, but at the floor of the practice room. “Thank you for staying.”
He was like that: so honest, so communicative, yet so carefully analytical about his own exhaustion.
And actually, you had heard about this from other staff. He often asked for a little bit of company, not only for himself but for the workers. This small piece of peace in a world that just wants to demand everything felt like a warm hug.
His gaze returned to you, and something sparked behind his dark brown eyes; something you couldn’t describe, but you were sure it was there.
And then, he turned slightly toward you and his eyes dropped to your face.
"I want to kiss you," he murmured, a soft, genuine request. Your breath hitched.
The room started to feel almost suffocating. Too hot.
The nervous beat of your heart felt like it was almost in your ears, and you could swear the air conditioner had stopped working.
All in one second.
"Is that okay?"
Your heart hammered against your ribs, and before you could even process his sudden boldness, you whispered a breathless, "Yes.”
And he… did it.
The kiss was everything you heard his personality was: tender, deliberate, and deeply comforting.
One of his hands rested gently on your nape when he leaned in closer, while the other cupped your chin with a lightness that made you feel like porcelain.
It wasn’t messy.
It wasn’t that romantic.
But that was exactly why it became your undoing. Because after it ended, he gave you a small, bittersweet smile and thanked you for being there.
And the next morning at another photoshoot session, he used his polite and professional idol voice to ask you for a water bottle in front of the manager.
Yet, here you were now; letting him touch your hair in an empty room, both of you pretending this was normal.
But even with the burning questions in your throat, you keep your mouth shut. As always.
“Why did you kiss me that day?”
“Hm?” he mumbles, a little surprised by the sudden question. “You looked cute.” He giggles when he sees your nose scrunching in embarrassment. “What?”
“I am serious.”
“I am serious too,” he said.
He paused, searching your eyes to see if you were actually upset or just curious, but when he saw the genuine question in your eyes, he let out a soft laugh and shook his head.
"I don't know," he murmured, his voice suddenly dropping into a rough, honest whisper.
When his eyes snapped back to your reflection in the mirror, the confident, perfectly composed leader you knew during your time working with the team was gone.
"I don't know how to explain it," Jungwon admitted. He gave a small, frustrated shrug, looking genuinely confused. "… I don't even know when it started."
His cheeks flushed slightly, like this was a special topic for him.
“That day you looked so… grounded. So real,” he whispered. “I think I kissed you because I realized you were the only part of my day that made sense. And I couldn't handle the thought of you walking out of that room without knowing it.”
His eyes softened, a tiny dimple appearing as his voice turned into a whisper.
“... And yeah, you really did look cute.”
Days pass easily into weeks between kisses and silent promises.
It’s 2 AM when the company van finally hits the highway, heading back to the dorms after an eighteen-hour shoot.
Everyone was too exhausted to care about protocol, so when the staff and members rushed into the nearest available cars, you somehow ended up in the back row of the dark vehicle.
Trapped between the window and Jungwon.
Ni-ki and Sunghoon are asleep just inches away, their breathing heavy and rhythmic in the quiet interior, alongside four other exhausted staff members.
You are staring out the window, watching the Seoul city lights blur against the rain on the glass. Jungwon is sitting right next to you, and the thought alone makes your heart flutter.
Then, you feel it.
He doesn’t turn his head. He doesn’t look at you. But his hand slides into the narrow, dark space between your seats.
His fingers find yours, slowly intertwining in the dark.
You don’t dare look at him, too afraid of being seen.
His thumb brushes over your knuckles; a slow and agonizingly tender touch that stops completely every time the van hits a bump or someone shifts in their sleep, only to tighten again when the road goes smooth.
Was this a form of torture you deserved for some crime you committed in your past life? Or were you just this unlucky?
His hand burns against yours.
And the feeling of your chest getting heavy whispers a truth both of you are too cowardly to admit aloud, while the rest of the world sleeps just inches away.
This is going to ruin you. And you are just letting it happen.
You hadn't talked about what you were, because the word relationship seemed like a luxury neither of you could afford, even with all the money in the world.
Your contract stipulated something you had broken a while ago, and the thought alone made you shiver.
What were you even doing?
Even with that, you couldn’t act like you didn’t like this. Because the confidence between you had grown into something beautiful.
And terrifying.
You had learned the map of his hidden habits; things no fan or camera would ever see.
You knew that when he was genuinely relaxed, he would hum a low, unstructured melody under his breath.
You knew that his hands needed yours to get warm after a long rehearsal session.
You knew that after a grueling day, he didn't want a long conversation; he just wanted to lay his head in your lap and wrap his arms tightly around your waist while you ran your fingers through his hair until his breathing finally evened out.
You had basically memorized his face.
At first, it was just your job: knowing the exact shade of lipstick to put on his lips, balancing the shadows under his eyes after a long flight with an expensive concealer he always complained was too cold. But over the last month, that professional distance had completely melted.
You had memorized that beautiful mole of his, because you loved staring at it while he slept against your shoulder, hidden away in the dressing rooms.
You had learned the exact amount of pressure to use when massaging his shoulders when he got tense.
You had even started keeping a specific pack of gummy candies hidden at the bottom of your makeup kit, as a silent and exclusive detail just for him, because you knew how much he loved sweets.
And tonight was one of those rare, deeply intimate moments. It wasn’t a mandatory schedule; it was a quiet text sent at 8 PM from Jungwon: “Vocal room 3.”
And of course, you went. You always went.
Now, you are sitting on the small sofa in the dimly lit room, your back pressed against his chest. Jungwon has his legs spread wide, trapping you securely between them, with his arms wrapped tightly around your waist as if making sure there is absolutely no air between you.
He likes you right there. Locked under his touch.
He had insisted you change out of your uncomfortable work jacket, giving you one of his own oversized black zip-up hoodies. It smelled overwhelmingly of his clean body wash and the faint but comforting trace of the expensive cologne he only wore for special events.
And it was so ridiculously obvious he loved seeing you in his clothes; the corners of his mouth turned up with smug satisfaction when he zipped it up for you.
His nose is buried deep in the crook of your neck, and he keeps pressing soft, lingering kisses right there, on the sensitive pulse point of your throat. They are slow, accompanied by the warm, rhythmic sound of his breath.
Every time you let out a breathless giggle while trying to move away, his hands slide slightly higher up your ribs, his fingers pressing firmly into your skin to hold you still.
"Stop, Jungwon, it tickles," you whisper-laugh, turning your body slightly to push his chest away. But Jungwon doesn't let you.
He is too stubborn for that.
Instead, with a bit of playful manhandling, he easily shifts your weight until you are straddling his lap, and he catches your jaw with his hand, his long fingers splaying over your cheek as his thumb gently tilts your face up.
But that’s not the tragedy.
He steals a long, slow kiss right from your lips. Not urgent or rushed like the ones behind the heavy clothes racks in the dressing rooms between outfit changes. This kiss is deep, heavy, and devastatingly sweet.
He tastes faintly of the gum he stole a few hours ago from your bag just to annoy you.
His fingers slide up, tangling effortlessly into your hair, tilting your head back to deepen the kiss until your head is spinning and you have to grip his forearms just to stay grounded.
When he finally pulls back, just a fraction of an inch, his lips brush yours with every word he speaks. His breathing is ragged, his chest heaving against yours.
"Look at me," he murmurs, his voice dropping into that low, sweet, raspy velvet you only ever hear when you are locked behind these soundproof doors. You do, and Jungwon lets out a tiny, soft pout, followed by a playful sigh. "You've been ignoring me all day. Do you know how hard it was to watch you walk past me three times and not even look up?"
"I was doing my job, Jungwon," you breathe out, a helpless smile tugging at your lips as your hand comes up to cup his cheek, feeling the warmth of his skin. "I can't just stare at you in front of the managers."
He keeps babbling, and just to annoy him, you ignore him.
You reach down to the coffee table to grab the open bag of strawberry gummies you brought him, but before your fingers can even touch the plastic, Jungwon’s arm flashes forward.
He snatches the bag first, holding it high above your head with a stupid smile.
"Hey! Give them back, I was going to feed you one," you complain, but it's useless; he easily towers over you.
"Nope,” he teases. His free hand immediately hooks around your lower back, his palm burning hot against your spine as he anchors you flush against his chest. "You can’t get your way out of this. I am telling you; you ignored me for twelve hours. A gummy strawberry isn't going to fix it."
"Jungwon, I literally had to adjust your mic pack twice today. I did not ignore you," you argue, laughing as you plant your hands flat against his chest, leaning back a little to look at his stubborn face.
"Adjusting a wire doesn't count," he scoffs softly, his fingers digging gently but possessively into your waist through the soft fabric of his hoodie, pulling you back in so you have no choice but to melt against him.
He leans his forehead against yours, his nose bumping yours playfully, his breath hot against your lips. "You didn't even look at my eyes. You just looked at my collarbone and my neck. It was professional. I hated it."
"Because it is my job, you brat," you whisper-laugh, your heart fluttering at the sight. You hear his offended, fake gasp. "I told you. I can't just stare at you in front of the managers and the directors."
"And I told you I don't care," he whispers, leaning forward to press a quick kiss on the corner of your mouth, then another on your cheek, completely ignoring your logic with that stubbornness of his. "You didn't even slip the gummies into my pocket today during the touch-ups. I had to sit through a two-hour recording with zero sugar because my favorite stylist forgot about me."
"Oh, so now I'm your favorite?" you tease, seeing the pout on his lips. "I thought you told the head noonas they were your favorites."
"Don't be ridiculous," he whispers, looking up at you. "They don't keep candies hidden just for me. They don't wear my clothes. And they definitely don't get to hold me like this."
"You are the one holding me, Won. I'm practically trapped.”
"Good. Stay trapped," he says, his tone shifting into something too honest, a direct, raw confession that leaves you completely breathless.
He slides his warm hands completely under the oversized hoodie, his bare palms making direct contact with the skin of your waist. It feels completely natural: a silent claim he makes over you every single time you are alone.
He doesn't give you time to reply and pulls you down into another kiss that leaves you completely breathless. Your hands instantly slide up to his shoulders, clinging to him because the warmth of his touch is making you dizzy.
When he leans back, he buries his face back into the crook of your neck, his lips trailing along your skin almost like a routine.
"Don't do that tomorrow," he whispers, his voice suddenly sounding small and muffled, almost vulnerable.
"Do what?" you ask softly, your fingers gently smoothing down the soft hair at the back of his neck.
"The voice," he mumbles. "The polite, distant 'Please step over here, Jungwon-nim.' It drives me crazy. I wanted to drag you out of the styling room today."
"You wouldn't dare," you tease softly, though a heavy, sweet ache spreads through your chest at his words. "The managers would have a heart attack."
"Try me.” His lips trail up your jawline to press a string of slow, clingy kisses along your cheek. It makes him feel like the happiest man alive.
His fingers splay now over your hips, gently squeezing the skin there before slowly bringing your hands up, lacing his long fingers through yours. He presses his lips to your knuckles, kissing them one by one, slowly, with a softness that makes your throat tight.
He looks up at you through his dark bangs, his brown eyes crinkling into those crescents you've started to adore.
He leaves one last kiss on the center of your palm before he hugs you tightly against him, burying his face in your shoulder, as if this tiny room were the only place where he could finally breathe.
"I really love it when it's just the two of us like this," he mutters, his voice dripping with an honesty that makes butterflies flutter in your stomach. "I like it when you are around."
The exact same words.
And just like that, your heart stops.
The warmth of his embrace suddenly feels like a cage, freezing you completely in place.
Your mind flashes back to the company van: the burning heat of his hand intertwined with yours in the pitch black while Ni-ki and Sunghoon slept inches away. And then, the way he didn’t even look back at you when he got out of the car.
You gently but firmly untangle yourself from his arms, stepping up from the sofa, almost tripping over your feet. The sudden movement makes Jungwon blink, his hands hovering in the empty air for a second before he slowly lets them fall onto his lap, gripping the fabric of his sweatpants to cope with the sudden distance.
"What's wrong?" he asks, his tone shifting back into that calm, analytical composure, no longer the playful boy who stole your breath a few moments ago.
He isn't defensive; he's just observing you. Almost confused.
You look at him sitting there, with his hoodie over your body, and the weight of the last few weeks finally crashes down on you.
"What are we even doing, Jungwon?"
The question hangs like a miserable plea in the air.
Jungwon doesn’t flinch. He just stares at you, his brow furrowing slightly. "What do you mean?" he asks quietly, as a sudden wave of desperation starts to make your chest and the room heavy.
"This. The dressing rooms. The van. This whole... whatever this is," you say, your voice cracking slightly. It feels embarrassing. “We’ve been doing this for weeks, Jungwon, and we act like it’s normal. But it’s not. And we know it."
Jungwon blinks. He stands up from the sofa, taking a slow step toward you. His hand goes up to try to touch your arm but stops midway.
"I'm not playing games," he murmurs, his tone brutally honest. It’s not his polite, professional tone; it's almost raw. "I meant what I said. I love being with you. But..." He looks away, his fixed, stubborn mind wrestling with the reality of his life. "This is the only way I can have you around without ruining everything. If I look at you out there, people will notice. And if they notice, the company will move you to another team.”
He’s right. And you almost feel bad for yourself. You know this. Everyone knows this.
You read that fucking clause when you signed your contract.
Your cheeks burn, the heat rushing up until even your ears are red. You swear you see his eyes get glassy.
“I'm just trying to keep the pieces together."
His words are logical. Rational. So carefully calculated to survive in his reality.
But you realize that his version of "keeping the pieces together" is the exact same thing that is tearing your heart to shreds.
You leave, even when he tries to grab your hand.
You don't dare to look back at him.
Even when your soul stays behind in that room.
You stood quietly in front of the head manager’s desk, your hands neatly folded over the white envelope resting on the polished wood, two days after the night you left.
The head manager stared at the paper, then up at you, letting out a heavy, genuine sigh.
"Are you absolutely sure about this?" he asked, rubbing his temples. He wasn't being harsh; in fact, there was a rare softness in his eyes. "You’ve been with the ENHYPEN team since the preparation for this tour, and your work has been… flawless.”
“Thank you.”
“If it’s about a salary adjustment or the schedule, we can talk about it. The performance team already requested you for the LATAM leg of the tour.”
You nodded and forced a polite, tight smile, though your chest ached. "It's a personal matter back home. It's already decided.”
He sighed. Actually, you had never seen him this considerate. “Just... think about it over the afternoon, okay? Don't make a rushed decision. You can leave early today.”
You nodded, and even though he tried to hand your resignation paper back to you, you didn’t accept it.
You bowed and left with a tight throat.
The email notification on your lockscreen were there.
The offer.
"Wait, what do you mean?" The voice of the head stylist was a sharp whisper through the chaos of the rehearsal studio.
The members were in the middle of practice by 8 PM; five hours in and completely exhausted. The backup dancers were resting on the floor, and the boys were scattered around the room, chugging water.
The staff was there too, organizing. Time felt scarce with all of the pending preparations.
Jungwon stood near the center of the mirror, his eyes fixed on his reflection, mechanically repeating a hand movement. He looked completely calm from the outside, as always. But inside, his mind was entirely numb.
And then, he heard it.
"She handed in her resignation this morning," one of the other stylists whispered, looking over a clipboard with a stressed expression. "It’s a shame, really. She is actually so good. I’ve never heard the boys complain when she’s doing their touch-ups."
"But she can't just leave!" another senior stylist chimed in, genuinely upset. "I heard they offered her a lead stylist position for their new girl group here. She’s supposed to go sign the contract tomorrow morning. If she leaves us, she’s definitely going somewhere else."
Jungwon froze. His hand was halfway to his mouth, now holding a water bottle, but his fingers locked tight around the plastic until it crinkled loudly.
His heart dropped, a cold, heavy weight crashing into his stomach.
Resigned?
Signing with another company?
What the fuck?
The memory of you hit him.
"From the second verse, let's go!" the choreographer shouted, clapping his hands to gather the group.
The other members started moving back to their positions. Ni-ki was already stretching his arms, and Heeseung was wiping his neck with a towel. But Jungwon didn't move. He couldn’t.
"Hey, Jungwon-ah, you okay?" Sunghoon asked, gently nudging his shoulder as he walked past. "You look like you saw a ghost."
Jungwon didn't answer him. He turned abruptly toward one of the stylists who was still talking to the other staff.
"Where is she?" Jungwon demanded. His voice carried his usual polite, controlled tone, but now it was dangerously sharp.
It made the stylist's cheeks go red, blinking in surprise at being caught gossiping. "Uh... who?”
“You know who.”
“The stylist?” The woman laughed awkwardly out of nervousness. “I think she just left,” she stammered, confused. “But—”
"Thank you," Jungwon cut her off flatly.
He didn't look back. He dropped the crushed water bottle to the floor, turned on his heel, and walked straight out of the studio.
"What? Jungwon, we have forty minutes left of rehearsal—"
The moment the heavy soundproof door clicked shut behind him, his control snapped.
He ran down the long corridors, with his heart hammering against his ribs like a trapped animal.
Oh, and with cheeks flushed red under the confused looks of the people he sprinted past.
The moment you stepped through the glass revolving doors, the sky completely broke.
A massive and sudden downpour covered the city, turning the streets into blurry and gray streaks of water.
You didn't even have an umbrella.
"Great," you muttered to yourself, pulling your bag tighter against your side as you stepped out onto the slick sidewalk, immediately getting soaked.
It was a sharp contrast, you noticed, to the suffocating heat that had been building in your chest for the last forty-eight hours. As you started walking fast toward the subway station, your head was down, trying to blink away the rainwater blurring your vision.
"Hey!"
A voice cut through the heavy roaring of the rain. It was distant, but you would know that specific tone anywhere.
You didn't stop. You couldn't. It was probably just your mind playing sweet and cruel tricks on you.
"Hey! Stop! Please!"
Suddenly, heavy and splashing footsteps sprinted up from behind you, and before you could even turn your head, a large, warm hand securely clamped around your wrist.
It wasn't violent, but it was incredibly firm, instantly anchoring you in place.
It was Jungwon.
He was completely drenched. His thick, dark hair was plastered flat against his forehead, water dripping heavily from the sharp tips of his bangs and running down his flushed cheeks.
He wasn't wearing anything to hide his face, not even a cap.
"Are you insane?!" you screamed over the loud crashing of the rain to keep your voice from being muffled. Your heart was pounding against your chest as you looked around the dark street in pure panic. "What are you doing?! Someone is going to see you! Go back inside!"
"I don't care!" he yelled back, his voice cracking slightly with a raw emotion you had never heard from him before. His brown eyes were glassy and full of desperation. "I heard them talking. They told me you resigned. Why didn't you tell me?"
Was he really asking about that?
"Tell you what?!" you cried out, tears finally breaking free after weeks of repression, instantly mixing with the rainwater streaming down your face. You tried to yank your arm back, but his fingers only tightened as a silent plea. "That I'm leaving? It's a good opportunity for me!" you shouted back, trying to use logic because your chest felt so heavy you could barely breathe.
“And that is signing with another company?” His voice was trembling.
"Yes! I can't stay here and call you Jungwon-nim like you are just another artist I fix clothes for!” you choked out. “Because every time you look at me in front of the managers, I feel like I'm committing a crime. I have to go!"
"Then don't call me that!" Jungwon shouted, completely breaking down, his composure entirely washing away in the rain. He grabbed your other hand, forcing your fingers to lock with his, his large hands completely swallowing yours. "Don't pretend anymore! Let them see! Let the whole world see, I don't care anymore!"
You froze, looking up at him through the downpour, your mind completely spinning. "What...?"
Jungwon let out a ragged, trembling breath, his shoulders heaving. He looked so devastatingly vulnerable standing there, letting the storm soak him to the bone just to hold onto you.
"I tried to be smart about it," he mumbled, his voice dropping into a desperate, raw whisper you had to strain to hear over the rain. "Because I thought I was protecting you! I thought..."
He trailed off, running a trembling hand through his soaked hair, with tears forming in his eyes.
"... I thought if they found out, they'd take you away from me. And I wouldn't survive it.” A heavy sob finally escaped him.
His eyes searched yours, desperate for a sign that you’d stay.
“But you leaving... that's worse, please. It's a thousand times worse."
"Jungwon—"
"And I can't keep the pieces together if you aren't part of them," his voice gave out with the weight of his own past words crashing down on both of you.
He brought his palm up to your face, his thumb gently wiping away a mixture of rain and tears, and his touch was so hot it felt like it was burning through the cold. "I don't care about the rumors. If they move you, I'll find you. Just... don't run away from me. Please."
You looked at him. This stubborn, brilliant boy who was willing to ruin his perfect composure just to stand in a literal storm with you.
And that was a tragedy for your heart.
“You’re a fucking idiot.”
But you kissed him.
It was sudden, desperate, and crashing, fueled by weeks of silence in hidden dressing rooms and the sheer terror of almost losing whatever this was.
You pulled him down by his wet collar, and Jungwon let out a muffled gasp against your mouth before his instincts completely took over.
His hand instantly locked around the back of your neck while the other splayed over your lower back, making sure you couldn’t escape. He kissed you back with a fierce hunger that completely stole the breath from your lungs and made you feel like a high schooler again.
It was messy. But that’s why you loved it. It was the result of weeks of uncertainty and the pressure of following the rules you had broken a while ago.
When you pulled back, his breathing was heavy, his chest heaving against yours.
A tiny, breathless laugh escaped his lips. "You’re right. But you're definitely not signing that contract."
"And what am I supposed to tell the manager? He has my—"
"I'll handle it," Jungwon said, caressing your cheek with his thumb. "I'll talk to the director. I need my favorite stylist exactly where she belongs. Right here."
You chuckled.
"You're going to get us both fired.”
“I hope so. Then I will spend all my free time with you.”
› epilogue ౨ৎ
The hum of the mini-fridge was the loudest sound in the hotel room. It was nearly 3 AM, and the city outside the high-rise windows was just a blur of blinking lights.
Jungwon was sitting on the edge of the bed. He had already shed his stage leather, now wearing just a plain white undershirt and his sweatpants.
You stood between his knees, a cotton pad soaked in cleansing oil pressed gently against his right eyelid.
"Keep it closed," you murmured softly, your voice a quiet contrast to the roaring stadium.
"Mhm," he hummed under his breath, keeping you close as his hand softly caressed your thigh.
Jungwon had actually kept his word. And you don’t know how.
He refused to tell you the details, even when you tried to blackmail him with a package of Twix.
The corporate machine at HYBE didn't magically become kind, but they were… reasonable. An agreement was quietly made behind closed doors: Your resignation was withdrawn, and in exchange, you both had to keep everything strictly hidden from the public eye.
No rumors. No distractions.
But it didn’t feel like a cage anymore. Because the moment Jungwon stripped away the professional boundaries with the managers, all the fear vanished.
There was no more confusion. No silence from him in the corridors or his distant voice during the day. You weren't a hidden mistake anymore; you were his choice.
A choice so real that, just a week after that rainy day, he brought you to his family’s home, with a cute and sheepish smile.
He kept laughing at your flushed cheeks as you bowed.
It was love.
You knew it now.
"You can open now," you whispered, dropping the dirty cotton pad into the bin.
Instead of opening his eyes, Jungwon just tilted his face up, completely submitting to your touch.
"Your thumbs are rough today," he noticed, his voice a midnight rasp. "Did you help with the wardrobe material again?"
"The local venue staff was short-handed," you replied, your fingers smoothing over his cheekbone, applying just the right amount of pressure to untangle the tension in his face. "Someone had to do it."
Jungwon opened his eyes then. He reached up, his fingers wrapping around your wrist to gently halt your hand. He pulled your palm away from his face and brought it to his lips, pressing a soft kiss right there.
"Don't do their job," he mumbled against your skin, his voice carrying a quiet plea. "I need your hands whole."
A helpless smile tugged at your mouth. "They are whole, Won. I'm just tired."
"Me too," he whispered.
Jungwon simply leaned forward, burying his face against your stomach, his arms locking around the back of your thighs to anchor you flush against him. He just held you there, his breathing calm and rhythmic against your skin.
You ran your fingers slowly through his dark, unstyled hair, feeling his chest let out a long, shuddering sigh of absolute relief.
Out there, the world demanded every single thing he had. He had to follow the contract and give his life to the cameras.
But in the quiet safety of this room, bare-faced and sleepy, he didn't have to be perfect.
"I love you," he murmured against your skin, the words muffled but devastatingly clear, holding you a little tighter. "I really do."
Summary - In a world of soulmates and red string, you are a defective. With a blank for a soulmate mark, you convinced yourself to finally accept that, for this life, you are alone. Until your enemy, Yoon Jeonghan, starts popping up everywhere.
Tags: Jeonghan x f.reader, angst, fluff
Warnings: swearing, annoying Jeonghan and easily triggered reader
Word Count: 3.1k
Requests - “♡ character running out into the storm, swiftly followed by their enemy”
A's note: - Anon, I am so sorry for taking so long. I think when I have time I am gonna expand on this drabble. There's so much fun stuff to play with. Happy reading everyone!! Please leave your thoughts in comments/asks/reblogs.
Prompts are from @/celestialwrites.
“Shut up, Yoon Jeonghan.”
Jeonghan reels back at the venomosity behind your words, he mirrors your rigid posture, crossing his arms across his chest with a cheshire smile, satisfied with whatever he found on your face.
It has only been five minutes since his arrival, six since yours at this extravagant restaurant in the heart of the city. The traffic is horrendous, you almost got out of the cab to just walk here, you would’ve reached sooner. Your friends should have been here already, ordered and catching upon life.
The universe has other plans for you, making sure you suffer a little more, you are the first one to grab the table, before you can even catch your breath, the chair opposite of yours drags across the marble floor and the only man you hate with every fiber in the body takes his seat.
Why can’t he take any other chair that is away from you. There are plenty of options to choose from, he could take the chair at the far end of the very long table, or at least four seats away and not sit right across your face.
“Ah,” he tilts his head to the left, the smile never leaving his pink moist lips, his tongue peaks out wetting them and bites on his lower lip. You avert your gaze, and he stretches his arm, resting it on the chair next to him. “I missed your voice.”
Your eyes track his wrist peeking out of the black sleeve, catching the outline of the moon on his skin. His soulmate mark. Only one of the two. The other one, the starting letter of his soulmate’s name, has not made an appearance yet. He hasn't met his soulmate yet.
You pull the sleeve of your white blouse hiding your empty wrist. Jeonghan blinks at you, reading you easily, the insecurity you hold as the only one in this friend group and in your family, or in the entire vicinity of the city without a soulmate mark. It is rare, only one in a thousand is born without any soulmate mark. Defectives as society calls.
“Why, Jeonghan,” your voice is opposite to how you feel, strong and powerful to the small and delicate, “didn’t our fated meeting at the convenience store satiate your masochistic needs?”
He throws his head back laughing, like he is waiting for this exact moment for days, a familiar rhythm he genuinely missed. The sound of his laugh is musical and irritating at the same time. You sneak a look at the moon again, and the man himself. He holds his stomach, his laughter fading.
“Not like you know how to quench one’s needs, now, do you?” He arches his eyebrow in a challenge, a bait he always throws, waiting, with patience of the hunter to catch its prey.
You grind your teeth at the insensitivity. It’s a trap, you know it better. But it doesn’t miss its target, hitting where it hurts. You have been single since your birth, twenty six years spent in hopes of a tiny little mark showing up on your skin indicating the mere existence of your very own soulmate. An unusual case of happening, but one can hope.
Dating out of bonds is common, your friends do it and you have had ample opportunities to be in a few too. It’s safe to say you never once entertained that idea. But is it tempting? On the nights when loneliness takes over, stabbing your heart repeatedly you yearn for a soul to catch yours, cradle you.
Jeonghan awaits your response, the brutal remark on his reckless flings and how he brushes away the ideology of soulmates, calling him names as you did before. You don’t, not today, words don’t come out and engage him in a verbal war. You are feeling melancholic, tired and all you need is your bed and blanket to bury yourself till you feel better.
“Drop it, Jeonghan.”
The smile drops from his face watching you swirl the half empty glass. He frowns at the lack of bite in your words. You feel his eyes on your face, you subtly cover your face with your arms, propping them on the table not wanting to give away any emotion. His eyes track the empty spot on your wrist making your heart drop to your stomach.
“There’s my favorite girl!” Yena squeals, rushing towards you, throwing her arms around your neck. “I missed you!” She rocks you both side to side, her wild curls in your mouth as you laugh at her enthusiasm.
Seungcheol, her soulmate and your best friend, joins in the huddle for a brief second before he lets you girls have a moment. “I missed you too, you know.” He pats your head endearingly while his girlfriend mumbles in your ear no, he didn’t.
He drags his girl before you can choke and die from lack of air. You giggle at their banter as they occupy the chairs next to you.
“We should do girls only night.” She is glaring at her boyfriend offended at his comment on how unpolished her excitement looked.
“That we should.”
Jeonghan has his arms on the table entranced at the exchange between you three. The switch of attitude, cold and biting to him, warm and fuzzy to others.
Soonyoung joins in, occupying the seat next to Jeonghan. The atmosphere at your table shifts, now louder and happier, words fly across as everyone occupies their seats. What started as a small group of friends, Seungcheol, you and Soonyoung, it quickly got extended over the years, their soulmates joined in, colleagues turned friends got added on, that’s how Jeonghan started being part of the clique. And he always had a date accompanying him.
“Where’s your girl, Jeonghan?” Soonyoung stares at his friend with shit eating grin.
You avert your eyes from the empty chair beside him to him. He presses his lips in a thin line noticing the slight surprise in your features. He schools in his annoyance, “she’s with her soulmate.”
The table erupts into laughter. Soonyoung claps Jeonghan’s shoulder, “serves you right.”
“That’s why you shouldn’t go around sleeping with others’ soulmates, Jeonghan. Bad karma always follows you.” Yena points her fork at him, “now you should start actively looking for your soulmate.”
Jeonghan rolls his eyes, picking up the menu, looking over the contents with his jaw clenched. You shift uncomfortably in your seat, a little agitated with the scene unfolding before you, it never ends well.
“Jeonghan, how many years will you spend fooling around?” Yena can’t read the room for heaven’s sake, Jeonghan snaps the menu shut now glaring at her. “Stop being childish and start believing in soulmates. Fate doesn’t bring in two people just for fun, there is a reason.”
“Love,” Seungcheol gives a tight smile to his girl, “let’s order food, for now, okay?”
She looks over at him, seemingly not done with her lecture on just how great the soulmate system is, and how lacking mindset Jeonghan has. She nods, giving in.
The table lulls, losing its prior merriness, mundane conversations regarding each other’s lives. You hold the menu looking over its contents, reading the same names again and again, but not one name is being registered in your mind. Giving up you set the menu back in its place to just order one of the appetising meals your friends order.
Jeonghan is still staring at his menu, the air around him is charged with anger, one more pull at the loose thread and he is gonna snap, hard. You know this, him, well, as you studied his mannerisms over the past eight months of his introduction to the group.
Ever since that fateful night, Seungcheol brought him to one of the dinners, you couldn’t stop running into him, thus, having ample opportunities to just read him and his moods. Now, he is in his worst, he didn’t throw a jab at you in the past five minutes. That’s not Jeonghan.
Soonyoung catches you staring at your enemy, a knowing smile on his lips, the one you saw on his face when Seungcheol was circling around Yena before they started dating. You hate that smile, you frown, his smile widens, followed by a wink.
Your cheeks warms, he just laughs, moving on to greet the friends who just joined the table. You press the back of your fingers on your cheek, visibly taken aback by his gesture, it’s not common for you to receive any of those, not even as a joke. It is a known thing on how stubborn you are not to interact with anyone out of your boundaries, not even a wink, and Soonyoung just loves to toy with you.
Your eyes gravitate back to the enemy, you also hate this, giving him the attention, subconsciously, you will be listening to others, but slowly dissecting his way of swirling noodles around his chopsticks, or, the way his hair is a little longer than the last time you saw him. And you despise yourself for it.
Jeonghan meets your eyes, already watching you with disgust. You drop your hands from your face, already annoyed. He snickers under his breath, and returns to his menu, now, seemingly seething.
You pick back up your own menu, and glare at the words as if they offended you. Who does he think he is? And you just don’t understand his problem with you. You didn’t offend him in the first meeting of yours, and yet, he treats you like garbage, kicking you however and whenever he wants.
The rest of the dinner is uneventful, you don’t spare your arch enemy a single glance and he doesn’t come at you with his axe of words. He nods once to the group before leaving early from the dinner.
How can he leave even before anyone’s done? Where are his basic manners? You glare at his retreating back, the sway of his hair with each step. Even his gait annoys you from how beautiful it is. No wonder girls are willing to stray from their bonds for him.
“Yena, stop harassing my friend.” Seungcheol’s words are meant to be a whisper, but everyone hears them. “I told you he’s not comfortable talking about it.”
You hold your breath anticipating the rise in her emotions, as much as they are loving and caring towards each other, when Seungcheol’s words flares just like his fire soulmate mark, Yena’s emotions also flows, like the water soulmate mark, sometimes putting out his anger and other times only igniting it.
“I’m trying so that he won’t be unbearably sad in the end. You know how those ends! We read those articles. I don’t want my friend to be broken too. If that requires me to be harsh I’m more than happy to take that role since you are a coward.” Yena snaps.
“Jeonghan is not the only one without a soulmate, you are kind of insulting her too.”
You know who Seungcheol is pointing at, the entire table knows, heck, at this point the entire restaurant knows. You avert your gaze from the waiter looking pitifully, and pick your bag ready to leave. The entire dinner lost its point, instead of forgetting your troubles and enjoying a night of food and drinks, they made you well aware of the fact that there’s no man destined for you.
“She’s different. She doesn’t have a soulmate. And she’s not going around making others deviate from their soulmates.”
You leave the restaurant without even saying bye to your friends. Sometimes close ones words hurt you more than your enemy’s. You partly understand why Jeonghan doesn’t engage much with Yena anymore, and maybe he made a good decision. For once.
You stand beside your car, pausing at the white crescent reflection on your car, gazing up you see a calm moon hanging. The agitation bubbling inside your chest rests, giving way to peace, you stand there for a couple more minutes admiring its beauty, and reaching out your hand towards it, imagining it holding it in your hands. For the rest of the ride home you forget what was haunting you in the first place.
—
“Didn’t consider you to be a Lego person.”
You startle, dropping the huge Lego box you are holding. Yoon Jeonghan is standing right behind you wincing at the loud thud. He steps around, hands in his pockets, donning a leather jacket above a white tee, and a black skinny jeans. He looks beautiful with his serene smile, calm eyes and,
“Too loud.” He taunts, “causing public nuisance now?”
And just like that he flares the dead emotions inside you. “Not until you get involved.”
Jeonghan picks up the Lego set you dropped, flipping it around in his hands, a sneer on his lips, “a seven year old can finish it.”
Anger bursts out of you from that one condescending smile. You snatch the box from him, letting go of the idea of looking into more options and pick the one you really want to build. You walk out from the lego section, standing in line at the billing, hoping he would get a hint and just leave you alone.
You had a hard week, and you already met the quota of run-ins with Jeonghan, the convenience store, the dinner and now, at a mall that’s faraway from your residential address, all in the span of ten days. You can’t, for once, breathe without having him down on your neck.
Jeonghan picks up a random globe decor piece while following you to the counter, remembering that he can’t stand with empty hands at the billing section. He grins noticing your disbelief, spinning the box in his hands as he slowly comes to a stop behind you.
“Are you for real?” You move a spot in the line.
“What? I wanted to buy a globe of,” he looks down at the box in his hand, “a moon. Huh, funny.”
Your eyes go to the wrist where his moon soulmate mark resides, you flick your gaze to him, words exchanged even without saying anything.
One can’t escape from the fate of their soulmate. Again and again they’ll be in circumstances reminding them of what their destiny is.
“Not one word.” Jeonghan grits his teeth, his playfulness vanishing, “Yena drilled enough that it can last me for an eternity.”
You face forward, moving another space in the line. “I didn’t say anything.”
He scoffs, his breath almost hitting your face, “you think I’m stupid? I know what you are thinking.” You move up another spot, and Jeonghan follows. “One can't escape their fate. Soulmates are bound for life. Am I right?”
Your cheeks burn from getting caught, how does he know exactly what you are thinking. “No.” You place your Lego set on the counter, greeting the staff with a warm smile.
Jeonghan huffs behind you, “Now, when are you acting? With me or with others? Which part of you is true?”
The staff looks at you and the man apprehensively, seemingly concerned of a fight brewing on her schedule. She is rightfully correct. You turn around, pointing your finger at him, “shut up.”
“Anything I can help you with?” The staff asks, pausing on scanning the bar code, her eyes jumping from you to Jeonghan.
You let out a short breath, closing your eyes briefly before you plaster on the same smile Jeonghan just commented. “No, please go ahead.”
She does, uncertain, or wary that a fight might break at any point. You see his reflection on the glass behind the staff, watching you with a grin, like you just didn’t snap at him in public.
That boils your blood.
You turn around, unable to control yourself anymore, “what’s your problem?” You poke on his chest, “what the fuck—”
You hiss, clutching your left wrist in pain, like needles pinching your skin. You rub the spot in hopes of weakening the pain, but it just adds up.
You gasp, taking a step back, hitting the counter, the pain in your hips is of your least worries now. There’s a mark on your wrist, a soulmate mark.
Jeonghan calls your name repeatedly. You have to respond to him, or the staff that is waiting for you to pay. But all you can see is the little ocean wave tattoo on your wrist aligned with a cursive J.
Your legs shake, you clutch to the counter behind you, Jeonghan steps in your personal space, holding your cheek, calling your name. You see it, on his hand, the new soulmate mark on his red skin, your letter. You can’t do this, it's too much, you need to breathe, you push him away running towards the exit, crashing into people, neatly piled up books falling down from the crash, you mumble sorry before opening the door and standing in the heavy rain.
You look to your sides, your mind not helping you, everything’s jumbled. Did you bring your car? Do you have your bag? You run your hand through your wet hair, the sky is already dark as the dark clouds overtake, thunder rumbling in the distance.
Your feet pick up a pace, choosing anywhere, somewhere, away from the man who is rushing out of the mall, shouting your name.
You have a soulmate. An impossible thing happened. You should be celebrating, screaming in happiness and showing your beautiful ocean tide mark and flaunting on how you pulled a rare miracle. Tears stream down your cheeks, you wipe your nose with the back of your hand.
Jeonghan, your enemy, now your soulmate, is running in the pouring rain to you. “Stop, please.”
You shake your head, “go away.”
He is quick on his feet, grabbing your shoulders, pulling you aside from going onto the road. “Fuck, please,” his fingers dig into your skin as you struggle to get out of his hold.
“I don’t want to talk to you. Or, see your face.” You hit his chest, “let me go.”
He pulls you into him, “I know. You are in shock. But please, calm down. Don’t walk into the road. We can figure this out.”
“Figure out what?” You give him a strong push, sending him back for a few steps, “there’s nothing, Jeonghan. Remember you hate soulmates? The bond, and everything that comes with it.”
He clenches his fists, “you are not thinking straight. Let me take you home.”
“No, no,” you pace around in the parking lot, “why is it you? I would rather have no soulmate than having you as mine.”
Jeonghan grabs your wrist, pulling you into him, “you know what?” his patience snaps, “you don’t have any way out. One can’t escape from their fate of soulmates. Ring a bell? I am your soulmate,” he sneers at the word, his fingers digging into the tender skin where your mark was just born.
pairing - non idol ! seungcheol x f.reader [fluff/angst]
summary → you and seungcheol became best friends freshman year of college, drifting into something softer and unspoken by junior year when you became roommates. now, after graduating, he has one week left before enlistment— a countdown tied to his future at his father’s company and the life waiting for him after completing service. but between a simple haircut in your shared bathroom and the weight of leaving, everything he’s kept buried finally spills out, because what he’s really afraid of isn’t enlistment… it’s leaving the person he’s been secretly in love with for years
word count - 3.7k
warnings! → friends to lovers, roommates to lovers, mutual pining, love confession, yearning, seungcheol being devastatingly in love, military enlistment mention, pre-enlistment emotions, kissing/making out- no smut, years of repressed feelings, bathroom confession scene, soft/domestic intimacy, suggestive ending, happy ending, two idiots finally communicating, *additional parts will probably be written
The bathroom smelled like vanilla, clean laundry, and Seungcheol’s cologne. The one he always wore without thinking. That warm, slightly spicy scent that clung to his hoodies and lingered in the apartment long after he’d walked out of a room.
It mixed with the softness of vanilla melting through the air in slow, comforting waves, trying to wrap the moment in something gentler than what it really was.
Clean laundry hung nearby from the rack beside the shower, still faintly warm from the dryer, fabric softener folding itself into the air every time you moved. It made the space feel lived in, like any other night, like nothing was about to change.
Like he wasn’t leaving in a week.
You’d lit the candle earlier to keep things feeling normal. Because to you, this wasn’t goodbye.
Not really.
It was just something difficult he had to get through before coming back home again.
But sitting in front of the mirror while strands of dark hair fell steadily around him, Seungcheol felt every inch of this moment settling into his chest with terrifying finality.
The low buzz of the clippers sounded too loud in the small bathroom. Every pass against his scalp stripped away another piece of familiarity, and with each lock of hair hitting the tile floor, the reality became harder to ignore.
One week.
One week before he left behind the apartment that had become more his home than any place ever had before.
One week before leaving you.
Meanwhile, you stayed focused carefully behind him. Occasionally brushing loose strands from his shoulders and chatting softly about completely ordinary things. The grocery list for tomorrow, your cafe manager finally fixing the broken espresso machine, and which of your friends would inevitably cry the most dramatically at the enlistment send off.
Like this was temporary. Like the two of you would naturally fall back into this exact rhythm again once he returned.
And maybe that should’ve comforted him. Instead, it only made the ache in his chest worse.
You swallowed around the lump in your throat and focused on the careful motion of your wrist.
One more pass.
The clippers hummed over the back of his head, leaving behind soft dark stubble. You stepped back slightly, examining your work before flicking the power off. Silence settled heavily between you.
“There,” you said quietly.
You brushed the loose hair from his neck before running your palm gently over the freshly shaved skin. The texture made your chest ache unexpectedly.
“All done.” A small smile tugged at your lips as you leaned down into his line of sight through the mirror. “Wow. Okay, it definitely looks weird.”
His brows lifted faintly.
“Not bad weird,” you corrected quickly, laughing softly. “Just.. you’ve never had your hair this short before.” Your fingers rubbed over the top of his head again playfully. “You actually look really cute.”
You moved around the stool until you stood between his knees, his legs naturally parting to make room for you in the cramped bathroom. Your hands stayed on his head, thumbs brushing along his temples while you grinned down at him.
It was the smile that always ruined him.
The one that crinkled your eyes slightly. That he’d watched across lecture halls and grocery aisles and lazy Sunday mornings in your shared apartment kitchen. The one that had slowly, disastrously made him fall in love with you years ago.
But instead of smiling back, his expression only seemed to sink further.
Your own smile faltered.
“Cheol?”
He looked away. His gaze dropped to the floor instead, landing on the ridiculous fuzzy green house slippers covering your feet.
The pair he bought you two winters ago after you’d spent twenty minutes dramatically mourning them in the middle of a department store because you couldn’t afford “unnecessary purchases” until your next paycheck from the café.
You’d worn them nearly every day since.
“Seungcheol,” you said again, softer this time, but still nothing.
You reached down, fingers curling around his chin until you gently tilted his face back toward you.
“Earth to Cheol?”
He swallowed hard, his eyes still locked downwards.
“I don’t want to go.”
The words came out rough, and your chest tightened immediately.
“I know,” you said carefully. “It’s not exactly an easy thing.”
You tried to give a reassuring smile again, thumb brushing along his cheek.
“But you’ll be back before you know it. And then you’ll start at your dad’s company and everything’ll work out.” You shrugged lightly. “Unless you can convince your dad to rearrange the plan somehow?”
He shook his head once.
“That’s not it.”
“Then what?”
His eyes finally met yours fully, and it nearly undid him.
Because you were looking at him the same way you always did. Soft, patient, worried for him before yourself. Standing between his knees in those stupid fuzzy green slippers, your fingers still warm against his skin from where you’d rubbed over his freshly shaved head, completely unaware you were holding his entire heart in your hands.
God. How was he supposed to leave this?
How was he supposed to pack up two years of shared mornings, late night convenience store runs and you humming in the kitchen while making coffee half asleep and just, walk away from it? From you?
His chest tightened painfully. All he could think about was time.
A week from now, he’d be gone, and life would keep moving without him.
You’d still go to the café on weekends. Burn pancakes every Sunday morning because you refuse to turn the heat down, and still laugh so hard at dumb movies you’d snort without realizing it.
But eventually, someone else might be there to see it. Someone else might start memorizing the little things about you the way he had.
Someone else might carry your grocery bags, and sit in his spot beside you at bars. Walk home with you at night, or hear you call their name from another room instead of his.
The thought made him feel sick.
Because Seungcheol had spent years pretending what existed between you was enough. Pretending friendship didn’t already feel dangerously close to love. Pretending he could survive watching you belong to somebody else someday.
But now there was an expiration date looming over him, and suddenly every second with you felt fragile. Temporary.
His throat tightened before speaking again.
“I don’t want to leave you.”
The words came out quieter than he intended. Not because he was unsure, but because saying them out loud made everything terrifyingly real.
Your heart stumbled at the words, a sharp, disorienting skip you immediately tried to dismiss. No, that wasn’t what he meant. It couldn’t be.
You latched onto the thought almost instinctively, like a reflex. Like you’d done a hundred times before whenever something about him felt like it tipped too close to something you weren’t supposed to look at too long.
He’s Seungcheol. Your best friend. Your roommate. The person who had been woven into the shape of your days for four years until it didn’t even feel like separate lives anymore.
That’s all this was. It had to be.
So you laughed softly anyways, a little too quick, a little too light, as if you could smooth the moment over before it had time to turn into anything else in your mind.
“You’re such a baby,” you teased gently. “I’ll still be here when you get out.” You squeezed his shoulders. “Plus, you’ll get leave sometimes, right? We’ll still hang out.”
He shook his head again, sharper this time.
Before you could say anything else, his hands suddenly wrapped around your wrists, stopping your movements against his shoulders. Slowly, he slid his hands down until his fingers intertwined with yours. And when he spoke again, his voice had changed completely.
Serious. Low. Almost trembling.
“I don’t want to leave you,” He repeated, his tone vulnerable and bare.
The air shifted. Your smile faded entirely now.
“Cheol..”
“I don’t want to leave and come back and..” He exhaled shakily, eyes squeezing shut for a second before reopening. “Be replaced.”
Confusion flickered across your face.
“Replaced? Seungcheol, what are you talking about? You’ll always—”
“I don’t want another guy taking my place in your life.”
The words hit you so hard you went completely still. For a second, your brain genuinely couldn’t process them. Not because you didn’t understand what he was saying, but because some terrified hidden part of you had spent years convincing yourself you imagined all of it.
The lingering looks, the way his hand always found the small of your back in crowded places. How naturally the two of you moved around each other like you’d built a life together without realizing it. The quiet domesticity of him bringing you home your favorite snacks without asking. Falling asleep together on the couch, sharing inside jokes, or tying his tie for him when he has to visit his fathers company building.
Like he belonged in every crevice of your daily life.
You had spent so long forcing yourself not to read into it. Because Seungcheol was Seungcheol. Your best friend, Your roommate, the person who had become home so slowly you never even noticed it happening.
And loving him had always felt dangerous. So instead, you suppressed it.
Buried every flutter in your chest when strangers mistakenly called you his girlfriend. How much you loved hearing him laugh from another room. Locked away the embarrassing ache you felt whenever he looked especially handsome before going out somewhere. Ignoring the way your heart would sink anytime another woman flirted with him in front of you.
You told yourself it was safer that way. Better to keep him as your best friend than risk losing him entirely. But now he was sitting in front of you looking terrified of losing you, and suddenly every moment over the last four years came crashing together so violently it almost made your chest hurt.
Your throat tightened painfully as you stared at him, your pulse pounding so hard you could hear it in your ears.
Meanwhile Seungcheol looked seconds away from unraveling completely, like he already regretted saying it out loud.
And somehow that made it worse. Because all this time, he’d been carrying the same feelings you had.
He laughed once under his breath, but there was nothing amusing about it.
“We live together,” he said quietly. “We cook together. We grocery shop together. We do laundry together. We spend every stupid Sunday rotting on the couch watching movies neither of us actually likes because we’re too lazy to change them.”
Your lips parted slightly.
“And somewhere along the way my feelings stopped being normal.”” He shook his head, his thumbs rubbed nervously against your knuckles.
“I like when strangers think we’re together.”
Your breath caught.
“I like when we argue over ramen flavors in the store and old women smile at us like we’re married already.” His eyes flickered up to yours finally. “I like when we go out drinking and some guy starts trying to flirt with you, but the second I walk back over beside you he leaves because he thinks I’m your boyfriend.” His voice softened painfully. “I like taking care of you.”
Your chest felt impossibly tight now, every feeling you had spent years carefully locking away had suddenly cracked open all at once.
It hurt. Not in a bad way, not really. Just, too much.
Too much affection. Too much relief. Too much longing you’d trained yourself not to touch because wanting Seungcheol had always felt like standing too close to the edge of something dangerous.
Your eyes burned as you stared at him. At the boy who had unknowingly become the center of your entire life, and now he was sitting here looking at you like losing you would ruin him.
The realization nearly knocked the air from your lungs. Because all this time, you thought you were the only one aching quietly through all those little moments.
All those nights lying awake in your room wondering what would happen if you reached for him first. All those mornings watching him half asleep in the kitchen, thinking with painful certainty that someday another woman would get this version of him instead.
But he was looking at you now with the same fear.
“I like knowing how you take your coffee.” He laughed quietly. “I like that you steal my hoodies and leave hair ties everywhere and sing badly when you clean the apartment. I like that you always save me the last dumpling even though it’s your favorite food.” His eyes glistened slightly. “I like coming home to you.”
The room felt too small, too warm.
The tiny bathroom that had always felt ordinary suddenly seemed intimate in a way it never had before. His knees brushing against your thighs, your hands still trapped in his, the soft buzz of the overhead light filling the silence between every shaky breath.
You could hear everything. The uneven rhythm of his breathing. The faint drip of the faucet. Your own heartbeat pounding violently in your ears.
And Seungcheol was close. So close enough that you could see the nervous swallow in his throat. Close enough to notice the slight tremble in his fingers where they held yours. Close enough that if you leaned forward even an inch, both of your foreheads would touch.
It made you dizzy.
Because suddenly every little domestic moment you both shared in this apartment over the years felt charged with something you’d spent too long pretending not to notice.
Late night conversations in this same bathroom while brushing your teeth. Him standing shirtless in the doorway after showers with wet hair dripping onto the floor while you complained at him to clean it up. You sitting on the counter while he shaved, talking about absolutely nothing for an hour because being near each other had always been enough.
How had you both survived living like this for years without combusting?
The warmth crawling up your neck had nothing to do with the bathroom anymore. It was him.
The way he was looking at you now, open and terrified, aching with love he could barely contain made the entire room feel suffocatingly small.. and he still wasn’t done.
“I love how excited you get over stupid little things,” he whispered. “Like finding books at thrift stores or those ugly ceramic frogs you keep collecting for some reason—”
“They’re vintage,” you muttered automatically through the overwhelming emotion building in your chest.
He huffed out a broken laugh. “See?”
And there it was again. That ridiculous, earnest defensiveness over something objectively stupid. Even now, standing in the middle of a life altering confession, both of you seconds from emotionally unraveling, you still couldn’t help correcting him about the ceramic frogs. It hit him with such painful affection he thought his chest might split open.
Because that was you.
You cared so deeply about little things, threw your whole heart behind harmless, ridiculous things without embarrassment. You made ordinary moments feel alive simply because you existed inside them so fully, and Seungcheol had spent years helplessly falling in love with every tiny piece of it.
The way you argued passionately about thrift store finds. How you got distracted halfway through serious conversations because a dog walked past the window. The way you always, always found something to love in things other people overlooked.
Even now, with tears gathering in your eyes and his confession hanging heavily between you, your instinct has been to defend your stupid frog collection.
God. How was he ever supposed to leave someone like you behind?
Your eyes burned.
“I’m in love with you,” he finally admitted.
The words hung between you, raw and terrifying.
“And I’m horrified that while I’m gone, somebody else is gonna get all of this instead.” His voice cracked slightly now. “Somebody else gets to live with you and cook with you and hear you laugh at two in the morning and hold your hand in public and–” He stopped to breathe shakily. “I had to tell you before I left,” he whispered. “Even if you don’t feel the same. Because I think it would actually kill me if I came back and you belonged to someone else.”
Silence. Complete silence. Seungcheol’s heart pounded so violently he thought he might actually throw up.
Then suddenly, you laughed.
His brows furrowed immediately.
“What?”
You laughed harder, one hand flying up to cover your mouth as tears filled your eyes now.
“Why are you laughing?” he asked, completely bewildered as you breathed between laughs.
“We are two huge idiots.”
He blinked at you.
“What?”
You shook your head, smiling so brightly it nearly knocked the breath from him.
Then you leaned down and kissed him.
Seungcheol froze. For one stunned second, his brain stopped functioning altogether.
But then his hands were suddenly at your waist, gripping tightly as he kissed you back with years of buried longing crashing into the moment all at once.
The kiss deepened instantly. Messy, desperate, relieved.
You could feel the shaky exhale leave him as he pulled you closer between his legs, your fingers sliding over the newly shaved sides of his head as you kissed him again and again.
When you finally pulled apart for air, both of you breathless, he rested his forehead against yours in disbelief.
“You idiot,” you whispered fondly, still smiling like you couldn’t quite believe him.
“You love me?” he asked, quieter this time, like saying it wrong might make it disappear. Like he still couldn’t fully trust it was real.
You hummed, pretending to think about it as your fingers absently traced the back of his hand.
“Unfortunately for you,” you said lightly, “yes.”
His breath caught just slightly. Then, like something finally clicking into place behind his eyes, his expression shifted.
“Since when?”
The question wasn’t playful anymore. It was careful and serious.
Your teasing smile softened at the edges, but you didn’t look away. “Junior year,” you said simply.
His brows pulled together immediately. “Junior year?”
You nodded once, like it should’ve been obvious, but it wasn’t. And you let him sit in it for a second longer before you added, softer now, just a little less teasing.
“You came back to the apartment at like 1am during midterms week,” you said. “And I was on the kitchen floor because I’d completely given up on studying.” Something in his expression shifted instantly.
“Oh.”
You nodded, watching him remember it piece by piece.
“I wasn’t sick,” you continued. “I wasn’t anything dramatic. I was just.. exhausted. Like, the kind where you feel stupid for crying but you can’t stop anyway.” His thumb tightened slightly against your hand. “And you didn’t try to fix it,” you said, voice quieter now. “You just sat down next to me on the floor like it was the most normal thing in the world and started going through my notes with me.”
A faint, almost disbelieving smile flickered on his lips. He remembered now, too. Especially how pretty you still looked when you sat in front of the kitchen stove covered in a sea of notebook paper.
“And you didn’t say anything about it being late, or how tired you were,” you added. “You just stayed until I stopped crying.” You shrugged slightly, like you were trying to make it sound small.
Seungcheol went quiet. Really quiet. Like he was realizing something he’d never considered before, that for him it had just been another night of taking care of you, showing up for you, but for you, it had been the night you started loving him.
A disbelieving laugh escaped him.
Then you grinned suddenly, mischief returning to your expression.
“So while you’re gone,” you said casually, “which room should I combine our stuff into?”
He blinked.
“Huh?”
“You know,” you continued innocently, in a way only you could. “Since obviously one room becomes ours and the other becomes a spare room.”
He let out a loud scoff laugh, shaking his head in disbelief before suddenly standing up. You squealed as he grabbed your thighs and lifted you effortlessly.
“Wow,” you laughed breathlessly, your arms sliding around his shoulders while your legs wrapped around his waist. “Someone got confident really fast.”
Seungcheol looked up at you with a grin that was equal parts smug and completely lovestruck.
“You kissed me first,” he pointed out.
“You confessed first.”
“And now I’m making up for lost time.”
Heat rushed to your face instantly at the way he said it, low and certain, like something in him had finally snapped after years of holding himself back.
You tried to laugh it off anyway. “Oh, so this is who you are now?”
“This,” he said, tightening his grip slightly beneath your thighs, “is who I’ve been trying not to be around you for four years.”
Your stomach flipped violently.
“Cheol–”
“I’m serious.” His eyes flickered down to your lips again. “Do you know how hard it’s been living with you looking like that all the time?”
You let out an incredulous laugh. “Looking like what?”
“Like my girlfriend,” he answered immediately.
The bluntness of it made your breath catch.
“And now you actually are. No take backs,” he murmured, sounding a little stunned by the realization himself. Then his mouth curled into something more teasing. “So yeah,” he said softly, stepping closer until your back brushed the bathroom wall, “I’m gonna be confident for a minute.”
Before you could recover from that, he kissed you again, slower this time, deeper, like now that he finally had permission he never wanted to stop touching you.
Butterflies exploded in your stomach.
When he pulled back, his forehead rested against yours again, eyes softer than you’d ever seen them.
“We can figure the room thing out later,” he murmured. “But we only have one week before I leave.” Your breath caught at the look in his eyes. “And there are a lot of things I’ve been fantasizing about doing with you.”
Heat rushed to your face instantly.
“Choi Seungcheol!”
He grinned for the first time all night. Then he carried you out of the bathroom and down the hall toward his bedroom while your laughter echoed through the apartment the two of you had unknowingly turned into a home together years ago.
Warnings: Insecure reader (thighs), heavy thigh praise/obsession, soft dom Mingyu vibes, suggestive content, established relationship, lots of skinship & reassurance
Song to set the vibe: Best Part – Daniel Caesar ft. H.E.R.
You stood in front of the full-length mirror in Mingyu’s bedroom, tugging at the hem of your oversized shirt. It barely covered the top of your thighs, and no matter how many times you adjusted it, you still felt… exposed. Too soft. Too thick. Not the long, toned legs you saw on every idol and influencer.
You sighed, turning sideways. Why can’t they just be smaller? The thought was automatic now, a quiet little voice that followed you into every dressing room and every summer outfit.
Strong arms suddenly wrapped around your waist from behind, pulling you back against a warm, solid chest. You didn’t even hear him come in.
“Baby,” Mingyu murmured, voice still husky from sleep, lips brushing the shell of your ear. “What are you doing?”
“Nothing,” you lied, trying to pull the shirt down further.
He hummed, unconvinced. His hands slid down to rest on your hips, thumbs gently stroking the skin just under the hem. Then lower. His palms cupped the sides of your thighs like they were made to fit there.
“You’re staring at my favorite part of you again,” he said softly.
Your cheeks burned. “Gyu…”
“No, listen.” He turned you around to face him, tilting your chin up so you had to meet those big, earnest eyes.
“I’ve been obsessed with these thighs since the first time you let me put my head on your lap during movie night. Remember?”
You nodded shyly.
“I kept thinking… how soft. How warm. How perfectly they squish when I grab them.”
His hands demonstrated, squeezing gently, reverently.
“They’re so fucking pretty.”
You tried to look away, but he chased your gaze.
“I know you don’t like them,” he said, quieter now. “I see the way you hide them under long clothes even when it’s hot. But baby… they drive me crazy. In the best way.”
He walked you backwards until the back of your knees hit the bed, then gently pushed you down so you were sitting. Mingyu dropped to his knees in front of you like it was the most natural thing in the world.
His large hands parted your thighs just enough for him to settle between them, cheek resting against one like it was a pillow.
“See?” he whispered, turning his head to press a slow kiss to the inside of your thigh. “Perfect.”
Your breath hitched.
His lips were so warm, so deliberate. He kissed again, a little higher, then sucked lightly, just enough to make your fingers thread through his hair.
“Mingyu—”
“Hm?” He looked up at you through his lashes, eyes dark but so full of love it made your chest ache.
“Tell me if you want me to stop.”
You didn’t.
He took his time, mapping every inch like he was memorizing you. Kissing the stretch marks you hated, tracing the softness with his tongue, squeezing the plush flesh between his fingers while groaning like it was him getting spoiled.
“Love how they shake when I do this,” he murmured, giving a playful jiggle before kissing the spot again. “Love how they wrap around me so tight when you’re riding my face.
Love how they look with my hands all over them. They’re mine, yeah?”
You nodded, voice small. “Yours.”
“That’s right.” He nipped gently, then soothed it with his tongue. “Don’t ever hide them from me. I want to see them in my shirts. In your little shorts. In nothing. All the time.”
He climbed up onto the bed, pulling you on top of him so you were straddling his waist. His hands immediately returned to your thighs, spreading them wider over him, thumbs rubbing circles into the soft skin.
“You’re so beautiful it hurts sometimes,” he said, almost to himself. “And these thighs? They’re my weakness. My safe place. My favorite thing to hold onto when the world feels too loud.”
You leaned down to kiss him, slow and deep, and he sighed into your mouth like he’d been waiting for it all morning. When you pulled back, his hands were still kneading your thighs possessively.
“Gonna make you love them as much as I do,” he promised, voice low. “One kiss at a time if I have to.”
You laughed softly, burying your face in his neck. He smelled like home warm skin, faint cologne, and safety.
And for the first time in a long time, when his hands stayed glued to your thighs, stroking and holding like he couldn’t bear to let go… you didn’t want to pull away.
End.
Hope this hits the spot, anon 💕 Mingyu would so be the type to turn your insecurities into his favorite obsession.
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