— synopsis: you and yoon jeonghan are just friends. just friends who work together and watch midnight screenings of old films, just old friends who share a sofa seat in the back of a cinema. just friends who kiss, who run away...just friends.
– genre: friends with benefits to ??? ; smidge of angst, smut, fluff.
— pairing: fwb!yoon jeonghan x fem!reader
– word count: 4.2k
— rating: 18+. minors do not interact.
– warnings: swearing, crying (mostly out of pleasure but also like...a stress cry. everything is okay dw 👍🏻). mingyu is a plot device. he's kind of possessive, a little bit toxic, too i think. kissing, public indecency. also mostly smut. speaking of: smut warnings: unprotected sex (new to them but not to haologram's blog) ; riding, clitplay, powerplay dynamics...jeonghan breeding kink (we talked about this once in september and it never left my mind) biting, hair pulling, creampie. that's it!
— what to listen to: bittersweet memories - bullet for my valentine ; fade into you - mazzy star ; how high - ice spice.
– author’s note: welcome back to haologram! this is a special segment i’ve created to give a quick thank you to all of my friends this holiday season, and this one is for my yaoi freak twin, @hannieoftheyear! emita, thank you for always making me feel so welcomed in spaces we share and always making me feel so seen when i'm struggling to find light in my own darkness. i hope i'm able to do the same for you and i hope you know that you have me, always. thank you for also matching me and aeris' freak about heated rivalry, it's so fun to talk about it with you guys and i hope we can keep letting the freak flag fly together! i know you like movies, so i tried to incorporate the ones i could remember you talking about! happy haolidays, ema! i love you!
"WHEN I SAY 'CALL ME BACK', I'M NOT GIVING YOU A CHOICE, SWEETHEART."
Jeonghan's hand is gentle as he holds your jaw, making you look him in the eyes. It's dark in the backseat of his car, your eyes glassy with unshed tears because if you cry, he pulls out. Not that Jeonghan has ever cared about making you cry — and it's always from pleasure, don't get the wrong idea — but tonight in particular, you're not allowed the tears. No matter how good he's making you feel.
Your thighs shake as the cold metal of his zipper brushes against your skin, his cock buried deep inside you and you nod as best as you can without closing your eyes at the pleasure his thumb is building by circling your clit agonizingly slowly. You'd been sitting on him for the last fifteen minutes, his eyes stern as he scolded you for not calling him back when he said to.
It wasn't like Jeonghan was your boyfriend, or anything.
He wasn't. He was merely a guy that started as your friend. Truly — you'd met Jeonghan at an AV Club in during your senior year of undergrad, and the two of you became close friends almost immediately. You were hanging out every day, you met all his friends and even met his girlfriend at the time — only for her to tell Jeonghan twenty minutes after you left his apartment that she did not like you.
Jeonghan had never been one to let someone try and control his life, so it was an easy snip. Sure, she concluded that you must've done something to him — slept with him, touched him, kissed him, something. In her mind, you were the snake that convinced him to bite the apple and she hated you faster than you could say Yoon Jeonghan.
Neither of you really cared, truthfully. You were far too busy with all your extracurriculars and your part time job at the cinema, and Jeonghan was frying bigger fish — meaning, he was bugging you at all your extracurriculars and constantly watching and rewatching films with you. It got to the point that your manager realized how good of friends you were and even offered him a job, which he happily took with the condition that his schedule was exactly the same as yours. She checked with you first, of course, and you gladly agreed — happy to have a friend glued to your hip that you could talk film with.
It wasn't until exactly a year later that you fucked up.
It was during a midnight re-screening of Chicago in theater 4, and your cinema had those sofa seats where couples could sit together. You were nestled into one side of the cushion and Jeonghan was sprawled across the other, limply holding a cherry ICEE in his hand and fiddling with the straw as he chewed Dubble Bubble like a cow.
You were both struggling to find jobs in your fields after graduating. He was contemplating a move across town, you were thinking of grad school…both things that would strain your friendship if not carefully curated to fit your needs.
Jeonghan was at the top of your hierarchy. You were at the top of his.
You couldn't even remember what part of the movie was playing when you leaned over to whisper in his ear, only for him to be leaning in at the same time and your lips brushing. You both jumped back, eyes wide as you both tried to stutter out apologies only for him to roll his eyes and wrap his hand lightly around your throat, pulling you in to him and slotting his lips with yours.
You were the last two employees left in the cinema, having gotten permission to run the film before turning the lights off and locking up. His hand on your throat suddenly pushed you back, pressing you into the cushion of the sofa as he slid between your thighs and slipped his tongue into your mouth. Things escalated, his cold fingers slipped beneath your panties as yours palmed him under his boxers.
You didn't fuck. You didn't even see what the other looked like, because you bolted right after you were done. Not a goodbye, not even a thank you.
"Lock up when you're outta here."
It was safe to say that your friendship took a huge blow that night. You felt it as you sprinted out of the theatre, your cheeks hot even as you unlocked the employee door and left it propped open for Jeonghan to remember to lock it when he slipped out. You felt it as you ran past his old beater, having spent many nights the summer before lounging in the backseat while passing a joint between the two of you.
You felt it as your heart raced the moment you slid into your car, resting your forehead against the steering wheel as you muttered curses. You felt tears prick at your eyes as you fumbled with your keys, hardly jamming them into the ignition and barely able to peel out of your parking spot — just in time to see Jeonghan wiping his face harshly and blowing a breath out of his pursed lips.
Two days passed. Two long, excruciating days.
Neither of you spoke, awkwardly working your shifts and muttering apologies before yet another night rolled around where your manager allowed midnight screenings for employees. You sat with each other out of instinct, in one of the loveseats at the very back of the theatre while the small gaggle of coworkers sat in the front and all apart. One by one, the movie bored them — so they started slinking out. Tzuyu and Mingyu were the last to leave, slinking by your sofa to make sure you knew you were the last two and if you could lock up.
You both nodded, giving them a thumbs up before turning your attention back to the movie. They left without another word, leaving you and Jeonghan alone in the middle of 10 Things I Hate About You. You shifted then, making Jeonghan glance over at you. He was holding yet another melting cherry ICEE, his lips stained with the red dye as he tongued his cheek.
"Scoot over." He muttered, and you glanced at the space between you. It could fit at least two more people, and you must have looked confused because he tapped the fabric with his knuckles, two slim fingers beckoning you to come closer. "Scoot over."
You obliged silently, the air of the suddenly inch-wide space between your thigh and his grew hot as he wrapped his arm around your shoulders and pulled you into him. He brushed his lips to your temple, before whispering in your ear.
"We don't have to talk about it, and we don't have to ever do it again. Just stop acting like I don't exist, please."
There was an edge to the end of his sentence, a whine that made your heart sink and race all the same. You felt his lips, cool against your skin, press a kiss to your cheek before you sighed. He was nibbling on his straw, eyes trained on Julia Stiles.
"I'm sorry."
"No, I'm sorry. You don't have to be. I kissed you first, I came onto you. It's my fault."
"No, I'm sorry for liking it. Now everything is weird and I can't look at you the same."
He stopped chewing on his straw then, his eyes daring to look at you out of his peripheral, "you liked it and you think that's going to ruin our friendship?"
"Isn't it?"
"I'd argue that you running away before I could even check on you is what would ruin our friendship, but what do I know?"
You scoffed then, shoving his shoulder as he dropped his drink into the cupholder and tilted your face toward him. He kissed you again, slowly, his fingers cold from the cup as he trailed them down your jaw and wrapped them gingerly around your neck. You leaned into it more, climbing into his lap and snugly settling in as Mr. Morgan spoke, "Lord, here we go."
And go, you did.
Your hands pulled his belt off in six seconds flat, tugging at the zipper of his pants as he slid his hands up your shirt, your bra loosening around your chest the moment you let his tongue slip into your mouth. His hands fondled your chest, cold fingers rolling your nipples into hard peaks and you palmed him until he was half hard, pulling him out of his boxers. He groaned into your mouth, hips thrusting lazily into your hand before he unbuttoned your jeans with one hand and slid his hand between your thighs.
"I need to have you." He had whispered against your swollen lips, "please. Please let me."
You did.
Not in the theater, absolutely not. You're a lady.
You fucked him in the backseat of your car. Your car, not his — because you couldn't risk leaving anything that belonged to you in that car. Chances were you wouldn't get it back, and if your friendship left in the back of Jeonghan's car, you'd never get it back.
He kept your panties. Tucked in the pocket of his leather jacket as you fucked yourself open on his cock, his lips pressing open-mouthed kisses along your bare shoulders, licking the sweat off the slope of your neck and whimpering underneath you.
You used to run this show. You made the rules. You ran him like the damn Navy and Jeonghan all but bowed his head and followed your lead. Fucking you when you wanted, kissing you as long as you needed, humping your mattress once this became that much more intimate and leaving after making you cum on his tongue thrice.
It's been two years of this — you chose grad school, he followed — and somewhere along the line…the power dynamic shifted. You worked on his schedule, you did what he asked of you. You submitted, fully, and while he liked it…he missed you bossing him around. Leading him, telling him what to do — and he told you that, openly, shamelessly.
But on nights like this? When you pissed him off, flirted too long with someone who wasn't even worthy of breathing the same air as you and look like they snuck onto Earth? None of which were true about the Kim Mingyu, but Jeonghan was angry and used other words to talk about how unfit you and Mingyu would be as a couple.
On nights like this, however…he made the rules. He made you beg to get fucked, to get a kiss, to touch him. He made you sit completely still on his cock while he was fully clothed, simply scolding you for thinking any other man that isn't him should have access to you the way he does.
Touching you. Kissing you. Making you wet by simply squeezing your hip while he walks by, murmuring soft praises against your neck as you cry over a stupid course project that you (foolishly) procrastinated and he stayed up all night helping you do it.
Because Jeonghan, despite the idiotic and unspoken 'friends with benefits' title, never forgot about the friends part. He is your friend: he supported you, he lectured you, he got you drunk and helped you sober up. He was your friend, and he never let himself (or you, for that matter) forget it.
So…it's a bit cynical, almost funny to sit on his cock in the back seat of his car and listen to him scolding you while holding your phone in his hand. A phone that has a picture of you and him as the lockscreen, his birthday as the passcode, him and your mutual friend Seungcheol as the homescreen.
Him, him, him.
Yours.
He scoffs at your poor attempt for a response. He shakes his head, lightly tapping your cheek with his finger as he tongues his own, "speak. You have a mouth, use it properly before I find another use for it."
"Yes, sir." Your voice is whiny, and you're almost embarrassed as he coos. He taps your chin with his knuckle, making your head lightly turn before he grabs it again, "you're sorry, aren't you?"
"Yes, sir."
"What are you sorry for, angel?"
You let your mouth fall open, but no words come out as he leans into your face. Your eyes scan his, your vision blurry behind the gathered tears that threaten to spill as he taps your phone against your chest.
The problem with all of this has truly caught up to you. The problem, you know, with kissing Jeonghan. Sleeping with him, touching him. Letting him still be your friend and letting him pretend he's your boyfriend at bars when guys get too close — only to actually feel like he is when he kisses you like he loves you.
When he's gotten slower and more affectionate during sex. When he kisses you just to do it sometimes, with no expectations of anything else — when he stands behind you while you make the both of you dinner or a snack, when he takes over typing on your laptop when your fingers start to ache and words your notes and ideas the best he can to match your tone in your essays. When he stays after work to watch midnight screenings of older movies everyone's moved on from, and lets you narrate your favorite parts out loud as he sips his cherry ICEE and twirls your hair in his fingers.
When he physically pulled you out of the bathroom where you were two seconds away from fucking Mingyu — dragging you by the hand and ignoring everyone's prying eyes as he slammed the door behind him.
The problem is him, and you. And whatever the two of you are doing.
The problem is the feelings that stir in your chest every time he flashes you a warm smile, laced with mischief. The problem is the way your pulse races under his hand around your throat when you're dancing together in a club, an odd outing for Yoon Jeonghan but he goes because you like to let loose that way. He likes to watch you dance with Chan and Minghao, he likes to let you rile him up until he laughs out of jealousy before fucking you stupid in the back of his car.
The problem is that you've fallen absolutely head over heels for Jeonghan, and it's ruining your life. It's ruining your life, your friendship, any focus you have on anything that isn't him.
He is ruining your life.
You don't respond, letting your eyes close and the tears trickle down your face, hot and wet as he tuts, pulling his hand away from between your legs…when he realizes you can't stop crying. Your shoulders shake slightly as you cover your face with your hands, and you don't get to see the panicked look at glosses over his eyes as he tosses your phone the side and wraps his arms around your waist. For a moment, you seemingly both forget that you're connected at your cores, your face buried in the crook of his neck as you cry silently.
"Woah, woah. Alright, it's okay. Let me—"
"No! It's fine, I fucked up."
Your voice is much too thick for Jeonghan to refute anything you say, and you pull away, wiping at your cheeks haphazardly. You sniffle, blowing a breath out your pursed lips as your voice shakes, "I'm sorry for—"
He presses his lips to yours, effectively shutting you up. He tightens his arms around your waist, your own wrapping around his shoulders as he pulls back, "don't cry, baby. I'm just fucking with you, I didn't mean to take it this far."
"But I—"
"I love you, okay? I don't want to hurt your feelings. Did I? Tell me if I did."
You don't hear anything past the I love you.
He seems to notice. Even in the dark of the parking lot, in the depth of the shrubbery that hides his car from view and conveniently hides your semi-nude body from any prying eyes — you can see the hot blush crawling up his cheeks.
"What?"
"I'm sorry."
He tries to move away from you, but your thighs tighten around him and render him motionless as panic floods in the back of his eyes. He tries to mask it, keep his breathing level, even force an air of confidence as he clears his throat, arms loosening around your waist and gripping the leather seat of his car.
And then it all falls.
"What do you want me to say, Y/N?" He whispers, softly admitting defeat. He sighs, running a hand over his face, "fuck. Goddamnit."
"Jeonghan."
"What? What, Y/N?"
"Jeonghan," your voice is softer, his eyes holding a layer of fear that seems thick. A fear that you only have when you realize you may have too much dip on your chip. A fear that only settles after you get the answers you need, rather than the one you want. A fear that is telling you that he thinks he's ruined this, what you have.
That he's ruined you.
And he has.
He absolutely has — for anyone else. Ever.
"I love you." He blurts, his eyes flashing that same fear over and over again as they slowly fill with tears. "I love you, damnit. Why couldn't you just call me back?"
You feel your body relax a bit as he groans, digging the heels of his palms into his eyes as a pout graces his lips, "you didn't have to go to that party."
"I didn't." You reply, nodding your head carefully. He huffs, ripping his hands away from his face and letting a few tears wet his lashes, "then why did you? I told you I was coming by. I told you I wanted to hang out."
"Because I needed to get over you, Jeonghan." Your admission takes a moment to sink in, and you run your hands through his newly bleached hair carefully, tugging at the ends. "I needed to get over you because you were driving me crazy. You think this is easy? Being your friend and knowing you could go out at any time and find someone else to warm your bed when I'm falling apart at a party?"
"You don't just warm my bed," he mutters, sniffling before looking at you through his wet lashes. "You also make it in the mornings, with those sick hospital corners—"
"Yoon Jeonghan."
He snickers, his laugh still thick as he looks away from you, "I'm sorry."
"What are you sorry for? Being in love with me?"
"Not telling you I was. Not telling you that I am."
He can't look at you, but he seemingly gathers the courage to force himself to peer at you, "I'm sorry for not telling you that I'm in love with you, and even more sorry for not showing you that I want to be the only one you're in love with, too."
"And making me cry?"
"No, I quite like it when you cry."
"Jeonghan."
"That, too, I guess. Only tonight. I thought I hurt you," he murmurs, nibbling on his lip as you sigh. "I never want to hurt you, Y/N. I mean that."
"You didn't. I was hurting myself by keeping my feelings in." You shake your head, cupping his cheeks as he blinks up at you, "I'm sorry, Hannie."
"I love you."
You smile inwardly, pressing a chaste kiss to the corner of his lip, "I'm sorry for flirting with Mingyu instead of calling you back."
He rolls his eyes, opening his mouth to speak when you lightly lift your hips before grinding down against him. A gasp falls from the back of his throat, long fingers grabbing at the soft flesh of your ass and squeezing like his life depended on it. You kiss his cheeks, "I'm sorry for letting him touch me in the bathroom of Soonyoung's party instead of calling you back."
He huffs, rocking his hips up into you, "are you sorry for letting him take your underwear off, too?"
"You think he would've fucked me over that bathroom sink?" You whisper, meeting each of his thrusts with a roll of your hips. He scowls, "not the way I do."
"Badly?"
"Say you love me and I'll forgive you for saying that."
"I love you," you murmur, brushing your lips to his. His hands squeeze the swell of your ass again, using it as leverage to pull you up and down his cock. His eyes bore into yours as your fingernails dig into the leather of his jacket, "yeah? My lady loves me, right?"
"Yours," you nod, breathless as you move to pull your shirt over your head, cupping your tits in your hands as he kisses you messily. "Your lady, Jeonghan."
"Loves me. Say it. Say you love your man, Y/N." He begs, his dull fingernails digging into your skin as he drags his cock along your gummy walls. Your eyes flutter shut as you mouth at his neck, your panted breaths filling his ears as he whines, "baby, please."
"I love my man," you mumble, nipping at his ear. "I love my man, Yoon Jeonghan. Just for you, I promise. Just yours."
He buries his face in your neck, whimpers falling from his lips as he fucks you open on his cock. He tries to kiss your skin, only succeeding in licking the sweat off your shoulders. He sinks his teeth into your skin as your cunt clenches around him, a choked moan piercing the air as you tug at his hair. You feel him twitch inside you, and you ignore the burning in your thighs to fuck yourself on his cock, his jaw falling slack as he pulls you impossibly closer to him, deft fingers fumbling to find your clit, determined to make you cum with him.
He's never finished inside you before.
"You'll let me, right?" His voice is raw, a plead as he looks up at you with watery eyes. You nod, before feeling his hand tug at the ends of your hair, "use your words. Yes or no."
"Yes, sir." You choke out, feeling your thighs tremble, the warmth spreading in your belly as your orgasm washes over you, "want it. Want you to fill me up."
"Yeah? Want me to make a mess inside my girl?" He pinches your nipple between his fingers, earning a gasp from you before his lips brush yours, "want me to give you a baby, huh?"
Your breathing shakes as you feel his hand wrap around your throat, pulling you closer to him as he looks at you with those eyes. The eyes that would make you say yes to anything.
"Wanna have my baby, right? Everyone knows you're mine, then." His voice is hoarse against your lips, "gonna knock you up, okay?"
"Y-Yeah," you nod as he kisses you hungrily, all teeth and tongue as he staves off his orgasm, a weaker one building in your lower belly as his tip keeps brushing the perfect spot. You clench around him, your fingernails digging into his wrist as he pulls back, "right there? Yeah?"
He angles his hips to hit it just right, a weak laugh falling from his lips as you whimper, squirming in overstimulation as he matches his strokes perfectly. "Gotta make sure it takes, baby. Gotta make sure you're mine forever."
"I am."
"Gonna put a ring on your finger, I promise. Gonna make you proud."
His promise is followed by the taste of your orgasm hitting the tip of your tongue, your limbs fuzzy as he follows shortly, spilling inside you with a shameless whimper. He doesn't stop rolling his hips against you, resting his forehead against your shoulder as he overstimulates himself, "I love you. I love you so much."
"J-Jeonghan—"
"I love you."
He stills, shakily kissing your sticky skin before shrugging his jacket off and tossing it to the side. Your phone rings on the seat, Mingyu's contact flashing across the screen. He looks at you, your eyes tired as he tongues his cheek.
"Don't make a scene, please." You whisper, resting your forehead on his shoulder. He clicks his tongue, reaching over and declining the call with a double press of the power button. His eyes stay glued to it, "the gall. After he kept your panties. Those are mine, you know. I bought you those."
"They're in my purse," you sigh, rolling your hips against him against your better judgement. "Want you only, Hannie."
"Enough to be mine?" His hands hold your hips as he presses his lips to your cheek, dull nails digging into your skin as he looks at the mess between your thighs, leaking down his cock and smeared on your cunt. "You love me?"
"I love you," you nod, reaching over to limply swipe all your belongings onto the floor of his car. Your phone hits the ground with a thud, the screen lighting up with a text as you climb off Jeonghan's lap shakily. You crawl onto the seat, spreading your knees just enough for him to fit between them. He obliges, picking up your phone and tossing it into the front seat with a grumble of you're mine.
"Prove it. Knock me up, lover."
"I love you."
NEW! Message From: Kim Mingyu
[11:09PM] hope you're okay. call me back.
During the day, he's the one you're supposed to be against, who you have to be better than. But in the darkness, when the sun sets and there's no one to witness but the moon and the stars, every year you find yourself in his arms.
⋆ ✧˖* warnings: kissing, jealousy, unprotected sex, open ending. not really proofread.
check out my main masterlist ♡
⋆ ✧˖* note: it's my first writing a gender neutral reader, i'd really appreciate if you let me know if there are any mistakes :)
⋆ ✧˖* disclaimer! i know nothing about congresses or research groups, so i tried to make it as vague as possible, but i apologize if it makes very little sense
hope you like this! I'd love to read your thoughts ♥︎
Dew falls softly on the cloudy evening, the surprisingly empty dock at the beach blurred completely by the fog as the sun sets on the horizon. The soft sound of the waves reaching the shore eases the thoughts that have been tormenting you since the morning.
Every year is identical to the one before, and every night, you find yourself in the exact same spot, yearning for the calmness of the place to help you clear your mind.
The morning presentation haunts your every thought, the little mistakes made omnipresent as always, refusing to spare you a moment of peace.
A few steps echo behind you, slow but determined, and even if you choose not to turn around, there’s no denying that’s the same person whose face is burned at the back of your mind, ever present in the memories causing you trouble.
Minghao is a formidable researcher, intelligent as they come, with an enviable special talent for public speaking. A partner that everyone wants on their team and someone who no one wants to be against.
The first time you saw him, all those years ago, your first congress, and his second one, he walked around, leaving everyone starstruck on his way. Not particularly because of his looks, even if they’re an undeniable help, but it was his way with words, capable of convincing anyone listening of the theory of his research.
Smart, handsome, part of an award-winning research group. You were undeniably under his spell too.
But that first impression was short-lived. Days later, when it was your dreaded turn to defend the research you’ve been working on for over a year, that fantasy shattered right in front of your eyes as he, most elegantly, destroyed your hypothesis in a few sentences.
Your peers assured you that it was classical of that particular group, that it had nothing to do with you. They cheered you on all afternoon, even if they pitied you to some degree, and it was okay. You only had one night left at that too fancy hotel for the coveted congress you fought so hard to enter.
That night, at the same spot you're finding yourself at every year, you met him.
As you hugged your legs to your chest, planning a way to knock it out of the park the following year, he sat next to you, calm as he always was.
“You’re good.” He said, with the same truth telling tone he used to contradict your every point earlier that day.
“Thanks.” The crescent moon, up in the sky and beautiful as ever, provided with little moonlight, but it was enough to catch a glimpse of the side of his face, sharp as it was during the day, but with no trace of arrogance.
“I hope I wasn’t so harsh.” A glimmer of a smile appeared on the side of his mouth, timid and friendly, but it disappeared as his eyes caught yours.
“Not at all. You just demolished an entire year's worth of work in ten minutes.” You sounded hurt, like what he did was personal, which you knew it wasn’t, but at that hour of the night, you had no energy left to pretend.
“Sometimes we have to do that. We do what we need to win the funds.” His honesty caught you off guard, and the confession caused your anger to peak for a split second. But that’s what had to be done, and you knew it.
“Good to know I was a close competitor.” You found it in you to joke, and the chuckle he let out was a relief.
“Honestly, it was between yours and mine.” He replied frankly, made it impossible not to believe him.
Not much talking was done that night, the both of you enjoying the quietness after a long day of endless talking.
The following year, you were ready. You thought of every possible rebuttal, prepared every answer, practiced your speech double the times. You weren’t going to let your hard work get trashed in front of your colleagues again. Not by anyone. Not by him.
It was the way for you to prove yourself as a respectable investigator. Winning the research funds for your institute was the most important duty that week. And maybe catching the look in Minghao's face as you answered his every critique confidently.
That first day, when your name got sorted to go first, you knew you had won. Your presentation went as smoothly as it could possibly go, maybe with a stutter or two, but nothing to set your confidence back. And Minghao tried. Him and his team asked question after question, but you were two steps ahead. Regardless, he didn’t look appalled nor defeated. No. He was amused, a knowing smirk appearing as you answered his last question, looking him right in the eyes.
Those eyes hunted you until the sun fell from the sky, and you sat on the dock, admiring the stars that the city hides.
He found you again. Or maybe you went there hoping he'd show up. But there you were, sitting beside each other again, in the cold of the cloudless night, in a comfortable silence that both relieved and scared you.
“Do you usually come sit here?” Your voice sounded louder than expected.
“Mostly when I need a bit of peace. After days like today, for example.” Something in the calmness of his voice made you feel safe. Like that wasn’t the same man threatening the future of your investigation hours before.
“I like that the stars are visible here.” You settled on replying, with a slight fear of annoying Minghao, but deep down, knowing he wouldn’t be there if he minded your presence. “Too much light contamination in the city to appreciate them.”
“Sometimes, I sit here and count them. It’s really good to take your mind off something.” He agreed in his own way.
And that night, you realized you two were much more alike than you thought. He seemed ruthless on the stand, with the complicated vocabulary he used in his speech, and the way he twisted his questions to make it almost impossible to answer without sounding like an idiot, could frighten even the oldest colleague in your team.
But as you spent another night with him, very few words exchanged, giving a whole new meaning to silence, you felt like you were beginning to understand him. The constant murmur that surrounds every minute of the congress and the false smiles that made your mouth ache at the end of the day, it all affected him the same way it affected you. If not, he wouldn’t be seeking a safe place in the night, in the relaxing sounds of the waves crashing on the shore, in the cold breeze sweeping the loose sand on the beach.
That year, your institute won the research funds for the first time in years, and he was the first person to congratulate you.
The first time he kissed you, you had been expecting it all week.
It was a particularly hard year. Every research presented had huge potential, and not even Minghao’s team’s antics managed to cause a big enough commotion.
You and Minghao found yourselves sitting at the dock every night, restless, overthinking, attempting to clear your minds, and accepting that maybe neither of you was going to win that year.
That last night, after the winner was announced, and everyone either went out to celebrate or went to sleep already planning how to be better the following year, you were resting against the unreliable wood railing on the dock, somehow not sad because of the defeat, but rather glad that the week was finally over.
The sun hadn’t set yet, letting you see him as he walked over to your spot, with a light smile on his face.
“You look happy for someone who lost.” After the days you had been through together, your interactions had become friendlier. You allowed yourself to joke more often, and he showed his smile at every one of them.
“You know I don’t care about winning. They deserved it.” He rested his hip against the railing in front of you.
His ability to be relaxed even after losing rose to be the one thing you envied him the most for. Public speaking, it took practice, broad vocabulary, you learn words every day, but rising above what affected you, it was nearly impossible.
“I’m sure you’re already planning what to do next year.” The golden light as the sun began to set gave a softness to the features on his face that you had never noticed until then.
“I don’t know if I’m coming next year.” The disappointment you felt as his words reached your side of the dock couldn’t be described. You’d never admit it was because you longed to see him every year.
“They’d be stupid not to invite you.” You couldn’t even imagine the idea of him missing the year’s event.
“It’s not that.” He played with the hem of his sweater as if for the first time in his life, he was having trouble finding the right words to say. “I’m thinking of taking a few months to rest. I love what I do, but the past years wore me out.”
“You should do it.” You stated as a reply, not even a second later. Not because if he didn’t show up, it meant you had a bigger chance at winning, but because, once again, you understood him.
“Don’t encourage me only so you can win next year.” He stepped off the railing, walking towards you with a growing smirk.
You recognized the sarcasm in his tone but still rushed to continue.
“I beat you once, I can do it again. I don’t need you to be absent to win.” He chuckled, now standing in front of you, leaning into his hand beside yours on the railing. “But I mean it, whatever first draft hypothesis that’s written in your notes can wait, your wellbeing can’t.”
“Aw, you care about my wellbeing.” The few inches that separated your bodies made it impossible for you not to react to his teasing, and the smell of his cologne surrounding you intensified everything.
“I can’t have a lousy opponent.” Your eyes rolled in an attempt to appear like you didn’t care. But he knew better.
“You’ll have to get ready for when I return because I won't be holding back.” He tilted his head slightly to the side, convinced he had you where he wanted. Maybe he did.
“You've been holding back this whole time?” Deep down, you knew what you wanted. But his brain remained a mystery, leaving you expecting his next move.
“I never held back when being against you.” Teasing you with his honesty had become normal for him.
“Believe me, I know.” Competing with him gave you the drive to improve, whether you cared to admit it or not. “Your team’s still going to harass me with terrible questions, though.”
“It’s just one year, love, don’t miss me too much.” He said as he moved his hand closer to your waist.
He trapped you against the railing, both of your weights resting against the creaky wood. And from one moment to another, the piece where you’d been standing against that whole time broke and fell down into the waves below.
You’re sure you screamed, convinced you’d be drenched from head to toe in an instant, but Minghao got a hold of your waist and secured you in his arms.
When you realized what had happened, you were staring into his dark eyes, sun fully set, leaving the moon to guard you, and his face so close to yours that the only breeze you felt was his rushed breath against your skin.
“Would it be okay if I kissed you goodbye?” He asked, his face just barely moving away so he could see your reaction.
He was still holding you, like you could've vanished if he didn’t stay with his arms around you. You refused to stand up straight, relishing in the feel of being surrounded by him. And you didn’t hesitate for a second to nod at his request.
Minghao’s plump lips first touched yours timidly, but as one of your hands sneaked behind his neck and held him there, he took more initiative. He pressed harder against you, mouth moving over yours as his hands began to wander around your back.
Neither of you cared about the temperatures dropping or about the pending question of what this would mean to the both of you. The only thing that mattered in that moment was your bodies tangled together, mouths moving deliberately, high on the other's sighs, and hands keeping your chests flushed.
It's unknown for how long you two stayed there, possibly the longest goodbye ever in the history of man kind.
It was the strong cold wind that separated your poor-clothed and hot bodies. The dreaded farewell was uncertain, feelings and thoughts remaining undisclosed due to the fleetness of your relationship.
The stars on the sky were the only witnesses to the two rivals becoming one, a shared connection no one was aware of. In the dark of the night, the blue moonlight could conceal what didn’t want to be seen and your late nights together that were implicitly forbidden to be shared.
The year he returned, two years after that kiss that never left your mind, it was like he came back with three times the will to win. A research like no other, and a look in his eyes that didn’t hide his newfound drive.
That year, you can say you truly didn’t care about winning, your needs blurred by his presence. Everyone knew who was going to take the funds home, your whole team, his team, and everyone you talked to. It was a given.
Minghao was the talk of the week. The ruthless mastermind was back to prove himself. Smarter, colder, and somehow more handsome, he took the stand as if he had already won, presented the research that he started after his break, and answered every question with a growing smirk.
You went just after him, already defeated, a full circle moment after your first time. And when his eyes landed on you, you expected to receive a serious look, not knowing what happened in the time you hadn’t seen each other. But the millisecond he registered it was you in front of him, the smile you were growing to love showed up on his face.
It was a rushed reunion. So many more people had joined the congress in the two years before, so the organizers were rushing him to return to his seat and pressing you to stand on the stage quickly. You barely had time to greet each other with teeth showing smiles before you got separated.
During that week, he never showed up at the dock, probably being kept hostage by his colleagues to talk to everyone at the dinner parties that you always skipped.
It felt too lonely without him out there, even more so than the year he missed the congress. Knowing he was there, so close, yet so far, was worse than losing. Deep down, you hoped he wanted to be alone with you just as much as you.
But you knew those feelings were wrong to have. What feelings could you possibly have for someone who you saw once a year for a few hours? His life outside of the congress was a mystery to you, just as yours was a mystery to him.
That final day, after a week of non-stop talking to other people, he finally sat down by your side on the damp dock.
You were about to give up. After waiting and waiting, you had come to the conclusion that he simply didn’t want to see you.
But he did. And he came to you.
“I heard your friend won the funds last year.” Were the first words he uttered to you.
“No one came even close.” You forced yourself to look ahead, not wanting to look at him and feel something you shouldn’t.
“I didn’t know if you’d be here.” He said quietly, a ruffling sound coming from his side overpowering the strong wind’s noise.
“I came here every day.” You weren’t mad, but your brain was only capable of coming up with short responses. Those five words meant so much more. You hoped he'd understand them.
“I wanted to too, but they were dragging me to all those dinners.” It was nice hearing that, even if deep down you had already figured out why he wasn’t showing up.
The neurons in your brain weren’t connecting properly, failing to deliver a response to his honest explanation. Were you sure what you wanted to say to him? Was there even something to say?
“How was your break?” You’ve never asked personal questions before that, fearing you might cross the imaginary line you’d drawn.
“Boring.” He chuckled. “I wanted to work, but they basically locked me out of the institute.”
They hadn't fixed the broken railing on the dock, but a new lamppost lit up your spot almost frighteningly well, leaving your bodies out in the open for anyone to see.
“That was nice of them.” You could feel his eyes drilling holes on the side of your face. “You’re too stubborn.”
“You're one to talk.” Your dynamics luckily hadn’t changed, encouraging you to have a little hope.
You chuckled back in response but uttered no witty reply. For the first time in all the years you had known each other, the suffocating silence was uncomfortable.
The moon stared down at you, and you could only stare back, hoping that looking at the peaceful night sky might give you some answers.
“Isn’t it crazy that the moon was made from a part of earth?”
As you both were staring at the stars, avoiding one another, the question left your mouth before you could even stop it.
“Everything we see from here is made of the same elements.” There was a tone underneath his calmness that drove your head to turn to him.
“Yeah, that’s true,” When he connected his eyes with yours, you instinctively looked away, “but the moon was formed after the impact, and it still stayed after.”
By that point, you had no idea what you were saying, just blurting out words in hopes of filling the silence. You needed him to say what you longed for. You needed to know if what you were feeling at that moment, he felt too.
“Can we not do that.” You’ve never heard Minghao being mad before that moment, but as your whole body got covered in goosebumps, you were almost afraid of what he meant by that.
“Do what?” Against your will, you found yourself analyzing his expression.
“Being vague.” He said shortly.
“You’re not being very expressive either.” You sneered back, not angry but definitely bothered. He sighed deeply as you had caught him in his hypocrisy.
He wanted you to be expressive with what you wanted to say, but was he ready to hear how his lips were the only thing you were thinking about? How your will to even go to the congress that year came solely because you were going to see him again?
“Do you remember that night?” He asked quietly, interrupting your rambling mind by voicing out exactly what was troubling you, as if he could read your thoughts. He didn’t have to expatiate on what night he was referring to for you to know.
“The night we both lost?” You answered to torture him a bit, even if you were sure he knew you remembered.
“Yeah,” he said after a few seconds of thought, “I forgot about that, but yeah, that happened too.”
It was an oddly warm night, not even the morning rain or the breeze running across the beach could do something to lower the temperatures. Maybe it was the weather, or maybe it was your body heating up at the mention of that night, or Minghao's body so close to you again, but the red on your cheeks was noticeable from miles away.
“Why do you ask?” His mind was always a wonder. When he uttered his thoughts out to you, it was easy to understand him, but the inner workings of his brain were something out of this world.
“Do you still think about it?” You weren't exactly shocked by the question, but you still lost your breath for a second. “I gotta make sure I'm not the only one.”
The conversation after Minghao’s semi-confession became a blur. Your mouth stopped asking permission from your brain to come out with words, and your skin ached to feel his against you.
Moment after moment, step after step, between breathy kisses and longing touches, you stumbled into your lifeless hotel room, crossed the door with tangled limbs and flying pieces of clothing. Not bothered to turn on the lights, the open window provided with light-blue moonlight to burn the sight of Minghao’s naked body on your memory forever.
You didn’t expect it to happen again the following year. It was fine for you if it only happened once, but as you walked over to his sitting body on your claimed spot, you knew. You both tried to nonchalantly talk as always, but your attention was placed on his lips moving, on his hands supporting the weight of his body, on his overly flirty tone. It was inevitable to end up between his arms again.
The friendly competition continued. Your group would win, then the next year his did. Nothing really changed, except the recurring visits to each other’s bed at night, the late-night conversations now regularly held in between the sheets, his arm under your neck and yours around his naked torso.
Even if in the mornings you’d wake up alone in your bed, or sneak out before the sun rises if you ended up in his, you had an unspoken agreement that it shouldn’t slip into your daily lives. You had to pretend your skin hadn’t been permanently affected by his touch, control your lingering glances, and limit the times you said his name to your colleagues.
As you feel the warmth of his body sitting by your side, you can only think of him on top of you, his lips kissing every inch of skin they can reach as he presses into you. But soon, you remember why you were sitting alone for longer than usual at the dock, and everything turns a slight red shade.
“Didn’t think you’d come today.” You coldly say, failing to mask your jealousy.
You know you have no right to feel a claim over him. Why should you? You’ve never talked about your relationship beyond that kiss, and no one else knows about your recurrent encounters. It’s normal for other people to flirt with him, and you shouldn’t get mad if he flirts back.
“I wouldn’t miss my second favorite time of the day.” Minghao replies like he knows what’s on your mind.
“What would be the first?” You dare looking to your side and find his eyes on you, a smirk forming on his lips.
“Seeing your face after I finish my presentations.” You chuckle instantly as he finishes those words, a vague thought that he’s flirting with you quickly getting shut down.
“I’m sure there are a lot more faces you’d rather look at.” If he hadn’t caught on to your jealousy by now, then you just blurted out exactly what was needed for him to.
His fingers tumble over yours, electrifying grazes erupting goosebumps from your hands up until the hair growing behind your neck.
“Didn’t take you as the possessive type.” He teases, and you take the bait.
It comes to a point where it’s impossible to hide what’s on your mind from him, so being honest is the best way to get what you want.
“I’m not possessive,” you snap your hand away from his, and you catch his eyes ready to tease again, “and I’m not jealous either. I just… notice what you do and who you do it with.”
“So, if you’re mad, I’m guessing it’s because you disliked it.”
“I’m not mad.” You can’t be mad. “I come here to relax, can we not.”
“You’ve been ignoring me.” In a perfect world, you’d believe his disappointed tone was because of you and not your arrangement. If that’s what’s it called.
“I've just been doing other things.” Trying to shake him off your head. Trying to see if you could resist his pull. “You're one to talk. You haven’t been coming here.”
It's weird to talk about your spot like it’s a ritual between you two. Maybe it is.
“I came every day, just later. You need to be more patient.”
“What? So, I’m just supposed to wait for you until you decide to show up?” Your calm tone evaporates by the end of the sentence, finishing with more anger than you'd wanted to show.
“If you wanted to see me alone, then yes.”
“Wow.” His audacity leaves you speechless, barely a cough of air on your lungs. “You’re mistaken if you think everything I do here revolves around you.”
“I didn't mean it like that.” His eyes soften as he tries to correct himself.
“Well, that's how it came out.” A deep breath is all you need to calm down and look him in the eyes. “The most important thing for me here is my work, my investigations, and my team. If your perception of me is any different than that, then you’re not as smart as you think you are.”
The world around you becomes silent just in time for you to hear his whisper.
“I'm sorry. I didn't mean to imply anything.” The needy part of you begs to give in to him. But the rational part screams at you to turn away, that you can’t give into someone who thinks of you that way. “You're the most intelligent person here. Every year.”
How dumb you are. Dumb enough to fall again.
You began to stand up some time in your ramble, and his hold on your hand brings you back to earth. You want to run away from him, your feet ready to do so, but his soft eyes and his fingers caressing the back of your hand erode the edges of the decision-making part of your brain.
“You can't fix everything by touching me.” It’s merely a way to let it go for a while, a temporary band aid that only hides the issue and doesn’t heal it.
“I’m being selfish.”
He brings your body to his, so close that his chest heaving makes contact with yours, and his face is all you can see. His hands wrap around your waist just like they’ve done countless times, so naturally that you can’t bring yourself to stop him.
Time stops as your eyes catch his, a flash of a moment of doubt before you give in and close the short distance between your lips.
Neither of you ever dare to speak up about the affair that’s been going on for years, the pushing and pulling of competing against one another and then falling into the other's arms. Those feelings only come to light when no one’s to witness, when your lips dance synchronized and your hands roam each other's body with a need that can only be seen by the sea and the stars.
This late at night, the way to the hotel and up to one of your floors is always empty, like a desert away from the oasis you just left behind. Minghao leads you to his bedroom this time, his hand not letting go of yours during the short walk away from the elevator.
Whatever you had planned to tell him falls down your priority list as he opens his door and traps you against the nearest wall. His plump lips chase yours, continuing what you were doing at the dock before deciding the spot wasn’t secure enough for what the kiss was becoming.
Your clothes fall to the ground seamlessly, leaving you bare only for his touch to feel. His fingers graze and tease every part of you he knows will have you ready for him, and you sigh into his mouth at every one of them.
Getting his clothes off takes more effort from your part, as he refuses to get his hands away from you. His skin that you craved the entire day to touch is finally at your reach, hot against the cold air coming in from his open window.
Admit it or not, you’ve been ready for him to take you since the day you arrived. So, when your bodies move towards his bed and the soft sheets pillow your back, when he slots between your open legs, looking down at your body with indiscreet hunger, you don’t need preparation for him to slide in.
Minghao stretches you open slowly, letting you feel everything as he makes his way inside of you. The drive of his hips against yours makes of you a moaning mess, hitting every spot that causes your legs to tremble like it’s his second nature.
His sensual, deliberate thrusts make your body react in ways only he is capable of. He’s inside you, but you crave more, need more of him. Your hands find their way up to his neck and push him down so his lips meet yours once again, but his grunts and your sounds make it impossible for them to connect for more than a second, leaving you moaning into his mouth as he reaches that point that has you mumbling nonsense, mind blurred by the pleasure.
He might be babbling something too, his mouth moving over to your ear telling you that much, but you hear none of it. Every one of your senses has stopped doing what they’re supposed to, their job now solely focused on pulling the stars off the sky and into the hotel's bedroom ceiling.
Minghao's thrusts become less calculated, more erratic, and you close your eyes as your legs wrap around his waist as tight as possible to help him steady and push him further inside.
The time passed could be something between five minutes and two hours, as when you’re with him you’re somewhere else where time isn’t a thing. But there's one thing you’re sure of. As his hands grope every bit of skin of your chest he wishes to, and your eyes open to find his already analyzing your every feature, the realization that your connection with him is a one in a lifetime occurrence hits you unexpectedly like a crash.
But you can’t develop on that thought, not when Minghao speeds up, drilling into you as he chases his own orgasm. He pounds hard, determined to get you to cum with him, but you can’t help to think there’s something more to it. Something more in the way his eyes refuse to leave yours, in the way his hands caress the sides of your chest with more care.
Sometime between his touch, your thoughts, and his thrusts, something inside you snapped, white flooding your eyes and ears as you come around Minghao, tightening around him, making his hips falter.
You don’t want him to pull out, yearning for him to stay inside you forever if that meant you’d never have to leave his bedroom and pretend you two have no relationship past being competing colleagues. But that foolish wish can never be fulfilled, and your dream remains unspoken as he thrusts for the last time before pulling out of you and painting your stomach white.
After lazily cleaning up, naked under the white sheets, you become a tangled mess once again, staring at nothing as the breeze coming from the window fills the silence.
“Do you think we matter?” Your thoughts push you to ask. “As in, what we do in our lifetimes.”
Minghao takes a few seconds to answer, his hand drawing circles on your side never stopping. “I think we, what we do, and our work all matters for us right now. But in the entire universe, considering the thousands of planets and millions and millions of years of history, we don’t.”
“Are we really just a speck in time? That would make our lives completely meaningless.”
If nothing matters, why do you have to hide? Why does your life revolve around things that seem much simpler when taking into account the entire world?
“I don’t think of it that way.” He disagrees calmly, but not to argue with you. Only on the stand you’re forced to fight for your thoughts, but if there’s no one listening beside you two, and maybe one lonely bird flying past the window, you’ve never felt the need to prove your point to the other. “I think we’re part of something bigger than we can ever imagine.”
“Are you saying we could be connected to something at the other end of the universe? Even if it’s billions of lights years away?”
“Of course.” You chuckle at his quick answer, looking up at him from his chest, and he lowers his chin to be able to look at you.
“Explain it to me.” It seems to be a recurrent thought in his mind, and with your love for his interpretations, and a want to understand his train of thought, you can’t repress the need to hear him talk about it.
“Think of it this way.” He starts, now brushing your hair away from your face so nothing stands in the way of your connected eyes. “Everything we know came from the explosion that originated the universe, that means that, at one point, every object in space was close to the other, made from the same elements, and only after millions of years they grew apart.”
“A poet might say that we’re all made of stardust.” You reply in a breathy chuckle, not knowing what to add to such a beautiful explanation.
“They’d be right.”
Silence envelops you once again, the crickets hidden outside making an appearance. There are so many questions hanging in the air waiting to be asked, but you can’t bring yourself to. Minghao’s chest heaves under your ear, calmly reminding you of his presence.
He falls fast asleep under you, never letting go of his grip around your waist. But too much is happening inside your mind to relax and fall asleep with him.
The stars watch you from outside the window, the only witnesses of every part of your relationship with Minghao. There’s a choice to be made. Does it matter? Or is everything meaningless in the long run?
But you can’t afford to think like that. Your life, your work, the work everyone around you does and lives to do, that’s what’s important. And even if he believes in what he said earlier, Minghao knows it, too. That’s why neither of you dare to change your current situation.
You could not get up as the sun rises. You could stay in bed with him. You could let his warmth drift you off to sleep. You could wake up in his arms and tell him every thought that has passed through your mind while he slept soundly. You could ask him about his true feelings regarding your relationship and you. You could do so much more than stay still in bed waiting for a sign in the night sky to guide you.
note: i just wanted to say, for what it's worth, that when i started writing this story, i didn't have an ending planned. So, i as i approached the end, it became so hard to write that i got stuck for weeks. An open somehow ending felt right.
thank you for reading <3 i'd love to hear your thoughts!
how much does a relationship (more like a 'forced to coexist' acquaintance) change after sexting? the result may shock you.
this is part 2 of my sexting au! you can check out part 1 here
✧.* genre: kim mingyu x fem reader, porn with plot, smut with fluff at the end, MDNI!
✧.* w.c: 6k hehe
✧.* warnings: switch mingyu, lotss of teasing, fingering, cum eating, protected penetration, he has a big dick, size kink if you squint.
check out my main masterlist ♡
✧.* note: thank you so much for the support on the first part ♡ I hope you like this, and I'm sorry if there are any mistakes
Kim Mingyu: guys I told Seokminnie to come at 9😊 [15:36 pm]
Kim Mingyu: come to my place at 8 so we can arrange everything🙏
Kim Mingyu: and don’t forget to bring the stuff on the list😁
The new text from the group chat made exclusively for tonight’s surprise party lights up your screen, taking your attention away from the tv show you were watching.
You have the urge to ask why he decided the time on the same day, but you don’t. You have a feeling that things are still a little awkward, and you never talked much anyways so it would be weird.
These few days, even if you tried not to, the only thing occupying your mind was your little chat with Mingyu.
Can sexting change your view of a person? That sounds so stupid. You were never mean to him, on purpose at least, and you would always think twice before going somewhere if he was going too. But now, you find yourself a little excited at the idea of seeing him.
You have about four hours to get ready and half an hour to get to Mingyu’s place. There’s plenty of time, so you finish the episode of New Girl you were re-watching and begin to get ready.
You absolutely do not think about seeing Mingyu for the first time since your… conversation. Not during your shower, where you shave your whole body. Not while picking a cute outfit you don’t usually wear that flatters your body and shows off your boobs. And absolutely not while doing your make up, you just happen to choose a red lipstick that has been sitting collecting dust since you bought it. There’s nothing wrong with trying different things sometimes!
Looking in the mirror, you realize that maybe you went a little overboard, not enough so that your friends would think it’s on purpose, but it is definitely noticeable.
Whatever. You’ll welcome whatever attention you might get. There’s no time to change anyway. You have to leave now, or you’ll be late, so you grab your purse and go out.
You were tasked to bring the cake, so you drop by the cake shop a few blocks from your home and take a taxi afterward. It was a simple two tiered pink cake that said “Happy Birthday," but looking at it, already seated on the cab, you can’t help feeling like you’re forgetting something.
Checking the list over and over again doesn’t help. It only says “cake" and your name beside it. You’re thinking about what could possibly be so obviously necessary that no one thought to write it down. And then you remember, CANDLES! Painfully, obviously, and pretty needed for a birthday cake.
It’s too late to go back now because you’re already 2 minutes away.
It’s fine.
It’s completely fine.
You’re sure someone else might have thought about it and will bring some. Mingyu has to have candles around just in case the power goes out. Maybe in the box there’s a candle the cake shop puts just in case.
The taxi leaves you at 8 pm sharp at Mingyu’s building. You try to calm down during the elevator ride, and it’s not until you’re at the door, knocking, that you remember at whose house you’re at. And realize that it’s just a little bit too quiet inside.
Mingyu opens the door, knowing it’s you on the other side. You’re always the first one to arrive.
You know you should be more put together, but you’re left without words at the sight of him. His hair is pushed back, a little wet still. He was probably on the shower while you were on the way. His outfit is simple, black jeans and a white t-shirt, but it somehow looks amazing on him. How does someone make a plain white t-shirt look so good? It’s almost unfair to everyone else.
Too lost in thought, you don’t realize you have the same effect on him. He’s left breathless by the sight of you. He thinks you have never looked this beautiful.
A door opens at the end of the hallway, and the sound takes you both out of your trance. He’s the first one to speak.
“Hey sorry, come on in.” Mingyu says with an embarrassed tone you almost don’t catch. He moves to the side to let you through and speaks up again. “You’re first like always.”
“Yeah, they can’t be punctual at all." You’re standing awkwardly looking at the cake in your hands while he closes the door.
“Should I put this in the fridge?" Your eyes point to the cake Mingyu didn’t register before.
“Sure let me -" He tries taking it from your hands, but you back away.
“I can do it.” It comes out drier than you want to, so you look him in the eyes and show him a little smile. Even if your “friendship” didn’t change drastically in a matter of days, you don’t want to still have a rocky relationship. That seems to make him relax.
“There should be enough room.” You hear him say as you’re walking towards the kitchen.
You know his apartment like the palm of your hand by now. It seems like he’s the only one willing to have many people over at once, so the hangouts are always here.
He follows behind you and stands in the kitchen while you try to figure out the best way to store it without getting it damaged.
“Oh I should tell you I forgot the candles, I’m sorry I don’t know why I didn’t think about it but I remembered on the way here and it was too late, but I thought maybe you had some here but if not we can just ask the guys I’m sure some of them aren’t even on the way yet and-" You turn around after you place the cake on the fridge and you blurt out the apology, only to find Mingyu standing right behind you.
He's so close you can smell his cologne. The one he always uses that you secretly love and wish you could steal, but he doesn’t have to know that. His body so close to yours does not affect you. In any way.
“I bought them don’t worry.” You sigh, relieved that you didn’t ruin anything with your stupid mistake.
“Oh thank God!" You start and look at him in the eyes, “Thank you, really. I was panicking on the elevator. I thought I ruined the cake because-"
“You should be a rapper." Mingyu suddenly interrupts you.
“What?” You look at him, very confused by his statement, and he just laughs.
“You just said 50 words in like two seconds.” He adds in between laughs.
“Don’t laugh at me!” You punch him lightly on one arm, “I was actually worried!” You really try to sound mad, but his laugh is awfully contagious and brings you to laugh with him.
“I don’t think you spoke that many words to me in years." He suddenly says, still laughing, but your smile dies slowly because you realize he’s right.
“Yeah well…” You’re looking at him directly in the eyes. His smile is still plastered on his face, a little faded but there nevertheless.
Your eyes move to the side, to not make eye contact with him as you say “Things change.”
The atmosphere shifts as fast as a heartbeat. You’re suddenly very aware of your body so close to his. Mingyu’s gaze wander to your lips a second too long before it goes back to your eyes. Slowly, he begins closing in the space between your bodies. You step back but find yourself caged in between him and the counter.
His warmth embraces you when he places an arm on your side to cage you in more. He has to crouch to look you right in the eyes. “How?” You barely register his question, his closeness making you dizzy. “What?”
“What changed?” For sure he’s trying to take a reaction out of you, and you hate that he’s succeeding. But you can have your fun too.
“You know… when you make a guy cum in his pants your relationship changes.”
He doesn’t seem affected by your response, quite the opposite, actually. He might be enjoying it, judging by the smirk forming on his mouth.
“You know damn well I did not cum in my pants”
“Didn’t you? Huh… I guess I wasn’t that impressed because I would remember otherwise.” Impressed you were. And remember you do. But you like annoying him.
He sighs, acting shocked as he puts his right hand on his chest. “How could you?” You giggle at his silliness.
But his arms are back to caging you in a millisecond. “I’ll have to make you remember then.”
You can’t resist it when your eyes drop from his eyes to his lips, suddenly calling to you like he’s got you under a spell. He seems to notice because his smirk makes a reappearance.
So slow, you barely even notice, his face comes closer by the second. It's so painfully slow he’s for sure doing it on purpose.
“And how would you do that, may I ask?” Now it’s your turn to smirk as your eyes go up back to his eyes, defying him.
His face is so close now that you can feel his breath on you. Your lips are only separated from his by bare millimeters. You’re about to tilt your chin up to connect them when someone knocks on the front door.
Mingyu drops his head as he sighs and separates from you a few inches. Your hands find their way to his chest and push him back a little to draw his attention.
“You should probably get that.” His head goes back up at your words and gives you a disappointed look.
His gaze goes down to your lips. “I don’t want to.” You smile at his reaction. You don’t really want it either, but more people are going to start showing up, so you need to get going. The person outside knocks again, and you push him one more time, a little harder this time, so he gives you space to leave his arm prison.
“Go! I’ll start putting up decorations.”
He gives up and let’s his arms go from the counter, but you don’t move. You watch his form as he turns around and walks to the door.
You were always amazed at how tall he was, his broad shoulders and strong back that somehow ended in a tiny waist. Somehow, what he was wearing today accentuated all of that.
The door opens, and you hear Mingyu welcoming whoever was outside.
The night goes as smoothly as it could have. When Seokmin arrives, everyone shouts happy birthday, and he looks genuinely surprised. But then you all find out he actually knew because Soonyoung accidentally told him yesterday. Wonderful evening.
After all the singing and shouting, someone you can’t see puts music, and the drinks start rolling in. You had no idea there was that much alcohol at the party to make like 15 people drunk, but you’re not complaining.
It's already 4am when you start feeling the effects of alcohol leave your body.
You’ve been sitting on the couch watching Wonwoo destroy everyone at Mario Kart. You don’t dare to try to play against him, so you just sat back to laugh.
Everyone eventually grows bored of the game. Some go back to their homes, but you and a few others stay to hang out.
Mingyu, on the other hand, started tidying up when people started leaving. He doesn’t mind people staying over, but he prefers cleaning now, so he doesn’t have to do it when he wakes up. He’s still listening to the conversation, though, throwing in a few comments here and there or laughing.
When he finally finishes it’s a little over 4:30 am. There’s no room on the couch, and he doesn’t want to sit on the floor, so he stands against the wall facing the group.
You’re sprawled out on the couch, resting your legs on top of Vernon’s who’s sitting at the other end. The guys are debating about… something. You stopped understanding a while ago. You just laugh when someone says something funny.
It’s when Mingyu comments about something Wonwoo said that you notice he finished with whatever he was doing, standing there in his full glory. Your eyes can’t seem to move away from him, and you don’t resist it either. His hair is now messy, and he's sweating a little bit. He catches you staring and raises his eyebrows. You shrug in response.
The chatter becomes background noise as you two play a staring game. You don’t dare move your eyes off of him, and he doesn’t either. After a few minutes, you motion a “What?” With your mouth.
He grabs his phone without breaking eye contact, but ultimately does to unlock it and starts texting someone. You realize that someone is you when his gaze is back at you, and your phone vibrates in your back pocket.
No one is paying attention to you. The guys are still debating, maybe about something else now, so you grab your phone without getting noticed. The only person who notices is Vernon because you move your legs off of him, but he doesn’t even glance at you, just re positions himself.
Kim Mingyu: so how long are you staying? [4:33 am]
You look up at Mingyu with an incredulous look, and he just motions for you to reply.
You: wow no emojis this time
Kim Mingyu: I’m being serious😔
When you look at him he’s actually making the same face as the emoji. Cute.
You: for how long am I welcomed? [4:34 am]
Kim Mingyu: you can stay however long you please
You: I was thinking I might leave when the guys leave
You: but they seem to have a lot of energy today
Kim Mingyu: I can tell them to leave [4:35 am]
You: you want me to leave that badly?
Kim Mingyu: I want you to stay.
Kim Mingyu: but I don’t want them to be here
You giggle at his response. That definitely draws attention to you because Seungkwan asks “Who’s got you giggling like that?”
“No one.” You rush to reply, and hope no one sees your eyes dart to Mingyu before adding “You don’t know him.”
The interest dies soon enough, but you know Seungkwan will ask you again later.
Your eyes find their way back to Mingyu’s to find him already looking at you, waiting for you to text him again. You raise your eyebrows at him before going back to your phone.
You: don’t be mean they’re your friends! [4:37 am]
Kim Mingyu: when I’m done with you you’ll thank me
You: done with me?🤔
Kim Mingyu: you’ll see…
Kim Mingyu: do you want to stay? [4:38 am]
You: only if you make me breakfast in the morning
You: I hear you’re a really good cook
He doesn’t reply. Instead, he starts subtly kicking everyone out, saying stuff like “hey guys it’s getting late," and “you’re all gonna be wrecked tomorrow."
Someone jokes “that’s him politely asking us to get the fuck out", and everyone laughs as they start picking up their stuff.
You also start grabbing your stuff and cleaning around you, although slower than everyone else.
It’s around 5 am. when the last few start heading out the door. You get asked how you’re leaving. You lie and say you called an Uber, and you’ll just wait here for it.
You’re back on the couch as Mingyu closes the door after the last person leaves, awkwardly sitting while waiting for him.
Butterflies show up on your stomach when Mingyu appears in the hallway, walking straight to you with a smile on his face.
The atmosphere feels awkward as he sits beside you. You want to say something, but your mind is blank. There’s really only one thing you can think about.
Mingyu opens his mouth to speak, but you get up and sit on his lap, one leg on each side of his hips.
“So what’s with all that talk earlier?” Your hands position themselves on his shoulders almost like they’re meant to be there.
Mingyu’s shocked for a second before he focuses his eyes on your lips and licks his.
“C-Can we talk about what h-happened the other day first?” He mentally kicks himself for stuttering. But his words contradict his actions. His hands are around your waist keeping you in place, and his eyes don’t leave your lips, like he’s on a trance.
“What happened was…” You grab the side of his face and get close to his ear to whisper “You got horny because of me, and I helped you.” Slowly, you go back so you can see his blushed face. “Is that right?”
But blushing doesn’t prevent Mingyu from teasing you too. “Acting like you weren’t practically begging for me huh?” His hands slowly travel from your waist to your thighs.
“Says the one who actually begged to cum.” You try your luck and grind softly against his growing bulge and he squeezes your thighs, closing his eyes lightly.
“You liked it.”
“I did, yeah." Now your hands are on his very firm chest. Mingyu sighs as you grind on him again, a little harder this time. Your faces are so close you feel his breath fanning over you, and you can’t resist your eyes when they focus on his parted lips.
When he opens his eyes again there’s only one thing on his mind, the thing that has been plaguing him since you arrived so many hours ago.
“Can I kiss you?” Mingyu says softly, almost in a whisper.
“I thought you wanted to talk?” You grind on him, hard enough to feel his already hard bulge, and you feel how your panties get ruined by your arousal.
“You’re funny.”
“I get that a lot.” Mingyu’s hands go back to your waist to make you grind on him again, setting a pace that’s not fast but hard enough to create more friction between your cores.
Electricity flows between your bodies. You wrap your arms around Mingyu’s neck, your faces barely millimeters apart. His lips are still parted, just like yours, releasing little sighs that almost make your lips barely touch.
“Please.” He pleas in a whisper, and you swear a million butterflies explode in your stomach. You can’t resist it anymore. You can't resist him.
You connect your lips with his, and Mingyu reacts instinctively. He wraps his arms around your waist, almost as if to keep you from getting away. As if you ever would.
The feeling of his lips against yours is addictive. He’s kissing you like he wants to erase any trace of anyone who has ever kissed you, making your lips his, so needy and hungry for more.
He thrusts up, making you moan in his mouth, and takes the opportunity to meet his tongue with yours, deepening the kiss and making you more addicted to him. If that’s even possible.
Mingyu’s hands start roaming your body, traveling from your waist to your thighs, and then up to your neck. Your skin burns everywhere he touches, and you want more. You want to feel him everywhere all at once.
Your hands play with the hem of his shirt. You lift it up just a little so you can touch his abs without fabric in the way. You feel him smile against your lips at your touch.
He breaks the kiss, and you chase after his lips. When you open your eyes, you find him smirking at you. His lips are swollen, and he’s stained red all around because of your lipstick. You figure you look the same. “Eager are we?"
“Yes very in fact.” You grab the hem of his shirt again and push it up. “Take this off.”
He obliges, but not before laughing softly at your eagerness. You follow his moves and also remove your tiny top. You can’t move your eyes away from his bare chest, and your hands immediately touch him, but he stops you.
“This too.” His hands sneak behind your back to unclasp your bra.
As soon as the bra is off, you push yourself against him and kiss him again. His hands are quickly on your tits, thumbs going in circles around your nipples.
“Ah! You’re making me crazy.” You manage to say almost in a moan.
The clothes in your lower bodies soon begin to annoy the both of you, and the friction is no longer enough.
Reluctantly, you get up, and now it’s his time to chase after your lips.
Mingyu understands immediately and also gets up. You remove your shorts while he gets rid of his jeans, and in no time, you're sitting on top of him again. Only your underwear in between you now.
You trace kisses down his neck, leaving marks, so that he has a reminder of you for a few days. His now fully hard dick presses against your clit just right. Your panties are so soaked they’re beginning to stain Mingyu’s boxers too.
He kisses you hard to quiet down both of your moans, as his hands sneaks down to your core and his fingers start stroking your pussy through your panties.
“You’re so wet already.”
“That’s because you’ve been teasing me for like 20 minutes.”
“Are you complaining?”
“No.” You roll your eyes playfully. “But if you don’t actually touch me in the next five seconds I’m going to lose my mind.”
He chuckles, and you think he’s about to kiss you again, but you’re starting to learn that Mingyu is a man full of surprises.
In a swift move, he turns your body around, your back now against his chest, and spreads your legs wide. One hand sneaks under your panties while the other plays with one of your boobs.
You quickly turn into a moaning mess as he starts circling around your clit and pinches your nipple. But it’s not enough. “Mingyuu.” It comes out more whiny than you’d like, but right now that’s the least of your worries.
“Tell me.” His finger slows down but also presses harder. You squirm under him, and he kisses your neck softly. “What do you want? Tell me.”
“I-I need your fingers.” Your words barely get out.
“But I am touching you” He feigns confusion. His fingers stroke from your hole to your clit, collecting your arousal and spreading it.
“Inside.” You grind on his fingers in hope of getting more friction, but he slips his hand away from you. You see his fingers glisten with arousal and feel a new wave gushing out of you. “Please.”
You don’t see, but rather feel Mingyu smile against your neck. “Whatever you want baby.”
His hand is back under your underwear in no time, playing with your hole and collecting your juices with his fingers. You grind against his hand as he slides two fingers in.
Not even your imagination could have prepared you. His thick fingers stretch you more than you ever could, and the slow but deep thrusts let you feel him in places your fingers could never reach. You can’t hold back the moans that comes out of you.
“Oh my God! Mingyu faster please!” You’re not ashamed to beg anymore.
His palm is creating friction on your clit while his other hand is still playing with your nipples, and he thrusts into you faster.
You pace your grinds to match his hand, and you’re sure this is what heaven feels like. You feel the tightness in your stomach close to snapping.
“I’m so close!” You breathe out.
Mingyu slows down his thrusts, and you’re about to complain when you feel him add a third finger. He’s stretching you deliciously, knuckles deep inside you. You can feel him everywhere.
“Cum on my fingers c’mon” He demands as he speeds up. His fingers reach the spongy spot inside you that makes you jelly and abuse it.
You’re cumming on his fingers faster than ever. Shaking on top of him as he thrusts his fingers in and out slowly, helping you ride out your orgasm.
When he finally pulls his fingers out of you, you’re still breathless. Mingyu surprises you again when he moves his slick covered fingers to his mouth and licks them clean.
You remove your panties once and for all and turn around. You feel his still hard cock under you and he winces at the friction.
“That was really hot.” You state, and his whole face turns red.
“I’m not done with you.” In one swift movement, you have your back against the couch and your head on the armrest. “I really wanna eat you out.”
And who are you to stop such a determined man? You grab his face and kiss him hard, tasting your arousal in him. “Okay.”
He starts a trail of kisses on your thigh, slowly going down until he reaches your cunt, but skips it and starts kissing your other leg. You whine in response as you grab his head and put it back on your core. You feel his breath on your bare cunt and shiver.
He looks at you in the eyes and barely licks your lower lips. You sigh at the little contact. “Stop teasing.”
His hands open up your legs and he flattens his tongue on your lips, licking in up and down motions and kissing your clit.
When he experimentally wraps his lips around your clit and sucks, you moan and instinctively close your thighs around his head, keeping him in place.
With his head now trapped in between your thighs, his tongue licks you from your clit and to your hole, tasting and savoring your arousal like it’s his last meal.
He toys with your clit and your hands find themselves in his hair again, pushing him more against your cunt. He moans when you pull at his hair, sending vibrations straight to your core and you feel a wave of arousal gushing out of you and to his mouth.
His tongue teases your hole, stroking the tip in and out lightly. You push his head into you again and his nose bumps into your clit, taking a moan out of you.
“Feels so good" You grind against his tongue as it keeps teasing your hole and his nose stimulates your clit.
Your orgasm hits you hard and fast and you’re cumming on Mingyu’s mouth in no time. He keeps his mouth on you, licking every last drop of arousal that gushes out. You have to pull at his hair to make him stop.
When he lifts his head up from you, his chin is shiny with arousal, and he’s smiling.
You waste no time and make him sit on the couch again, “Now it’s tour turn."
You kneel on the floor as you remove his boxers. Even after seeing him on video and feeling him under you, you were not prepared to see how big Mingyu actually was.
His cock springs out against his stomach, angry red and already leaking pre cum.
It barely fits in your hand, and he sighs at your touch. You give a few experimental pumps, but he stops you.
“I don’t have much longer. Do you have a condom?”
“You wanna be inside me that bad?”
“Yes.” He responds quickly. You chuckle as you grab your purse. You find the one you put while getting ready and open it.
He squirms under your hands as you put it on him. As soon as the condom is on, he grabs you and gets you on top of him again. You both sigh as your cores touch.
You grind on him, covering his cock with your juices and you both moan as he traces your neck with bites and kisses.
“Looks who’s teasing now.”
“It’s fun seeing you frustrated.” You stop your movements, and he looks at you frowning. You can’t resist his sudden cuteness and give him a peck as you resume grinding on him. His tip grazes your clit and you shiver.
“You’re making me crazy.” He breathes out, and you can’t help to chuckle.
“Can you cum like this?”
“I want to cum inside you.” His whiny response takes you by surprise.
His hands grab you by the waist and lift you up. With one hand you grab his cock and position it under your hole.
You steady yourself, putting your hands on the back of the couch, and slowly start going down.
If you thought his fingers reached places no one ever has before, then you’re sure his dick is creating more space for you to feel him. You can feel every vein dragging inside of you.
You suppress your moans by kissing him, and he sighs in your mouth when you bottom out.
You’re so full you’re having trouble breathing. He keeps you still, giving you time to adjust. Even the tiniest move makes him twitch inside of you.
“You’re so fucking big Mingyu.”
“I told you I'd make it fit.” He wraps his arms around your waist and brings you to him to kiss you. You moan, feeling him grind inside you, and he stills.
You start grinding on him slowly. You’re sighing on each other’s mouths, savoring every drag of his dick inside of you, feeling him reach deeper with every thrust.
Your hands travel to his chest and start playing with his nipples. He thrusts up when you pinch one nipple lightly, hitting exactly where you need it and making you moan louder, so you do it again.
“Yes like that Mingyu.” That encourages to start thrusting up harder and matching your pace.
One of his hands creeps down to your cunt and start playing with your sensitive clit, still wet from his spit, and the other plays with one of your nipples.
You start clenching around him, eliciting a moan out of him.
“You’re so tight around me baby.” He says almost in a moan. “I'm so close."
His thumb is still playing with your swollen clit, making you squirm and clench so hard it’s hard to keep grinding on him. You collapse on his chest and he embraces you as he fastens his moves.
He's thrusting so deep and hard. You're sure he's marking you as his. Ruining you for any other man, spelling his name in your insides so you're forever his.
Your bodies are so close together that your clit is rubbing against his abs, a friction you've never experienced but it makes the tightness on your stomach come so close to snapping you can almost taste it.
A few hard thrusts later you’re coming undone on top of him. But his thrusts don’t stop, chasing his high while you’re clenching around him, making him go crazy. You’re staring to feel the overstimulation when you feel him twitch inside you, and his thrusts come to a stop.
You stay like that, your head on his shoulder and his arms around your waist while you regulate your breaths. Your torsos pushed together allow you to feel the beating of his heart.
Mingyu relaxes his arms from around you, and you release yourself from his embrace. You wrap your arms around his neck and look him in the eye.
“So what did you want to talk about?” He chuckles at your question.
“I’m still inside you, and you want to talk?” His reply sends shivers down your spine, and you unconsciously clench around him. He drops his head back in a sigh, and his hands find their way to your hips.
“Are you staying over?” Mingyu looks at you with puppy dog eyes, and even if you wanted to, you couldn’t say no to him. You just nod as an answer, and he smiles like you just gave him a million dollars.
He surges forward to kiss you and you both wince at the stimulation from the sudden movement. “I think we should get up.” You chuckle with his mouth still on yours.
He helps you get up, and you instantly miss the fullness of having him inside.
While you grab your clothes from the floor, he disposes of the condom and goes to his bedroom. He comes back with one of his shirts to give to you. Your stomach gives a little jump at the idea of sleeping with his t-shirt as he shows you where the bathroom is so you can clean up.
When you finish and go to Mingyu’s bedroom, he’s waiting for you already inside the covers, a smile still plastered on his face. You sit on the bed and give him a peck, but he doesn’t let you go as he deepens the kiss and hugs you close to him.
“Mingyu the sun is about to come up. We need to sleep.” You manage to say with his lips on yours, and he smiles. You separate, but neither of you make any moves to go to sleep. You lay facing each other, admiring each other’s features in silence, when he suddenly says.
“Can I confess something?” That definitely wakes you up.
“You’re not a murderer are you?” You joke, and he shakes his head as he puts one string of your hair behind your ear.
“I know we didn’t really like each other until a few days ago…" He says, now with a serious expression on his face, and you listen carefully. “and I’m not saying this just because you made me cum on the phone…” He continues very seriously but you can’t help to chuckle lightly. Mingyu removes his eyes from you a little embarrassed by what he’s about to say, “and I don’t know why you sent me that photo the other day and I might be embarrassing myself saying this but, I think I kinda like you and I don’t want this to be a one time thing.”
You stay in silence a few seconds, processing what Mingyu just said. He doesn’t dare to look at you.
“Can I confess something too?” Your question makes him look at you again. He stares at you with those puppy eyes you’re learning you’re too soft for. “I sent that picture by accident the other day.” He looks worried, fearing that what you’re saying means you’re rejecting him, so you quickly continue, “but I don’t regret it.” You see a little smile appear on his lips. “I think we were very stupid not talking all these years, we could’ve save a lot of time if you just showed me your monster cock before!” You can’t help to joke to lighten the serious mood and he laughs with you.
You grab his face and give him a little peck. “I think I might like you too, but we need to see how it goes first.”
He smile grows impossibly wider at your words. “Let me take you on a date tomorrow.”
You chuckle at his eagerness. He’s too cute for his own good. “Ok let’s go out tomorrow.”
He hugs you and brings you closer to him again, taking his time sweetly kissing you while his hands sneak under his shirt to touch your skin.
In a swift motion, Mingyu traps you under him again, your back on the mattress, and he presses against you to let you feel his already growing bulge. “Oh my god you’re insatiable.” You say as you grind against him, earning a moan out of him. “Look who’s talking.”
note: thank you so much for the support on the first part♥︎ I'm sorry the ending is kind of abrupt
Genre: Friends to Lovers, romance, little angst, attempt comedy?
WC: 5.k a tiny tiny ittle more
Warnings: Mentions of breakup cheating, mentions of alcohol, food, partying, drunk call, little nicknames(Lil and peach) and a little suggestive.
Summary: after one failed love story, and years of hiding behind the "friends" label, both you and Minghao realize that maybe it's time to get out of that safety label and take a chance. The stability you've wanted has been there next to you. It's time to finally chose the happiness both have been denying yourselves.
This is for the Candy Hearts collab hosted by the amazing @svthub
A/n: I come here to say i'm so sorry for the delay, i have been trying to make this shorter but i just couldn't and i was doubting myself for a moment there. This story needed smuttyness (idk if its a word) but i couldn't write it like the beautiful soul deserves, but i promise i will make it up to you.
This goes to you dear @gentleisa it's missing pieces i visioned to add but i tried my best. im so sorry for being so late but i hope you like this even if its just a little. i hope you had a wonderful day. im sorry once again!
Dividers by @/diviniyae
The low hum of the forgotten movie is the only sound in your apartment. Minghao sits on your floor, his long legs tucked under the coffee table as he meticulously folds your laundry. He’s the only one you trust with your things as he is meticulous as you are. His calm is your steady anchor as you fret over packing for Joshua’s birthday getaway.
"It will be perfect," he assures you for the tenth time, his voice grounding you.
But the peace shatters when you check your phone. A stray Instagram post of your ex. He looks happy with the woman he chose over you, the woman who shamelessly slept with him knowing he was with you. That woman. And it’s like a physical blow. You sink onto the edge of the bed, shoulders dropping.
“Well, this is... nice” you whisper handing your phone to Minghao, once he’s aware of the post, his fingers tightening around the fabric of your shirt. That’s when you finally break, voice hollow as you ask “Am I that easy to leave?” he instantly drops the shirt and turns to you.
"No." The word is sharp, an absolute strike against your self-doubt.
He moves to the edge of the bed, his knee resting against yours—a silent, grounding presence. "And it is NOT your fault," he insists, his gaze intense. "He didn't leave because you weren't enough. He left because he’s a coward who couldn't handle someone as real as you." He softens, calling you by that old art-class nickname he gave you when you both met after he saw how pretty your lily looked. "You love deeply Lil. That’s a gift, he’s just a fool for throwing it away."
For a heartbeat, the "best friend" shield tremble. The air thickens with five years of history and the terrifying realization that he might be who you want, but you can’t.
Panic drops in your chest. You stand abruptly, clearing your throat to break the spell. "This won’t do, I need to finish packing" you say, forcing a laugh, "or I’ll end up stealing your hoodies all weekend."
"You already do that," Minghao retorts, his mask of playful teasing sliding back into place. “My closet is starting to look depressed.”
“I make your hoodies look better!”
Yes, yes you do.
“In your dreams, Lil.”
The laughter softly returned, once again hiding the things both were not brave enough to say. Both of you were just friends. That was it, that was the rule. And as long as both of you keep the rule, nobody can get their heart broken again.
The whole arrival was a blur of flying suitcases and important nerve wrecking rock paper scissors. Soonyoung, Seungkwan, Seokmin, and Chan had stormed the foyer, shouting over room assignments and the proximity to the snack cabinet. Mingyu had been unofficially named as the chef of the evening, setting up the grill for the small bonfire Joshua had warned everyone about.
In all this madness, Yeeun, Daeun and you had found something to do, get everything working by the fire pit, all while laughing, joking and doing some needed gossip and teasing.
It was a very peculiar sight, Mingyu trying to keep the fire going at the grill while Seokmin kept fanning the fire with an enthusiasm that you envied a little. Joshua simply leaning against the sliding doors with Minghao next to him joking about something.
That simple view was enough to send shivers through you.
There was something you were also dealing with. Being pulled by two different forces.
There was Joshua, looking like a “Prince Charming” he’s bright, cheeky, and a total gentleman and that keeps feeding the crush you have had for a little while now. There is a light, giddy spark between you two, something that you have been also avoiding.
Being heartbroken by an asshole is one thing, being gracefully rejected by the prince Joshua is just not good. But every time your eyes meet, he’ll be throwing you a wink that made your stomach do a small flip.
There was Minghao
He’s not loud, he doesn’t rush. He is a very painfully honest soul, he’s always sassy with everyone else but always tender and observant with you.
Only Mingyu knows this, he has been in love with you for a while now but hides it to protect the friendship. He rather stay silent than risk what you both have.
You rely on him for everything but just like you, he is stubborn about acknowledging his own feelings, so he does what he knows best. Keep the best friend title.
It was confusing as hell, Joshua is your crush, but Minghao is… Hao, the one who actually knows you, and to be honest, also having a crush on him does not help your case.
As night fell, everyone gathered around the stone fire pit with their food. The air was thick with the scent of the wood and the sharp soju almost everyone had by their sides.
Although the absence of their other friends was too evident. Wonwoo and Sun—his girlfriend— quiet sarcasm and witty remarks and Jeonghan’s playful malice, were still present with enough stories to tease them in the next get together.
Not soon after finishing the food, everything changed and now the place was filled by the loud, rhythmic clapping of the drinking games everyone loved playing.
The first few times were simple dares like kissing someone’s hand as if they were royalty or simply drink a shot of a tequila Joshua had generously brought from Mexico. But not only dares were thrown, there was some questioning. Some things you can’t control to be asked. Like answering a question that makes you think it it’s too much to ask for someone to be like that.
“I just want someone who doesn't change when things get real,” you admitted, voice small against the sizzling of the fire. Dino had asked what you expect from a guy, or what you want? Same thing... “someone who stays, who choses me too and just, someone who makes me feel... yeah.”
The confession hung in the air, raw and unshielded, you laughed trying to change the topic, but Joshua had responded with a soft touch, squeezing your hand and offering sweet words to make you feel okay, and that felt like a warm blanket for a moment, but forced in a way it always had been with some people. He was everything a “crush” should be.
Yet, across the flames, Minghao was silently observing the way he held your hand for comfort for a few seconds too long. He hadn't offered a sweet word, he knew you wouldn’t really love being showered with too many pitiful comments. He had simply gripped his bottle, his eyes fixed on the fire as if he was trying to burn the memory of your pain and his own right out of existence.
The roar of the bonfire and the shouts of Seokmin were long gone behind the glass doors, but it was evident he was now trying to start a sing-along. The kitchen was a quiet little break you needed. It was only lit by the soft glow of the refrigerator’s display.
You came for ice followed by Minghao, you leaned against the counter and the silence now suddenly makes the alcohol in your system feel a little stronger. In front of you, Minghao pulled the ice bucket toward the freezer. He was careful but efficient, the clink of the ice scoop the only sound now.
“You're awfully quiet," you pointed out, a little louder than intended in the empty kitchen. You reached out for something to distract yourself and now playing with a coaster. “Is this chaos finally wearing you down?”
Minghao didn't look up. He leveled the ice in the bucket with a steady hand. “I’m just enjoying the five minutes of peace where no one is screaming.”
He finally paused, setting the scoop down and placing the now full bucket net to you on the counter. He backed a little now leaning back against the sink, he was now facing you crossing his arms, he looked frustratingly unreadable.
“What you said out there,” he began, his voice low, soft and grounding. Just like the one you heard in your apartment. “About wanting someone who stays, who chooses you.”
You felt the way your throat tightened. Looking down, you felt a sudden wave of embarrassment. “Yeah, it was just the soju talking. I shouldn't have gotten all heavy”
“No,” Minghao replied fast and firmly. “It was honest. And you’re right to want that."
He stepped a little closer, but just enough that you could smell the fire smoke clinging to his clothes but his own scent still strong, still frustratingly delicious. “Joshua... he’s a good guy. He’s the kind of person who listens. If he says he’ll stay, he means it."
He said it with such casual grace, such a lack of visible envy, but filled with something you couldn’t name. It was a little confusing. He sounded like a supportive friend, like he was giving his approval. But when you finally gathered the courage to look up at him, the whole best friend mask wasn't quite in place.
His posture was a bit relaxed, his voice was steady, but his eyes were a different story. They were dark, with an intensity that felt like a weight was now thrown over your shoulders, but not in a bad way, not entirely. There was something like aching tenderness that made your heart skip a beat. You didn’t get it, but it wasn't the look of a friend giving support, it was the look of someone watching their love lean toward someone else.
“You deserve the stability you're looking for. You deserve to be chosen and to be loved,” he added, his gaze holding yours with an intensity that made you feel seen. “Don't let what happened before make you settle for anything less than someone who sees you clearly, someone who treats you like you are his world, whether it’s... whether it’s Shua or anyone else.”
“Hao,” you whispered as you felt his hand now tucking a piece of hair behind your ear, his touch was gentle, soft and it was sending shivers all over your body. Your hand moved instinctively toward his wrist to ground you because this was maybe a little too much.
For a second, the air felt too charged with all the things both of you left unsaid in your apartment, with things both wanted to say now. With both of your fears too.
You saw his gaze flicker down to your lips and back up, a brief quick crack in his calm self but that made you wonder if you were hallucinating. Does he—? No, he wouldn't. it’s Hao.
Minghao was the first to blink and break the small spell. He straightened up, you felt cold once he withdrew his hand from your cheek, his expression going back to his always cool mask, as if he’d just realized he let it slip for a moment.
“Anyway,” he said, picking up the ice bucket and giving you a small, tilt of his head. “We should get back before Soonyoung decides to start cooking something and burns himself, you know he can’t be trusted with fire.”
“Right,” you said, shaking off the weird tension and reaching for the extra bag of snacks “He will set himself or someone else on fire.”
Laughing at that, the tension was lifted but only so both of you could breathe a little, but definitely not forget about what happened, about what he said and the way he was so close to you, holding you, looking at you.
As you both walked back toward the glass door, you were looking at him. He was walking in front of you, and he was back to being the “loyal friend,” the one who looked out for you and joked about dumb flaws that in reality were endearing to him.
But that look in his eyes—the way he looked at you when he mentioned that you deserved to be seen— stayed with you. It was something that was now making you think of all your what ifs that ended terribly, and turning them now with a what if he does too?
The games continued, and they did not disappoint. Stupid confessions were made and dares like licking someone’s feet were making some of you gag and others almost choke while laughing.
It was all fun games until it was Joshua’s turn.
Soonyoung’s chaotic energy peaked at that moment, throwing a “birthday dare” at Joshua. The group pushes for a recreation of the Dirty Dancing lift. While Mingyu offers to play the part ignoring Joshua’s and Yeeun’s disagreement, Jihoon is the one who intervenes with a knowing look. He’s been aware of the way Joshua has been too close to you.
“Maid of Honor,” he says, his voice flat but pointed, “you should help a birthday boy out.”
The circle erupts in a collective agreement. You try to laugh off the heat rushing to your face, but Joshua is already standing, extending his hand with a mischievous, trusting grin. “I promise I’ll try not to drop you,” he murmurs.
As the music swells, you run. Joshua catches you with effortless strength, his hands firm and steady on your waist as he lifts you. It’s an amazing feeling, it was the kind of moment that should have finally solidified your crush on him.
But as he lowers you slowly, his gaze locked on yours, your eyes drift over his shoulder for a second.
There, sitting in silence, is Minghao. He isn’t cheering. He is just holding his drink, a little too tight.
You look away before you notice his mask was completely shattered you could’ve seen the true, raw, aching gaze fixed on the way Joshua’s fingers are dug into your waist. It’s the look of someone watching their heart be physically ripped away.
When your feet hit the sand, Joshua doesn't let go immediately. He keeps his hands on your hips, faces inches apart, his thumb smothering your shirt as he whispers a soft, “You okay?” You manage a nod, your heart racing, but the warmth of the moment is gone. Replaced by a sudden, cold shiver and an unsettling feeling.
“Alright! 10 out of 10!” Seungkwan yelled, breaking the tension. It was strange, you felt in some sort of spell, but there was something that felt weird, wrong even. “Let's see who's next. Come on, keep up!”
Joshua sat back down, his shoulder now pressed against yours more naturally. And another game began. It was fun the way everyone was now hyper aware who would lose next.
It was Minghao’s turn to lose. Everyone shouted finally, already wanting him to drink two shots of tequila.
The crackle of the fire was the only sound as everyone waited. Mingyu, leaning back on his elbows, keeping his voice casual but weighted with an intent only those closest to him could decipher.
“Hao,” Mingyu started, “Come on, truth. You’re always the one giving us the reality check when we get too romantic. So, tell us... what does it actually mean to love someone for real? Not the first sparks, but the kind of love that you know, sticks with you.”
Seungkwan and Soonyoung started making kissing sounds and whistling, but Minghao just leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees. He looked effortlessly cool and calm, a slight, mocking smirk playing on his lips as he glanced at Seungkwan.
“Love?” Minghao repeated, his voice dry. “It’s mostly a lack of sleep and a lot of patience. It’s a series of small, choices, small sacrifices. It’s remembering how someone likes their coffee even when you’re mad at them. It’s being the one to tell them they’re being an idiot because you rather they be upset with you than embarrassed.”
Everyone laughed, and Minghao joined in with a short, huffed breath. “It’s staying,” he added, his voice dropping just a fraction. "Even when things get messy. Especially then."
His eyes landed on you for a second. It wasn't a long stare. It wasn't a dramatic movie moment or a too obvious stare, it was just a brief, intense flash of something. It could be easily missed.
To most of the group, it was just Hao being the intense realistic poetic he usually was. But Joshua, who was still sitting close enough to you, felt the air shift. He saw the way Minghao’s grip on the bottle tightened when his eyes were on you for that brief moment. Next to him, Yeeun and Mingyu exchanged a sharp, silent glance—the kind of look that said, Oh, so it is true.
You felt a strange heat bloom in your chest that had nothing to do with the bonfire. You tried to make a joke about it to clear the tension, but the words died in your throat.
“Anyway,” Minghao clapped, standing up and dusting the sand from his pants with a sharp motion. “It’s a lot of work for a questionable reward. Maybe 0 out of 10. Don't recommend it to anyone who values their sanity.”
“You spoke like a man who’s been single for too long hyung! Seungkwan shouted, jumping up to break the spell. “Well, the fire is dying and I am hungry again! Mingyu, didn't you say there was squid in the kitchen?”
“SQUID!” Soonyoung, Seokmin and Chan echoed, immediately scrambling toward the house in a tangle of limbs and laughter. Leaving a very astonished Daeun behind.
“Come on,” Joshua said softly, standing up and offering you his hand. His smile was still there, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes this time. “Let's go eat before they leave us the scraps.”
“Yeah, they will” you said, taking his hand.
As you walked toward the glowing glass of the villa, the group fell back into the usual rhythm. Making fun at Soonyoung’s sand covered hair and debating who got to control the music. On the surface, everything was normal. But everything began to make a little bit of sense. Joshua was more observant now, Mingyu was more aware of everything, and you... you found yourself involuntarily searching for the back of a black hoodie in the crowd.
The villa had shifted into a different dimension Saturday night. The warm, acoustic vibes of the bonfire were gone, replaced by pulsing bass, neon LED lights, and the frantic energy.
Soonyoung and Seokmin were in the middle of a literal dance battle against a group of Joshua’s college friends, while Chan was showing off a choreography that had Daeun cheering so loud, she probably will lose her voice.
You were having fun, hair down and messy, laughing and with so much energy you pulled a very reluctant Minghao into the center of the floor to dance with him.
“One song, Hao! Just one!” You shouted over the K-pop remix.
Minghao rolled his eyes, but he didn't pull away. In fact, as soon as the beat dropped, he fell into perfect sync with you.
Both moved with a shared rhythm that only years of friendship could bring. It was effortless and full of moves only you two knew. For those three minutes, the tension was gone. And both were just two kids who knew each other’s every move.
Joshua stood by the drink station, watching you with him. He was smiling, sipping his drink with a thoughtful expression. He saw the way your face lit up when Minghao caught your hand to spin you. He saw the way Minghao’s eyes stayed glued to you, protecting your space even in the middle of a dance floor.
“I need air,” Minghao leaned in to shout into your ear as the song ended. He looked a little flushed, his chest heaving. “And a break from Seokmin’s elbows. I’m going up for a minute.”
“Okay, but don't fall asleep!” you teased, poking his side.
He gave you a tired, lopsided smile. The one he saved specifically for when you had successfully annoyed him and had fun.
Feeling the heat of the dance floor yourself, you headed for the kitchen to find some water.
“Rough set?” Joshua asked, leaning against the counter. He looked incredible in a half-buttoned silk shirt, the party lights reflecting in his eyes.
“Hao is a surprisingly fast dancer,” you panted, grabbing a paper towel.
“He’s always had a good rhythm,” Joshua noted. He stepped closer, his voice dropping below the muffled thump of the music coming from the living room. “Actually, I’ve been thinking a lot today. About what you said at the bonfire and about well, everything that happened last night.”
“Okay, did I say or do something wrong?”
“No, no of course not,” Joshua corrected. He took another step, invading now your personal space in a way that felt bold, daring and intimate. “You feel something for me, am I wrong?” the air left your lungs in a way you didn’t know it was possible.
Before you could process the question, he leaned in. It wasn't the slow, poetic kiss you had imagined at one point that you could share with him. It was rushed, fueled by last night’s events and the adrenaline of the party mixed with the drinks, it was intense. Your brain short circuited. My crush. Joshua. He’s finally kissing me. You kissed him back.
When he pulled away slowly, your heart was racing, but head was strangely clear.
Joshua stayed close, his forehead resting against yours for a second. Then, he pulled back and gave you a small, surprisingly knowing smile the second you locked eyes with him again.
“I knew it,” he whispered still smiling.
“K-knew what?” You asked, feeling too hot all of a sudden. And a little, very confused.
“You like me, Y/n. The kiss... it was nice, good. But is not me what you’re looking for am I right?” He tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. "You’ve spent time looking at me, but you’ve spent years checking on him. You’re in love with him sweetie, you’re just too stubborn to admit it out loud yet.”
You opened your mouth to argue, to say it was just friendship, but Joshua laughed softly. He leaned in again, his face a mix of serious honesty and his trademark cheeky teasing.
“Look, if you can’t decide, I’m totally open to a threesome,” he said, his face deadpan but his eyes full of mischief. “I think the three of us could have a great time.”
“Joshua!” You shrieked, blush intensifying as you shoved his shoulder, a genuine laugh breaking through the utter confusion you were feeling, "my god, you’re terrible.”
“I'm a birthday boy open to everything,” he winked. “Maybe too literally.” You gasped at his words. Mingyu walked in saving you from another innuendo from Joshua, he froze mid-step, his eyes darting between your flushed face and Joshua’s proximity. The silence was deafening for three seconds.
“I... am just going to...” Mingyu started, his voice a pitch too high. He turned around and started to carefully grab the bottles on the counter, turning his back to them. “I’m not here. I am a ghost. Carry on with your... whatever this is. Wow, these bottles are really... glassy.”
This could not be good.
Mingyu worked in the same office as you, and he was a man on a mission.
On Wednesday, during a calm moment in the office, Mingyu appeared at your desk with two steaming cups of coffee.
“It’s break time,” he announced, his tone soft as always but leaving no room for argument. “To the terrace peach. Now.”
It was windy, the city was a little less loud. Mingyu leaned against the railing, handing in your coffee. He didn't start with a joke or a small comment. He just looked at you with the kind, weary eyes of a brother.
“You’ve been, distracted” he said softly. “I can see you’re spiraling, your body is here but your mind is with someone else.”
You sighed, leaning your head against the cool metal rail. “Is it that obvious?”
“To me? Yes. To Joshua? Definitely. To Minghao?” Mingyu paused, taking a sip of his coffee. "He’s too busy trying to be your best friend to realize why. Although, I saw what happened in the kitchen, Y/n”
Your face heated up instantly. “Mingyu, look it was—”
“I know what it was,” he interrupted gently. “It was a kiss. And honestly? Joshua is a great guy. If you choose him, we’ll be happy for you. But we both know that’s not right.”
He turned to face you fully, his expression turning serious. "I care about you, Y/n. You’re one of mine and Yeeun’s best friend. But I love Minghao like a brother. That’s why I’m worried. You’re both so stubborn, so scared thinking about ruining what you have, that you’re going to let the best thing that could ever happen to you walk away”
He reached out, giving your shoulder a supportive squeeze. “Joshua saw it too. He’s stepping back because he knows. But Minghao... he’s the type to stay in the shadows forever if it means you’re still in his life. He’d rather be a spectator than lose you entirely. Is that really what you want for him? For yourself?”
You looked out at the sky, eyes stinging with tears. “You deserve someone who stays, remember? He’s been staying and choosing you for years.”
He gave you a final, encouraging nod before heading back towards the door. “Think about it. I have to call Yeeun before she decides our wedding cake should be shaped like a puppy.”
The silence of your apartment felt heavy after the bachelorette night. It was all you planned, fun, loud and full of surprises for Yeeun. It worked as a distraction from your own thoughts, and what Mingyu said that day.
You kicked off your heels and a relief was immediately against your aching feet. Not even bothering to turn on the main lights, you let the glow of the city streetlights filter through the curtains. You were ready to sleep now. You reached into your bag to check your phone.
Missed Call: 🍷Hao🐸 (12:44 AM)
New Voicemail (1). (12:46 AM)
Your heart started to beat out of your chest. Minghao almost never called late, and he never left voicemails. The fear of something happening was scaring you. You tapped on the icon and waited to hear. At first, there was only static and the muffled, distant music—he was clearly at the bachelor party. Then, the sound of a heavy door closing, cutting off the music. The silence on the other end lasted so long you thought the call had dropped until you heard a sigh.
“Heyy Y/n, Lil” his voice finally came through. It was rough, deeper than usual, and with slow, slurred words, it was clear he had reached his drinking limit. “I know you're probably dancing right now. You're probably laughing at one of Daeun’s moved and looking... I don't know. You probably look hot and beautiful. You always do”
There was a shaky breath.
“I tried to be the guy who stays... like... like you said at the bunfire. Even before, I mean always to be hones, I always wanted to be the one who makes everrthing easy for you because well I just I don’t want you to go. But that weekend... watching you with Shua that weekend that... seeing you in his arms... it felt like he was pulling you away from me.”
A long pause. You sat frozen, breath hitched in your throat, and eyes filled with tears, it was, a lot.
“I’m... I mean, he told us about he kissed you, I did not like it. not one bit. But I can’t say shit because well, what do I say... but a part of me thinks, maybe I can be there too? He is handsome I get why you like him... No. I’m sorry, but I’m I’m selfish. I want to be the one you look for... I think, yeah no I know, I I’ve loved you since the day we met and I saw you painting that lily of the valley... it looked weird at first to be honest sweetheart. Anyways, I do. and I think I’m might be to love you until the day I stop you know breathing. Maybe that day is today because I feel like everything is spinning, I’m sleepy oh yeh I’m bout to pass out. Anyways I'm sorry. I shouldn't – Just... forget it. I’m going to take a sweet, sweet nap Bye, lil."
The line went dead with a soft beep.
Phone still pressed to your ear long after the message ended and you still don’t know what just happened. Until you finally let an overwhelming tear roll down your cheek.
What the hell just happened?
The wedding was absolutely beautiful. Mingyu and Yeeun looked like they’d stepped out of a fairytale, and the reception hall was a sea of white lilies. Everything looked like a dream, for you, the entire day felt like you were moving underwater.
Minghao abvoided you and frankly you did too, both hiding under maid of honor and best man duties. Every time he caught a glimpse of you in that soft green satin dress his heart skip a beat. When you stole a glance at him—looking devastatingly handsome in a black suit, your heart hammered against your ribs, the words of his voicemail playing on a loop in your head. Mingyu often said drunk words are sober thoughts, so... is it true?
You were standing by the glass doors, a glass of champagne you hadn't touched in your hand. Then you felt someone stand slowly next to you.
“You're still staring at the glass like it’s a crystal ball,” Joshua’s voice teased. He looked as effortless as ever, once again, like a damn prince. “So? Did you think about my offer? The threesome is still on the table, sweets. I’m very flexible.”
You let out a small gasp followed by a laugh, finally looking up at him. “Joshua, you are a menace.”
His playful expression softened into something incredibly kind. He reached out, gently turning your chin so you were forced to look across the room, to look at Minghao who was standing with Wonwoo and his girlfriend, he was quiet. Not entirely present.
“Go talk to him,” Joshua said, his voice soft. “The voicemail changed everything, right? Look, you know the truth now. Don’t let him spend another night thinking he fucked up or that you don’t feel it too. Cause I know that you do. He’s everything that you wanted, what are you waiting for?”
He gave you a final, encouraging wink and stepped away.
A moment later, the music shifted. The upbeat sound turned and Try Again by Jaehyun x d.ear started playing. You saw him walk to you, and you felt that familiar, grounding energy, shivers on your body, you were nervous but oddly calm too.
“Hi,” Minghao smiled, his voice was steady, though you could hear the slight shyness and nerves. He held out his hand. “Will you dance with me, Lil?”
You didn't hesitate, fuck no. As you placed your hand in his, something you noticed but didn’t think much about it, made sense now.
Your hand fits perfectly in his. Like it should be.
As you moved onto the floor, he pulled you close— closer than he had ever been. One of his hands rested firmly on the small of your back, the other holding tightly your hand against his chest. Both swayed in the dim light, at the center of the dance floor, the world around blurring and it was just you and him.
"So, I heard it." You whispered your hand on his shoulder played with the lapel of his suit. "The voicemail."
“Oh, right.” He chuckled, the rhythm of his step faltered for a split second before he recovered. He didn't pull away. Instead, he rested his forehead against yours, his eyes searching yours for any kind of regret with a raw, vulnerability. “I’m sorry, I was drunk. I shouldn't—”
“No,” you interrupted, voice steadier for once. Pulling back just enough, you looked at him. “You should have said, I should have said something. Joshua was right, I’ve been looking everywhere but, Hao I’ve been in love with you. I was just too scared to lose the one person who never leaves.”
Minghao let out a breath he didn’t know was holding. A slow, beautiful smile— one that actually reached his eyes— appeared huge across his face. “I'm not going anywhere, Lil. I’ll be here always.”
“I know that now,” you murmured, heart beating too fast but it felt so nice, he was home definitely. “So... like, are we—”
“I’m yours if you want me,” he whispered, his hand sliding up to cup your cheek.
“I’m yours if you want me.” You leaned in his hand with a shy knowing smile, it was all you wanted.
“It’s settled then.” He rested his forehead against yours with the biggest smile on his face. “We are definitely together.”
“As it should be,” a voice interrupted your small moment. Joshua had appeared with Yeeun who had agreed to dance with him. You had only now realized the song had already ended probably moments ago. Both had a smirk on their faces, and you knew you will not hear an end to the teasing, now that it will be no denying you and Minghao are a thing.
“Offer still on the table by the way.” With a wink he danced away with Yeeun before you or Minghao could do or say something.
“That’s—”
“Fuck no,” Minghao laughed but you could tell it had a little bit of possessive tone in it “Not yet.”
Not yet
Alright, that was not something you thought he’ll say.
“You’re all mine now,” Minghao whispered and leaned down to close the distance he’d been respecting and aching to break for far too long. “My love.” The way his lips fit against yours is a little overwhelming in the best way. Soft, tender and sweet. So sweet, it was a dream, you were sure of it for a moment. The way it made you feel like you found who fits perfectly with you is indescribable.
Not to mention the way your body is reacting to him, the way your skin feels like is on fire, like you need more, you need him closer than this.
“I know... I know it’s like uhm maybe it’s like you know... fast but I think I—”
“Let’s wait for the cake and then, I will take what I’ve been craving because, baby...” Minghao leaned to whisper, voice dropping low in your ear before giving it a small discrete bite “You’re a walking sin in that dress, you have no idea what I want to do to you.”
You hummed trying to regain composure, and you intended to match his seductive voice “and you have no idea the things I want you to do to me.”
“God, you’re killing me.”
“Good, we’re even then, cause this suit is looking way too good on you.” You looked up at him through your eyelashes and smiled “I think it will look better off though.”
“Alright, enough.” Minghao pulled away with a chuckle, “I’m giving Mingyu and Yeeun 15 minutes, then we’re leaving.”
After hiding behind the safety of the “best friend” label, you finally allowed yourself to have what you always wanted. You realized that the stability you had been searching for was there next to you.
Now, it was time to finally be happy and do something about it.
You had his heart and he has yours, now maybe it’s time to have his body too.
A/n2: no one knows but fun fact, Daeun, Yeeun and Sun(Back to You) make a small appearance, I miss them.
i hope you like this, sorry for the delay again. kissses, be happy and healthy take care!
Genre: Fluff, f2l, angst if you squint, smut !MDNI!
Warnings: Jeonghan being an idiot, oral (f receiving), dry humping, unprotected sex (don't do it yall), multiple orgasms, let me know if I missed anything
W/C: 8.5k
Summary: Yoon Jeonghan, your beautiful, wonderful, amazing, dumb-ass of a best friend who somehow doesn't see how hopelessly in love with him you are.
Jeonghan prides himself in being two steps ahead of everyone. It’s just how he is—how he operates. He reads people easily, anticipates what they’ll do before they can even think it themselves. It’s why he always wins petty bets, why he always manages to dodge responsibility, why he can talk his way out of anything with nothing more than a lazy smile. He sees the signs before they become obvious, notices the smallest shifts in expression, the tiniest changes in behavior.
That’s why, after knowing you for years, Jeonghan finds himself baffled. The first time he notices something is when you sit in your normal seat next to him before your lecture starts, sliding a coffee in front of him. It’s something you do so often that it barely registers—until Seokmin starts to complain.
“Where’s mine?” Seokmin whines, dramatically slumping against the table. “Why does Jeonghan always get special treatment? I like coffee too, you know.”
You scoff, sipping from your own cup without a second thought. “You have two legs, Kyeom, use them.”
Seokmin pouts, muttering something about Jeonghan’s legs and injustice, but Jeonghan barely hears him. Because for the first time, he’s thinking about what Seokmin had said. You always bring him coffee. Always. Even when you’re running late, even when you don’t get one for yourself. Even when you grumble about how he doesn’t deserve it.
He lifts the cup, staring at the little details he’s never bothered to notice before. The way his name is scrawled across the side in your handwriting instead of the barista’s. The way you always get it exactly how he likes—two sugars, just enough milk to take the edge off the bitterness. The way you don’t even wait for a thank you.
Like it’s second nature. Like it’s just… what you do.
And now, he can’t stop thinking about it.
He starts noticing other things during the lecture.
How you always roll your eyes when he leans against you, but never actually push him away. How you scold him for doodling on the margins of your notebook, but still let him get away with it every time. How you look at him when you think he isn’t paying attention.
It makes something shift in his brain—tilting, twisting, catching on a thought he’s somehow never had before.
And maybe that should be the end of it.
But it isn’t.
Not yet.
Because a week later, it happens again.
It’s late—too late for you to be waiting around for him, but you do anyway. The library is nearly empty, the last stragglers packing up as Jeonghan stretches his arms over his head with a groan.
“Finally done?” you ask, voice amused as you glance up from your phone. You’re already leaning against the table, your bag slung over your shoulder, like you’ve been waiting for him this whole time.
Because you have.
Jeonghan blinks. He hadn’t asked you to. Hadn’t even considered it. He just assumed you’d gone home when you finished hours ago. But you didn’t—you stayed.
“Why are you still here?” he asks, narrowing his eyes. “I thought you said you were leaving at nine.”
You shrug. “Changed my mind.”
Changed your mind.
Jeonghan frowns but doesn’t push further. Because now, he’s thinking about it again.
About the way you always are there whenever he needs you, about how you never actually leave until he does. About how, even when you complain about him, you’re still here.
Always here, waiting for him.
His stomach twists with something unfamiliar. Something that feels a little too warm, a little too close to something he isn’t ready to name. He follows you into the cold night air, his hands stuffed in his pockets. His thoughts are too loud, too disorganized, for him to focus.
And when you shiver beside him, he doesn’t even think—he just shrugs off his hoodie and tugs it over your head before you can protest.
You freeze, blinking up at him. “What—”
“Just wear it,” Jeonghan mutters, looking away.
And maybe, if he let himself think too hard about why he did that—why the sight of you in his hoodie makes something tighten in his chest—he’d realize he’s in way more trouble than he thought.
The next time, it’s at a party.
Jeonghan isn’t even sure why he came—probably because Mingyu wouldn’t stop nagging him about needing to ‘go out and touch grass,’ whatever that means. The music is loud, the room packed with people, and Jeonghan, as usual, is lounging in the corner with a drink in hand, thoroughly entertained by the mess unfolding around him.
Then he sees you.
You’re talking to someone—some guy he doesn’t recognize, who’s standing a little too close, leaning in a little too much. You don’t seem bothered at a glance, but Jeonghan notices the way your fingers tighten around your cup, the slight shift in your stance. It’s subtle, something no one else would catch. But he does. He sees the tightness in your smile and the way you recoil when the man touches your arm.
Before Jeonghan can think twice, he’s already moving.
He slides up next to you easily, arm slinging around your shoulders like it belongs there, like it’s second nature. “There you are,” he drawls, flashing his most infuriating smile as he pointedly ignores the guy in front of you. “Been looking for you everywhere.”
You blink up at him, startled for only a second before you relax against him, leaning into his hold like it’s instinct.
The guy shifts awkwardly. “Oh, I didn’t realize you were—”
Jeonghan tilts his head, still smiling. He doesn’t say anything, just lets the weight of unspoken words hang in the air until the guy gets the message and quickly excuses himself.
Once he’s gone, Jeonghan glances down at you, raising a brow. “You okay?”
You let out a breath, rolling your eyes. “I was handling it.”
“I know.” He shrugs, arm still around you, still holding you close. “Felt like bothering you anyway.”
You huff, but you don’t pull away.
And then it hits him again.
The way you always let him do this—let him close, let him linger. The way you lean into him, like you belong there. The way it feels so natural that he doesn’t realize he's still holding onto you until his fingers tighten slightly on your shoulder.
Something warm twists in his chest.
He should let go. He should step back.
But he doesn't.
Another day, it’s at lunch.
Jeonghan doesn’t think much when you slide into the seat across from him, tray in hand, like you always do. He barely glances up from his phone as you start picking at your food, the conversation around you blending into background noise.
Then you do something that makes his fingers still over his screen. You push the cucumbers off his plate. It’s so natural, so absentminded, that you don’t even seem to notice yourself doing it. Just a quick movement, the same way you always do.
Jeonghan stares at his plate, where the cucumbers had been only seconds ago, now neatly placed onto yours without a word. He glances up at you, but you’re still focused on your meal, completely unbothered, like this is just… normal.
He thinks back—tries to remember when this started. When you figured out he didn’t like cucumbers. When you decided, without being asked, to take them off his plate every single time.
Jeonghan swallows.
“Are you gonna eat that?” you ask suddenly, pointing at the bread roll on his tray.
He blinks, momentarily caught off guard before scoffing. “At least let me offer before you start eyeing my food.”
You roll your eyes, reaching over to grab it anyway. “Please, you were gonna give it to me either way.”
He doesn’t argue. Because you’re right. He always does.
And now, as you tear off a piece of the bread and pop it into your mouth without thinking, Jeonghan can’t help but notice the way this has all become a habit. The way there are things you do for him without question. The way there are things he does for you, too.
Jeonghan exhales, poking at the rest of his food, but suddenly, it doesn’t taste the same.
Because now, he’s thinking about it again.
Thinking about what makes you act like this.
But he doesn’t ask.
The next instance is in the rain.
Jeonghan had told you to go home before the storm hit, rolled his eyes when you stubbornly refused– insisting you’d be fine– until he finally managed to convince you. And now, standing under the awning of a closed convenience store, watching the rain pour down in sheets, he’s debating whether he should call you just to say, “I told you so.”
Then his phone buzzes.
You: are you still at the library?
Jeonghan frowns, quickly typing back.
Jeonghan: no, at the convenience store across from it, dorm ran out of soju
You: don’t leave yet. I’m coming to get you.
He stares at the screen, brow furrowing. You’re coming to get him?
It takes you fifteen minutes.
Fifteen minutes of Jeonghan watching the rain fall, of tapping his fingers against his phone, of wondering—really wondering—why you’re doing this.
And then you’re there, pulling up to the curb with your hazard lights flashing, hair slightly damp from the short sprint to your car. You barely give him a chance to react before you’re unlocking the door, waving him in.
“Hurry up,” you say, like this is normal. Like it’s nothing. Like you haven’t just driven across town in the middle of a downpour for him.
Jeonghan slides into the passenger seat, dripping water onto your floor mats. He doesn’t speak at first, just watches you as you reach into the backseat and pull out a towel.
You toss it at him without looking, focused on pulling back into traffic. “Dry your hair before you get sick.”
Jeonghan stares at the towel, then at you. “Did you—”
“I always keep one in my car,” you interrupt, as if reading his mind. “For emergencies.”
He huffs out a quiet laugh, rubbing the towel over his damp hair. “So, I’m an emergency now?”
“You’re definitely something.” You shake your head, smiling to yourself. “I don’t know why I bother with you.”
But you do.
You do, every single time.
You didn’t have to come get him. You didn’t have to wait for him at the library, or bring him coffee every morning, or let him cling to you at parties without question.
And yet, here you are.
Jeonghan exhales, pressing his lips together, fingers tightening around the towel in his lap.
His chest feels warm again. Too warm.
He should say something. Should tease you, should make some dumb joke to brush this off like he always does.
But for the first time, he doesn’t.
For the first time, he just sits there, watching you drive, heart pounding against his ribs.
But he doesn’t want to think about how you make him feel.
The worst time is when he’s sick.
Jeonghan rarely gets sick. He prides himself on that, actually—on having an immune system strong enough to withstand whatever hell Mingyu’s cooking experiments unleash upon their friend group. But now, he’s curled up in bed, utterly miserable, his head pounding and his throat raw.
He doesn’t remember texting you. He’s not even sure if he did. But somehow, you’re there.
The knock on his door barely registers, his brain foggy with fever, but then you’re pushing it open, arms full—plastic bags rustling, a familiar frown on your lips.
“Dumbass,” you scold immediately, setting everything down on his desk before walking over to him. “Why didn’t you tell me you were dying?”
Jeonghan groans, burying his face in his pillow. “Not dying.”
“You sound like you swallowed glass.” You reach out, pressing the back of your hand to his forehead before he can stop you. Your skin is cool against his overheated skin, and it makes him shiver.
You frown deeper. “You’re burning up.”
“I’ll live,” he mutters, voice hoarse.
You click your tongue but don’t argue, instead moving back to the desk, unpacking the bags you brought. Jeonghan watches through half-lidded eyes as you pull out medicine, a bottle of his favorite drink, a container of porridge, and— he freezes, heart stuttering.
You brought the exact brand of honey lemon lozenges he likes. The ones he always complains are overpriced but still buys anyway. His fingers twitch where they rest against his blanket.
“How’d you—” He stops to clear his throat. “You remembered?”
You glance at him, raising a brow. “Of course I did.”
You say it like it’s obvious, as if he’s the weird one for even questioning it. Jeonghan doesn’t know what to say to that, so he stays quiet, watching as you pour medicine into the cap and hold it out expectantly.
He doesn’t complain. Doesn’t make a fuss like he normally would.
He just sits up, takes the medicine, and lets you take care of him.
And this time, he doesn’t try to push the warmth in his chest away, choosing instead to bask in your care, pretending it means more than it does.
But he doesn’t admit that.
The next time Jeonghan notices it, really notices it, is a week later.
You don’t know it’s happening (not that you ever do). Don’t notice that he’s staring at you from across the table, barely registering Seungcheol’s story about some girl who ghosted him after three dates. Don’t know that something in his brain is shifting—catching on a thought that’s finally fully formed.
He watches the way you laugh at something Mingyu says, how your nose scrunches slightly when you sip your too-sweet drink. Watches the way you lean back in your chair, rolling your eyes at something dumb he said earlier.
He thinks about how easily you fit next to him. How you always have.
And then it hits him.
A slow-burning realization that should’ve hit him years ago.
The reason you always let him steal your food even when you pretend to be annoyed. The reason you text him good morning when you know he won’t wake up until noon. The reason you never let him get away with his bullshit but still let him stay, no matter how insufferable he is.
The reason you look at him sometimes like he’s the only person in the room, like you’d give him the world if he just asked.
The reason you always have.
His stomach flips.
Oh.
Oh.
Jeonghan blinks. Swallows hard. Tries to ignore the sudden, inexplicable rush of warmth crawling up his neck. Because this—this—should not be happening. He’s Jeonghan. You’re you. His best friend. The one person who never falls for his tricks, never gets caught up in his nonsense.
Except… you do, don’t you?
And he’s been too blind—too stupid—to see it.
“Oh, shit,” Jeonghan mutters under his breath.
Mingyu pauses mid-bite, looking up. “Huh?”
Jeonghan forces a lazy smile, shaking his head. “Nothing.”
But it isn’t nothing.
It’s everything.
And Jeonghan—who has always prided himself on being two steps ahead of everyone else—has never been more terrified in his life because now, he can’t stop noticing.
It’s in the way you always save him a seat, even when the lecture hall is packed. The way you complain about his bad habits but never actually stop him. The way your fingers brush against his when you pass him something, lingering just a second longer than necessary.
It’s in the way he finds himself looking for you first in a crowded room, in the way his teasing has softened without him realizing, in the way his heart stumbles over itself when you laugh at something he says.
It’s in the way you listen to him—even when he’s talking absolute nonsense—nodding along like his words actually matter. How you remember the smallest things, like how he hates cucumbers or how he always picks the sesame bagel first. The way you instinctively move closer when he nudges you, like it’s second nature, like you don’t even think about it.
And Jeonghan—who has always prided himself on knowing things before anyone else, on seeing things before they happen—is suddenly drowning in a realization that has been staring him in the face for years.
Because it’s not just you.
It’s him, too.
It’s the way he always shifts closer to you on instinct, the way his gaze flickers toward you the second you walk into a room. The way he lets his guard down without thinking, lets you see the parts of him that no one else does. The way he keeps finding excuses to be near you, even when he tells himself he’s not.
It’s the way his hoodie still hangs in your closet because you never gave it back—and he never asked for it. The way he’s memorized the exact rhythm of your footsteps when you walk beside him. The way he never thinks twice about sharing his food with you, even when he swats Seokmin’s hand away for trying the same thing.
The way his heart is racing right now, loud enough that he swears someone else must hear it.
He swallows hard, fingers tightening around his drink.
Because if all of this is true—if he’s been feeling this way without even knowing it—then that means everything has already changed. And he has no idea what to do about it.
Jeonghan feels like he can’t breathe. The noise of the hole-in-the-wall restaurant, the laughter, the clatter of plates—it all feels too loud, too much. His skin is buzzing, his thoughts spiraling, and before he can stop himself, he’s pushing back his chair and standing up.
No one really notices—Seungcheol is too caught up in his story, Mingyu is still chewing—but you do. Of course you do.
Jeonghan mutters something about fresh air and slips outside before anyone thinks to ask questions. The cool evening air hits him like a slap, sharp and grounding, but it does nothing to quiet the way his chest is tightening. He leans against the brick wall, pressing his palms against his eyes, trying to steady himself.
This isn’t happening. This can’t be happening.
The door swings open behind him.
“Jeonghan?”
Your voice is gentle, cautious.
He forces himself to relax, dropping his hands and looking at you with the most neutral expression he can manage. “What’s up?”
You step closer, studying him, your brows furrowing. “Are you okay?”
Jeonghan scoffs, shoving his hands into his pockets. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
You give him a look—the one that tells him you know he’s full of shit. “You just got up and walked out in the middle of a conversation. That’s not normal.”
He shrugs, shifting his weight. “I just needed some air.”
You don’t move. Don’t buy it for a second.
“Jeonghan.” Your voice is softer this time, almost hesitant. “What’s wrong?”
And he could lie– brush it off, smirk, make some dumb joke to change the subject. That’s what he always does. But for some reason, with you standing there, looking at him like that—like you care, like you’re waiting for the truth—he finds that he can’t.
So instead, Jeonghan exhales sharply, shakes his head and looks away. “I think I just realized something really, really big.”
You tilt your head. “What?”
He hesitates– opens his mouth, closes it.
Then—
“It’s nothing,” he says, too quickly. Forces a smirk, even though it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Come on, let’s go back before Mingyu eats all my fries.”
You watch him for a moment longer, and he wonders if you can see through him, if you can hear all the things he isn’t saying.
But then, finally, you sigh. “You’re acting weird.”
Jeonghan laughs, bumping his shoulder against yours as he steers you back inside. “I’m always weird.”
You roll your eyes but let him pull you along. And Jeonghan?
Jeonghan wonders if he’s just made the biggest mistake of his life.
✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧
He tells himself it’s fine. Tells himself it was just a weird moment, a fleeting thought, something he can push down and forget about if he just acts normal.
So that’s what he does.
For the next few days, he’s careful– not staring too long when you talk, not lingering when you walk beside him. He keeps things exactly the same—laughs at your complaints, steals your food, teases you like he always has.
But he can’t unsee it now.
Can’t unfeel the way his heart stutters when you smile at him. The way his skin burns when your arm brushes his. He finds himself watching you when you aren’t looking, cataloging all the little things about you that he somehow never realized were his favorite things.
Worst of all—he can’t unsee the way you look at him.
Because now that he’s noticed, he knows.
You’ve always looked at him like that.
And now it’s killing him.
It all comes to a head one night when you’re at Seungcheol’s place for a movie night. The room is dim, the couch too crowded, so you end up sitting on the floor between Jeonghan’s legs. It’s normal. You’ve done it a hundred times before.
But tonight, Jeonghan feels every shift, every time you lean against him. Your shoulder against his knee. Your head tilted back against his leg when you laugh at something on the screen. The warmth of you, right there, so close, so easy.
And then—because the universe is cruel—you grab his hand absentmindedly, just to play with his fingers like you always do when you’re fidgeting. But this time, Jeonghan’s entire world tilts on its axis. His breath catches, heart lurches.
And suddenly, all he can think is—I’m so fucked.
He doesn’t know how long he sits there, staring at your hand in his, feeling the slow, absentminded way your fingers trace along his knuckles. It’s nothing.
Except it isn’t because now he knows, and knowing makes it unbearable. So he does the only thing he can think of: he pulls his hand away and stands up.
Too fast. Too abrupt.
You blink, looking up at him in confusion as he mumbles something—some excuse that even he knows doesn’t make sense—and makes a beeline for the door. He barely hears the others calling after him, barely registers the cool night air as he steps outside, pressing a hand to his chest like he can physically push down whatever the hell is clawing its way up his throat.
This can’t be happening.
He can’t be acting like this.
But it is, he is.
And then—
The door creaks open behind him.
“Jeonghan?”
Your voice. Soft, uncertain.
He squeezes his eyes shut for a second before forcing a smile and turning around. “Yeah?”
You step closer, arms crossed against the cold. “You’ve been… off these last few days. Seriously, what’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” Too quick. Too easy. A lie, and you know it.
You frown, chastising him, “Jeonghan.”
And the way you say his name—like you know him too well, like you can see straight through him—makes his stomach flip. He exhales slowly, running a hand through his hair. “I just needed some space.”
You study him, searching his face like you’re piecing together a puzzle only he knows the answer to. “Did I do something?” Your voice is quiet, hesitant, like the idea of hurting him actually hurts you. It almost makes him want to laugh because God, you have no idea.
“No,” he says, too soft, too real. “You didn’t do anything.”
You don’t look convinced, but you don’t push. Instead, you step closer, tilting your head. “Then what is it? I’m worried about you.”
Jeonghan looks at you—the way your brows furrow, the way your lips press together, the way you’re always standing too close but it never mattered until now. He opens his mouth to say something—anything—to push this moment away, to pretend like it’s just another weird, fleeting feeling. But then he looks at you, really looks at you.
Your eyes, wide and trusting, waiting for him to say something that will make sense of whatever the hell happened in there. He takes a step forward, slowly, almost reluctantly, like his body is moving on its own. His arms wrap around you on instinct, like muscle memory, like habit. But when his face finds the crook of your neck and you rub soothing circles into his back, it doesn’t feel like a habit at all. It feels like something else entirely.
Jeonghan pulls back slightly, his hands still lingering on your arms, as if trying to ground himself. The air between you is thick with unspoken words, and he knows he can’t run from it any longer. His heart is beating fast, and he finally asks, his voice tentative, “Do you... do you like me?”
You blink, the question catching you off guard. He’s asked you this before, often asking “what about me” whenever anyone compliments another person. For a moment, it feels like time has paused. He’s looking at you with this vulnerability, this rawness, and it’s both terrifying and comforting at the same time.
“Of course I like you, you’re my best friend.”
Jeonghan’s chest tightens at your words, and his breath catches in his throat. It’s not the answer he was hoping for, not exactly, but he’s not sure what he was expecting either. His heart sinks a little. He didn’t know what kind of answer he wanted, but this... wasn’t it.
“I—yeah, I know,” he says quickly, rubbing a hand over his face, clearly frustrated with himself. He doesn’t know why he feels so nervous now, why it’s suddenly harder to breathe. “But I mean... do you like me more than that? Like, in a way that’s not just... like that?”
There’s a pause as you look at him, and he can’t read your expression, can’t tell if you’re confused or just processing. But your eyes soften as you take in the question.
You tilt your head, trying to make sense of it. “Wait... are you asking if I like you like you?”
Jeonghan nods, a bit sheepish, unable to hide the vulnerability on his face now. “Yeah,” he mutters. “Have I been reading the signals wrong? Am I more than just...do you see me the way I see you?”
For a moment, you don’t say anything. The silence stretches, and Jeonghan feels his heart racing, anxiety curling in his stomach. He regrets even asking, but he can’t bring himself to back out now. Finally, you take a step closer, a smile tugging at your lips, though it’s a little teasing. “And what if I do?”
The words hit him harder than he expected, and for a moment, Jeonghan just stands there, blinking at you, his mind scrambling to catch up. He wasn’t ready for that answer. He wasn’t prepared for the shift in the air between you.
“Well,” he says, frowning. “Do you?”
You laugh softly, but there’s no mocking in it, just warmth. “I think you’re a little slow, Jeonghan, I don’t know how much more obvious I could’ve been. I’ve liked you for years.”
Jeonghan’s breath catches, and for a split second, he feels lightheaded, overwhelmed by the sudden clarity. His heart thuds in his chest as you step closer, and there’s a quiet intensity in your gaze that makes everything feel like it’s falling into place.
“You...” He’s still struggling to get the words out, his mind still spinning, but this time, it’s not confusion that’s holding him back. It’s something else entirely. “I didn’t know.”
You smile again, shaking your head and stepping just a little closer until there’s barely any space between you. “Well, I wasn’t exactly going to say it first, was I?” you tease, but there’s something deeper in your voice now. “You’ve been my best friend for how long now? I’ve seen you turn down hundreds of women.”
Jeonghan reaches out, his hands trembling just slightly as he gently cups your face in his palms, searching your eyes for any hint of doubt. “But... you’re different.” He whispers, his voice low but steady.
You lean into his touch, your eyes never leaving his. “Am I?”
He nods and you smile, causing warmth to spread across his chest. “What does this mean?” He asks hesitantly. Sure he’s been in plenty of relationships before, but he didn’t care about any of them like he cares about you because, like he said, you’re different.
“It means you’re an idiot for taking this long,” you say with a grin. “But it also means I don’t have to wait anymore.”
Before he can say another word, you close the space between you, your lips meeting his in a soft, slow kiss. It isn't urgent. There’s no rush, no pushing– just the slow pull of two people who had been waiting for this moment for far too long. Your lips are gentle, testing at first, as if asking for permission. And he gives it, deepening the kiss with a quiet intensity as your fingers thread through his hair, pulling him closer.
The kiss feels like a quiet promise, an unspoken exchange of everything you’ve never said. Your lips part, and he follows, the kiss turning softer, more tender as he tries to memorize every inch of you. He cups your cheek as if you’re something delicate, something worth protecting. Because you are.
It feels like time is suspended, like there's nothing else but the warmth of your mouths, the softness of your hands. Every part of him is alive with sensation, heart racing faster with each passing moment. He can feel your pulse, too—faster now, matching his.
When you finally pull back, your foreheads rest together, both of you smiling, hearts racing.
“How did you put up with me? I was such an idiot.” Jeonghan says softly, his voice full of affection, but also amusement.
You laugh, your fingers tracing his jawline. “Nothing out of the ordinary. And hey, even dumbasses deserve love.” You say, giving him a peck on the lips.
The sound of a door creaking open behind you breaks the moment, and you pull away reluctantly, both of you still close, but now acutely aware that you’re no longer alone. The sound of Seungcheol’s voice filters through the hallway. “Hey! You two coming back in or what? We need someone to help pick the next movie!”
You glance at Jeonghan, both of you smiling, the weight of the world feeling just a little lighter now. He laughs quietly, rubbing the back of his neck as he looks at you, a bit sheepish.
“Guess we should probably... go back,” you say with a grin.
He nods, still unable to wipe the smile off his face. “Probably, yeah. Or we could go over to my place instead?”
You just laugh, shaking your head, “Maybe next time, loverboy,” you say, dragging him back to the living room, this time snuggling up next to him under a blanket. Your hand rests on his thigh, trancing slow patterns absentmindedly onto the skin and making a shiver go down his back. It’s not the first time you’ve done this–heck you were fidgeting with his hand before he left–but this time is different. Because now you both know. Jeonghan tries his best to focus on the movie, he really does, but all he can think about is the softness of your lips on his, the way you tugged at his hair when he licked into your mouth, the way your hand feels so good as it squeezes his thigh.
Nope.
Nope nope nope nope nope.
He grabs your hand, flipping it up to interlock his fingers with yours because he is not about to get hard. You gently squeeze his hand, resting your head on his shoulder. He’s hyper-aware of how your hand slots perfectly with his, how you fling your legs over his own. When he glances over at you and sees a mischievous glint in your eye so often found in his, he knows he’s screwed.
And god does he love it.
It’s a running joke between your friends that Jeonghan can never last more than two hours, whether it’s drinking, socializing, or partying, after two hours Jeonghan will clock out. He manages to make it through three hours of your teasing as the movie plays in the background. He doesn’t know what's happening in the movie, and quite frankly, couldn’t give any less of a fuck. Not when he’s endured your breath ghosting over his neck, your weight shifting on him slightly too much for it to be innocent, for three. Whole. Hours.
Yawning and pretending to stretch when the movie is paused for a bathroom break, he stands up, allowing the blanket to fall from his lap and enjoying your complaint at the sudden cold.
“Alright,” Jeonghan announces, rubbing at his eyes dramatically. “I think that’s my cue to head out.”
A chorus of groans follows. “Dude, the movie isn’t even over,” Minghao complains, arms crossed.
“You do this every time,” Jihoon adds, unimpressed.
Jeonghan sighs. “It’s not even that good.”
“Bro, it’s nominated for like, five academy awards.” Vernon guffaws.
Jeonghan shrugs, entirely unbothered.
You roll your eyes but don’t move from your spot on the couch. “You’re so predictable.”
He hums, tilting his head at you. “I’m consistent, there’s a difference.” He grabs your hand, attempting to tug you up. “Come on, let’s go.”
You blink at him, feigning innocence. “Where am I going?”
“Home. With me. So we can escape these idiots. Duh.”
A pillow flies in Jeonghan’s direction, courtesy of Seungkwan. “We can still hear you, dipshit.”
Jeonghan easily dodges it before turning back to you with a grin. “Come on.”
You stretch your arms over your head and settle deeper into the couch, smirking at him. “I think I’ll stay.”
Jeonghan stares at you like you’ve just betrayed him. “But who’s going to drive me home?” He pulls his lips into a pout.
“I guess you’ll have to take the bus,” you drag out, watching the way his face scrunches in displeasure, “I want to finish the movie.”
Jeonghan narrows his eyes at you, crouching slightly to be level with your gaze. “But you don’t even care about the movie.”
You shrug. “Apparently it’s nominated for whatever Vernon said. Very interesting stuff.”
“Unbelievable,” he mutters under his breath. He drops onto his knees in front of you, leaning against the couch as he complains. “But I wanna go home.”
You raise an eyebrow. “Then go?”
His hand wraps around your wrist, tugging you slightly forward. “Not without you.”
“Jeonghan,” you warn, but it holds no real bite.
He whines, a real, genuine whine that has Jihoon groaning in disgust in the background before tugging you forward to whisper in your ear. “I don’t want to be here anymore. I want to be with you. Alone. Where I don’t have to share you with all these people.”
You fight a smile. “Wow, I never knew you were so clingy.”
He glares up at you, pout still prominent. “Only for you.”
There’s a beat of silence before you sigh dramatically, running a hand through your hair. “Ugh, fine.”
Jeonghan perks up immediately, eyes glimmering with victory. “Nice!”
You shove at his forehead lightly. “God, you’re so annoying.”
“And yet, you’re still coming with me,” he sing-songs, standing up and holding out a hand.
You take it begrudgingly, rolling your eyes when he laces your fingers together smugly.
“Bye, quitters,” Seungkwan calls out, voice dripping with sarcasm.
Jeonghan doesn’t even spare him a glance, tugging you toward the door with a satisfied grin.
Jeonghan is not used to being the one squirming, yet here he is, sitting in your passenger seat, fingers twitching against his knee, fighting the urge to run his tongue over his bottom lip, needing something to do.
He’s been watching you for the past fifteen minutes, the way your hands flex on the wheel, the way your brows furrow slightly whenever he shifts in his seat. You’re pretending to be unaffected, as if his presence this close—his breath practically in your space, his eyes raking over you like he’s memorizing every detail—does nothing to you.
It’s almost convincing. Almost.
But Jeonghan knows you too well.
He wonders if you can feel the weight of his gaze as he studies you, cataloging every flicker of your expression, every little movement. The way your lips part slightly when you exhale, the way you press your tongue to the inside of your cheek when the traffic slows.
You’re gripping the steering wheel tighter than necessary. It makes him smirk.
“You’re staring,” you say, voice clipped.
“Am I not allowed?” he asks, all feigned innocence. He props his chin up on his hand, leaning toward you just slightly, just enough to feel the tension coil even tighter between you.
He watches your fingers tighten just a little more. You don’t look at him. He grins.
“Thought so,” he murmurs, just to be annoying.
You exhale sharply through your nose. “Maybe if you weren’t looking at me like that, it’d be easier.”
“Like what? I’m just looking at my beautiful best friend who happens to be madly in love with me.”
You scoff, shooting him a pointed look, but he just smiles at you, that cute smile he always does when he’s being the picture perfect image of innocence.
He shifts in his seat, lets his hand fall casually onto your thigh. The reaction is instant—your muscles tense, just for a second, but he notices. He always does.
You don’t shove him off. You don’t even flinch. He lets his thumb move, tracing small, slow circles against the fabric of your jeans. Not enough to be obvious, but enough to be felt. Enough to make you react.
“Jeonghan,” you warn.
He hums, fingers pressing just a little firmer. “What?”
“You’re distracting me.”
He exhales a quiet laugh. “Wonder what that must be like.” He muses.
The car slows to a stop at a red light, and for the first time, you turn to face him fully. Your eyes meet his, and god, it’s enough to make his stomach twist. There’s a challenge there, a silent push and pull that makes Jeonghan wonder who’s going to break first.
Just as he’s about to push further, you grab his wrist.For a brief moment he worries that he’s gone too far, made you uncomfortable enough to shove him off, but you don’t. Instead you just turn his hand upwards to intertwine your fingers the way he did before.
“Behave,” you say simply.
And then you’re driving again, like nothing happened.
Jeonghan blinks. His mouth parts slightly, caught somewhere between shock and amusement, and he lets out a quiet chuckle, leaning back into his seat. His knee bounces slightly—he hates how much you affect him. (No, he doesn’t.)"
As soon as his apartment door closes, your mouth is on Jeonghan’s. Your lips move urgently against his as he smiles into the kiss. When you tilt his chin to deepen it, pushing your tongue into his mouth, he makes a sound he didn’t know he was capable of– something between a whimper and a groan that screamed neediness.
“Angel,” He whines against your lips, hands running up and down your body as he pushes you harder against the door, slotting a leg between your thighs. Your fingers tug at his hair deliciously, soft lips contrasting the way they devour him. You grind against his thigh, sighing at the friction,your hands trailing down his body to tug at his shirt. You break apart so he can tug his shirt off, your hands leaving goosebumps as they trail across the newly exposed skin.
You break the kiss, trailing kisses across his jaw and down his neck, sucking marks onto his collarbone that have his mind reeling, “Please,” His hands squeeze your waist tighter, he doesn’t even know what he’s asking for anymore, all he knows is that he needs more; more of your touch, your lips, your smell, you, you, you.
You smile against his skin, your breath making him shiver as it fans across the wet patch of skin you had been ravishing, “Aww, Hannie,” you coo, “are you getting impatient baby?” Your hips grind into his thigh again and he lets out a shaky breath.
Witchcraft, he decides, is the only explanation to whatever spell you have him under. He nods frantically, hips involuntarily thrusting forward when you chuckle, lifting your face back up to his. The look in your eyes is a cross between adoring and down right evil as you kiss his lips languidly before moving towards his ear, “Think about how I’ve felt all this time.”
The whispered words get lost in his soft groans as you continue to kiss him, grinding harder on him and whimpering against his skin. Suddenly you’re pushing him, not separating your lips as you force him to walk backwards. You know his apartment like the back of your hand– even helped him unpack his moving boxes when he first bought it– so it’s no surprise that you lead him to the bedroom without a hitch, clothes falling off somewhere along the way until you’re standing in front of him, clad in a white set that-
Wow.
If Aphrodite exists, you must be blessed by her, he thinks (not wanting to eternally damn you by saying you rival her beauty—although he definitely wouldn’t say you don’t). The lace hugs your curves perfectly, small bows accentuating every beautiful—fuck, he doesn’t even know what he’s thinking anymore because you just look that good. Jeonghan doesn’t even realize he’s reaching for you, hands hovering in the air between you as if he's scared you’ll disappear if he touches you.
You reach out your hand to intertwine your fingers with his, pushing until he falls back onto the bed before climbing on top of him. You thread your fingers through his hair as you straddle him, kissing him slowly, grinding against his hardness through his boxers. The feeling has his eyes closing, needy groans escaping his lips before he can stop them.
“My pretty baby,” you whisper against his lips, hands tugging in his hair to give you access to his throat again, licking and sucking marks in ways that have his back arching off the bed. Your hands run up and down his torso, hips grinding harder against his prompting a string of curses to escape him as he grabs your hips—to stop you or push you against him more, he doesn’t know. “So needy for me, huh? Who knew that behind your teasing facade you were really just a brat?”
Does Jeonghan have a degradation kink? He didn’t think so until this moment, when his hips buck into yours involuntarily with a whine. “Angel, please, I—I need you.” He practically sobs when you start to climb off him, settling yourself on the bed and spreading your legs open. Jeonghan rushes towards you, breath catching in his throat at the sight of a damp spot in the center of your panties.
He settles himself between your legs, leaving marks on your inner thigh before nuzzling himself against your covered core. The sound of your breath hitching makes him chuckle as he presses a wet kiss directly over the damp fabric, “And you said I was needy.” He mutters, bringing a hand up to slide your panties to the side of your corce, practically drooling at the clear string of liquid that connects them. Unable to help himself, he licks at your entrance lightly, humming at the taste and the way your legs quiver next to him.
“You’re lucky I love you because if there’s one thing you were right about, it's that I am a tease. But tonight?” Jeonghan starts rubbing slow circles over your clit, “Tonight, I’m going to have you shaking under me.” With that, he rids you of your underwear completely before diving into your heat. Your hands once again shoot to his hair, pushing his face further against you as he eats your pussy like it’s his last meal on death row.
“Shit, Hannie,” You whine above him, moans getting higher in pitch as he takes your clit into his mouth, sucking harshly, “Fingers, please– fuck, please.” He isn’t one to deny you when you beg so cutely for him, reveling in the way your pussy practically sucks his finger in. He can feel how tight your walls are, slipping another finger in with ease because of how wet you’ve gotten. All for him. He curves his fingers into a spongy spot that has your back arching off the bed, proceeding to target the spot while attacking your clit with his tongue. The sounds coming from above him is music to his ears, all of his senses taken over by you as he feels you break around him. He doesn’t stop, drinking your juices and bringing you to another high just as quickly, until you’re quivering around him.
He slows down, not stopping but giving you time to catch your breath when you pull him away, bringing his lips back up to yours, not caring that you can taste yourself on his lips. You make quick work of your bra, throwing it to the side somewhere and Jeonghan can’t help but ogle. He sits up, dragging his hands up your bare body and resting them just below the swell of your chest. Slowly, he connects his lips to the skin, closing his eyes as one hand goes to fondle the other. Your hips start moving against his again, sweet moans coming from both of you. Eventually you push him back to the bed so you can appreciate the sight of Jeonghan, face flushed, hair splayed across the pillow behind him, lips parted.
With each rock of your hips, Jeonghan moans louder. Your movements get faster and faster, and so do Jeonghan's moans, the whimpers only making you need him more.
He can hardly stand it, gripping your hips as tight as he can, trying to hold himself back, but the pressure feels so good, and you look so angelic as you rub your bare pussy against him.
You grab his hair and pull his head back. "Fuck," he chokes, looking down at where you're grinding against him. You feel his cock twitch inside his pants, and switch your pace to a quicker rhythm, grinding harder as Jeonghan's eyes darken under you.
He grabs your hips tightly, goes still, and lets out a low whine. You feel his hips jolt beneath you, and you pause. His face is flushed a deep pink all the way to his neck.
You stare in disbelief. Jeonghan hides his face in your neck, holding your body close. You look beneath you, a dark spot forming in Jeonghan's boxers.
"Aw, Hannie," you pull his face from your neck, looking him in the eyes. "My sweet, sweet Hannie." You smile and kiss him slowly, full of adoration and love. You kiss down his neck, making way towards his dick before finally sliding onto your knees on the floor between Jeonghan's legs. You press a kiss to the wet spot in his boxers, looking him directly in the eyes as you do, and feeling him twitch against your lips.
You gently pull his cock out of his underwear, shocked to see him covered in his own cum. He twitches at the contact, sensitive.
"Fuck, you’re perfect."
You teasingly stroke his length and watch him twitch when your thumb runs over the tip. “Please,” he looks up at you through his lashes, pleading, "I need you."
Those words are all you need to hear before planting your legs on either side of him, reaching between your bodies and wrapping your hand around Jeonghan's length. You glide the tip along your entrance, soaking him in your arousal before lowering your hips to slide him inside you. Loud moans escape both of you at the sensation of him filling you. He says your name like a prayer, hands rubbing circles on your hips, not knowing if it’s to ground you or himself. You slowly lift yourself up before sitting back down quickly, loving the way Jeonghan’s head falls to the side. "Shit, pretty. So perfect for me, god."
His grip on your hips gets tighter as you pick up speed, your pussy squeezing around him as if it never wants to let him go. All thoughts are wiped from his brain when you start kissing him through moans, whispering in his ear about how good it feels, how much you love him. He can feel you getting closer, your cunt pulsating with every roll of your hips. He brings a hand to your clit, starting to rub circles when you break, bringing him over the edge with you.
Your body collapses over Jeonghan's, shaking slightly as you come down from your high. Although he’s not in a much better state, he flips you onto your back, slipping out of you despite your protests and appreciating the way his cum drips out of your hole. He makes his way to the bathroom, grabbing a washcloth to clean you up a little until he notices you awkwardly waddling in after him. He’s unable to stop the laugh that bubbles in his chest, making you pout as you sit on the toilet to let the cum drain out of you.
Jeonghan leans over, pressing a sweet kiss to your lips, and he can’t help but notice how beautiful your smile is—how it lights up your face and his days.
Epilogue:
Jeonghan doesn’t change. He still steals your food, still drapes himself over you like a cat when he’s tired, nuzzles into your shoulder and complains that you’re too warm when it’s his fault for climbing all over you in the first place. He still teases you mercilessly, grinning that lazy, adorable infuriating smile whenever you roll your eyes at him.
What’s changed is that now, you kiss him to shut him up. And Jeonghan—who spent so long hiding behind his charm, his easy confidence—doesn’t even try to stop you. If anything, he leans into it. Leans into you.
Now, on mornings before class, he walks in with you through the doors of the coffee shop, one arm wrapped around your shoulder as he complains about how early it is, burying his face in the side of your neck. He picks you up in the rain, stays late at the library with you, and drives you home—like it's second nature.
Pairing: Yoon Jeonghan x reader
Word Count: 17.3k
Genre: smut, fluff, coworkers(kinda?)/strangers to lovers
Warnings: Smut (MDNI), fluff, smut, inaccurate depiction of christianity, wing play(?), halo play(?), piv, switch energy!jeonghan, nipple play, lmk if theres anything else
Summary: Never in your life did you think you'd be back working customer service—and in your life you never did. In your death, however, you were sent to Hell, where soul admissions are efficient, demons are kind, and damnation includes mandatory therapy. Somehow, the strangest part is still the angel with Heaven’s paperwork who seems to be finding excuses to come see you.
Beta read by my favorite person ever @mylovesstuffs
Working the Front Gates of Hell was, decidedly, not how you’d expected to spend your afterlife. Sure, you never thought you’d get into heaven—you’d had a little too much trauma and too little self-preservation back when you were living—but you’d have never expected your eternal damnation to be customer service. And, okay, eternal damnation is a little harsh, considering it actually consisted of a lot of therapy about why you’d gone down the path you did (thanks a lot, Dad).
Honestly? Hell turned out to be less fire-and-brimstone and more corporate retreat with better snacks, at least for the people on the upper floors who weren’t murderers or politicians.
The demons assigned to you during onboarding were shockingly gentle, all soft encouragement and understanding. One even cried during your fourth session, which made you feel weirdly validated and also a little guilty. You were given a handbook, a support demon, and a week-long crash course on compassion fatigue. Turns out, there’s nothing wrong with sin, per se, it just depends on how you lead your life with it, whether you let it control you or you control it.
And then you were placed at the Gates.
You were given a desk, a chair that magically adjusts itself so your spine doesn’t collapse, a jar of complimentary mints that never runs out, and a line of freshly deceased souls who always looked at you like you were the one personally responsible for their eternal destination.
You learned quickly that people arrive in Hell the same way they lived: Most people are quiet, manageable, just wanting to get where they need to be. Then there’s the others, the ones who lived loudly, defensively, and convinced someone else is to blame. That someone usually ends up being you.
The first few days you tried explaining that you were just the admissions clerk, not the cosmic judge. Now you just smile sympathetically and hand them a clipboard.
It’s not a bad gig, all things considered. The heat is steady. The background screaming fades into something almost meditative. Your coworkers are supportive—Mingyu brings you little hand-drawn comics on your lunch break, and Seungkwan keeps knitting you sweaters you absolutely cannot wear outside because they’re technically made of mortal sins.
But by far, your favorite part of Hell is the little glimpse of heaven you get to see, ironically enough. Because whenever the big boss upstairs has a wandering soul looking for a job, is throwing a party, or sends something for Lucifer to check out, he sends it in the form of an errand boy.
Some days the Veil parts, the light pours in like someone cranked the brightness up too high, and there he is: Yoon Jeonghan.
He’s not a boy, really–he’s older than the first sun, technically—but up close, he’s truly sculpted by heaven itself. Tall, glowing, wings tucked neatly behind him with eyes soft enough to make even hardened demons stop mid-torment and stare.
He always smiles at you first.
Not at the gate wardens, not at the other people manning similar desks, at you.
When you’re busy, he stands in your line no matter the length, waiting to get to the front. He rests his elbows on your desk like you’re old friends, even though the longest conversation you’ve had with him was three minutes and seventeen seconds—yes, you counted—and the way he talks makes your brain feel like it’s melting pleasantly out of your ears.
“Special package,” he always says, voice warm honey and sunlight. “Special paperwork for the man downstairs.”
You always take his paperwork, pretending your hands aren’t shaking as you hand it off to one of the demons for delivery. Heaven’s errand boy always lingers, too—asking if work’s been busy, if you’re drinking enough water in all the heat, if your chair is still adjusting properly (which confuses you some, considering he knows exactly who enchanted it).
You’ve convinced yourself he’s just being polite—friendly, even. Heaven has customer service training too, probably. Angels, you’ve heard, are big on hospitality. That doesn’t stop your treacherous heart from beating quicker whenever you see him.
“Are you even listening to me?! I’m in hell and you aren’t even bothering to hear how distraught—”
You look at the woman before you, deadpan stare unsettling when paired with your polite smile. “Ma’am, just take the stairs on your right to the third floor, please. There’s nothing I can do.”
She huffs, clutching her smoking clipboard. “This is unbelievable,” she mutters, stomping off toward the staircase that leads to Processing. Once she’s finally out of earshot, you exhale, slumping back into your chair and rubbing your temples. It feels like your headache has a headache.
Mingyu pokes his head around the doorway, holding a doodle of a demon (that looks suspiciously like Dino from the Archives division) slipping on a banana peel.
“Rough one?” he asks.
You wave him off. “She’ll be fine. Third floor should fix her.”
“Break room is open, someone brought pie,” he suggests.
“Cherry?” He nods and you brighten, “Save me a slice, my break is in ten.”
“I got you.” He disappears with a slightly menacing grin.
You straighten your paperwork, nudge the endless mint jar back into place, and take a sip of your coffee—today’s brew tastes like hazelnut. Not bad.
Suddenly there’s a flash of light. Not a violent divine explosion, just a warm wash of gold that spills across the gates. A couple of nearby demons pause mid-task, squinting like someone opened the blinds too fast as he steps through.
Yoon Jeonghan, Heaven’s favorite courier, appearing like the world’s most ethereal UPS driver with wings. His arrival always feels like someone opened a window in this place: warm, bright, gentle.
His eyes find yours immediately and a smile blooms across his face, soft and bright and unfairly pretty.
Your heart does a somersault like it’d been waiting (maybe you had been, not that you’d ever admit it out loud).
He passes everyone else, waving at the gate wardens, the demons waiting to receive whatever heavenly message he’s carrying, even Lucifer’s personal attendants who perk up in case he’s here for them.
He walks straight to your desk.
Souls in line turn to stare. One reaches out to touch his wing but he sidesteps them smoothly. When he reaches the counter, rests his elbows on it like always, and dips his head slightly—just enough to make your stomach flip.
“Hi,” he says, voice syrup-smooth and warm. “How are you doing today? That line looked pretty bad.”
You blink at him.
“Uh,” you manage, articulating at the highest level of professionalism, “Fine. Yeah, long line, but I can handle it.”
His smile shifts—amused but gentle, like he’s trying not to laugh in a way that would devastate you.
“Special message for all the demons,” he says, sliding a sealed scroll across your desk. “Jesus is throwing a party for Heaven’s Gate’s manager, he’s turning 229.”
You take it, trying not to touch his fingers, failing when they brush yours anyway. It’s barely contact, but your pulse jumps like it’s an electrical shock.
He lingers, leaning in just enough that you catch a faint scent of rain, clouds, and something warm you can’t put your finger on.
“And I hope,” he adds quietly, “I’ll see you there.”
Your chest tightens.
Your brain melts.
Your mouth betrays you entirely.
“Next!” you call, voice cracking like a first-year choir student.
The first floor of Hell is built like a cozy therapist’s office—warm, inviting, and slightly off-putting if you think too hard about it. The walls glow a soft, ambient orange like a permanent sunset, and black succulents line the obsidian shelves. Their vines stretch lazily over their pots, crawling down the wall like they’re reaching for a hug you’re not emotionally prepared to give.
There’s even a lava lamp filled with real lava, bubbling peacefully beside the plush armchair your assigned demon sits in. The chair is huge, cushy, and looks like the kind of furniture you’d sink into and confess crimes you didn’t even commit. Your demon, Jun, likes to perch on the edge of it, legs crossed, notebook ready, eyes too gentle for someone technically made of fire and ancient sin.
“This week,” he asks, tapping his pen against the page, “how have you been managing your self-worth?”
It’s kind of wild how, back when you were alive, that question would’ve sent you into a full-blown spiral. Now it’s just a normal Tuesday.
You shrug. “Well, I’ve been doing that thing where I tell myself good job after small successes. I think it’s been helping? And my chair adjusted to be looser instead of feeling like it's holding me in place.”
Jun beams like a proud parent. “The enchantment recognizes emotions. That means you’re letting yourself feel things, and you’re no longer a flight risk. Huge progress.”
You tell him about the screaming lady from earlier, the pie in the break room, and how the souls today have been three complaints short of forming a riot.
He nods thoughtfully, making notes. “And when Heaven’s courier arrived—did you feel grounded? Did you breathe through the physiological reaction this time?”
Your face heats as you narrow your eyes. “Who told you?”
Jun quirks a brow. “Please. I got the invite to the party, and everyone knows who delivers G’s messages. So, like I asked, how’d it go?” He leans forward with a smirk, and suddenly this feels less like therapy and more like gossip.
You groan, dragging a hand down your face. “I’m going to actually die. Again.”
He smiles, leaning forward. “You’re doing wonderfully. You’re making connections. You’re letting yourself feel—”
“Jun,” you warn, “please do not make my crush on Heaven’s postal service into a therapeutic milestone.”
“Oh,” he says lightly, flipping to a fresh page, “so you’re calling it a crush now?”
You stare at the ceiling, seriously considering whether you can fling yourself into the lava lamp.
“You should go.” Jun says after a moment of letting you suffer in silence, his voice softer now, less teasing and more… earnest. “To the party, I mean.”
You drop your hand from your face just enough to glare at him through your fingers. “Why? So I can embarrass myself in front of half of Heaven?”
Jun doesn’t even blink. “Yep. Exactly that. Exposure therapy.”
You lower your hand fully. “That’s not a real thing.”
“Oh, it absolutely is,” he says, scribbling something onto your file with suspicious enthusiasm. “And in your case? Necessary. You freeze every time Jeonghan walks up to your desk like you’re a computer from the early 2000s trying to load a webpage.”
You gasp, deeply betrayed. “I do not freeze.”
Jun looks up at you with slow, deliberate disbelief. “You don’t think you’re good enough for anyone so you push them away so they don’t get closer. When he tries to reach out, you freeze and hope he goes away.”
You open your mouth to argue. Close it. Open it again.
Jun nods, satisfied. “Exactly.”
You squeeze a black succulent until it hisses at you for emotional support. “Jun, I can’t go to Heaven. I work at the Gates of Hell. I’m a soul bound to hell because of how I lived!”
He snorts. “Please. You already know that's not true. Once you get better, you move up or reincarnate. Heaven and Hell are on better terms than you humans think. Besides…” His smirk softens into something annoyingly perceptive. “…you want to go.”
You shift in your seat, and the plush armchair shifts with you, adjusting so perfectly it feels like it’s hugging your ribs.
Jun taps his pen. “You get one free pass to visit Heaven each decade. You’ve never used any of yours. This is the universe nudging you.”
You’re quiet for a moment before you sigh. “I don’t have anything to wear.”
Jun’s eyes light with evil purpose. “We have an entire department for that.”
“Oh no.”
“Oh yes.” He snaps his notebook closed triumphantly. “Wardrobe and Presentation owes me a favor. And they love dressing mortals. You’ll be glittering by sundown.”
“Jun, I don’t want to glitter.”
“You say that,” he says, standing and ushering you toward the door with frightening efficiency, “but just wait until you see the robes they have that shift color based on the light. Very popular with angels.”
You drag your heels. “I don’t need to be popular with angels.”
“True,” Jun says, pushing the therapy office door open, “just one.”
Your heart does something humiliating as you step into the hallway.
Outside Jun’s office is lined with softly glowing runes meant to calm souls before they get shuffled to their next appointment. They pulse gently under your feet as you walk, steady as a heartbeat.
Jun falls into stride beside you, hands tucked casually behind his back. “So,” he says, far too lightly, “how far do you wanna go tonight?”
“Jun,” you groan, “I’m not going. I haven’t even decided. I don’t even—he’s an angel!”
He hums. “Angels sin just like the rest of us.”
You choke on a laugh. “That can’t be true.”
Jun gives you a sideways look like he’s deciding whether to ruin your entire worldview in one sentence or savor it slowly.
“Oh, sweetheart,” he says, voice dripping with amused pity, “you really think Heaven is full of perfectly well-behaved little saints?”
You blink. “Isn’t it?”
He stops walking—actually stops—planting his feet in the middle of the hallway like he needs full body stability for this conversation. Then he puts his hands on your shoulders and leans in.
“Half the angels up there have meltdowns twice a week, the other half are having existential crises about free will.”
Your mouth falls open. “You’re lying.”
“I wish,” Jun mutters, shoving his hands back in his pockets and resuming his stroll like he didn’t just shatter centuries of theological assumptions. “Heaven is a lot.”
You’re still processing that when he adds, casually, “And Jeonghan? He’s the king of sinning politely.”
Your soul nearly exits your body a second time. “WHAT?”
Jun waves a dismissive hand. “Nothing catastrophic. Just… bending a rule here, flirting with an underworld receptionist there—”
Your ears heat so fast you’re surprised the runes don’t start flickering. “He is not flirting.”
Jun’s grin could power entire continents. “He waits for you. He brings you things. He talks to you like he’s got all the eternity in the world—which he does—and it’s not enough for him. That’s flirting.”
“That’s angelic professionalism!”
“That’s angelic pining!”
You whirl around, ready to stomp off and perhaps throw yourself into the Lake of Mildly Inconvenient Regret, but Jun hooks a casual finger into the collar of your shirt and redirects you back toward the elevators.
“Look,” he says, gentler now, “you freeze up because you think he’s out of your league. Because you died feeling small and never stopped.”
That hits so squarely in the chest that your breath stutters.
Jun bumps his shoulder against yours, lighter this time. “But he looks at you like Heaven’s the one missing out. And maybe Jeonghan’s known for being a flirty angel—I've seen it more times than I can count throughout the millennia—but this? I’ve never seen him be this dedicated to someone. I wouldn’t be encouraging you if I didn’t trust him, you know that.”
You stare at the pulsing runes on the floor.
Jun keeps going, merciless. “And yes, angels sin. Pride, longing, greed, all of it.” A pause. “The difference is they don’t hold on to those sins. Heaven is about forgiveness. Forgiving yourself for your sins.”
You drag a hand over your face. “Jun… I can’t. He’s—”
“Into you,” Jun interrupts.
You kick at a glowing rune that flickers in mild irritation. “He’s just being kind.”
“No,” Jun says, stepping into the elevator and pulling you in beside him. “If he wanted to be kind, he’d talk to your supervisor. If he wanted to be polite, he’d leave the package and go. But he wants you, so he waits.”
Your chest tightens, traitorously warm.
The elevator hums, descending toward Wardrobe and Presentation, and Jun gives you one last victorious little smile.
“Now,” he says, “how against glitter are we feeling, on a scale of one to ten?”
You groan. “Jun—”
“Because if you think angels sin?” he says, eyes bright. “You’re in for a long night. Jesus throws the wildest parties.”
The Wardrobe and Presentation division is located between Heaven and Hell, used by pretty much everyone who needs to choose what to wear. The second you step fully inside, the air changes.
It’s lighter here—not bright in the blinding, divine way the glimpses of Heaven are, not heavy like Hell’s steady warmth. It’s neutral. Balanced. Almost the way Earth would feel if it wasn’t overrun by the weight of corruption.
The floors gleam like polished pearl, reflecting soft light from nowhere and everywhere. Racks stretch on endlessly, garments hovering instead of hanging, fabrics shifting colors as souls pass by. Silk that looks like smoke. Linen stitched with constellations. Sweaters woven with dreams.
A group of angels argue loudly over sleeve length; a demon is holding up a dress made of living shadow, chuckling at a mortal who keeps asking if it comes in green. Jun, unfortunately, looks thrilled.
“Oh, they redecorated,” he says, pleased.
You just look around, shifting closer to him on instinct. “Jun, seriously, this is… too much. I don’t even know where I’d start to look.”
He gives you a reassuring smile as he keeps guiding you forward. “Don’t worry, I already thought of that. Like I said, I have a few favors to call in.” He walks onward and heads straight to the back, a marked-off area saved specifically for deities to be styled.
The velvet rope slips aside as Jun approaches, the fabric recoiling like it knows him as the noise of the main floor dulls—voices dropping, fabric whispers fading. This section is larger, as if everything has been scaled up a hundred times. Mirrors line the walls, tall and arched, their surfaces smoky and dim until they flicker awake. It feels like you’ve stepped into a pocket of calm carved out for special people. People much more important than you.
“Jun, are you sure I’m allowed back here?” You mutter, hands wringing.
“Of course,” he says easily. “You’re with me.”
Someone hums.
It’s soft, melodic, distracted.
“Jun,” a voice says from somewhere behind a mirror, calm and dry, “if you’ve brought me another one of your god friends that’s failing to seduce a mortal, I’m billing you.”
A figure steps into view, scissors tucked behind one ear, sleeves rolled with deliberate neatness. Minghao looks up from a floating bolt of fabric and pauses, eyes flicking over you in one smooth, assessing glance.
“Oh,” he says, pleasantly surprised. “You’re not a god.”
You just look down, feeling even smaller at the way he pointed it out. “Uh… yeah.”
“Oh, you’re adorable.” He grabs your chin, tilting it up and moving your head from side to side, eyes scanning your face before moving down your body. “And not totally hopeless. Stand still.”
You do, automatically, as he circles you slowly, not touching, just observing—posture, the way your shoulders curl inward, the faint tension in your hands. It’d feel judgmental if his eyes didn’t hold anything but thoughtfulness.
“Who’s this for?” he asks, already snapping his fingers. The mirrors brighten, attention sharpening.
Jun answers for you. “Jeonghan.”
Minghao freezes.
Slowly, he looks up at you again. Then at Jun. Then back at you.
“Oh,” he says. “…Oh.”
If your soul was in a body, it’d be leaving it.
“So that’s why he’s been insufferable,” Minghao continues, already nodding to himself. “Asking me for the newest designs, making me check his outfit before he leaves every morning. So you’re the one he’s been pursuing.”
“I knew it,” Jun says triumphantly.
“He’s just nice! It’s not—he’s not—” you protest weakly.
Minghao hums, skeptical. “Jeonghan is nice in the way a cat is nice. With intent.”
You bury your face in your hands.
“Don’t panic,” Minghao says, gently prying your wrists down. “We’re not dressing you to impress him.” He pauses, then smirks. “We’re dressing you so he panics instead. What’s the event?”
Jun’s grin turns feral. “First visit to Heaven, and it’s to attend one of Jesus’s parties.”
Minghao’s smile sharpens, delighted. “The one tonight for Soonyoung’s 229th?”
Jun snaps his fingers. “That’s the one.”
Minghao lets out a low whistle. “Your first time in Heaven is for a party Jesus is hosting. You’re gonna need all the help you can get, my dear. That man turns all the water into more than just wine.”
Jun groans. “Do not start. Last time I attended one he gave me a glass of some Asgardian shit. That’s all I can remember from that night.”
You swallow. “I don’t even drink.”
Minghao pauses mid-motion, scissors hovering. Slowly, he looks at you like you’ve just confessed a crime. “Oh, honey.”
Jun winces. “Yeah, that tracks.”
“It’s fine,” Minghao says briskly, already waving his hand. Several garments drift closer, curious, brushing against your sleeves like they’re testing you. “Soonyoung will give you something fruity and lie about the alcohol content. He does that for first-timers.”
“Why?” you ask weakly.
“Because he’s kind,” Minghao replies, then smirks. “And because he thinks it’s funny. And, if you don’t want to get drunk, it won’t affect your soul, so there’s no real harm in it.”
Fabric slides around you—nothing settles yet, just a quiet assessment. Minghao circles again, slower this time, eyes sharper.
“Okay,” he murmurs. “Stand up straight, you look like you’re trying to create a tear in the fabric of the universe to disappear into.”
Jun opens his mouth. Minghao shoots him a look.
“Don’t,” Minghao warns. “This is my part.”
Jun lifts his hands in surrender. “Hey, I wasn’t going to say anything.”
“You were absolutely going to say something,” Minghao replies flatly. Then he turns back to you, expression softening just a touch. “Theme?”
Jun clears his throat. “Celestial Evenings, whatever that means.”
Minghao snaps his fingers. Half the hovering garments vanish instantly. “No robes, too ceremonial. No white,” Minghao continues, a hopeful white dress slinking away. “You’ll look like a lost choir member and someone will ask you to sing. And no gold—angels get territorial about gold.”
“Noted,” you say faintly.
A shimmering fabric nudges his wrist but he flicks it away. “No starlight, everyone’s going to be wearing it.”
Minghao hums thoughtfully, fingers snapping again. The air ripples, and a different set of fabrics glides forward—softer, less blindingly divine.
“Better,” he says, pleased. “These, I can work with.”
The fabrics drift nearer, brushing against your arms, your shoulders, your waist. They don’t grab or cling—they test. Some cool and liquid, others warm and weightless. Minghao flicks two away without hesitation, grimacing.
“No,” he says. “Too desperate. And no,” to another, “that one wants to be admired. We want to compliment what you’ve already got.”
Jun leans against a pillar, arms crossed, watching like this is the best entertainment he’s had in centuries.
Another shimmering fabric lays against your skin, cool and soft, but deeper than the blinding starlight from earlier. It’s not midnight, not navy, but something in between that shimmers breathtakingly, silver thread running through it, subtle and restrained, catching the light only when you move.
“Yes,” Minghao mutters, shooing away the other fabrics and he starts working. “Moonlight. Much more subtle. Let’s see here…”
He steps closer, hands finally joining the fabric.
The moonlight cloth slides over you, slow and deliberate, settling instead of wrapping. It cools against your skin, then warms, adjusting until it simply feels part of you. Minghao tilts his head, eyes sharp as he shapes it. The neckline settles low enough to be elegant without feeling exposed, skimming your collarbones. The rest drapes cleanly, following your shape, moving when you breathe. It swirls down your body like water, naturally refining and settling in the right places.
Minghao snaps again and thousands of pieces surround you. Some silver, some seemingly made out of pure light, others barely visible from some angles. They spiral inward, slow and controlled, like a constellation collapsing into order. They don’t stab or snap into place; they agree with the fabric, threading themselves through it in careful arcs. Silver catches at the seams, soft light settles along the edges, down the curve of your spine, pooling faintly at your waist before dispersing.
Minghao watches closely, fingers twitching, adjusting the flow with small, precise motions.
“Not too much,” he murmurs. “This isn’t armor.”
A few of the brighter fragments dim obediently, turning from radiant to reflective. Others sink into the cloth entirely, vanishing unless the light hits you just right—then they flare, subtle and sudden, like stars peeking through clouds. One swirls up the leg exposed by a slit in the dress, winding around until it rests on your thigh in a soft spiral, another forming a cuff on your arm.
“Jun, grab Joshua for me and bring him back for makeup. My work here is done.”
Jun straightens instantly, eyes lighting up with malicious glee. “Oh, I love when you say that.”
You barely have time to process what that means before he snaps his fingers and disappears in a neat puff of smoke and smugness.
You remain very still.
Slowly, you lift your gaze to the mirror.
You look… unreal. Not angelic, not demonic, just there in a way that didn’t look small anymore. The moonlight fabric absorbs the ambient glow of the room and gives it back softened, edges blurred just enough to feel intimate. The silver threading doesn’t shout; it whispers. When you shift your weight, the constellation pieces respond, flaring briefly before dimming again.
“I look ridiculous,” you say, reflexively.
Minghao huffs. “You look stunning. Don’t insult my work like that.”
That makes you laugh despite yourself, the sound short and breathy. “Sorry, sorry. You’re right, you did an amazing job. Thank you.”
He studies you one last time, expression thoughtful, then he nods, satisfied. “He’s going to lose his mind.”
Your stomach flips violently. “Please don’t say that.”
Minghao’s lips curve. “Just stating facts. I’ve known Jeonghan a long time, I know how to push his buttons. And this?” He gestures to you. “This is payback for when he stole my favorite dream-woven shirt and returned it with a stain. Not even I can get out pomegranate stains.”
A ripple suddenly passes through the air behind you—warm, unmistakably heavenly. You don’t even have to turn to know someone else has arrived.
“Wow,” a voice says cheerfully. “You really are trying to kill my best friend.”
You spin around just in time to see a man, tall, pretty, angelic, stepping through the parted Veil, halo tilted just slightly off-center like it’s a fashion choice. His wings are tucked neatly behind him, pristine and bright, but his grin is pure trouble.
Jun appears beside him, arms crossed smugly. “Told you. Meet Joshua.” He says as he turns to you with a bright smile.
Joshua’s eyes flick to you—and then stop.
The grin fades, his brows lift, his mouth opens.
“…Oh,” he says, eloquent as ever.
Minghao preens. “I know.”
Joshua blinks once, twice, then lets out a low laugh. “Oh, yeah, Jeonghan is screwed.”
Your face burns. “Please stop saying that.”
Joshua recovers quickly, clapping his hands together. “Right! Well, I’m always down to see Jeonghan stutter like an idiot.” A chair appears out of nowhere and he pushes you onto it, a vanity of products at his disposal now. “Lucky for you, I’m an expert at that.”
Joshua moves fast—but not rushed. There’s a careful ease to him, like he’s done this a thousand times and still enjoys it.
“Okay,” he says, circling you once, head tilted, halo giving a faint approving hum. “Moonlight fabric, subtle constellation work, neckline doing that thing that makes people forget how to breathe.” He nods to himself. “Good base. Excellent base.”
Minghao’s eyes roll and he scoffs, “Of course it is, I made it.”
Joshua hums thoughtfully, already uncapping something that smells faintly like vanilla and clouds. “Relax, Hao. I’m not touching the dress. Just the face. And the hair. And the general aura.”
“I do not have an aura,” you mutter.
Joshua pauses, looks at you through the mirror with exaggerated seriousness. “All souls have an aura. Yours is subtle, I’m gonna make it sing.”
Jun snorts. “Baby steps, Shua. She’s still my soul, I can’t have you breaking her.”
You shoot him a look. He grins wider.
Joshua taps your chin gently, tilting your face. “Eyes up. There we go.” His fingers are warm, grounding, and whatever he puts on you feels less like makeup and more like relief, the tiredness fading.
“Okay,” Joshua murmurs, approval soft but real. He brushes something cool beneath your eyes, light as a blessing. “This isn’t about making you someone else,” he continues. “It’s about making Jeonghan trip more than he already does.”
Your heart trips over itself. “He does not.”
Joshua’s halo tilts further, amused. “He’s been distracted for months,” he says casually. “Missed three meetings. Put his halo on backwards once.”
“You have to put your halo on?” You ask, surprised and curious by the revelation.
Joshua pauses mid-swipe.
Slowly, he looks at you in the mirror.
Then he looks at Minghao.
Then Jun.
“…Oh,” he says again, softer this time. “You’re adorable.”
Jun snickers, entirely unhelpful. “She’s still learning how the universe works. Got here not even three Earth years ago.”
Joshua resumes working, expression fond now, like he’s indulging a very endearing misunderstanding. “Well, I’m glad to help you learn. Halos don’t just exist,” he explains. “They’re manifestations, alignment markers. You earn them, shape them, adjust them. Some angels don’t wear theirs at all.”
Minghao snorts. “Thank god, that’d be a fashion nightmare.”
Joshua ignores him. “Most of us tune them before formal events so they don’t glow insanely bright all the time. Think of it like a mood ring, almost. When they’re on, they become an extension of our soul.” He smiles at your reflection. “Jeonghan forgets when he’s flustered.”
“He gets flustered?”
Jun coughs into his fist. “Frequently.”
Joshua laughs softly. “He once showed up to a meeting glowing like a sunrise because he forgot to dial it back. Everyone thought he was making a statement. He panicked for six hours straight afterward.”
Your lips twitch despite yourself.
Joshua finishes with your eyes, fingers gentle as he smooths the last of it away. When you blink, the world looks a little clearer—brighter without being harsh, like someone cleaned a foggy window you didn’t realize you were looking through.
“Okay,” he says, stepping back. “You’re done.”
He snaps his fingers once more and the vanity dissolves, chair easing you back onto your feet.
Minghao flicks his wrist, and a mirror glides forward, tall and arched.
You hesitate for half a second—then look.
You don’t glitter. You don’t blaze.
But there’s a soft glow you hadn’t seen before. The moonlight fabric shifts with your breath, catching along the curve of your throat, your shoulders, the line of your waist. The constellation threading pulses faintly, like it’s listening. Your eyelids have matching shine on them, softly bringing out the color, dark liner making your eyes pop.
You swallow.
Joshua watches your reflection, smugness giving way to something quieter. “I know, I’m amazing.”
Jun clasps his hands together, delighted. “Oh, Jeonghan is going to absolutely lose—”
“—please don’t finish that sentence,” you beg.
He laughs. “Fine, fine. He’s going to be affected. Now Hao, get me ready too, I spent my planning time doing this.”
Minghao groans as Joshua pats you on the back. “See you at the party.” Before stepping back through the Veil.
The Veil snaps closed behind Joshua with a soft, satisfied hum, like it approved of his work.
The room settles.
The light dims back to its earlier glow, intimate again, as if it hadn’t just witnessed a cosmic conspiracy.
Jun rolls his shoulders, already shifting gears. “Okay,” he says briskly. “Final checks.”
“Final—Jun, I haven’t even panicked properly yet,” you protest.
He just laughs as Minghao fits him in a flowy shirt and slacks, the fabric dark as a night sky, “You panic all the time, you’ll be fine. Besides, remember, this is exposure therapy.”
“I hate you.”
A few minutes later, Jun rests his hand on your shoulder, squeezing reassuringly. “Ready? Just kidding, I don’t care.” He opens the veil. “Come on.”
You don’t know what you’d expected Heaven to be like, but you definitely didn’t think it’d be a giant rave. Thousands of souls, cups in hands, a DJ booth run by a man with long brown hair and a nose ring—oh my God, that's Jesus—the music swallowing you instantly. The bass hits you square in the chest, deep and steady, like a second heartbeat you didn’t consent to. Light fractures across the space in waves: golds, violets, soft blues drifting overhead like clouds that learned how to dance. The air smells like citrus and something sweeter, ozone-laced, crackling with energy.
Jun lets out a low whistle. “Every time I come to one, I forget just how good of a party Big J throws.”
You barely hear him.
Angels and demons are everywhere. Some are wearing halos like crowns and others with them tucked away entirely, some demon tails flick around as they dance. There’s laughter layered over the music, glasses clinking, someone shouting lyrics badly off-key near the edge of the floor. A pair of cherubs zoom past overhead trailing glitter that evaporates before it hits the ground.
You blink. “…That’s Jesus,” you say faintly.
Jun nods like it’s the most normal thing in the world. “Yeah. We all tried to get him to stop DJing since he sucks, but he refused. Guess he’s been practicing, last decade he was awful.”
“He’s—he’s remixing something.”
“Mm-hmm.”
“And people are moshing.”
“Correct.”
Your brain threatens to short-circuit.
Jesus—Jesus—throws his head back laughing as he transitions tracks, halo spinning lazily above him like it’s also having fun. The crowd roars approval. Someone near you lifts their drink and yells, “PLAY THE GOOD ONE,” and Jesus salutes them with two fingers.
Jun nudges you forward gently before you can fully disintegrate. “Come on. Don’t lock up now.”
“I—wuh—huh?” you say, but your feet move anyway.
The moment you step fully into the space, the constellation threading in your dress responds. A soft pulse of light rolls across the fabric, silver flaring once, like a greeting.
“Relax.” He leans closer, voice pitched just for you. “You’re doing great. You haven’t tripped, combusted, or thrown up. Strong start.”
You laugh despite yourself, shaky but real.
Someone brushes past you, wings flicking in apology. “Sorry!” they chirp before disappearing back into the crowd.
Another angel pauses outright when they see you, eyes widening just a fraction before they recover and smile warmly. “Oh. Hi.”
“Hi,” you echo, automatically.
They drift off, whispering something to a friend, who immediately looks over and nearly walks into a pillar.
Jun’s smile turns smug. “Told you. We made you prime angle bait. Now where’s our big fishie…”
You can’t help but roll your eyes as he passes you a glass, sipping from his own.
“Oh,” he says softly. “Speak of the angel.”
You turn.
Jeonghan stands near the edge of the dance floor, half-shadowed by the lights, dressed in something elegant and dangerous in its simplicity—shimmering fabric that clings just enough, collar open, sleeves rolled back like he forgot to finish getting ready. His wings are tucked tight, feathers pristine, halo glowing softly.
Bright. Warm. Unmistakable.
He’s mid-conversation with someone, smiling easily—until his eyes lift.
And land on you.
The smile freezes.
The glow spikes.
You watch the way his breath catches, the way his posture falters like he forgot how to hold himself upright. His hand lifts instinctively toward his halo, fingers brushing it like he doesn’t realize it’s blazing.
“Oh no,” Jun murmurs, delighted. “He didn’t tune it.”
Jeonghan swallows.
Then—very slowly—he smiles.
He starts walking toward you and you suddenly become very aware of your hands.
They’re holding a glass. Why are you holding a glass? When did Jun give you a glass? You look down—something pink and fizzy, garnished with a slice of something you don’t recognize and a tiny umbrella.
Your grip tightens.
Jun leans in, voice a whisper of pure evil. “Do not run.”
“I wasn’t going to,” you hiss back.
“You are actively vibrating.”
“I am standing.”
“Barely.”
Jeonghan’s eyes never leave you as he approaches. The closer he gets, the brighter his halo glows—not blinding, but noticeable enough that a couple of nearby angels glance over and subtly adjust their own.
He stops in front of you.
For half a second, neither of you speak.
Up close, he’s worse. Better. Everything you try not to think about compressed into one impossible being. The warmth rolls off him like sunlight through an open window, the faint shimmer of his wings when he shifts, everything about him makes your face burn hotter.
“Hi,” he breathes out.
Your brain empties like someone pulled a drain plug.
“Hi,” you echo, because apparently that’s the only word you know at the moment.
His eyes flick down—just briefly, polite but not blind—to the moonlight fabric, the way it catches along your collarbones, the constellation thread that pulses faintly in response to his attention.
Something in his expression changes into something you don’t recognize, because there’s no way what it looks like is on the face of an angel.
Angels sin just like the rest of us.
Jun’s voice rings in your head, but you shake it away quickly. There’s no way.
“Wow,” he breathes, reverent in a way that makes your chest ache. “You look—”
He stops himself, lips pressing together as his halo flares brighter in a clear betrayal of whatever restraint he’s trying to maintain.
Jun clears his throat loudly. “Jeonghan. Your head is glowing again. Pull yourself together.”
Jeonghan startles, blinking, then groans softly as he reaches up and twists his halo down a notch. It dims—barely. Still warm. Still bright.
“Sorry,” he mutters, embarrassed, then looks back at you. “I—hi. I’m really glad you came.”
Your pulse stutters. “Jun said it was exposure therapy, so…”
Jeonghan’s brows lift. Then he laughs—quiet, surprised, delighted. “That sounds like something Jun would say.”
Jun preens. “I’m a professional.”
Jeonghan hums, eyes still on you. “So then that’s the only reason?” he asks, eyes searching yours with a glint in them you refused to name. “I’m disappointed. I was looking forward to seeing you all evening.”
That lands harder than anything else tonight.
“Oh,” you say, because once again—no thoughts, just vibes. “I—uh—.”
His mouth tilts into a smile that’s gentle and teasing. “I’m glad you did anyway.”
There’s a pause.
Music thrums around you. Lights sweep overhead. Somewhere behind Jeonghan, Jesus yells something unintelligible and the crowd cheers like it made perfect sense.
Jeonghan shifts his weight, wings flexing subtly.
Jun immediately steps backward. “I’m gonna go haunt someone.” He points at your glass. “Sip slowly. That’s stronger than it looks.”
“Jun—”
He’s already gone, swallowed by the crowd with a smug little wave.
You look back at Jeonghan.
He’s once again scanning you, eyes pausing every once in a while, hitching in certain places. His gaze snaps back to your face when he realizes you’ve noticed.
“Sorry,” he says quickly, sheepish despite the glow. “I don’t mean to stare. You just—” He exhales, soft and honest. “You look amazing.”
You huff a quiet laugh, nerves buzzing. “So you’ve said.”
He gestures vaguely with his glass. “So, what do you think of Heaven so far? I promise it’s not always this loud.”
“It’s nice.” You respond, looking around if only to stop yourself from staring too long at him. The buildings are alive in a way you didn’t expect. Not marble and clouds like the paintings, but architecture that breathes. Towers of light and stone curve inward like they’re listening, balconies overflowing with ivy that glows faintly at the edges. Walkways spiral and reconnect, rearranging themselves subtly as people move through them, as if the city is making room on purpose. “Definitely different from Hell, that’s for sure.”
He laughs at that, smile making your heart trip over itself. “Mighty high praise,” he says easily. “It’s cooler down here, for sure. Every time I go down to deliver, my feathers get frizzy from the heat.”
You huff a laugh, shoulders loosening despite yourself. The music surges again behind him, lights sliding across his features, catching in his hair, the faint glow of his halo pulsing like it’s reacting to your proximity instead of the beat.
“Do you wanna dance?” He asks suddenly, nodding to the crowded floor and extending a hand. “Or not, I’m totally fine with staying here and talking with you.”
You look at him for a moment before you place your glass on the ledge beside you and slip your hand into his. “Sure.” Exposure therapy, you remind yourself.
He guides you a few steps closer to the edge of the dance floor, his wings shifting instinctively, angling just enough to give you space, to shield you without crowding.
The two of you sway to the rhythm, bodies pressing closer to each other.
Jeonghan watches you for a moment, expression unreadable. “I’m gonna say something so uncool right now.”
You raise a brow, amused despite the way your heart is already starting to sprint. “Alright?”
He lets out a breathy laugh, then leans in just enough that you can hear him without shouting, voice warm against your ear. “I was really nervous to see you.”
You blink. “Me? Why?”
“Because you make it really hard for me to think, and that’s… dangerous.”
Your pulse stumbles. “For an angel?”
“For me,” he corrects.
The music shifts—slower now, bass smoothing out into something steadier. Your bodies fall into it without thinking, the movement small and instinctive. His hand settles at your waist, tentative at first, like he’s waiting for permission.
When you don’t pull back, he exhales.
His halo flickers brighter again.
“Sorry,” he mutters immediately, glancing up like he can will it into behaving. “It’s got a mind of its own.”
You can’t help the small giggle that escapes your lips, relishing in the way his cheeks tinge pink at your reaction. “Joshua told me it was like a mood ring.”
He tenses, “Oh god, you met Shua?”
You nod, trying—and failing—not to smile wider. “Yeah. He did my makeup. Said he was an expert at making you stutter.”
Jeonghan groans softly, dropping his forehead to yours for half a second like he’s bracing himself. “That explains everything.”
“What, I couldn’t make you stutter without his help?” You tease, feeling much more at ease with him flushing before you.
“Wha—no! That’s not at all what I—you make me stutter all the time!”
You grin, leaning just a little closer. “All the time, huh?”
“Y-yeah!” He sputters, voice cracking on the last word like it’s physically painful to admit. “You’re amazing! And I— you’re teasing me, aren’t you?”
Your laugh escapes before you can stop it, “Guilty as charged.”
He groans again, head falling back. “So,” he says, quieter again. “What else did that traitor tell you about me?”
You consider it. “That you forget to tune your halo when you’re flustered and you once glowed like a sunrise for six hours.”
Jeonghan winces. “He promised he’d stop telling that story! I was only a hundred, I didn’t know how to properly tune it!”
“You don’t seem to now, either.” You respond with a smile.
He rolls his eyes, a fond grin forming on his face despite the pink of his cheeks. “You think this is bad? Be glad you didn’t know me back then. My halo is especially finicky, hard to tune right.”
You smile, warmth blooming in your chest. The music keeps its easy rhythm, slower now, pulling the two of you along with it. You sway together without really thinking about it, movements small and instinctive. His hand stays at your waist, warm and steady, like he’s still half-expecting you to change your mind.
“Honestly,” Jeonghan adds, glancing upward as his halo gives a faint, disobedient glow, “this thing never does what I want when I need it to.”
You smile. “Sounds like user error.”
He scoffs, offended on principle. “Wow. I open up about my struggles and this is what I get?”
“Hey,” you tease, leaning in a little, “I’m just saying—maybe you’re bad at tuning it.”
He groans, tipping his head back. “I am not bad at it.”
“Mhm.”
“You don’t know what it was like when I was younger,” he continues, gesturing vaguely. “I’d get flustered and suddenly everyone thought the sun was rising early. Once, I lit up an entire hallway by accident.”
You laugh. “That explains a lot.”
He looks back at you, smiling despite himself. “You’re enjoying this way too much.”
“Maybe,” you admit. “It’s kind of nice seeing you all flustered.”
He huffs a quiet laugh, eyes flicking to yours. “That’s your fault, by the way.”
“Oh? I didn’t realize I had that kind of power.”
“You do,” he says easily, then freezes. “—I mean. Not power. Just. Influence.”
You raise a brow. “Smooth.”
“I’m having a rough night,” he says defensively. “You showed up and my brain shut off.”
You grin. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”
“Good,” he replies, a little softer. “Because that’s how I meant it.”
The beat shifts again, something steadier, and he adjusts just enough to keep you comfortably in sync. His halo finally settles, glowing calm and even.
“…Okay,” he mutters, relieved. “There. See? Perfect control.”
You hum. “For now.”
Your hand reaches up before you can stop it, curiously brushing the ring of light. Your fingers barely graze it, but that’s all it takes.
Jeonghan makes a sound somewhere between a startled laugh and a choked gasp, his entire body going rigid for half a second. The halo flickers violently—bright, dim, bright again—before flaring a little too warmly.
“Oh—okay—nope—” he blurts, hand flying up on instinct, though he stops himself just short of pulling away from you. “You can’t just— you can’t do that.”
You freeze, eyes widening. “I’m sorry! I just—”
“No, no,” he says quickly, laughing now, flustered but not upset. “It’s not bad. It’s just— very sensitive.”
“Your halo?” you ask, trying very hard not to smile.
“Unfortunately,” he mutters. “Yes.”
The glow settles a little, but not fully, like it’s stubbornly holding onto the moment. Jeonghan exhales, then peeks at you from beneath his lashes, ears pink.
“…You’re curious,” he says, accusing but fond.
“You made it sound like a malfunctioning appliance,” you defend. “I wanted to see.”
He huffs. “It’s not an appliance.”
“Could’ve fooled me.”
That earns a laugh out of him—real, unguarded—and the tension melts away again as he relaxes back into the rhythm, his hand returning to your waist like it belongs there.
“Did Hell not teach about angels?” He asks, head tilting.
You shrug in response, “I mean, the devils that greet you explain briefly? It’s more of an introduction to Hell, why you’re there, what you’re going to be doing and can expect for your eternity. That sort of thing. Joshua did say that when the halo is on it’s like an extension of the soul, but that’s as much as I know.”
He hums, swaying with you, “Guess you’re pretty clueless then.”
You scoff softly. “I know the important stuff.”
“Well, for the record,” he adds, casual but not quite, “most angels would’ve freaked out way more than I did if you touched their halo without asking.”
“Noted. Won’t do it again.” You say, looking up at him. “What other advice do you have that they didn’t cover in the ‘Welcome to Hell’ presentation?”
He snorts quietly. “Wow. You guys get a presentation?”
“PowerPoint,” you deadpan. “Very informative. What, people that get into heaven don’t?”
“Nope, we give interactive tours. Guess those wouldn’t be as fun in Hell…” he says, head tilting to think about it before he looks back at you. “Okay—uh. Angel basics, then.” He thinks for a second, eyes flicking up like he’s mentally scrolling through a list. “Well, starting with halos,” he starts, glancing meaningfully at his own, “are very much a look-don’t-touch situation. Don’t grab wings. Ever. That will get you smote.”
“Comforting. Can I ask why?”
He makes a face, like he’s weighing how honest to be. “Because wings are… a lot.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“It is if you’re an angel,” he says, then sighs. “They’re sensitive. Even more than halos, that's why we can’t even wear them under clothes or anything. It’s like… touching an exposed nerve.”
You frown, looking at him, “So it hurts? Seems like a pretty big design flaw.”
He shakes his head, chuckling slightly. “That would be, yeah, but luckily it isn’t pain. It’s… intimacy.”
You can’t help the raised eyebrow you give him.
Jeonghan notices immediately, his smile faltering just a fraction as he backtracks, waving a hand. “Not— not in a sexual way. I mean, it can be, but—” He stops, exhales, then tries again, slower. “Wings carry memory. Instinct. Everything an angel is meant to protect, and everything they’re afraid of failing at.”
You go quiet.
“When someone touches them,” he continues, voice low enough that it almost gets swallowed by the music, “it bypasses all the barriers we usually keep up. You feel seen in a way that’s… overwhelming. Good or bad depends on intent.”
“So,” you say carefully, “Like a demon's tail and horns.”
He nods, “Yeah—wait how do you know about that but not about angel stuff?!”
You giggle at his guffawed reaction, music still pulsing around the two of you as you move. “Well, I asked Jun if I could touch his during one of our sessions and he explained it to me.”
Jeonghan stares at you.
Full stop. Dancing forgotten. Halo forgotten. Wings twitching like they just got personally offended.
“You— asked Jun?” he repeats, voice cracking just a little.
You nod. “Yeah. He said no, obviously, but he explained why first. I guess I probably should have assumed that angels’ were the same, but I wasn’t thinking, sorry.”
“It’s okay,” he says, amused. “What else… Oh. Angels are terrible liars.”
You blink. “Really?”
“Truly awful,” he confirms. “We glow, our wings twitch, our halos react—there’s no poker face. If an angel says they’re ‘fine,’ they are absolutely not.”
“That explains a lot,” you chuckle.
He makes a small, wounded noise. “Wow. I feel seen and I don’t like it.”
You laugh, bumping your shoulder lightly against his. “So all that glowing earlier…”
“Was absolutely not subtle,” he finishes, resigned. “I know.”
The music shifts again, something smoother, and he eases you back into the rhythm without really thinking about it, hand warm and steady at your waist. His halo dims just a touch—then flares again when he notices you watching it.
“See?” he says, gesturing up with a helpless little flick of his fingers. “Hopeless.”
“It’s kind of endearing,” you say before you can stop yourself.
His ears pink immediately. “That was not the review I was expecting.”
You grin, “I like it. Let’s me know when what I’m doing is working.”
He nearly trips on nothing. Not even subtly—his step stutters, wings flaring just enough to catch himself before he actually loses balance. His halo flashes so bright it’s practically tattling on him.
“Working?” he repeats, voice cracking in a way that is absolutely not befitting a celestial being.
You laugh, completely unrepentant. “Relax. I’m kidding. Mostly.”
“Mostly is worse,” he says weakly, pressing his lips together like he’s trying to manually will his glow back under control. It does not cooperate.
He exhales, then gives up, shoulders slumping a little. “You’re evil. For your information, I’m usually the smooth one.”
You lift a brow, amused. “Sure you are.”
He lets out an indignant little huff. “I am! I’ve been described as charming. Effortlessly so.”
“Mhm,” you hum, unconvinced. “By who?”
Jeonghan opens his mouth, then closes it. His halo flickers like it’s buffering.
“…That’s not relevant.”
You laugh, the sound bright, and it seems to seal his fate. His wings relax instead of bristling, feathers settling as if they’ve accepted defeat.
“See?” you say lightly. “Not very smooth.”
He groans, dropping his forehead briefly to your shoulder. “This is what I get for trying to be educational.”
“You did great,” you tease. “Very informative. Five stars. Would attend the Angel Basics seminar again.”
He peeks up at you, eyes warm despite himself. “You’re enjoying this way too much.”
“Maybe,” you admit. “But only because you’re cute when you’re flustered.”
That does it.
His halo glows so bright it casts a faint ring of light over both of you. He freezes, mortified, then lets out a horrified sound before snatching it off his head, the glow immediately fading. “Nope. That’s it, you’re done.” He says to the little ring, shoving it into his pocket.
You blink. Once. Then burst out laughing.
“Oh my god,” you manage between giggles. “I mean, Joshua told me you can take them off but I didn’t think you’d actually—”
Jeonghan keeps a very deliberate hand over his pocket, cheeks still pink, eyes narrowed at the fabric like it personally betrayed him. “Don’t,” he says immediately, half-laughing and half-horrified. “Don’t acknowledge it. If we all pretend that didn’t happen, maybe the universe will be kind.”
You wipe at your eyes, still laughing. “You yanked it off like it was a fire alarm.”
“It was tattling,” he insists, actively avoiding looking around at the other people on the dance floor because he knows there are at least a few staring. “Very loudly.”
He finally looks back at you, expression caught somewhere between mortified and fond. Without the halo, he looks softer. Less otherworldly. Just Jeonghan, warm and flustered and standing far too close.
“Wanna go somewhere quieter then?”
It’s a bold offer. One you’d never have been able to make an hour ago.
He blinks at you, surprise flickering across his face—then something warmer settles in.
Somewhere behind him, the music keeps pounding, Jesus keeps DJing, lights sweeping over the crowd, but his focus narrows to just you.
“…Yeah,” he says, a little breathy. “Yeah, I do. I could, uh, give you a tour of Heaven?”
You tilt your head, smiling. “An interactive one?”
His laugh slips out before he can stop it—soft, relieved. “I promise to keep my hands, wings, and detachable glowing accessories to myself.”
“That’s reassuring,” you say, amused.
He hesitates just a second longer, then offers you his hand. Not pulling. Not assuming. Just there. And you take it before you can overthink, letting him lead you away from the bustling party. You spot Jun on your way out, who gives you a wink you pointedly ignore. Either way, his voice rings in your head once again.
Angels sin just like the rest of us.
You shake your head and keep walking.
Jeonghan leads you around, explaining each building and their function. He shows you his favorite spots, from the gate to the small hidden garden behind the library. He leads you to a small staircase, the entrance gated off, a familiar eerie glow radiating off of it.
“And this,” he says carefully, “is where graduated souls come up after healing.”
His voice is soft as he glances at you.
He doesn’t rush the moment.
Jeonghan keeps his hand in yours, thumb brushing once—subtle, grounding—before he looks back at the staircase. The glow coming from beyond the gate is gentler than the party lights, steady and patient, like it’s waiting rather than calling. You let out a shaky breath.
“One day.” You say, not sure if you’re telling him or yourself.
He nods, smiling softly at you and squeezing your hand. “I believe in you.”
You turn to him and can’t help the way your breath hitches. There’s no halo, but the night sky above him still bathes him in an ethereal glow. For a moment, neither of you speaks.
The air feels different here—thinner, quieter, like the world has stepped back out of respect. The glow from the staircase hums softly at your back, but it’s the look on Jeonghan’s face that roots you in place. His wings ruffle slightly into the wind, eyes scanning your face as you stare.
His gaze softens under your stare, something careful and unmistakably tender settling there. The wind lifts again, teasing the edges of his wings, and he adjusts instinctively—angling his body just enough to shield you from it without even realizing he’s done it. It breaks the last sliver of hesitation that kept you from reaching to him. Your hand cups his face before you can stop yourself, moving closer to him instinctively.
He freezes.
Not because he’s afraid—but because he’s aware.
His cheek is warm under your palm, thumb resting just below his eye, and for half a heartbeat the world seems to still around you. His wings flare instinctively, then still, folding in close as he exhales slowly through his nose.
His eyes flicker shut for a moment. He breathes out your name like a secret before opening his eyes. “I’m not good at doing things halfway.” He says slowly, gaze steady.
You don’t pull away. Your hand stays where it is, thumb brushing lightly beneath his eye, and you meet his gaze without flinching.
“Okay,” you say softly.
His breath stutters—just a little—and his fingers tighten at your wrist, not to stop you, but to anchor himself. The glow from the staircase hums behind you, patient as ever, but the space between you feels more real than anything else in Heaven.
“If we keep going,” he continues, voice low and steady despite the way his wings give a small, betraying flutter, “it won’t be casual. I won’t pretend. I won’t… step back easily.”
You swallow. “I’m not asking you to.”
That does it.
Something in his expression gives—not dramatically, not all at once—but like a door being opened carefully, on purpose. He leans into your touch again, just enough that your palm fits more securely against his cheek.
“Okay,” he murmurs, hands finding your waist.
You lean up and kiss him, soft, unhurried, and deliberate. It’s a careful meeting, like both of you are checking the ground before stepping forward. His lips are soft and warm, a little tentative at first, and you feel the faint hitch of his breath when he realizes you’re not pulling back.
His hands settle more firmly at your waist, thumbs pressing in just enough to steady himself. Not possessive. Not demanding. Just present.
For a second, his wings tense again, feathers rustling quietly behind him—then they ease, folding closer as he exhales into the kiss, letting it happen. Letting you happen. And when you press forward more, unable to help yourself, he breaks with the smallest whimper.
The sound surprises both of you.
Jeonghan pulls back just enough to breathe, forehead dropping to yours as if the weight of the moment might tip him over if he doesn’t anchor himself somehow. His breath is uneven now, warmth ghosting across your lips, and for the first time since you touched him, he looks a little undone.
“…That,” he murmurs, voice rougher than before, “was not supposed to happen.”
You smile softly, thumb still tracing the edge of his cheek. “Sounded like you didn’t hate it.”
A breathy laugh slips out of him despite himself—quiet, helpless. His wings give a tiny, embarrassed twitch, feathers brushing the air behind him like they’re trying to decide what to do with themselves.
“Wanna end this tour by showing me where the angels stay?” You ask tentatively.
His hands tighten at your waist, grounding, careful. His forehead stays pressed to yours, wings shifting once behind him before he deliberately stills them.
“…You don’t ask small questions,” he says, voice low, fond, a little stunned.
You smile, nerves buzzing but steady. “You said interactive.”
Another soft laugh leaves him before he can stop it. He finally pulls back enough to look at you properly, eyes searching your face—not rushed, not greedy, just checking. Always checking.
“Okay,” he says at last. “Yeah, I can do that. Just, fair warning, it’s not exactly accessible. And uh, if you’re scared of heights, close your eyes.”
Your brows furrow. “What? Why would that—” You’re cut off by your own yelp as his arms tighten around you and suddenly your feet are no longer on the ground.
Your hands fly up on instinct, fingers curling into the fabric at his shoulders as the world drops away beneath you.
“Jeonghan—!” you gasp, the word torn loose in a half-laugh, half-shriek as the ground disappears entirely.
“I warned you,” he says breathlessly, voice close to your ear, far too amused for someone who just abducted you into the sky.
Wind rushes past, cool and clean, tugging at your hair and the moonlight fabric of your clothes. Heaven, from this height, is a living tapestry of light and sound. The party you left is now a pulsing jewel of color below, the music a faint, rhythmic thrum. Lights blur into soft constellations, pathways threading together like veins of gold and pearl.
Jeonghan’s wings unfurl fully with a smooth, practiced motion, feathers catching the starlight as they beat once, twice—strong, controlled. They’re magnificent up close, each feather is a masterpiece of ivory and pearl, catching the ambient light and refracting it into a thousand tiny rainbows. His arms stay firm around you, one hand braced securely at your back, the other tucked under your knees like he’s afraid you might slip through the air if he loosens his grip even a fraction.
The landing is impossibly soft. There’s no jarring impact, no sense of hitting a solid surface. One moment you’re hurtling through the sky, the next, your feet are sinking into something that feels like the plushiest, warmest velvet you can imagine. It gives beneath your weight, then gently supports you, a solid surface that’s also not solid at all.
You blink, taking a shaky step back from him, your boots sinking slightly into the strange ground. It’s a cloud. You’re standing on an actual, fluffy, white cloud.
For a heartbeat, neither of you speaks.
Jeonghan lands a half-second after you, wings flaring instinctively before folding in tight and neat against his back. His attention snaps straight to you, eyes scanning your face, your stance, your footing—pure reflex.
“Okay,” he says quickly. “Okay, you’re standing. Good. Still standing is ideal.”
You stare down at your feet, then crouch slightly, pressing a hand into the surface. It dimples under your palm, warm and springy, then slowly rises back into shape like it’s breathing with you.
“…I’m on a cloud,” you say faintly.
“Yes,” he confirms, nodding once, like this is very normal. Then, softer, a little sheepish, “You’re doing great.”
You laugh—short and breathless, the kind that spills out when your body finally catches up with reality. “I died and went to Hell to work at the front gate, came to a party where Jesus was the DJ, and this is when it starts feeling fake.”
“That tracks,” he says, relieved enough to smile.
You straighten again, wobbling just slightly. Before you can even think to reach for him, Jeonghan’s hands are back at your waist, steady and sure. Not pulling you anywhere, just anchoring you to something solid while you stand on something very much not.
“Take your time,” he murmurs. “The clouds adjust. They won’t drop you.”
“They feel… warm,” you say.
He hums. “They’re alive. Sort of. Old light, condensed. They like visitors.”
You glance at him. “They like me?”
His lips curve. “They haven’t puffed you off yet, so that’s a good sign.”
You swat his arm lightly. He laughs, real and easy, some of the tension finally draining from his shoulders. Up here, away from the noise and eyes of the party, he looks different—lighter somehow. More himself.
Once you’re steady, he eases his hands away, though he stays close enough that your sleeves brush. “Welcome to the outer residences,” he says, gesturing around you.
You look up.
The cloud stretches wide, forming a soft, rolling landscape suspended in open sky. Pathways of denser light arc gently between small structures that seem grown rather than built—arched doorways formed of pale wood and stone, draped in flowering vines and glowing moss. Lanterns float at varying heights, their light warm and low, casting no harsh shadows. Everything hums quietly, like a held breath.
“This is where you live?” you ask.
He points toward a slightly elevated cloud-rise nearby. Nestled there is a modest structure with wide windows and a balcony that spills over into open sky. Wind chimes made of something crystalline sway gently, chiming soft notes that feel more like a mood than a sound.
“That’s my place.”
“It’s beautiful,” you say.
He shrugs, but there’s pride there too. “It’s quiet. I like quiet.”
You glance back at him, at the careful way he’s standing, like he’s trying very hard not to assume anything. “So, you gonna finish the tour?”
He studies you for a moment, really studies you, like he’s committing the way the light hits your face to memory. The breeze tugs gently at his sleeves, teasing a few loose feathers at the edge of his wings. The cloud beneath you both shifts, patient, waiting.
“Yeah,” he says finally, a small smile pulling at his mouth. “Yeah, I am.”
He offers his hand again, palm up this time instead of fingers-first—an invitation that lets you choose how close you want to be. When you take it, his fingers curl around yours with quiet certainty, warm and grounding. As you walk, the cloud firms beneath your steps, responding to your weight like it’s learned you now. The lanterns drift aside as you pass, lights dimming just a touch, as if respecting the quiet. Somewhere nearby, water trickles—there’s a stream, impossibly suspended, winding its way through the cloudscape like a ribbon of glass.
When you finally reach his house, he simply steps through the cloud, hand in yours as he pulls you in.
“That seems like a terrible design. What if someone just walks thro…” your voice trails off as you look around.
The first thing you notice is the scent—rain, clean linen, and something warm, uniquely him. It’s the same scent you’ve come to associate with his presence, but here, it’s woven into the very fabric of the space. The room is circular and cozy, a perfect, private sanctuary. The walls aren’t walls at all, but the slow, swirling fluff of the cloud.
There’s no grand, opulent furniture, just a large, plush bed piled high with soft-looking cream-colored blankets, and a low table made of a single, polished piece of glass that reflects the light differently at every angle. Books are stacked in neat, precarious towers on the floor, their spines worn with use. It’s less like a divine dwelling and more like the home of someone who loves comfort and quiet stories.
“…They don’t,” Jeonghan says quietly, a note of amusement threading through his voice as he watches you take it all in. “Walk through, I mean. The cloud only opens for me.”
You glance back at him. “Convenient.”
“Selective,” he corrects gently. “It responds to intent.”
That earns him a look. “So if someone wanted to intrude—”
“They’d bounce,” he says, lips twitching. “Undignified. Very funny to watch.”
You laugh softly, turning in a slow circle as your boots sink just a fraction into the cloud-floor. The space feels insulated from everything else—no distant music, no echo of the party, no sense of being observed. Just quiet, wrapped around you like a held breath.
“So.” You say quietly, walking up to him. He steps back slightly, wings ruffling when his knees hit the back of the bed and he falls down, sitting on it. You stand above him, looking at the way the soft light frames his delicate features, your own eyes wandering over him. “I keep thinking about this thing Jun told me.” You say.
Jeonghan blinks as the mattress dips beneath him, hands bracing automatically at his sides. The cloud-bed gives a soft, accommodating bounce, like it’s amused by the turn of events.
“…Oh?” he says, tilting his head up to look at you. From this angle, the light catches in his eyes differently—warmer, less celestial, more him. “Jun tells a lot of things. Statistically, half of them are designed to cause trouble.”
Your lips curve. “That tracks.”
You take another small step closer. The cloud-floor firms beneath your boots as if it’s paying attention, narrowing the distance until your knees brush his. He doesn’t move away. If anything, his wings shift subtly, feathers settling closer to his back to give you space.
“What did he say?” Jeonghan asks, voice light—but there’s a thread of curiosity there, too, woven nerves and excitement.
You study him for a moment, deliberately not answering right away. The way his hands flex once against the blankets. The way his breath slows when he realizes you’re not rushing.
“He said,” you begin, “that angels sin just like the rest of us. That the only difference between those in Heaven and Hell is how we chose to hold onto those sins.”
He gulps slightly, eyes glazing as he looks up at you. His fingers curl slightly into the blankets beneath him, knuckles pressing into the soft cloud-bed as he exhales through his nose. You don’t back up. You let the closeness exist.
“Angels sin,” Jeonghan continues plainly. “All the time. Wanting. Choosing. Crossing lines and then crossing them again because the first time taught us something.”
The cloud beneath your feet firms, reacting to the weight of the moment. The air feels warmer now, heavier, charged with awareness.
“We don’t fall for that,” he adds, eyes flicking briefly to your mouth before returning to your gaze. “We fall when we pretend we didn’t mean it. When we cling to the guilt instead of the choice.”
Your breath catches.
“So sin’s not the problem,” you murmur. “Attachment is.”
A slow smile curves his mouth—dangerous, fond, a little too honest.
“Exactly.”
He shifts on the bed, the movement deliberate. One knee angles closer, closing what little space remains between you. His hand comes to rest on your thigh—not tentative, not apologetic. Warm. Grounded. Real.
“I’ve sinned,” he says quietly. “And then I owned it. Accepted it. Let it shape me instead of rot me.”
His thumb presses once, slow, controlled. Heat blooms where he touches you.
“This?” he adds, gaze dropping for a heartbeat before lifting again. “This isn’t dangerous because it exists.”
The cloud-walls pulse softly, responding like a held breath.
“It’s only dangerous if I deny that I want it.”
You swallow, pulse loud in your ears. “And do you?”
He doesn’t answer immediately.
Instead, he looks at you—really looks. The careful distance he’s kept until now finally cracks, revealing something hotter beneath the restraint.
“Yes,” he says. Simple. Unflinching.
His grip tightens just slightly—not enough to restrain, just enough to be unmistakable.
“And the difference,” he continues, voice rougher now, “is that I’m not pretending this is an accident. Or a mistake. Or something I’ll repent instead of understand.”
Silence stretches, electric and taut.
Jeonghan tilts his head, breath warm now, close enough that you feel it.
“So if you’re worried about me falling,” he murmurs, “don’t be.”
A beat.
“I know exactly what I’m choosing.”
You let your hands rest on his shoulders, his grip tightening on your thighs as you lean down and press your lips to his.
The kiss lands slow—but it’s anything but tentative.
Jeonghan inhales sharply against your mouth, the sound breaking free before he can stop it. For half a heartbeat he stays still, like he’s savoring the choice of it—then his hands tighten on your thighs, not pulling you down, not pushing you away. Just anchoring. Claiming the moment without stealing it.
His lips move against yours with intent now. Warm. Controlled. Heated in that devastating way that says he knows exactly what he’s doing and is doing it anyway.
The cloud-bed responds instantly, dipping under his shifting weight as he leans into the kiss, one wing flaring halfway before he reins it in with visible effort. Feathers rustle, betraying him even as his mouth stays steady, deliberate, unhurried.
You feel the tension in him—not resistance, but containment. Want held with practiced care.
When he finally pulls back, it’s only far enough to breathe, forehead resting against yours. His breath is uneven now, brushing your lips. Your hand trails lower as he scoots back on the bed, letting you crawl into the space above him. You kiss him again, bruising and heated, causing him to gasp slightly, his hands finding your waist like he needs it to anchor himself. Your leg presses between his thighs and he ruts into it needily.
Your hand pauses just above his wing, the feathers ruffled and twitching. “May I?” You ask softly.
It’s almost funny how easily he switched from reassuring to desperate, nodding so quickly you think he might get whiplash.
“Yes,” he breathes, like the word has been waiting in him.
You smile faintly at that—at how easily the careful angel fractures when you ask instead of take. You shift to sit comfortably, straddling him as your fingers slide closer, slow enough that he can stop you at any point. He doesn’t.
When you touch his wing, it’s nothing like you expect.
Warm. Silken. Alive beneath your hand, feathers shivering in response like they recognize intention as much as contact. Jeonghan sucks in a breath so sharp it almost sounds like a laugh, his head tipping back against the pillows as his wings flare reflexively before settling again, tight with effort.
“Oh,” he moans softly, helpless and reverent all at once.
You slide your fingers over the soft surface, watching how he shivers, eyes fluttering shut.
Your touch stays reverent, exploratory—fingers gliding along the curve of his wing where the feathers are finest, thinnest, almost translucent at the edges. They tremble under your hand like they’re alive to more than just pressure, like they’re listening.
Jeonghan lets out a shaky breath, chest rising sharply beneath you. His hands tighten at your waist, then loosen again, like he’s reminding himself he doesn’t need to hold on so hard.
“That’s—fuck,” he breathes out shakily, eyes still closed. “Don’t usually let people touch them, even when I—ahh.”
The admission hangs between you, fragile and warm.
You still immediately, palm resting lightly where it is. “Do you want me to stop?”
His eyes snap open at that, frantic and dark.
“No,” he says quickly, quiet but sure. “Please don’t stop.”
You move again, slower still, fingers barely grazing the feathers at first like you’re testing the air around a flame. The reaction is immediate. His wing shivers hard, the motion rippling up his back and into his shoulders like you struck a live wire.
Jeonghan gasps, sharp and quiet, eyes flying open.
“Oh—” he swallows. “Just— yeah. Like that.”
You adjust instantly, easing your touch until it’s reverent again, palm warm, fingers tracing instead of pressing. The wing settles under your hand, still trembling, but no longer startled. His hands slide up your back without thinking, fingers spreading like he needs the contact to ground what you’re stirring loose. His wings flare again, wider this time, before he reins them in with effort, jaw tightening. When you smooth his wings out below him, not letting him pull them back, instead fully extending them and letting your fingertips brush over the sensitive quills, his back arches up as he whines, eyes tearing up slightly.
“Oh fuck.” His eyes squeeze shut, hips pressing up into yours as he whimpers.
The sound is wrecked, beautiful, and it goes straight to your core. His wings, now fully extended and pinned beneath your careful hands, are a canvas of ivory and pearl, trembling with a life of their own. Each quill you brush sends a visible shudder through him. His hips press up again, a slow, deliberate grind against you that’s less about seeking friction and more about grounding the pleasure that’s threatening to unspool him completely.
“Look at me,” you murmur, your voice a low command that’s somehow softer than a request.
It takes him a moment, his eyelids fluttering, lashes dark with moisture. When he finally opens his eyes, they’re hazy, unfocused, the celestial light in them drowned in pure, unadulterated need. He’s looking at you, but it’s like he’s seeing you through a haze of sensation, his entire world narrowed to the points of contact where your skin meets his.
“Please,” he whispers, the word cracking in the middle. It’s not a plea for you to stop. It’s a plea for more, for anything, for everything. His hands, which had been resting on your back, now grip the fabric of your dress, knuckles white. He’s holding on, but you’re not sure if he’s holding on to you or to his last shred of control.
You give him a small, knowing smile and lean down, your lips brushing against his ear. “Please what, Jeonghan?”
He makes a sound that’s caught between a groan and a sob, his head turning into the crook of your neck, hiding his face against your skin. His breath is hot and ragged. “More. F-feels good.”
The permission hangs in the air, thick and electric. It’s the final lock clicking open. You straighten up, shifting your weight, and the movement presses you more firmly against the hard line of his cock straining against his pants. He chokes on a breath, his entire body going rigid for a second before melting back into the plush cloud-bed.
You don’t ask again. You let your hands become bolder, your fingers stroking down the length of his wings with firm, sure pressure, from the joint where they meet his back all the way to the delicate, tapered tips. His reaction is instantaneous and visceral. A loud, unabashed moan tears from his throat as his back bows off the bed, his wings flexing hard under your touch. The feathers ripple, a wave of white and gold, and you can feel the powerful muscles beneath them, straining and trembling.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he chants, the words muffled against your shoulder. His hips begin to move in a desperate, stuttering rhythm, seeking relief against the seam of your jeans. “That’s—right there. Oh, God—”
You find the spot he means, a sensitive bundle of nerves just beneath the surface near the joint, and you press into it with your thumb. He cries out, sharp and loud, his wings flaring wide with a snap that sends a gust of air through the room. His grip on your dress tightens, and you feel the moment he gives in completely. The careful, controlled angel is gone, replaced by this creature of pure feeling, writhing beneath you, lost to the pleasure you’re giving him.
His hands slide down your back, past your waist, to grip your ass, pulling you down harder against him. The new angle is perfect, and he grinds up into you with a renewed urgency, his breath coming in harsh pants. You tease the area again, kissing him softly.
The kiss is a stark contrast to the desperate energy thrumming between you. It’s soft, almost chaste, a gentle press of your lips against his that makes him whimper into your mouth. It’s a tease, a promise, and it unravels him completely. His hips jerk up, a frantic, uncoordinated grind against your core as he chases the friction you’re so generously providing. The sound he makes is broken, needy, a raw noise of pure want that has your own arousal spiking, sharp and sudden.
You pull back just enough to speak, your lips still brushing his. “You’re so beautiful like this,” you murmur, your voice a low, husky whisper. “All fucked out and desperate.”
He whines, a high, helpless sound in the back of his throat, and tries to chase your mouth for another kiss. You deny him, pulling back slightly, and his eyes flutter open, dark and pleading. “Please,” he begs again, the word a ragged exhale. “Please, I can’t—”
“Shhh,” you soothe, your thumb pressing into that sensitive bundle of nerves again, circling it slowly. His back arches, a beautiful, taut bow of pleasure, and his wings shudder violently, feathers rustling against the cloud-bed. “I’ve got you. Just feel it.”
You lean down, but instead of his lips, you press your mouth to the sharp line of his jaw, trailing hot, open-mouthed kisses down the column of his throat. You can feel his pulse hammering against your lips, a frantic, wild rhythm that matches the stuttering of his hips. You nip gently at the skin just above his collarbone, and he cries out, his hands tightening on your ass, pulling you impossibly closer.
The friction is intoxicating. You can feel the heat of him through your dress, the hard, thick length of his cock pressing against you, and you rock your hips in time with his, meeting his desperate rhythm with one of your own. The pressure builds, a slow, sweet ache that coils low in your belly.
“God, you feel so good,” he gasps, his head thrown back, exposing the long, vulnerable line of his throat. His wings are spread wide now, a magnificent, trembling backdrop to his pleasure. “So fucking good. I’m gonna—”
“Not yet,” you command, your voice firm but gentle. You slow your movements, your hips stilling against his, and your thumb easing its pressure on his wing. He whimpers in protest, a desperate, frustrated sound, but you soothe him with another soft kiss. “Not until I say so.”
He looks at you, his eyes wide and dazed, a flicker of understanding cutting through the haze of pleasure. He nods, a jerky, submissive motion, and you reward him with a slow, deliberate grind of your hips. He moans, his body melting back into the bed, his hands loosening their grip on your ass as he surrenders completely to your control.
“Good boy,” you praise, and the words seem to go straight to his cock. He shudders, a full-body wave of pleasure, and you can feel a fresh wave of heat emanating from him. You smile, a slow, predatory curve of your lips, and lean back down to your work. “Now, let’s see if we can make you sing, angel.”
You don’t give him a chance to catch his breath. Your hands, which had been resting on his wings, begin to move with renewed purpose. You trace the powerful muscles at the base, feeling the way they jump and quiver under your touch. Your other hand slides up his chest, fingers splaying over the rapid, frantic beat of his heart.
You lean down and press your lips to the hollow of his throat, right over his racing pulse. You don’t kiss him gently this time. You suck, hard, a bruising, claiming pressure that pulls a ragged gasp from his lips. His hips buck up against you, a desperate, involuntary movement, and you reward him by grinding down, a slow, torturous circle that has him seeing stars.
Your mouth moves lower, trailing hot, wet kisses down his chest. You can feel the fine sheen of sweat on his skin, taste the salt and the unique, clean scent that is purely him. You find a flat, sensitive nipple and take it between your teeth, biting down just enough to make him cry out. The sound is sharp, broken, and utterly perfect.
“Fuck!” he shouts, his hands flying up to tangle in your hair, not to guide you, but just to hold on. His wings flap once, a clumsy, uncontrolled movement that sends a soft breeze through the room, ruffling your hair. “Please, please, please…”
You soothe the sting with your tongue, laving the abused nub until he’s whimpering, his body a taut, trembling bow of need. You give the other nipple the same treatment, your teeth scraping, your tongue soothing, until he’s a writhing, incoherent mess beneath you. His hips are moving constantly now, a desperate, seeking rhythm against your core, and you can feel your own control beginning to fray.
You sit up, straddling his waist, and look down at him. He’s a wreck. His hair is a mess, his lips are swollen and red, his cheeks are flushed a deep, pretty pink, and his eyes… his eyes are dark, dazed, and fixed on you with an expression of utter, worshipful devotion. A dark mark is already blooming on his throat, a testament to your possession, and the sight of it sends a primal thrill through you.
“Please,” he whispers again, his voice hoarse and broken. “I need… I need…”
He can’t finish the sentence, but you know what he needs. You know what he’s begging for. You smile, a slow, wicked curve of your lips, and reach for the hem of your dress. You pull it over your head in one smooth, deliberate motion, tossing it aside (you’ll apologize to Minghao later). His eyes go wide, his breath catching in his throat as he takes you in.
His gaze drops to your chest, his tongue darting out to wet his lips. His hands, which had been tangled in your hair, now move to your waist, his thumbs stroking the soft skin of your stomach. He’s looking at you like he’s never seen anything so beautiful, like you’re a divine revelation, a miracle made flesh.
“Fuck,” he breathes, the word a reverent prayer. “You’re perfect.”
He sits up, taking one of your breasts in his hands, testing the weight against his palm as he squeezes softly. The shift is immediate. The desperate, writhing angel beneath you stills, his focus narrowing to a single, sharp point of intent. He sits up, the movement fluid and surprisingly strong, his wings shifting to accommodate the new position.
His hands are warm, slightly calloused in a way that surprises you, and they tremble just a little as he cups your breast. His expression is one of pure, unadulterated awe.
“So soft,” he murmurs, his voice a low, reverent hum. He squeezes gently, his thumb brushing over your nipple, and the touch is electric. You gasp, your back arching instinctively, pushing yourself further into his palm.
A slow, satisfied smile curves his lips. He leans in, his gaze flicking from your eyes down to the peak in his hand, and then he takes it into his mouth.
The heat is immediate. His mouth is wet and hot, his tongue swirling around the sensitive peak before he sucks, hard. A jolt of pure pleasure shoots through you, straight to your core, and you cry out, your hands flying up to tangle in his hair. He groans against your skin, the vibration a delicious counterpoint to the suction of his mouth.
He’s not gentle, he’s not tentative, he’s worshiping you with his mouth, his teeth scraping lightly, his tongue laving, his lips sucking until you’re a whimpering, trembling mess in his lap. His other hand slides up your back, pulling you closer, his wings flaring slightly behind him, a magnificent, trembling backdrop to his devotion.
“Jeonghan,” you gasp, his name a broken plea on your lips. He hums in response, his mouth never leaving your skin, his free hand sliding down to grip your hip, pulling you down until you’re straddling his lap, your bare core pressed against the hard, thick length of his cock still trapped in his trousers.
The friction is exquisite. You rock your hips, a slow, deliberate grind that has you both moaning. He releases your breast with a wet pop, his lips swollen and red, his eyes dark and hungry. He looks up at you, his expression a mixture of raw desire and something softer, something that looks dangerously close to affection.
“You’re so perfect,” he murmurs, his voice a low, husky whisper. “All for me.”
He leans in, capturing your lips in a searing, possessive kiss. It’s a kiss of equals now, a clash of teeth and tongues that’s as much about claiming as it is about pleasure. You kiss him back with equal fervor, your hands sliding down his chest to fumble with the button of his trousers.
He breaks the kiss, his forehead resting against yours, his breath coming in harsh pants.
“Let me,” he says, his voice rough with need. He makes quick work of his trousers, pushing them down just enough to free himself. He’s hard and thick and flushed a deep, angry red, already leaking at the tip. He wraps his hand around himself, stroking once, twice, his eyes never leaving yours.
“Are you sure about this?” he asks, his voice a low, serious question. He’s giving you an out, a chance to stop this before it goes any further. You can see the conflict in his eyes, the war between his desire and his ingrained sense of duty. “I don’t want it to affect your progress.”
You answer him by reaching down and wrapping your hand around his, guiding him to your entrance. He sucks in a sharp breath, his eyes fluttering shut as you press the head of his cock against your wet, waiting heat.
“It won’t,” you whisper, the word a desperate, needy plea. “Please, Jeonghan. I promise, I won’t be ashamed of it, won’t regret it. Please.”
He opens his eyes, and the conflict is gone, replaced by a raw, unadulterated hunger. He grips your hips, his fingers digging into your flesh, and slowly, slowly, he pushes inside.
The stretch is exquisite. He’s big, bigger than you expected, and he fills you completely, a slow, steady pressure that has you gasping for breath. He pauses, giving you a moment to adjust, his forehead resting against yours, his breath coming in harsh, ragged pants.
“Okay?” he asks, his voice a strained whisper.
You nod, unable to speak, and he takes that as his cue. He pulls out, almost all the way, before pushing back in, a slow, deliberate thrust that has you seeing stars. He sets a rhythm, a slow, torturous pace that’s designed to drive you insane. Each thrust is a deliberate, measured stroke, hitting that spot deep inside you that makes you cry out, your nails digging into his shoulders.
“Fuck, you feel so good,” he groans, his voice a low, guttural moan. “So tight, so wet. You’re perfect.”
He picks up the pace, his thrusts becoming harder, faster, more erratic. The sound of skin slapping against skin fills the room, a raw, primal rhythm that’s accompanied by your desperate cries and his guttural moans.
You can feel the tension coiling in your belly, a tight, hot knot of pleasure that’s winding tighter and tighter with each thrust. You’re close, so close, and you can tell he is too. His movements are becoming more frantic, his breathing more ragged, his grip on your hips almost bruising. His wings bristle around him, shivering and fluttering as he gets closer.
“Come for me,” he gasps, his voice a strained, desperate command. “Come for me, angel.”
The nickname, the one you’d used to tease him, is your undoing. With a final, shattered cry, you come, your body arching against his as waves of pleasure crash over you. He follows you over the edge a moment later, his own orgasm a violent, shuddering release that has him crying out your name, his wings flaring wide as he spills himself inside you.
You collapse against him, your body limp and boneless, his arms wrapping around you, pulling you close. You can feel his heart hammering against your chest, a frantic, wild rhythm that slowly, slowly begins to calm. He’s still inside you, a warm, heavy weight that’s both comforting and deeply intimate.
You stay like that for a long time, wrapped in each other’s arms, your bodies tangled together, his wings a soft, warm blanket around you both. The room is quiet, the only sound left is the soft, chiming hum of the lanterns and the gentle, rhythmic sound of your breathing. Before you realize it, your eyes slip shut and you slip into a deep, satisfied sleep.
You’re awakened by a harsh knock and the warmth surrounding you bristling. When your eyes open, you find yourself wrapped in Jeonghan’s wings, protectively curled around you and pulling you closer to him. A deep, disapproving voice slices through the warm, hazy fog of sleep, calling Jeonghan’s name. You burrow deeper into the warmth, instinctively seeking the source of the soft feathers and the steady heartbeat beneath your ear. A sleepy, disgruntled sound rumbles in Jeonghan’s chest, his wings tightening around you like a protective cage. It’s a perfect, safe moment, and it’s shattered by another sharp, insistent knock.
Your eyes fly open. The events of the night before crash back into you—the party, the flight, the cloud, the bed, Jeonghan. Panic, cold and sharp, lances through you. You kick out, your foot connecting solidly with a warm, muscular leg.
“Ow—fuck,” Jeonghan hisses, his wings snapping back in surprise. He’s awake instantly, his eyes wide and alert. He sees the panic on your face and his expression softens, even as he rubs his shin. “Hey, it’s okay. It’s just—”
Another knock, louder this time. “Jeonghan. I know you’re in there.”
“Shit,” he mutters, scrambling off the bed. He moves with a surprising lack of grace for an angel, his wings twitching anxiously. He grabs the plush cloud-blanket and tucks it securely around you, his fingers lingering for a second on your shoulder. “Stay here. Don’t move.” He yanks on a discarded shirt and a pair of pants, his movements quick and jerky. He runs a hand through his already messy hair, trying to smooth it down, but it’s a lost cause.
He takes a deep breath, squares his shoulders, and walks toward the wall of cloud. It parts for him like a curtain, revealing the stern, imposing figure of another angel. This one is taller, broader, with wings the color of a stormy sky and a face carved from granite. He radiates authority and disapproval in equal measure.
“We’ve gotten a report that you’re harboring a missing soul—” the angel begins, his voice a low, commanding boom. His eyes, a piercing, cold grey, sweep past Jeonghan and land directly on you, huddled on the bed. His expression hardens. “—oh.”
The angel’s gaze is dismissive, clinical. He looks at you not as a person, but as a problem. A piece of misplaced property.
“Jeonghan,” he says, his tone dripping with condescension. “You can’t keep a soul from Hell after their pass has expired. Get her cleaned up and out, you idiot. Do you know what kind of trouble you could have gotten that poor soul into?”
The words hit you like a physical blow. That poor soul. He said it like a knife, like you’re just another poor, damned soul. The casual cruelty of it, the way he erases you with a single phrase, makes your blood run cold. You see Jeonghan’s spine stiffen, his easy-going demeanor vanishing, replaced by a cold, defensive stillness.
“She has a name,” Jeonghan says, his voice low and dangerously quiet. “And she’s not a ‘poor soul.’ She’s my guest. We overslept, I’ll get her back to Hell as soon as possible. Don’t worry, Cheol.”
The other angel lets out a short, humorless laugh. “Her pass expired at dawn. She’s already missed her return window. Do you have any idea what kind of paperwork this is going to generate? What kind of precedent it sets? God, you’re such an idiot sometimes.”
“I’ll handle the paperwork,” Jeonghan says, his voice firm. He doesn’t back down, doesn’t flinch under the other angel’s glare. He stands his ground, a solid, unmoving barrier between you and the world outside.
“You’d better,” the angel sighs. “I swear, you can’t stay out of trouble for one century.”
You shrink under the angel’s gaze, pulling the blanket tighter around yourself. You feel exposed, vulnerable, and utterly alone. You’re a complication, a mistake, a problem to be solved. The warmth and safety of the night before feel like a distant dream, a cruel illusion.
Jeonghan’s wings twitch, a subtle, agitated movement. “She was with me. It’s my responsibility. I’ll take her back.”
The stormy-winged angel sighs, a long-suffering sound of profound disappointment. “You will. And you’ll be filing a Form 7-B for Unauthorized Soul Retention, and a request for an expedited return portal.”
He turns his gaze back to you, almost pitying. “Get her dressed. And for Heaven’s sake, try to make her look like she belongs here and not like she just crawled out of a gutter. The last thing we need is a scene.”
With one last, withering look at Jeonghan, he turns and walks away, his heavy footsteps silent on the cloud. The wall of cloud seals behind him, leaving you and Jeonghan in a thick, suffocating silence.
Jeonghan stands there for a long moment, his back to you, his shoulders slumped in defeat. The anger drains out of him, leaving behind a weary resignation. He turns around slowly, his eyes finding yours. They’re full of regret, of a deep, aching sadness.
“Don’t listen to him,” he says, walking back to the bed and sitting on the side of it. “Seungcheol is a hard-ass, but he means well, even if he doesn’t say it very nicely.”
Jeonghan exhales slowly, like he’s forcing the tension out of his body one breath at a time. When he looks at you again, the softness is still there—but it’s edged with something protective and furious he’s clearly trying to keep under control.
“He shouldn’t have spoken about you like that,” he adds quietly. “And he definitely shouldn’t have spoken to you like that.”
You swallow, fingers twisting in the cloud-blanket. The warmth that had cocooned you earlier feels thinner now, fragile in the wake of reality crashing back in.
“It’s fine,” you say automatically, because that’s what you’ve always said. Because it’s easier than admitting it hurt.
Jeonghan’s jaw tightens. “No. It’s not.”
He reaches out, hesitates—gives you the choice—then rests his hand over yours. His touch is warm, steady, grounding in a way that makes your chest ache.
“You’re not a problem,” he says, firm. “You’re not paperwork. You’re not a mistake I made because I wasn’t careful enough.” His thumb brushes lightly against your knuckles, a quiet, soothing motion. “You’re someone I chose to have here. Remember, acceptance and forgiveness.”
That breaks something open in you.
You laugh softly, but it comes out shaky. “Right. Thank you.”
Silence settles between you again, heavier this time—but not suffocating. Just honest.
Jeonghan stands and moves toward a low table near the wall. With a flick of his fingers, fabric spills into existence—soft, elegant, unmistakably heavenly but understated. A simple robe, light as air, shot through with faint gold threading that catches the light when you move. He passes you a shirt and a pair of what looks like sweatpants.
“I’ll turn around, they should adjust to your size,” he says quickly, already doing so. “Take your time.”
You dress slowly, every movement weighted with thought. When you finally speak again, your voice is quieter. “Seungcheol said my pass expired. Does that mean I’m gonna get in trouble?”
Jeonghan shakes his head. “No, of course not,” he reassures. “All it means I’ll escort you back properly, and we’ll probably have to have a chat with the boss man before we leave about why you stayed up here, but it shouldn’t be an issue.”
The idea of admitting to Jesus that you overslept in Heaven because you fucked an angel has you mortified, but you guess it could be worse. You finish changing and walk forward, stopping just behind him. You’re close enough that his wings shift, responding to your presence like they always do. “Will this affect my progress?” you ask, echoing his earlier concern.
Jeonghan turns fully now. His hands lift, hovering near your waist but not touching. “Only if you let it,” he says gently. “Nothing about last night negates your healing. Wanting someone doesn’t undo growth. Being loved doesn’t damn you.”
Loved.
Your breath catches.
He seems to realize what he said a beat later, eyes widening just slightly—then he exhales, steadying himself. “I mean,” he adds softly, “it doesn’t have to mean more than it does. But it doesn’t have to mean less, either.”
You look at him—really look. Not Heaven’s errand boy. Not the glowing figure at the gates. Just Jeonghan, standing in a cloud-lit room, trying very hard not to hurt you.
“Walk me back?” you ask.
Relief floods his face, quiet and sincere. He nods. “Always.”
He offers you his arm—not dramatic, not possessive. Just an invitation. When you take it, his wings settle around you instinctively, not hiding you, just shielding.
As the clouds part to open a return path, Jeonghan leans in and murmurs, just for you, “I’ll see you soon, yeah?”
And for the first time since you arrived at the gates of Hell, you believe him.
Epilogue:
“We just overslept, I didn’t mean to harbor her,” Jeonghan says, arms crossed, wings bristling faintly behind him. His lower lip juts out in a way that would be endearing if he weren’t clearly trying to look indignant. “And Cheol made her sound like a fugitive.”
Jesus looks between the two of you, then calmly sips from his mug that has World’s Best Savior in peeling gold letters.
“She stayed past dawn,” he says mildly.
“It was an accident,” Jeonghan insists. “A very reasonable, very human accident.”
Jesus hums, amused. “You’re not human.”
“That’s… irrelevant.”
You stand a little to the side, hands folded, trying very hard to look like someone who did not commit a cosmic faux pas. Jesus’ gaze slides to you, warm and curious, not judgmental in the slightest.
“And you?” he asks gently. “Did he tie you to the bed, or did you choose to stay?”
You choke slightly. Jeonghan makes a strangled noise.
“I— I chose,” you manage, mortified but honest.
Jesus’ smile softens. “Alright.” He sets the mug down. “Then nobody was ‘harbored’, nobody was kidnapped, and nobody is in trouble.”
Jeonghan deflates instantly. “Thank you.”
Jesus raises a brow. “I didn’t say nobody gets paperwork.”
Jeonghan groans, dropping his head back. “You love paperwork, don’t you.”
“I love accountability,” Jesus corrects pleasantly. “And teasing you.”
He turns back to you. “You’re doing well, you know. Healing isn’t linear. Connection isn’t a setback.” His eyes flick, knowingly, to Jeonghan. “In fact, it’s often very helpful when it comes to growth. I bet you learned some things while you were up here about how to stay properly, yes?”
Your chest tightens as you recall how Jeonghan explained sin and forgiveness. How he taught you acceptance in a way you hadn’t managed to understand properly before. Slowly, you nod, honest in your answer.
Jesus claps his hands once. “Alright. Escort her back properly. File the form. Get her some food on your way, she looks exhausted.”
Jeonghan brightens immediately. “I knew you liked her.”
Jesus laughs. “I like anyone who makes you this worked up.”
Jeonghan sputters. “That is not—”
“Go,” Jesus says, waving you off with an easy grin. “Oh, and run this down to Luci while you’re at it.” He says, tossing Jeonghan a file.
Jeonghan offers you his arm once more, quieter now, steadier. As you take it, Jesus’ voice follows you, fond and amused.
.𖥔 ݁ ˖ 𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: With a bounty on your head, you are determined to get your revenge at all costs… even if it means losing the man that you love.
.𖥔 ݁ ˖ 𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: bounty hunter!Wonwoo x bounty hunter!reader, mentions of other members (Jeonghan, Soonyoung and Mingyu)
.𖥔 ݁ ˖ 𝐆𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞: angst, sc-fi, smut, lovers to enemies to ???, cowboy bebop elements, space au, established relationship, betrayal, dark themes, neo-noir, dystopian-ish if you squint
.𖥔 ݁ ˖ 𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: PLEASE READ ALL THE WARNINGS! heavy angst, very strong language, mentions of murder/attempted murder, gun violence (for revenge and they're bounty hunters so), familial death, morally grey characters, grief, emotional manipulation (not by Wonwoo or the reader), drugging (not for sexual purposes), toxic family dynamics, gaslighting, graphic violence (reader gets into fights defending herself), guilt/self blame, mentions of black market dealings, kissing, oral (giving and receiving), nipple play, fingering, nail digging, unprotected shower sex, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, hair pulling, throat grabbing, creampie. lots and lots of yearning
.𖥔 ݁ ˖ 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬: 16.7K
.𖥔 ݁ ˖ 𝐀𝐍: It's finally hereeeeee. Reader has a nickname "Silver", which is explained why and she will be referred as that for the most part. I was inspired by Cowboy Bebop and as a 90s anime enthusiast , I dreamed this up when I was doing a rewatch and I had to make this happen. I want to give a huge thank you to @starlightkyeom for reading this, putting up with me sending long ass voice notes agonizing over this story and reassuring me that what I had was good. I feel like we have gotten closer because of this 😭 thank you Cam @highvern for giving me some info on bioweapons (even though I didn't use it much). It gave me some insight for other ideas I might have for this universe. Also thank you to @hobeemin, @hannieween, @neoneun-au and @straylightdream for reading as well and letting me bounce off ideas. It helped me a lot when I was stuck and need another opinion. Also thank you Beezy @hobeemin for the cool ass banner.
You see him coming to your door, gun drawn with his finger on the trigger, ready to shoot. You duck behind the bookshelf, the only place you can hide in this small room. Creeping low on the ground, you clutch your own pistol in your hand as your breathing slows. Your heart beats a million times a minute, adrenaline pumping through your veins as you wait for him to come in. Despite having a million-dollar bounty on your head, you are determined to get out of here alive, even if it means losing the man that you love.
“Silver, I know you're in there.”
Hearing Wonwoo’s voice is like a shot to the heart. You love him with every fiber of your being. He is your morning sun, the Heart Nebula to your Soul Nebula, and anything you could say to describe a love that fills you deep in your soul and makes you whole. He is the one for you, and it’s fucked that you are on enemy lines. You never thought it would be you against him. It was always supposed to be you and him till the end of time.
But you made it this way.
If this were another situation, you would be flattered that your life was worth this much to anyone. Unfortunately, you didn’t achieve this by being a damsel in distress, but by taking a shot at the head boss of your Organization, Aeron— and you almost succeeded. You were so close, narrowly missing his head by a centimeter and marking his ear instead. Wonwoo, your fiancé and his adopted son, was his saving grace as he knocked the gun out of your hand at the last minute. You should feel conflicted, as the man raised you as one of his own and trained you personally to be the top bounty hunter. He even gave you your nickname, “Silver,” due to the thick strand of silver hair you were born with, a signature trait passed down from your mother’s side of the family. He was a family friend, and you loved him like an uncle, and in a way, you still do. That’s why this hurts so much.
“Baby, open the door… I just want to know why you did it.”
The deep anguish in his voice twists your stomach into knots. You promised him that you would never hurt him and be honest with him, even if it meant breaking his heart. You’ve kept your word until now, and you hope that when the dust settles, he will understand.
The door creaks open, and you move towards the wall as the loud creak muffles your foot movement. His shadow is darker, moving closer to you, and before he can see you, you grab a heavy book and throw it at his head as a distraction. Wonwoo is quick, knocking it out of place and kicking down the bookshelf, forcing you to scurry out of the way. A small table separates the two as you face each other for the first time in months.
“Hey there, space cowboy.”
You aren’t sure why you were expecting him to crack a smile at the nickname you gave him long ago. You stare at each other, his stern stare enough to scare anyone away. His eyes are heavy with an unspoken pain that you caused, and it eats you alive. You know he didn’t want to be the one to bring you in, but you both know if it were someone else, they wouldn’t stand a chance.
“Silver, I don’t want to fight,” Wonwoo warns. “But you know what will happen if I don’t bring you in.”
“Well, tough shit,” you spit. “You know what will happen to me if I return to the Nova District. So you’re just going to have to bring me in dead.”
Another moment of silence hangs between you two, your fingernails digging into your palms as you prepare for a fight.
“One day, you’ll understand why I did it.”
Wonwoo doesn’t answer immediately; you can see the gears turning in his mind as he wrestles with your words, the pain etched on his face.
“Why can’t you help me understand now?” he pleads, desperation creeping into his voice. “Why did you try to kill him? Why didn’t you talk to me about this?”
“He didn’t tell you?”
He shakes his head, and you sigh heavily, your shoulders hanging low in exhaustion. Of course, he didn’t tell him, and you shouldn’t be surprised. Being honest isn’t exactly Aeron’s strong suit, and now you have to explain everything. The lies and secrets are how you ended up here in the first place. But today isn’t the day for that—you must get out of there and hope that one day, Wonwoo will be able to forgive you.
“I don’t have time to explain now,” your voice cracks. You're angry and tired all the same. “You just have to trust me.”
“Just like you trusted me before you shot at Aeron?” His words are laced with a venom that incinerates your chest. He’s hurt, and you know he’s right, but there is no time to dwell on that.
Taking Aeron’s life was necessary, even if you failed, as he lied to you for years about your family. You became an orphan when you were twelve, watching your family’s house blow up on a hill while you were painting. You were always told that it was a gas leak, and you believed that until you received an ominous email with documents and recordings that proved it was a lie. Aeron was in love with your mother, and they had been having an affair for years. Seeing the pictures of them embracing, exchanging longing looks, and kissing… it was hard to look at.
“I know this isn’t fair, but please, believe me.” The ache in your torn heart that you’ve been ignoring rears its ugly head, bringing you to tears. “I don’t want to bring you further into this.”
“I’m already in it!” Wonwoo raises his voice, the gun trembling in his hand. “My fiancé shot the man who raised me. Took you in. I’m already knee-deep into this shit, Silver!”
He lunges at the table and throws it against the wall, catching you off guard. Aside from your jobs as bounty hunters, he has never gotten aggressive towards you. He’s warm and gentle and would worship the ground you walk on. Seeing him in turmoil, a pain that you caused paralyzes you momentarily, allowing him to cross the room towards you, pulling you close to him. Your knees almost buckle in close proximity to him, and you have half a mind to call all this off and go back with him. Figure all this shit out. Your heart bleeds for him.
“Talk to me,” he whispers, his eyes peering into your soul. “Why did you do this?”
You rest your head against his shoulder, ready to lay down your burdens and reveal the truth. “He’s responsible for my family’s death.”
You feel him stiffen, his breathing tempered as you wipe away your tears, regaining your composure as you explain what happened. “He planned all of it. The gas leak, my house blowing up. All of it because he was in love with my mother.”
You explained how you received the evidence via email and Dropbox, which is typically used for work purposes, and how your own investigation followed afterward. You didn’t believe it at first, and you almost deleted everything, chucking it up to someone trying to fuck with your head and take your spot from being the top bounty hunter on the planet. But with that email came a delivery of something precious, making it seem like maybe it was the truth after all: a picture of your mother wearing a locket. A silver heirloom passed down resembled a peony covered with red jadeites. It is a rare gem that doesn’t exist in this galaxy, and your mother always had it tucked away, promising that one day it would be yours as the oldest child.
Even though you were far from the house, the force of the explosion knocked you off your feet, and you hit your head; you blocked out your memory, and your doctors all say it’s due to trauma and all of the related stuff. You started to forget about the locket, and eventually, your family’s memory became distant. That same locket, however, Aeron kept in his possession all these years in a glass container. He said it was his most “prized possession” that he won after a “tough” job, and despite the familiar feeling you had whenever you were near it, you believed him. Never again.
“The affair with my mother wasn’t just some secret,” you say, your voice filled with rage and sorrow. “He had been obsessed with her for years. They were childhood sweethearts, and she was forced to marry my father in an arranged marriage that turned into real love.” You grab his hands and study his eyes, hoping to find a flicker of hope that he believed you and that you didn’t just fly off the handle. “She tried to end it for years, and he wouldn’t let her. Now look what’s happened.”
The transcripts and phone call recordings showed she wanted to end things with Aeron and be faithful to your father. Your mother was beautiful and had an elegance and grace that turned every head in the room. You don’t know how the affair started, but you know your mother wanted to be free from Aeron, and he wouldn’t have that. So instead of letting her go, he killed her and everyone that you loved in that house. Your parents, your little sister, and your cat Dipper. All gone with a boom. He didn’t count on you not being in the house, so he tried to cover his tracks by taking you in. Raising you with Wonwoo, training you two together to be the best hunters in the galaxy. He watched you two fall in love and bragged about how much he loved his family. He talked about how much he loved you. It’s sick.
Wonwoo’s eyebrows furrow as he processes your words, shadows of doubt flickering in his eyes. “How do you know what was sent was the truth? You could’ve come to me, and we could’ve—”
“Could’ve done fucking what?” You cut in sharply. “Gone to him and had him tell us the truth? He wouldn’t have done that if you were there. That’s why I went alone.”
You feel anger building in your chest, and you want to scream into the void. Betrayal doesn’t even begin to describe how you feel; it’s as if someone is tearing your heart apart at the seams. You can feel every rip, every piece of you being pulled away, and it just won’t stop.
“I know I put you in an impossible position, and I’m sorry,” you search his eyes for understanding and comfort. “I love you. So fucking much. And I know he means a lot to you, and he meant a lot to me, too, but he has to go—”
“Baby, stop,” he pleads. “Don’t do this.”
“I have to. I’m sorry.”
You lean in, capturing his lips in a desperate kiss, your heart racing as he pulls you closer to him. His taste evokes nostalgia and comfort, reminding you of happier times when you lay in bed together and talked about your future, planning your wedding, and discussing jobs you'd take together. Your whole lives were mapped out for the taking, and you could’ve had it all. Maybe you still can, in another life.
You quietly pull a powder called Dreamshade out of your back pocket. It is a bag of fine, shimmering dust that glimmers with deep violet and midnight blue, mixed with the endangered plants of blooming nightshade and wild lavender. A tear trickles down your left cheek as you know what you have to do next, breaking your kiss and sprinkling the dust across his face. You watch his expression soften, confusion clouding his features as he slumps to the ground, unconscious. You pull him until his back is against the wall, your heart twisting painfully as you betray his trust for the second time.
With one last lingering glance, you slip into the night, the vision of the last day your family was alive fueling your resolve. You had to eliminate Aeron, even if it meant losing everything.
Wonwoo remembered the first time you met.
You were brought home from the hospital, where you spent a few weeks unconscious from the blast that destroyed your home. Aeron told him you were coming to stay with them and that it was his job to protect you. He didn’t know what the hell he meant by that; he was just a scrawny fifteen-year-old pickpocket living on the streets before he was found. He was born and raised in the Lutum district, poor, with two parents who passed away when he was ten years old from a plague that took over his city. He only knew how to take care of himself. Why was it his responsibility to care for someone he didn’t know?
Wonwoo was a shy and quiet kid, but he knew that you meant a lot to Aeron, and he would do anything to please the man who took him in. You two didn’t talk much at first; his job was to protect you, not be your friend. But the more time you spent together as you navigated your new reality, the closer you two became, and he got to see you for who you were. You were half a year younger than him, but you never let it show, as he found you fearless and driven, sometimes to the point that you were reckless. He always had your back, even if you were in the wrong, and Wonwoo wasn’t afraid to call you out on your shit.
“Do you really have to start a fight everywhere we go?”
You were both nineteen, and you were dragged out of the club in Adamas City for punching a girl who got too close to your “date,” if that’s what you wanted to call it; more like your flavor of the month. You didn’t know the man had an on-and-off girlfriend, nor did you know she would show up to the place and start screaming at you, calling you every kind of whore, and how your parents were ashamed from the grave to have a daughter like you. But you did know she had to be taught manners, and before Wonwoo could stop you, the girl was knocked to the floor with a bruised right eye and a chipped tooth.
“Wonwoo, stop.” You snatched your hand from him. “I’m fine.”
“Yeah, no shit, Silver,” Wonwoo retorted, running his fingers through his hair. “Why can’t you be normal for once?”
“Because,” you adjusted your jacket. “That’s fucking boring.”
You frustrated him to no end. You were wild and resilient, and despite the hellfire you brought, you had a sharp wit and knack for adapting to any situation you were in. You also made him curious and brought a spark to his chest whenever you were around, and he found you more attractive as time went on. He noticed how your eyes squinted when you read, and how your silver hair shone brightly in the sun and moonlight. You sparkled like the stars in the night, a nuclear fusion of many components that made you beautiful to him, that kept him grounded.
Deep down, Wonwoo knew what that meant. It’s not like he hasn’t had crushes before, but you were different; you made him feel alive. Seeing you date these guys, who wouldn’t last longer than a few weeks, bothered him. You need someone you could rely on at the end of the day and be comfortable with; you needed someone who felt like home, and he wanted to be that for you.
Wonwoo swore he would protect you with his life to Aeron, but he didn’t realize falling for you was in the cards.
Aeron wasn’t pleased to hear what happened in the club, and he made you both start training to become bounty hunters for the Organization. He said you needed discipline and structure, and let you get away with acting out for far too long. Wonwoo didn’t fight it; he knew he was right, and it was time for you to grow and become an adult. You surprisingly took everything in stride, attending all the necessary training and adhering to the daily regimen implemented for you throughout this process. Later on, Wonwoo asked you why you didn’t fight it, and you said something clicked with you— you could either party and fight anyone who got in your way, or you could do something with your life and be taken more seriously. Amid everything, you wanted respect.
You two trained together with Aeron personally and became even closer. You tended each other’s cuts and bruises, vented about each other’s day, and, late at night, shared secrets about your fears and what you wanted for your future. You didn’t share much about your childhood, but Wonwoo shared about his life before Aeron, and he was okay with that. He saw you coming into your own, making him grow fond of you even more. Sometimes, he wondered if what he felt was love or if he just liked you a lot. But he kept to himself, as he didn’t want to rock the boat with Aeron, and he didn’t want to mess up this dynamic he had with you.
A year into training, you both had to take a series of mental aptitude tests to strengthen your minds against any emotional factors that could affect your jobs. He knew bounty hunting wouldn’t be just bringing people in alive or collecting treasure— it also meant possibly taking people out of equations, permanently. On the last day of the test, he met with you on the rooftop of the Hightower, the building where the Organization was located and where you both lived. The test was rigorous, and it forced him to think of his parents and the pain they suffered from the sickness that killed them, and he just wanted a quiet moment to process that. He missed them.
After midnight, the stars formed different constellations in the dazzling dark sky, and you leaned on the balcony, lost in thought as the wind flowed slightly to the East. Wonwoo knew something was wrong; you never want to be this still. He was usually the quiet one and listened to you talk. It was his favorite thing to do at the end of the day.
“Are you okay?”
Wonwoo placed a supporting hand on your shoulder, watching you slowly come back to reality and regain your focus on him. Your eyes were red, and your face was tear-stricken, and it hurt him to see you upset.
“Yeah, I’m fine,” you sniffled, wiping your face with your shirt sleeve. “The test just really sucked.”
“Yeah, I know,” Wonwoo agreed, leaning against the rail. “I’m glad it’s over.”
“Is it?” You let out a shaky breath, gazing at the sky. “We will be doing jobs soon, which means we will be doing some tough things. What if we come across a dead family or a child without their parents?”
He watched your bottom lip tremble as you burst into tears, quickly covering your face and turning away from him.
“What if I am not cut out for this?”
Wonwoo pulled you into a warm hug, letting you sob on his shirt as he rubbed your back. He had never seen you break down like this, which nerved him. You’ve always made it a point to never let anyone see you cry, yet you felt so vulnerable and trusted him. It pulled at him heavily, and he wanted to take your pain away.
“Hey,” he lifted your chin slightly so your eyes met. “You’re stronger than you think. You’ve been through a lot, and you’re still here. You’re a force of nature, Silver. I believe in you.”
You nodded softly as he wiped the remaining tears from the corner of your eye. Wonwoo will always be there to protect you; as long as he is alive, no one else will ever make you cry again.
“Wonwoo,” you whispered, gazing into his eyes. “I’m going to do something that you’ve been too nice to do.”
Before he could respond, you pulled him into a kiss, catching him off guard. His pulse quickened as he understood what was happening, but he kissed you back, the heat radiating between you two on this chilly high tower. He needed you, but didn’t know how to tell you; however, he would surely show you, grabbing your waist and pulling you closer. Your kiss deepened, a mix of yearning and relief in the air as if he knew you felt the same way.
You finally pulled apart, breathless and content. Wonwoo’s heart was pounding; he wanted more but didn’t want to rush things. In due time, it would happen.
“Well, it’s exciting to know you feel the same way, space cowboy.”
“You are never going to let that nickname go, will you?”
“Never.”
A slight grin spread across your face, and you stepped back, looking at the night sky again. Wonwoo came behind you and wrapped his arms around you, wanting to feel your warmth again. If it were up to him, he would never let you go. He stood there in silence, watching the beautiful person in front of him finally have a moment of peace, and it was because of him.
At that moment, Wonwoo knew he was in love, and despite being ordered to protect and save you, you also saved him from a lifetime of loneliness.
It took you a few hours to get to Merchara, an industrial planet dominated by towering factories and sprawling cities. The sky is a permanent rust orange, filled with smog that suffocates without the proper mask. It’s ironic that you are going to a place where you can barely breathe on your own after what you did to Wonwoo back there, leaving him slumped on a wall. You haven’t stopped crying and haven’t been able to breathe easily since a tight knot settling on your chest as each hour goes by; you don’t deserve him.
“Let’s do this shit,” you muttered.
Settling behind a building in the city of Theodian, you wipe the remaining tears off your face and regain focus. You took a ship common enough to blend in with others in the galaxy that would let you go undetected. You registered with an alternate login no one knew, which gave you enough time to disable the GPS and turn into a ghost, hence its name, Umbra. People only come to this planet if they are hiding out or are involved in the black market. Fortunately, the person you need to see fits both criteria, and he may be the only person in this galaxy who will not rat you out the second you step into his establishment: Yoon Jeonghan.
You met him on a job when you were tasked with a group of other bounty hunters to raid his building and eliminate anyone who got in your way. The job was messy and ended with unnecessary casualties, and you suspect that Jeonghan was targeted because he dabbles in black-market weaponry and tech. The only reason why you spared him, despite him attacking you on sight, was because he was protecting a little girl, his sister. Despite him being good at fighting, you had the upper hand, and you were ready to get rid of him, but then you saw her crawl from behind the table, wild-eyed and shaken. She stood behind him with big brown eyes and clung to his shirt, and it reminded you of the little sister you lost, and you didn’t want to be the reason you took her family away.
You spared his life, and because of that, he became your most trusted ally, second only to Wonwoo. Jeonghan would supply you with weapons at a cheaper rate as a token of gratitude, and eventually, you would become friends. His sister, Sohee, was wary of you at first, and you didn’t blame her; you almost killed her brother. But she came around, and now she refers to you as “Aunt” Silver when you come around.
“Hello?”
Your knuckles rapped against the door while you waited for a response. The door slowly creaked open with little effort, causing your body to tense as you became more alert. Hesitating, you quietly pushed the door open, greeted by the coolness of the living room. Your heart quickened as you scanned the room, looking for anything out of place. You’ve known them a long time, and it’s not like them to leave their doors unlocked.
You hear shuffling from the back corner, and you quickly pull out your gun, only to be met by Jeonghan, holding a basket of fruit.
“Well, hello,” Jeonghan greets you, eyeing your gun.
“Don’t worry, Hannie, I come in peace,” you say, raising your hands slowly.
“Yeah, I don’t think you have much of a choice, Miss Million Dollar Bounty,” he smirks as he sets down his basket. You relax and put the gun back in its holster.
“You heard about that, huh?” you sighed. “I imagine the news is probably all over the galaxy.”
“Fresh on the ten o’clock telecasts,” he remarked.
“Shit.”
“Yeah.”
You sit on one of the barstools, your head in your hands as everything hits you all at once. Finding out the truth about your family, attempting to kill Aeron, Wonwoo… fuck, Wonwoo. The thought of him lying there all alone feels like a knife twisting in your gut.
“How is Wonwoo taking all of this?”
You slowly look up at him, your eyes blurry from the tears that you managed to repress for a short time. “Not good,” you sniffle. “I broke his heart.”
Your chest feels heavy, like a weight pressing down on you as you unravel, releasing all the frustration and hurt you've experienced over the past twenty-four hours. You thought Aeron was one of your last living connections to your family, and learning that he had a hand in severing that bond makes you feel sick to your stomach.
Jeonghan quickly pulls you into his embrace as you cry, unable to keep your jar of emotions shut. You’re not a crier; you view it as a weakness and never want anyone to see you that way… but you can’t help it. Your heart aches for the family you lost, Wonwoo, and for everything that has transpired since then. It feels like the last fifteen years were a lie—a facade created for Aeron to cover his tracks.
“He hates me, Hannie.” Your voice trembled. “Wonwoo is never going to forgive me.”
“Shhh, don’t say that,” he shushed you. “If I know anything about Wonwoo, you are his sun and moon and all that other cliche stuff. From what I have seen, that man is too deep in love with you. I’m sure he’ll understand… just give him some time.”
“I don’t know,” you sniffled again. “I really knocked him out the last time I saw him.”
Jeonghan raises an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”
“Dreamshade.”
“Oh, Silver,” he clicks his tongue. “You were always a sneaky one.”
He hands you a napkin, and you wipe your face in the mirror. Your eyes are rubor red and you lack sleep. You look worn down and defeated; even your silver hair is dull and no longer full of life.
“You need to sleep,” Hannie says suddenly. “Go up to Sohee’s room and take a nap.”
“No, no,” you shake your head. “I gotta keep moving. Where is she anyway?”
“School,” he says, taking the bananas out of the basket. “You do know what time it is, right?”
You glance at the digital clock on the wall; it reads nine o'clock AM, its bright blue lights glowing prominently. The adrenaline that has fueled you for the past twenty-four hours is fading, and fatigue and hunger crash over you like wildfire. Your back aches, and your feet are sore. As much as you want to leave, you know Jeonghan is right: you are completely exhausted.
“I just really need to re-up on some supplies,” you say wearily. “I’ll be out of your hair soon. I don’t want to risk you and Sohee’s life any more than I am being here.”
“Silver, you saved our lives even when you didn’t have to,” Jeonghan said firmly. “I will always have your back.”
He pointed toward Sohee’s room. “You should rest first. I can give you what you need when you wake up. But if you keep going like this, you will exhaust yourself, and I won’t be able to help you.”
You sigh heavily, running your fingers through your hair. “Don’t you want to know why I did it?”
Jeonghan pauses momentarily, giving you a once-over before coming around the corner. “Not if it’s going to get me in trouble,” he smirked. “But seriously, whatever reason you did it, I’m sure it was justified.”
You don’t have the strength to argue anymore; your eyes grow heavy with each passing second. You let him lead you to her bed, where he untucks the covers. You slowly crawl in, the scent of lavender lingering on her pillow.
“Sleep,” Jeonghan says softly. “I’ve got you.”
You nod, too tired to think. Your body succumbs to fatigue, and you drift into a deep sleep.
Wonwoo dreamed about you.
It was an old memory, but it’s one of his favorites. You two were at the Sanctuary, a blip on the map outside the city, kept a secret from the public. You two discovered it accidentally after finishing a mission on the planet Glacius, which became your secret getaway. Very few people know about this place, and it provided the privacy you both craved when you grew tired of being in the public eye. The weather was always warm, with a tropical element reminiscent of the beaches on old Earth.
You had only been dating officially for several months, but Wonwoo was deeply in love. You were fire and ice and an enigma all at the same time. You made his soul smile when you touched him, and he was in awe of your bravery and the lengths you were willing to go to protect him on each mission. You weren’t the heavy emotional type, but he knew how much you cared about him. It was the little things— the way you talked to him softly like no one else could, the way you kept contact when Wonwoo spoke, and by gods, the way you kissed him. He felt it, knew you loved him too. But you haven’t said it out loud yet.
“Wonwoo… I think I am ready to take the next step.”
You two were lying on the blankets on the beach, letting the sun kiss your skin and melting the cold away from the other planet. Wonwoo lifted his head up, his glasses slightly askew and his heart racing as he replayed the words in his head.
“W-what step?”
You raised an eyebrow and threw him a look, and he got your message crystal clear. “Oh… I mean, are you sure?”
“Yes,” you nodded, now sitting up. “I want to do this with you. I’ve never been in love before… and I want to know what it’s like to do it with someone you love.”
Wonwoo’s eyes softened, sitting up and moving closer to you. “You love me?”
“Yes, you dolt,” you giggled. “Do you need me to say it?”
You leaned closer to him, your lips barely touching his. “I love you, space cowboy. More than you know.”
Wonwoo never acts on impulse. He always thought ahead and planned for every scenario, but this time, he wanted to live in the moment with you and forget all his inhibitions. So he kissed you. Hard.
There wasn’t a place in the galaxy hotter than you two. Passion and lust flowed through each other at the simple but profound eight-lettered phrase. His heart was beating out of his chest, adrenaline pumping through his veins as he laid you back on the blanket, tasting vanilla on your lips.
“You are a man of very few words, Wonwoo,” you teased him. “I take it you love me too?”
He gave you one last, lingering kiss before gazing into your eyes, seeing a vision of love in front of him.
“You consume every thought that I have. You make me feel open and alive. I love you, Silver—”
Bzzt! Bzzt!
Wonwoo’s world started to crumble, the Sanctuary slipping away with you in it, forming into a dark, blurry room with four vibrating walls.
Bzzt Bzz!
Wonwoo stirred slowly, his right jeans pocket buzzing incessantly as he opened his eyes. His vision was blurred, a sign that the eye drops he had used to clear his eyesight had worn off. He reached into his left jacket pocket, pulled out his glasses, and carefully slipped them on. A dull ache throbbed in his head, and he felt groggy as the events of the previous day flooded back to him.
“Alright, alright,” he grumbled, digging into his right pocket.
He looked at the screen and groaned when he saw Aeron's call from his private residence. He rarely used the private line unless it was a matter of serious concern.
“Yeah?” he answered.
“State your location,” Aeron’s voice responded gruffly from the speaker.
It took Wonwoo a moment to answer; the effects of the Dreamshade were still holding him back. “I’m at the Portalis.”
The Portalis was a small area in the Nova District with a portal that transported people to other planets. There were a dozen rooms where individuals could conduct business, rest, or do whatever they wanted, much like a motel. Wonwoo knew that you would go there after the attempt on Aeron’s life; he would have done the same.
“Have you captured her?”
He envisioned your face, your soft lips pressed against his, before everything went purplish-blue and black. He should be angry at you for running off instead of sticking together; you are a team. But his love and longing for you supersede any anger he might feel. He was made for you, you need him, and he is determined to see this through.
“No,” he pushed himself off the ground. “Not yet.”
“What do you mean not yet?!” Aeron snapped. “Did you forget what that bitch did?”
“That bitch is Silver,” Wonwoo defended, dusting off his jacket. “She isn’t some stranger on the street or a temp for hire. She is family. My fiancé.”
“Family doesn’t try to kill each other, Wonwoo,” Aeron said plainly. “She went against us. You know what happens when you break the code.”
Wonwoo stilled, leaning against the wall as the effects of Dreamshade finally started to wear off. He knew very well what happens when you break the code, and never wanted to meet that kind of fate. Let’s just say he would rather have his death swift and to the point, instead of floating around in space.
“Aeron, what Silver said you did… is there any truth to that?”
There was a momentary silence thick with anticipation; he almost thought Aeron hung up.
“Are you questioning me, boy?” His voice roared through the speaker. “Understand something. If I tell you to skip, you ask how many times you hear me? You would still be in the streets if it weren’t for me. Bring her to me NOW, or you will die right next to her.”
The call ended with a hard click before he could respond, and he just stood there, motionless and angry. Aeron has never talked to Wonwoo that way, and he could feel his heart beating through his ears. Who does he think he is? Wonwoo didn’t need him. He didn’t ask to be saved. The Organization would be nothing without him and Silver, and he knows that. Is this how family treats each other?
He exited the room and slammed it shut, frustration seeping out of him as he climbed into his ship and turned on the engine. He would deal with Aeron later, but he had to find Silver before it was too late.
“Aunt Silver, wake up.”
You feel a little hand softly nudge you awake. Your mouth opens, and tiny drool drops come out of the corner of your mouth. Your eyes regain focus, and you stare at little Sohee, with pigtails in her hair and a clean school uniform. She beams once you recognize her, giving you a tight hug that touches your heart.
“Jeonghan told me to wake you up. Dinner is ready.”
“Dinner?”
You look at the time plastered on the wall—it was quarter past seven. Shooting out of bed, you hurriedly put on your socks and laced up your boots, kissing Sohee on her head as you walked out of the bedroom.
“No, Jeonghan said you must stay and eat with me.”
“I can’t, sweetie,” you say, frantically looking around the house for your weapons. “I have somewhere to be and shouldn’t have stayed here this long.”
Little Sohee folds her arms and stands in front of the front door. “Jeonghan says he will be back and to stay with me and eat.”
This makes you stop in your tracks, and a slight panic starts to kick in. “He left?”
“Yes,” she nods. “He says something about you needing 'supplies' and he will be back.”
Then it clicks. Jeonghan must have gone to get you more weapons, and he doesn’t want you to leave Sohee alone. Jeonghan, if nothing else, is a tricky bastard.
“Okay,” you sighed, walking to the kitchen.
Laid out on the table was an arrangement of foods in bowls, steaming hot, accompanied by a rare tea that grows only on this planet: hibiscus. You sit in view of the front door to see when Jeonghan or anyone else comes. Despite your eagerness to get out of there and your stomach pains of hunger, you reluctantly sit down, grab a bowl, and fill it with rice and braised chicken.
You observe Sohee as she happily fills her bowl with miso soup, accompanied by a side of grilled fish, with not a care in the world. You miss being at that age, when you only had to worry about whether your mom would let you play outside or if you remembered to fill Dipper’s food bowl. Sadness and a hint of envy prick at your heart, and you think of your past life and what you could’ve become.
“How’s school?”
“It’s fine, Aunt Silver,” Sohee responds, slurping her soup. “We are learning about planets in the Milky Way and how they differ from those in our galaxy.”
You listen to her shoot off random facts about Earth, Mars, and all the other planets in the solar system in awe. You’ve heard the story a million times about how Earth became inhabitable and how we had to travel through galaxies to get here. But hearing Sohee tell it, happy to share the knowledge she is learning, warms your heart. This is partly why you wanted to leave; you care about Sohee so much and want her to have the life your sister could’ve had.
You mostly eat silently for the rest of dinner, and Sohee has already packed food for you to go before she wakes you up. You hear the door creak, and you instinctively grab for your gun, panic setting in when you remember it isn’t in your holster.
“Don’t worry, it’s just me.” Jeonghan’s voice rang out, calming your nerves. “I come bearing gifts.”
You meet him in the living room as he pulls out the weapons, more Dreamshade, clothes, and other things needed to protect you while you’re out there. You pick up a magazine, the cool metal feeling familiar in your grip, and begin attaching it to your gun with practiced efficiency. You secure your other weapons and powders that would affect you without gloves. You glance at Jeonghan, who gives you a soft smile and places a supporting hand on your shoulder.
“You and Wonwoo will find your way back to each other. Do what you have to do.”
You nod, put on your mask, walk out of the back door toward your ship, and place your bag behind your seat. Taking deep breaths, you are determined not to cry again as you head to your next destination for more answers.
“WAIT!”
You look to your left, and Sohee runs towards you, holding the packed food you forgot to grab.
“Here,” Sohee shoved it into your hands. “I also put some hot buns in there, in case Uncle Wonwoo wants some.” Hearing his name left a painful reminder that struck your heart, leaving you momentarily lost in the memories you don’t want to revisit.
“Aww, come here, kid,” you say, shaking off those feelings, putting everything aside, and pulling her into a tight hug.
“Aunt Silver, I don’t care what the people on TV say. You aren’t a bad person. I know it.”
Fresh tears threaten to break through, and you don’t want her to see that. Sohee is sweet, pure, and full of light. You hope she never changes.
“Thank you, Sohee,” you manage to say. “It means a lot to me.”
You wait until Sohee is safe before booting up your ship, soaring high in the galaxy, and heading to your next destination.
The trip to Glacius was the longest twelve hours you have ever had to sit through. You’ve been on longer trips, but you were never alone—you at least had Wonwoo and other crew members or bounty hunters with you. The silence is the hardest part to sit through, the crippling thoughts in your head and considering your current mental state, it’s hard to turn off. All you can do is grieve; you mourn the life that you lost and the one that you are about to lose again, because of Aeron. There isn’t a hell in this galaxy you won’t send him through, and you will see to it that he suffers a satisfying death.
The temperature drops significantly the farther you travel from the sun, and a turquoise planet with cloud rings around comes into view. Glacius is a planet with icy terrain throughout its surface. From the outside, there is nothing but snow for miles, and the forest is filled with Glaceons and other wild animals. However, only a few know about Zoie, the underground city with just over fifty thousand people. Scientists and researchers mostly live here, and the only place besides Merchara where you have another ally you can turn to at the drop of a hat.
You park your ship and suit up to brace the freezing cold. It is your luck to come here in the middle of the storm, but what other choice do you have? You exit the ship, fighting against the wind until you reach Zoie's hidden entrance. Three taps from your foot alert to your arrival. The ground shifts, and you are lowered through a glass tube, with illuminated lights being your only source of light in the darkness. Eventually, you reach the entrance to the city, met by bodyguards circling around as the glass lifts.
“State your business here,” the agent with toad-like skin gruffed. The other guards took your bag and body searched you, digging through your bag in hopes of finding incriminating evidence.
“I’m here for Dr. Selene Ardyn,” you say, eyeing one of the guards with porcelain-like skin sniffing your hot buns.
“Wait here.”
You awkwardly stand there while they finish searching your bags, your eyes twitching as they unfold the clothes you had packed and throw everything back unceremoniously. You would think that being in a place renowned for technology would instill more manners in people, but alas, not everyone possesses class.
“These hot buns, you don’t want them, right?” The guard pulls one out and eats it in front of you.
“Nope,” you roll your eyes. “Have fucking at it.”
You shake your head, looking away at the greasy man smearing minced meat over his face in disgust. Your thumbnail instinctively digs into your palm, and you slowly count to ten as you try to keep your annoyance at bay.
“What’s wrong?” He goads, stepping closer to you. “You don’t like it when people take your things?”
“You’re awfully perceptive.” You stand your ground. “I guess the worms in your brain have finally mellowed out.”
The other guards snicker at your remark, and you look straight ahead, waiting for the toad-like guard to return. The porcelain guard’s face turns tomato red, and before you can react, his hand grabs your throat and slams you against the wall.
“You bounty hunters think you are tough shit and are better than the rest of us,” his words spit on your face. “You probably can’t even fi—”
Before he could finish his thought, he was already on the floor, thanks to a quick head butt and a kick to the left knee. It’s been a long day. You are tired and hungry, and the ache from missing Wonwoo eats at you more and more. You could’ve let his words slide and waited for the doctor, but unfortunately for him, you were having a bad time.
Turning him over, you place your foot on his back and grab both of his arms, pulling them back until you hear a tear and a blood-curdling scream that makes you satisfied. “You were saying?”
“What’s going on here?”
You look up, facing Dr. Selene Ardyn, watching the scene before her with an eyebrow raised. She was all but five feet two, with smooth caramel colored skin and thick hair wrapped neatly into a bun. Dressed like the typical scientist, complete with a white trench coat, she folds her arms while waiting for an answer.
“Your guard ate my food and put his grubby hands on me,” you grit through your teeth. “So I was teaching him some manners.”
“Silver, is that necessary?” Selene asks, looking annoyed. “Let him go, and I’ll take you back to my quarters. I’ve been expecting you.”
You tug his arms one last time, dropping them unceremoniously, grabbing your bag, and walking around the injured guard. The other three move away quickly as you storm by, the red you saw slowly dissipating.
“Guards?” You hear Selene call out. “Take Brutus to the medics and tell them I sent him.”
Selene Adryn is one of the most renowned scientists and engineers in the galaxy, specializing in the research of bioweapons. You have worked for her several times, gathering plants and resources from all over the galaxy, and have grown somewhat close. You’ve seen how she interacts with her employees, and though she hasn’t explicitly said it, you knew you could go to her if you were ever in trouble.
The click of her heels against the glossy floor is almost melodic, calming your nerves as you pass the different quarters. Zoie City is not your typical city; besides being underground, it mainly comprises engineers, other scientists, and researchers from various fields. Everyone stays to themselves or congregates in the main halls for meals or other relaxing areas. Glancing at your watch, it’s a little after 10am, and everyone is bustling with scientific talk that you quite understand.
“We’re here,” Selene announces as she stops before two sliding doors. “Let’s hurry inside.”
Placing her hand on the scanner, the machine beeped and gradually opened the door, revealing a sprawling condo with enough space for three houses. Her place was nothing less than high-tech, with housemaid Androids tidying up on each floor.
“Take off your shoes and give your coat to Bob.”
You already knew who Bob was: her oldest butler, also an Android. He was built to look like a real person, and to someone who doesn’t interact with them often, you would think he is the real thing. But a stark difference always stood out to you—they always looked soulless in the eyes. It unnerved you.
Sliding off your shoes, you hand your coat to Bob and follow Selene into the living room, where she sits on her sectional sofa. You gaze through the tall picture windows as the storm rages outside. The wind howls, lifting the snow into a wild, swirling dance, throwing it around as if it were nothing.
“Thank you for seeing me on short notice,” you say, returning your focus to Selene. “I’m sure you saw the news.”
“Yeah, I did,” Selene confirms with a nod. “Seems like you’ve been busy.”
“Yeah,” you clear your throat. “Being on the run and all, I don’t exactly have time to sit around and linger.”
You look down at your beaten hands, twirling the ruby and diamond infinity engagement ring that Wonwoo proposed to you with. He knew red was your favorite color, and he always said you were more precious than rubies and diamonds, which are rare in this galaxy. God, you miss him.
“So, you say you were expecting me?” you ask, pulling yourself out of your sadness.
“Yes, I was,” Selene replies, walking toward the kitchen. “Do you want something to drink?”
“No,” you shake your head. “I want to know how long you’ve known.”
Selena hesitates slightly as she grabs a mug from the counter. If it were anyone else, they might miss it, but after years of bounty hunter training, you have learned to read people’s body language without asking questions. It’s one of your special skills.
“What do you mean, Silver?” she asks.
“I mean,” you get off the couch and approach her in the kitchen, “how long have you known about my family?”
Selene clutches the handle of her hug, sighing heavily before turning around and facing you. In all the many years you’ve known her, you are actually seeing her— the delicate wrinkles on her forehead and the faint shadows beneath her eyes. It feels like her mask has slipped off, and she is finally revealing who she is.
“Silver, I…” Selene’s voice falters. “How did you figure it out?”
“I didn’t,” you reply softly, trying to keep your emotions in check. “But you just confirmed it.”
When you started receiving the documents about the truth of your family’s death, you knew it had to be someone who had access to your Dropbox. It’s not easily accessible to the public, and though you couldn’t track the IP address exactly, you knew it had originated from far beyond your planet. The first two numbers indicated that you were this far in the galaxy, and you decided to apply the process of elimination. You knew this was a huge gamble, showing up here with accusations that may have been unfounded, but you had to trust your gut, and it rarely steers you wrong.
“I don’t want to have to ask you again, Selene,” you warned.
“Okay, okay.”
She gestures back to the couch and urges you to sit, while you settle opposite her, on guard. Selene had known about you for so long and never said a word… You really can’t trust anyone, except for Wonwoo.
“You remind me of your mother a lot.”
Your head ticks at her words, unsure if you heard her right. “What do you mean, I remind you of my mother? How do you know her?”
Selene settles into the sofa, twiddling her thumbs on her lap. “She was my best friend.”
You look at her incredulously, the woman you respected, keeping this secret from you all this time. It all makes sense now; It all clicks now—why she was constantly requesting you for missions and would sometimes let you stay in her home overnight instead of sending you off when the job is complete. Sometimes you’d hear her hum a song your mom used to sing to you to sleep, and you thought it was a coincidence or the song was popular across the galaxy. You’ve just been a fool.
“Wow,” a bitter laugh escapes your lips. “I can’t fucking believe this.”
You turn away, looking at the window as the storm still rages on, the chaos mirroring what you feel inside. You're a tempest, brimming with anger and ready to wreak havoc on everyone who has played you like a fool.
“Selene, you would be dead if I didn’t respect you so much.”
You turn around and face her, your nails digging sharply in your palms. “You let me believe this lie… this fallacy that Aeron planted all these years. You were my mother’s best friend, supposedly, right? Why didn’t you take me in? Why did you leave me in the hospital for weeks and not visit me ONCE?”
Your chest heaved as you lay it all out. “Why Selene? WHY?”
“I detect elevated voices, is everything al—”
“For the love of Gods, Bob, shut the fuck up!”
You overflow with anger, reaching behind your back and pulling out your pistol. Cocking the lever, you aim to shoot—
“Y/N, STOP!”
You freeze, slowly gazing at Selene as she runs over to Bob, covering the android with her body. No one has called you by your real name since you were a kid... Since you came to live with Aeron. “Don’t shoot him, please.” You study her, watching her chest heave, panic and fear wild in her eyes. “I’ll tell you everything you need to know. Just… don’t hurt him.”
Reluctantly, you lower your weapon, choosing to keep out instead of putting it up. She whispers something to the android, who nods, bowing to her slightly and leaving the main room. The other androids follow on cue, and it’s just you and her.
“You said you would tell me everything I need to know.” Your voice is low and tense. “So start talking.”
She sits on the couch, shifting around until she is comfortable, before she begins. “Like I said earlier, your mother and I were best friends. We attended the same girls' school and were roommates, so naturally we became close.”
“So you knew Aeron then as well?”
Her eyes briefly go dark at the mention of his name. “Yes, I knew him. He attended a brother school and would often follow her around. I hated him. I thought he was so weird, but your mother… she was sweet. Always saw the good in people. So, eventually, they fell in love.”
“Her family, your folks, weren’t close, and she thought she could convince them to accept Aeron, and they would get married and start a family. Aeron could’ve been your father.” You grimace at that thought.
“But,” you cut in. “She was forced to marry Dad, right? “
She nods. “Yes. Your family was a very powerful people, and whatever they said went. So if your grandpa said you had to marry someone, there was only so much she could say or do before bending to their will. Aeron was obviously unhappy with it, but what could he do? He was just a boy who loved someone he could never truly have.”
“Don’t make excuses for him,” you say bitterly.
“Oh, trust me, I’m not,” Selena waves her hands. “He’s a bastard who didn’t deserve your mother. I will hate him until the day I reach Valhalla.”
You smirk at her statement, feeling slightly relieved that you two are on the same page. “So you knew my mother, my dad, I assume? How come I never saw you?”
“I used to come around a lot more when you were younger. You probably don’t remember, but I used to visit and bring you stuffed animals. Your favorite was always a lamb.”
You think back to your childhood, when your room was surrounded by stuffed animals of many species. You always found comfort in your little white lamb. You used to sleep with it and named it Boop, which smelled like rose petals. Maybe you were too young to remember her exactly, but your gut doesn’t tell you she’s lying.
“I couldn’t visit much anymore when I became the head of bioweapon research, and I hadn’t seen your mother in almost ten years. We talked weekly, though, and I saw pictures and videos of you and your sister growing up.”
A slight pang grips your chest, and your eyes water at the memories of you and your little sister that you could reclaim. She was full of sunshine and life, and she dreamed of exploring the cosmos, of discovering the wonders beyond the stars. She deserved to live, and if you could trade your life for hers, you would do it without a second thought.
“Your family’s death devastated me,” Selene’s voice trembles. “It still does. When I heard what happened, my heart sank. I went to the morgue, identified the bodies, and started the process of formally taking guardianship over you. You needed someone, and I wanted to be that.”
“So what happened?” you demand, your voice cracking as tears stream down your cheeks. “There were no records of you trying to take guardianship or even visiting me. Why did you leave me there?”
“Aeron threatened me outright,” Selene discloses, shocking your heart. “He said if I tried to take you in, if I got in his way, he would see to it that your life would be a living hell. See, he knew I would eventually discover the truth about the accident. Just because I work mainly with diseases doesn’t mean I have forgotten about regular science. The day I visited your house after the explosion, I knew it wasn’t a simple gas leak.”
“My gods, he is truly a bastard.” You rub your temples. “So you managed to collect all the evidence and kept it hidden? Is that why you personally requested me to run missions for you?”
“Yes,” Selene nods. “It was the only way I could check on you without tipping off Aeron. If he knew we were having this conversation now…”
“To be frank, I don’t care if he knows we’re talking,” you sniffle. “Next time I see him, he will be dead.”
Silence comes over you, and you look to the windows again, watching the storm finally pull back as the snow finally settles. You hear Selene enter the other room and return with a white box engraved with beautiful drawings of bows and flowers. She hands it to you, slowly lifting the top, revealing pictures of your mother and her as kids, as well as pictures of your dad and mom before you were born.
“I was keeping these until the time was right, and there isn't a day that goes by that I don’t miss your family. Please forgive me for lying to you.”
Selene breaks down in front of you; all you can do is watch silently. The woman you’ve always seen as composed and put together now shows raw emotion and deep grief, which is unusual for you. Just 24 hours ago, you had no idea that anyone even knew about your family.
“I… I don’t hate you, Selene,” you draw breath. “I can’t say I just move on overnight, but understanding who Aeron truly is, I get you were in a tough spot.”
Selene manages to calm down, her feelings reeling in slightly as she gazes at you, her eyes red and tear-stricken. “Let me take you to the spare room. I’m sure you want some time alone.”
You have a lot more questions, especially about your mom’s side of the family, but you decide to table it for another day. You follow her as she takes you into a different room, where you’re used to staying. It’s smaller, but cozier, with a round window next to the bed that gives you the perfect outside view. You look at each other and nod; there is nothing more that needs to be said as of now.
Gently shutting the door, you undress, settling into bed wearing just your shirt and underwear. You look through the box filled with photos—pictures of your mom and Selene at the all-girls school, moments from dances, and a few happy snapshots of your dad and mom together. For the next few hours, you immerse yourself in every photo, document, and memorabilia that captures your family's life before you were born. As you do, you feel a connection to them, their memories coming alive once more, burning brighter in your heart than ever before. For the first time in a long while, you feel a sense of peace and drift off to sleep.
…
“HEY! WHAT’S GOING ON IN HERE?!’
“BRING HER TO ME NOW!—”
You stir in the soft sheets, believing you are asleep and it’s a part of your dream.
“SELENE, I WILL GO IN THERE AND GRAB HER MYSELF AND YOU DON’T WANT THAT.”
“Wonwoo, please don’t—”
You shoot up; the mention of his name constricts your heart as you hear shouted voices outside your door. Grabbing your pistol, you quickly leave the room, pointing it toward the voices until you see him: your Wonwoo.
You lock eyes with him, and his expression shifts, displaying a mixture of longing and sadness. It's the first time you've seen him since you left him behind in Portalis. You'll never love anyone as much as you love him.
“Wonwoo, I—”
“Put your clothes on and let’s go,” he commands, his face hardening. “You’re coming with me.”
Wonwoo hated this. He hated all of this. If someone had told him last week that his fiancée would be on the run for attempting to assassinate the head of the Organization and his father figure, he would’ve asked what they had been sniffing.
It was the first time he had seen you in days, and he was almost breathless at the sight of you. You made his heart race, and all he wanted was to kiss your lips and tell you that everything would be okay, that you could get through this together. But he also remembered how you had left him in the dark during your quest for revenge, and that hurt him deeply. It felt as if the past fifteen years meant nothing; after all this time, you still couldn’t trust him.
“Silver, let’s go,” he said bitterly. “We don’t have all day.”
You came out of the room shortly after, duffle bags in hand and suited to brace the bitter cold weather outside. He watched as you gave a longing look at Selene, who returned it with a teary nod, watching in sadness as Wonwoo placed the handcuffs on your wrists.
“Come on, Wonwoo, is this really necessary?” Selene pleaded. “This is your fiancé we’re talking about here.”
“The same fiancé who knocked me out with Dreamshade?” Wonwoo scoffed. “I know better than to underestimate her.”
He shot a glare in your direction, and in response, you looked down at the ground in shame. “I’m sorry, Wonwoo.”
“There seems to be a lot of that going around,” he shook his head. “Let’s go.”
Wonwoo's footsteps echoed against the cold, hard floor as he led you away from the quarters, earning shocked and disapproving stares from the patrons. He didn’t care what people thought was happening; he just wanted to get out of this place and think. And talk to you.
Reaching the entrance, only one guard was waiting, who gave Wonwoo a curt nod before placing you in the tube, raising you slowly to the outside world.
‘Wonwoo, my ship—”
“Has already been taken care of,” he interrupted. “Did you forget I’m the one who taught you how to navigate an Umbra ship?”
He pulls you onto his ship, the wind howling furiously behind him as another snowstorm starts to commence. He sits you down on one of the chairs, strapping you in tightly across your chest and shackling your feet at the bottom. His heart is pounding heavily in his chest, a drumbeat of anxiety as he fights the urge to return your gaze while he is so close to your face, your lips.
“Wonwoo,” you said weakly. “I’m really sorry.”
“You’ve already said that,” he muttered. “I’ve heard it enough.”
Moving swiftly, he closed the doors and booted up the spaceship before settling into the commander’s seat. The melodic sounds of the buttons being pressed momentarily distracted him as he focused on safely lifting off the ground and into the galaxy. Usually, he would have his usual crew of Mingyu and Soonyoung with him, but this was a mission he wanted to undertake alone. You were intelligent, quick, and a skilled shooter, and he didn’t want to take the risk of you hurting someone else and escaping again. It pained him to think of you that way.
Once you were safely in the air, he set the ship on autopilot and kicked his feet up on the dash as it navigated through the dark blue sky. Within a day's time, they would be back in Adamas City, where you would have to stand in front of Aeron and answer for what you did. This whole situation was gnawing at him; the family he found was being split apart, and the only reconciliation could come through death. Wonwoo hadn’t felt this kind of pain since his parents died, and he shuddered to think about life without you in it. You were his sun, his moon, and a world without you in it wasn’t something he could bear.
Instead of talking to you, baring his feelings and putting everything on the line, he remained silent, watching the planets go by while he nursed a broken heart.
“Where are we?”
16 hours have passed since you left Glacius, and the ship doors open to a planet that is not Galaxia. It is small, round, and rocky with multiple pit stops, restaurants, and a main hotel that stands higher than the planet, if you had to guess.
“East Eaoros XII, specifically Requim,” Wonwoo responds. “You haven’t been here before, but this is where you go to refuel your ships and rest before you go to your next destination.”
“Oh…” you nod. “I see.”
Wonwoo pulls a blanket over you, assumingly to cover your handcuffed hands to not draw attention to you. You catch a whiff of his cologne when he wraps it around your arms, his close proximity sending butterflies fluttering in your stomach. For a brief moment, your eyes meet, but he quickly looks away. His brown eyes are filled with sadness, yet they still radiate love for you.
“I think we should rest… You know, before we go back to Adamas City.”
“Okay.”
He leads you out of the ship and closes it with the remote in his pocket, walking towards the hotel. It is a ten-story building with nothing special about it, resembling a regular hotel. The interior was no different, with the typical mahogany-colored walls and shiny white floors that were supposed to exude luxury. You stood silently as Wonwoo checked into his reservation, listening to the conversations of the guests that walked by, oblivious that they were standing next to the most wanted person in the galaxy.
“Let’s go.”
He shoves the room keys into his pocket, and you follow him to the elevator, watching as he presses number ten on the pad. You passed each floor with a hum, the tension between you two thick and suffocating. You have so much to say, but your throat tightens every time you start. If today is truly going to be your last day in this galaxy, you want Wonwoo to know the truth, and no matter what, you love him deeply.
The elevator dings on the tenth floor, opening to a grand suite that overlooks the city. Expansive picture windows, a spacious living room with a luxury kitchen, and two rooms that were presumably where you would be sleeping tonight. Wonwoo slips the blanket off of you, throwing it over his shoulder and walking you to the living room. For your last night of freedom, he went all out. If anything, you expected a standard room with two twin beds, a TV, and, if you’re lucky, a mini fridge.
“This was the only room they had left,” Wonwoo stated, as if he were reading your thoughts. “And I really need the rest… and so do you.”
You gaze at him, your words caught in your throat and keeping you from saying how you truly feel. You took a deep breath, sliding one of the dining room tables with your foot and sitting down, your head cocked back as you take in the A/C. You feel his presence nearby, his shadow looming over you as goosebumps rise on your arms. He takes your hands, unlocks the handcuffs, and briefly rubs your wrists before letting go. You know you’ve hurt him, and it’s your cross to bear whatever he throws at you, but he still took the time to take your pain away.
“How do you know I won’t run?”
He studies you, putting the handcuffs and keys in one of the duffle bags. “If you wanted to run, you would’ve been out of the cuffs without my help.”
Your lips slightly twitch, knowing that once again, he is right. “Touche.”
Wonwoo hands you your duffle bag full of clothes, pointing to the bathroom in the room on the left. “You should go ahead and shower while we’re here.”
You nod slowly, walking into the bedroom and shutting the door. It had a king sized bed and soft satin sheets, a couple of fake plants in the window for personality and a large chess drawer with a mirror in front. You hear Wonwoo shuffling in the living room for a while, a light harmony escaping his lips that softens your heart.
You remember when he sang soft lullabies in your ear, thinking you were sleeping, his raspy vocal tone soothing to your soul. You miss your late nights and late mornings, when you were either in his arms or underneath him. You miss his intimacy, his protection, his raw love, which he showed you in different ways that made you want to stay and live. Wonwoo is your whole world, your lifeline, and you're proud to say you’ve never loved anyone before him, and it's an honor to be loved by him in return.
You step into the bathroom, turning on the shower, wincing as you slowly undress. The straps from the belts on the ship were too tight, and you felt them tightening against your skin as each hour passed. It’s left you with bruises across your chest, nothing too serious, but enough to feel when you move. You didn’t complain, you’ve had worse injuries before, and it seems so minuscule compared to the pain that you’ve caused. The only thing that mattered was being here with him and making the most out of it.
“Wonwoo,” you call out, inhaling the steam quickly filling the bathroom. Your heart beats a drum of suspense, overriding your head, and what could blow up in your face. You can’t think straight, your thoughts are jumbled, and above all, you don’t want to be alone.
A few seconds later, he rushes into the bathroom, his eyes full of panic.
“C-can you just hold me please?” Your voice trembles. “I know you hate me and I really fucked up but I don’t want to be alone.”
His gaze softens at your words, and he slips off his glasses, undressing without hesitation. Wonwoo is a muscular man with his own scars and battles, and you could recall how he got each one. Stepping into the shower stall with you, he noted your bruises, his eyes welling up as he examined each one. “Did I do this?”
“It’s okay, you didn’t know—”
“NO, it’s not okay!” His raised voice makes you jump. “God, Silver, it’s like you don’t trust me anymore.”
His words pierce your heart, triggering a cascade of tears you can no longer hold back. You’ve been strong all this time, running throughout the galaxy to complete your last mission alive and eliminate Aeron. But your soul is tired, and Wonwoo is one of the few people you can depend on, and yet you keep hurting him.
He pulls you into his arms as you continue to cry, the warm water from the shower head beating over both of you. You feel protected and safe, as if you are finally home and can lay down your burdens. You don’t regret trying to kill Aeron, and you would do it again in a heartbeat, but you regret not including him in on this. You will forever be sorry about it.
“I don’t deserve you,” you blurt out, gazing at him. “You deserve someone who isn’t fucked up like me—”
Wonwoo kissed you ravenously like a starved man. He didn’t intend to go in so strong, but hearing you talk down about yourself, he hated it. He just wants to kiss your pain away.
“I couldn’t hate you if I tried.” He whispered. “I love you, okay? Nothing will ever change that.”
You were beautiful to him, with many layers and flaws that he didn’t care about. Yes, he was upset that you hadn’t trusted him, but he also knew YOU, and understood you wouldn’t have acted that way without proof. He was hopelessly and deeply in love with you, and his heart was telling him to trust you. You had grown up together and had seen every side of each other. There was no way he would ever give up on you, Aeron or not.
He kissed you again, and he found himself caught in a rapture of love, his hunger and need for you superseding any logical thought or need. He touched you like he was trying to reclaim all the time you had been apart. Your nails dug into his back when he sucked your neck, leaving you more bruised.
“Sorry, baby,” he said in between breaths.
“Don’t be sorry,” you shook your head. “Do what you want.”
He felt himself hardening against your leg, and he instinctively started stroking himself, sending electric jolts throughout his body. His lips slightly parted, the thought of being inside of you and feeling your warmth around him, cumming for him over and over almost sends him into an abyss.
You slowly get on your knees, moving his hand, rubbing his shaft, and giving his tip a soft kiss. Wonwoo watched as you took over, bobbing your head back and forth as you sucked him inch by inch, never breaking eye contact. He loved the way you twirled your tongue around his cock, the wet slurping sounds coming from your pretty mouth was music to his ears. It made his toes curl, turning him animalistic as his hands grasped your head and pulled it tightly.
"You feel so good baby", he muttered against the wall. "I missed you."
You nodded fervently, increasing your pace and skillfully deepthroating him while he was in ecstasy. Watching his cock go in and out of your mouth, drops of spit coming out of your mouth was a sight to see. You sucked him earnestly like you owed him, and he felt that. But little did you know, Wonwoo is the one who owes you, for keeping him alive all this time.
“Get up,” he gritted his teeth, reluctantly pulling you off of him.
He helped you off the ground and pressed your back against the tiled wall, the warm water hitting your breasts and falling on the curves of your stomach. The smell of vanilla on your skin is intoxicating, stirring in his chest a need for you and your taste. His fingers brushed against your nipples, your sensitive buds hardening at his touch. He sucked on them softly, his tongue swirled around each nipple, earning a hard moan from your lips. He loved the way your body responded to him. You were like a siren, your moans enticing to him as he sucked on them harder and putting him under your spell.
“God, Wonwoo,” you whined.
“I know, baby, I know.”
His lips traveled lower to your abdomen, leaving a trail of kisses on your soft stomach as he made his way to your center. His mouth salivated as he saw your flowering bud, bringing back memories of his tongue inside of you for the first time at the Sanctuary. You were creamy and tasted like heaven, and he’s been addicted to your sweetness ever since.
“You’re so beautiful.”
He dived in without any warning, sucking on your clit and spreading your legs. He was on his knees, devouring your center like this was the last time. He yearned to feel your cum on his tongue, to swallow everything that you had to offer him. He was a desperate man in love, and willing to do anything to make you satisfied.
“Shit,” you sighed, your hands caressing his hair. “You feel so good.”
Wonwoo grinned against your folds, giving your clit another kiss before hiking your leg up, slipping two digits inside of you. He watched as you bit your lip in anticipation, slowly working his fingers in and out of you. HIs lips found your clit again, fingering and sucking you while your hips slow whined into a seductive rhythm. He loved watching you lose control, your legs shaking and your stomach tightening as the pressure built up in your abdomen. He didn’t slow down when he knew you were cumming, instead he increased the pace, wanting to see you explode over his face and fingers.
“Wonwoo, I...”
Your sentence ended in a high-pitched moan, your fingers grasping his hair tightly as you erupted. He slowly slipped out his fingers, drunk on your sugarness, as he slurped everything you had to offer him. He didn’t stop until you lightly slapped his face, your unspoken yellow light when you needed to catch your breath. Standing up from the shower, the warm water hit his back as he faced you, pulling you into another kiss. Your lips curved into a smile, your eyes shone brightly into his as if nothing more needed to be said.
But he said it anyway.
“I love you.”
You nodded slowly, bringing your hand down and stroking his cock near your entrance. His eyebrows raised, and you smirked, kissing his face lightly before turning around and pressing your chest against the wall. “You know what to do.”
His hands found your hair, wrapping it around his fist as he slid the head of his cock inside of you. He entered you slowly, knowing you were still ripe with overstimulation, despite your body saying otherwise. You pressed your ass against him, goading him to go keep as possible. Your hips rolled in a way that made Wonwoo’s cock twitch, and with one grunt he place his hand on your left hip and started to fuck you. Hard.
“Please.”
He knew exactly what your body craved, hitting you with deep, long strokes that made you quiver, your hands reaching for him and digging into his legs. You didn’t want to be handled like a princess tonight; you wanted to be fucked until there was nothing left. He felt your hunger, your ache, your eagerness to make your pain go away. He loved the way your walls tightened around him when he kissed the back of your neck. Wonwoo has studied you for a long time, and he knew exactly what you needed.
He lets go of your hair, sliding his hand down to your throat and tightening his grip. Your body began to shake, and he thrusted into you harder, your wet skin slapping against his as you moved in harmony with each other. Your moans turn into a sirenic scream, your warm essence drowning his cock as you shudder, your eyes rolling in the back of your head. Wonwoo didn’t last long after that, letting out a long mewl before emptying himself inside of you, coating your walls with his load. You’re both breathless, the water still warm as ever as it rinses away the mess that was made. Kissing you on your shoulder, Wonwoo pulls you off the wall, turning you around and moving a part of your silver hair out of your face.
“We need to talk,” you muttered, looking down at the floor.
“I know,” Wonwoo nodded, feeling his chest constrict at the dreaded conversation. “Let’s get cleaned up first.
A few hours later, you were sitting on the couch, watching the shooting stars go back and forth outside the window. After your shower, your energy was gone, and so you took a nap, promising to get up in an hour. Wonwoo let you sleep in and, at some point, laid in bed with you, as you woke up with his arms wrapped around your waist. His light snores were peaceful, and you wondered if he dreamed like you did, where you were happy, without the threat of Aeron looming over your shoulder with a wedding ring on your finger and a baby in your stomach. Maybe in another life, you can get this back.
“Hey.”
Wonwoo walks into the living room with sleepy eyes and messy hair, unfolding his glasses and sliding them on. He takes a seat next to you, pulls you into his arms, and gazes at the stars together. For the first time in days, you finally feel at peace, able to breathe easily with the limited time you have left.
“I can’t believe this is the last time I’ll see this,” you say solemnly.
“What do you mean?” he asks.
You turn to him and hold his hand tightly. “You know Aeron isn’t going to let me go alive.”
Aeron is a pitbull with a grudge that could go on for a thousand years. You’ve seen what he’s done to people who have pissed him off for less. You aren’t going to believe in some miracle or the greater good; you know better than that. He’s never laid a hand on you as many times as you’ve disobeyed him growing up, but you’ve never tried to kill him either. God, you wish you didn’t miss.
Wonwoo rubs your shoulders, and you can tell he is thinking of a way to get out of this and take care of you, like he always does. “Who sent you the files and the evidence?”
“It was Selene,” you disclosed. “She was best friends with my mother, and she knew Aeron growing up as well.”
You explained everything that Selene told you, even down to the box of mementos that was left in her quarters. Wonwoo listened, never interrupting and taking in everything you said. You saw anger flash in his dark eyes, and you are thankful you aren’t the reason behind that.
“He created this whole, elaborate plan just to keep himself from facing judgment, from facing me,” you pointed at your chest. “He has to know that I would’ve killed him if I found out.”
You think back to Glacius, looking at the photos of your mother’s childhood, happy and oblivious to the future she faced. You remember sleeping happily to your mother’s framed memories and waking up to Wonwoo pulling you back into reality… how did Wonwoo know where you were?
“Hey,” you say abruptly. “How did you know where I was?”
A fleeting look of shame crosses Wonwoo's face, prompting you to withdraw your hand as an eerie feeling coils in your chest. “Jeon Wonwoo, I swear to God—”
“Your ring,” he blurts out, looking at your left hand. “I’ve been able to track you with your ring.”
It didn’t hit you right away. You looked down at your engagement ring, a symbol of love and a promise of your future together that he gave you on the last day of the year, down on one knee at the Sanctuary. There is no way he would taint that memory with a lie, right?
“You must be talking about another ring…” Your voice trails off. “Surely you aren’t talking about this ring on my finger?!”
“Silver, let me explain—”
“Really, Wonwoo?!” You leap off the couch, yanking the ring off your finger while he watches wide-eyed. “It’s bad enough I have Aeron lying to me, but I would never think in a million eons that you would be capable of this, giving me a fake ring—”
“Silver, STOP!”
His voice roars through the suite, sending chills down your spine. The heat of anger and betrayal that had fueled your fire suddenly evaporates. Anything else you wanted to say dies in your throat, your lips pressed tight in a mix of confusion and disbelief as you wave your hand, urging him to continue.
“That ring was made from the finest jeweler in the Nova District, and I personally picked out the stones in the lab. I would never, EVER, give you a fake ring, and I’m really offended you would think I would do that.” Wonwoo motions for you to sit down, and reluctantly, you sit.
“Remember when we had the mission in the Xaros Forest and we were attacked by the wild boars there? Remember when we got separated and I couldn’t find you for days?”
You think back to that particular mission from a year ago, as you were sent there to bring in a wanted fugitive and were met with the wild beasts. While fending them off, you were cut by one of them and almost died, bleeding out in the field. A native of that land saw what happened and stopped the bleeding in their cave, leaving you separated from Wonwoo and the rest of the hunters for seven days. Eventually, that native led Wonwoo to you, and you had never seen him look so terrified; the agony etched on his face upon seeing your condition was unforgettable.
“Those seven days were the worst days of my life,” Wonwoo laments. “I didn’t know if you were dead, alive, but held captive, and I never wanted us to be in that position again. So I placed a tracker on the band of the ring, so if you disappeared again, I would find you.”
You search his eyes for any hint of deceit, but deep down, you know he was telling the truth. Wonwoo could be a lot of things, but a liar he is not. The truth is, this Aeron situation has made you go out of your mind. If someone you looked up to could lie to you like that, or the scientist you did jobs for knew secrets and kept them from you, what’s to say Wonwoo wouldn’t do the same?
“I just wish you had told me, talked to me first,” you sigh heavily. “I would’ve done anything you wanted.”
“I don’t think you should be lecturing me on trust, Silver.”
His words hit you like an arrow to the chest, and you had no comeback for that. He was right.
“Put your ring back on, please,” Wonwoo says softly. “If you want me to take off the tracker, I will.”
You study him for a moment, the familiar look of pain you keep causing on his face. You slowly slide the ring back on your finger, feeling like shit. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be,” he says, getting up and pulling you into a hug. “I should’ve talked to you about it first. You’re right.”
You nod on his chest, listening to his heartbeat drum against your ear as the living room falls silent, sans your loud, grumbling stomach.
“We have room service here. Go ahead and order something.”
He kisses your forehead and untangles himself from you, going into the other room and quietly shutting the door. You go into the kitchen and browse the menu, settling on two burgers and fries with drinks, since you know Wonwoo is going to want the same thing. After you enter your order, you sit at the table, alone with your thoughts and everything that has happened. Shortly after, Wonwoo exits the room, his face red with anger.
‘What’s wrong?” You get up slowly.
“It’s Aeron,” he said bitterly. “He wanted to know if I captured you.”
You feel your heart sink into your chest, collapsing back in your chair. Reality is setting in, and tonight will be the last day you will be alive. But at least you will have your day to confront him in person, to look him in the eyes and make him confess to everything he did.
“The way he’s been talking to me every time I bring up what he did… It’s like I don’t matter. Just another body under The Organization.”
Wonwoo looks dejected and hurt, like a boy who's lost his father. You wrap him up in your arms, letting him squeeze you tight in the solace that he needs.
“Baby, I have a plan,” he says, “And it may not work, and it could get us both killed. But I need you to trust me.”
You release him and gaze into his eyes, placing your hand across his heart. “I trust you completely. What are you thinking?”
The rain pours as you land in Adamas City, and the wind is violent like it knows what today is: your judgment day.
The last twelve hours you spent with Wonwoo on East Eaoros XII all seem like nothing but a memory now, the anxiety eating at your stomach as you face the unknown about your future. Wonwoo was careful leading you out of the ship in handcuffs, meeting Soonyoung and Mingyu at the doors before heading inside The Hightower. Soonyoung and Mingyu give you sympathetic looks, walking you to the elevators and standing on each side as you walk in. Wonwoo swipes his badge and presses the button to floor 77, where Aeron awaits you both.
“Are you ready for this?”
You look at Wonwoo, and despite his calm demeanor, his brown eyes reveal that he is worried. You lean in, quickly kissing him and interlocking your pinky with his. “I’m as ready as I can be.”
The elevator dings at 77, the doors opening to Aeron’s office, a swanky 7000 square feet of space that held business meetings, promotions, and if you were on his bad side, your last breath.
“I’ve been expecting you.”
Before you could react, a fist connected to your left cheek, sending you flying into one of the tables. You stagger, facing the 6’5” man with olive skin, a muscular build, and piercing eyes ready to kill.
“You thought you could shoot me and get away with it?!”
He swings another punch, but you're nimble, ducking just in time. Your eyes catch a bottle of dark liquor on his desk, and with a swift motion, you hurl it at him like a Frisbee. Aeron raises his arm to block it, the glass shattering and slicing into his skin, shards splattering across his face. You see Wonwoo reach for his gun, but you shake your head, determined to be the one to send him out of this world.
You search wildly for anything that could free you from the cuffs, adrenaline surging as you fight for your life. You don’t hear Aeron’s approach until it’s too late; suddenly, you’re lifted off the ground and violently slammed down, the impact knocking the breath from your lungs. With merciless fury, Aeron unleashes a torrent of insults, calling you every foul name imaginable while you struggle to gather your thoughts on the hard, unforgiving carpet.
“And I bet it was that bitch Selene who tipped you off,” he spits. “Don’t worry, I’ll take care of her next.”
“Leave her out of it,” You croak. “She had the guts to tell me the truth, and not hide behind my mother’s memory like some little bitch.”
Aeron’s roar could be heard several floors below. He marched over to your direction, but he was cut off by Wonwoo, standing squarely in front of you. “Enough, Aeron.”
“Boy, get out of my way,” Aeron growls, rolling up his sleeves, attempting to go around Wonwoo.
Wonwoo stood his ground, pushing him out of the way while giving you a chance to sit up and catch your breath. Aeron’s head tilts in disbelief, but instead of going after him, he saunters over to his desk, pulling out a cigar from his drawer. “I could use a break anyway.”
Slumping into his chair, Aeron lights up his cigar and takes one long puff, his eyes fixing on Wonwoo as he examines your swollen left cheek.
“Are you okay?” Wonwoo asks softly.
“I’m fine,” you assure him. “It’s going to take a lot more than this to take me out.”
“You were always pussy-whipped,” Aeron chuckles at his desk. “She could ask you to leap into traffic, and you would do it, no questions asked.”
Wonwoo didn’t respond, instead looking at the time on his watch and moving to your right side. You would be a liar if you said you weren’t in pain. You haven’t sparred with Aeron in years, let alone a real fight. He caught you off guard, and you underestimated his strength, and now you have a sore back and limbs to show for it. It’s not like he got away scot-free, the cuts of glass being the only blow that you could land while handcuffed.
“Why did you do it, Aeron?” you speak up. “Why did you kill my mother? My family?”
You watch him as he takes another puff of his cigar, exhaling the thick smoke out of his mouth.
“She was supposed to be mine, always,” he reveals. “I’ve loved your mother since the first time I laid eyes on her. She loved me too, ya know. Our love transcended time, and we would be happy together if she didn’t get married to that father of yours.”
“I know about the affair, and she wanted to end it.” Your voice is low. “Why didn’t you just leave her be? Why did we all have to die? Why fake a gas leak?”
His hands twitch, fingers curling into fists before releasing. “Because she broke her promise to me,” his voice trembled. “She was only supposed to love me. We were going to figure out how to get her out of her marriage so we could finally be together, and I would raise you as my daughter. However, she fell in love with that man and wanted to make it work with him.” He gazes back at you, eyes wild with a mix of pain and fury. “I just couldn’t have that.”
“So instead of moving on, you decided to kill us?” Your voice wavers, a lump forming in your throat as tears begin to blur your vision. “You were family to us, Aeron! How could you?”
“How could she? How could she love someone else? No, she did it to herself. Your family’s death is on her. I just facilitated the leak, that’s all.”
You stare at him incredulously, your body shaking in anger. You lost your family because Aeron couldn’t handle the thought of your mother being happy with someone else. He’s a bitch and a punk, and you can’t wait to put him down for good.
“Fuck you.”
The telecast’s screen suddenly turns on, showing a livestream of the office and the three of you in it. The recording replays of Aeron assaulting you on entry, watching you fly across the room with a thundering smack to the face. You pinpoint how it was recorded, noting the camera moved every time Wonwoo did, realizing the pin Wonwoo was wearing was actually a hidden camera. Aeron’s eyes are wide with shock as the telecast is shown on the main public channels for everyone to witness.
“What the hell is this?!”
Wonwoo silently releases the handcuffs while Aeron is distracted, whispering in your ear, “Do what you have to do.”
Without hesitation, you grab Wonwoo’s gun, firing a shot into Aeron’s knee. He howls in pain, and without mercy, you shoot the other one, witnessing his face contort in agony and surprise.
“Those two? Are for Dipper and Umi,” you declare, your voice laced with vengeance.
The gun recoils in your hand again, sending a bullet into Aeron's stomach. “That was for my dad, who was ten times the man you ever were.”
With a perfect aim, you shoot one more shot, a fatal blow to his heart. “And that is for my mother, you piece of shit.”
You watch the life leave his body, his eyes glassy and his tongue rolled out of his mouth like the dog he is. The alarms suddenly start blaring, the lights in the office flashing red.
“We have to go.”
Wonwoo pulls you out of the office and into a hidden stairwell, racing up to the roof where the helipad is located. When Wonwoo told you about his plan, you weren’t sure he could pull it off, as it involved many moving pieces. But just like you had friends in different places, so did he. Mingyu and Soonyoung were in on it, standing guard and making sure no one got in the way. Conveniently, they would also be the ones to sound off the alarm to cover up their tracks. He planned to have you leave the city while he cleaned up this mess, publicly and behind the scenes. Since Aeron is dead and Wonwoo is his adopted son on paper, Wonwoo is now the head of The Organization.
He opens up the door leading to the roof, and there awaits a ship, ready to go. What he didn’t tell you was who was going to be navigating the ship, and you have never been happier to see your best friend.
“Happy to see me?” Jeonghan smirked in the commander’s seat.
“Always a pleasure,” you say, looking around the ship. “Where’s So—”
“She’s… with a friend,” Jeonghan finishes your sentence. “We need to leave now before the guards come.”
You nod sharply and turn to Wonwoo, who’s looking at you with a mix of awe and sorrow. The realization hits hard: this might really be the last time you see him until things chill out. All those moments you fought for just to end up on the brink of another goodbye—it feels so wrong. Frustration bubbles up inside you. It shouldn’t be like this; none of this is fair. You should be together, not caught in this mess, forced apart when all you want is to hold on.
“Remember what I told you at the Hightower when we passed our tests?”
You could never forget anything about that day. It was the first time you kissed him, and one of the best nights of your life. “You said I was a force of nature.”
“That’s right, baby,” he says, tears welling up in his eyes. “We’re going to get through this together, and I will find you, okay?”
You point at your engagement ring, and he nods, and he meets your gaze, leaning in to kiss you deeply. A flood of emotions washes over you, your own tears spilling out of your eyes, as you draw him in tighter, breathing in his scent one last time.
“I’m sorry to cut in here, but we have to go,” Jeonghan calls out from his seat.
Reluctantly breaking away, you leave him with one last kiss, wiping his tears away and letting go of his hands.
“I love you, Silver.”
You nod as he exits the ship, your heart feeling lighter with the resolve that you will see him again. Instead of saying goodbye, you leave him with a promise:
“See you, space cowboy.”
(epilgoue)
Thank you for reading 🥹 if you would like to be tagged in any more of my future works, sign up here.
— synopsis: following an abrupt break-up that has lasted a year, you find yourself standing in front of the very apartment where your past lover sleeps, and where you once used to call home. two birthdays, several holidays and one sullen, teary 'could've been' anniversary later — you're ready to face him and ask the unexpected.
– genre: exes to ??? ; angst, smut, fluff.
— pairing: ex-boyfriend!hansol vernon chwe x fem!reader
– word count: 12k.
— rating: 18+. minors do not interact!
– warnings: seungkwan plot device! lots of tears, breakups, mentions of food/eating, mentions of alcohol. smoking (weed), swearing, kissing, exes being exes that can't let go. smut warnings: unprotected sex (yeah yeah don't do it), pet names (babe, baby, etc.) ; brief oral/fingering (f.rec), dirty talk (sorry), body worship, slight breeding kink, ruined orgasms, clitplay, creampie. that's about it i think. enjoy?
— what to listen to: iris - the goo goo dolls ; the only heartbreaker - mitski ; supercut - lorde ; if you leave me - seventeen ; winterbreak - muna ; perdoname - yoskar sarante ; beg for you (remix) - charli xcx, rina sawayama, a.g. cook, vernon.
– author's note: [special thank you to @diamonddaze01, @hannieoftheyear + @ikeukiss for beta-reading most of this before i finished it off tonight!] he's bald! he's bald and he's falling in love with people who have hair! as previously stated, i could not finish off 2025 without thee hansol vernon chwe making his debut on my blog, and i'm incredibly excited to dedicate this one to none other than @sailorsoons ! i'm not going to get sappy because i'm not good at it and i know you don't like it, but please know i love you and i hope your birthday was a blast. here's to you, to 2025 and hansollie's debut on haologram! happy birthday, halali! ♡
“WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE?”
You don’t have an answer for him; your hand clenched inside your jacket pocket, the other gripping the handle of your umbrella. You look up at him from under the rim of the pink shade, his eyes boring into your face. He looks upset, but perhaps...not with you.
Maybe the circumstances.
“I’m not sure,” you mumble back, your throat burning as you step back slightly.
He stays silent as he averts his gaze to your boots, muddy from the rain and possibly jumping in every puddle available. You always liked doing that when the rain was light, and it usually ended up with him offering you a pair of sweatpants when you got home.
Or, to his apartment. It’s not home to you, not anymore.
He doesn’t say anything as he moves to the side, opening the door wider for you to step inside. You’re seemingly rooted in place until he turns his head to face the inside of his apartment. Slightly messy, with blankets and sweaters strewn everywhere. Candles burning on his coffee table fill the place you once called home with smells of salted caramel, vanilla and a hint of cedarwood.
You’re quiet as you slip your feet out of your pink rain boots, your mismatched yellow and purple socks doing nothing to keep you warm from the freezing tile of his foyer. You shake off the umbrella, wrapping it closed and leaning it against the brick of his building.
“No one will take it, right?”
“You know no one will.”
You shove your hand in your pocket as you duck into his apartment, feeling the sting of tears prick at your eyes as you look around his living room. He’s got his journal open on the coffee table, the list of films you promised you’d watch together displayed in his handwriting. Smudges of blue and splats of ink from what you presume to be tears cover the page.
The Netflix account you once shared is paused forty minutes into Mary and The Witch’s Flower.
“I thought we said—”
“We said a lot of things, let’s not go down that rabbit hole.”
You suck in a breath, nodding as he shuts the door. You hear the lock click, before hearing him skirt into the kitchen.
“Drink?”
“Any soju?”
A scoff is heard, before the familiar clinking of the green bottles you know he hasn’t touched and possibly been sitting since you left. Hansol never did like to drink alone.
Even if it meant drowning in every sinking thought he had about you.
He comes out of the kitchen with the bottled gripped between his knuckles, and a bottle of juice in his other hand. It’s new, and it’s one of your favorites. One that he hates.
“Force of habit, huh?”
“I guess.”
You inch towards the couch, the Persian rug beneath your feet soft and cushiony. You remember buying it with him, browsing a website he’d gotten from Seungkwan and buying three things while stoned out of your mind. The tiger blanket draped across the couch was one of the three, and a personalized cushion with your initials was the other.
That was nowhere to be found.
You perch on the edge of the couch, suddenly feeling hot as he sets the drinks on the coffee table. He still smells the same, soft aftershave and cotton deodorant.
Cotton deodorant you used to buy for him, in bulk at Costco.
He had half a stick on the vanity before you left. He’s had to have bought more since.
He’s almost too close as he opens the bottles, flicking the caps onto the table and leaning back into the couch. Your fingers brush the sweating neck of the soju bottle as you grab for it, cold and slippery. He takes it from you abruptly, a bit of it spilling down his hand as he shakes his head.
“Wrong one.”
You look at the bottle in his hand, his fingers just barely covering the word Fresh scrawled on the label. Your cheeks heat as you nod, grabbing for the other one.
Yogurt.
“Do you need a glass?”
“No, I’m okay.”
He hums, picking at the label on his bottle with his ringed forefinger. He doesn’t press play on the movie; he doesn’t move to comfort any sort of awkward situation. Hansol knows you’ll speak when you’re ready.
“What’s the movie about?”
“The kid’s a witch.”
“Oh, cool.”
“Yep.”
Silence.
Agonizing, excruciating, debilitating silence.
“Do you hate me?”
“What?”
His eyes are wide as he quickly faces you; your eyes glued to the burning flame of the salted caramel candle on his coffee table. You bought that one. You bought it at a home goods store, and you remember scowling at him when he raised an eyebrow at you when you beelined for it – you'd told him you’d just wanted to get new pillows for the bed.
Pillows you left behind.
“Do you hate me, Hansol? I’d hate me?”
“I could never hate you.”
You swallow hard, your fingers tightening around the bottle of soju. He sighs, setting his down on the coffee table before running a hand through his hair. Or lack thereof, he’s buzzed it off since – chocolate brown hair you’d run your fingers through before bed or swipe out of his eyes when he was too concentrated on Mario Kart.
He looks good.
He looks...tired.
“I could never hate you.” He repeats, and suddenly, the air feels thicker around you. Everything feels like it weighs a thousand pounds, your chest tight as you force yourself to look up at him. His eyes are rimmed with unshed tears, your jaw dropping slightly as you inch forward.
He looks away, wiping his eyes quickly before clearing his throat.
“You did what you thought was best. I can’t hate you for taking care of yourself, that’s what you’re supposed to do.” He mumbles thickly, shrugging his shoulders as he traces the spout of the bottle. You follow his fingers carefully, your heart sinking at the slight tremble in them.
“I’m sorry I disturbed you tonight, Hansol.” You murmur back, wiping your sweaty palms on your jeans, still damp from sprinkles of the rain. He shakes his head, sighing. You’re both staring at the condensation dripping on his coffee table.
His coffee table that you bought together. His bottle of juice that he’s never going to drink. His television, and the remote that you always changed the batteries to because he would forget.
His apartment. Speckled with you, everywhere. Everywhere you looked, you saw yourself.
“You didn’t.”
“I did.”
“Don’t tell me how I feel, Y/N. I’m so tired of everyone telling me how I feel, or how I’m supposed to feel, or whatever. I’m human, too. I can feel whatever I want. And you didn’t disturb me, okay? I wouldn’t have opened the door if I didn’t want to.”
Your chest aches at the sound of your name from his lips, eyes wide as you look at him; his own still trained on the condensation gathering on his coffee table. You watch him as his eyes follow the drops sliding down the bottles, your tongue darting out slowly to wet your lips.
“Why...did you?”
“Why did I what?”
“Open the door.”
“It’s storming. You only like rain when it’s light.” He whispers to himself, before glancing at you. “You still...right? You still don’t like thunder?”
It’s only been a year, but he acts like it’s been an eternity.
Maybe it has been.
Maybe it’s been a millennia for him, as it has been for you.
“Right,” you nod, picking at your nail polish as your leg starts bouncing. He used to stop you – when he was your boyfriend. He’d splay his hand on your kneecap; his thumb would rub gentle circles into the side before giving it a squeeze. You found solace in the touch.
Now? He’s more than a cushion and a half away, and the space between you is hot; it’s burning hot. And you so badly want to close the gap, to feel his hand on your knee and feel the comfort of him spread through your body.
In any way. You’d allow it in any way.
“It’s been a year. Today.” You clear your throat, and he closes his eyes – folding his hands in his lap as he leans back into the couch. He nods before resting his head on the back of his couch and opening his eyes to look at you.
“...Is this where we do the whole ‘how have you been’ bullshit?”
There is a lilt of a smile in his voice, but it doesn’t show on his face. You shake your head, shrugging your shoulders.
“I don’t know.”
“You don’t know how you’ve been, or you don’t know if—”
“I miss you, Hansol.” You blurt, wincing inwardly as you shove your hands under your thighs; your fingers cold from the bottle and the rain and the way all the blood in your body rushes to your chest to aid the fire of anxiety in growing. You shift, wondering how long you could stare at the coffee table before your eyes wore holes into it.
“...Is that why you’re here?”
You suck in a shaky breath, opting to close your eyes. If you’re going to cry, you don’t want to see his reaction to it. You don’t want to see the flame in his eyes when he tells you to get out, to leave – that you’re too little, too late.
That he doesn’t want you anymore, and you’ll have to live with the regret of leaving him for the sake of nothing for the rest of your life.
“I know I don’t get to say that. I know it’s my fault. I left, and I...I’m sorry, Hansol. I’m sorry that I was a coward and I jumped ship when things started getting serious. I was a douche, and you don’t have to miss me. You don’t have to feel anything, I just...” Your tongue darts out to lick your lips, the salty taste of a stray tear coating the tip.
“I wasn’t even in the neighborhood. I was six blocks away; I’d gotten coffee with Seungkwan. He told me you still lived here, and that you were good. That you were doing well.”
“And you wanted to...what? Check and make sure for yourself? Ruin it, if I was?”
There’s no poison in his voice. Hansol has always been diplomatic, respectful. Sometimes you wondered if there was a single bone in his body that ever felt rage. The urge to make everything look like a war zone, the subtle need to want to destroy every relationship he’s ever built from the ground up.
Sometimes, you feel that kind of rage.
“I don’t know,” you murmur, tightly squeezing your eyes shut as you feel him shift on the other edge of the couch. A roll of thunder is heard outside, your fingers gripping the fabric of the cushion beneath your thighs as it fades.
You don’t catch the way he instinctively reaches for you, before sinking back into the cushion.
“I don’t know what I wanted to do. I don’t know what I’m doing here.”
He hums, and you sniffle. One of your hands reaches to swipe at your face, wiping the tears on your jeans as you face away from him. You open your eyes, looking at the wall through the blur of tears. All the frames on the wall are still the same, and they hold all of your pictures together. Your face is still cemented in the memories, and you wonder how he felt looking at those pictures every single day.
“Do you want to talk about everything?” He asks softly, and you glance over your shoulder to see him resting his cheek on his palm. His eyes are just as gentle and understanding as they’ve always been.
As warm as they’ve always been.
“It could help you...uh, figure yourself out.”
Help you figure yourself out.
“What is there to talk about? I left for no reason.”
“Don’t do that. You left to find yourself. You left to take care of you.”
“And it was selfish,” you scoff, and he clicks his tongue.
“You think so?”
“I know so.”
“I think it would’ve been worse if I kept begging you to stay, knowing you wouldn’t have been happy here. I mean, look around,” he gestures to the apartment. There is so much of you, and so much of him. “Everything in this apartment was a display of what our relationship was. Everything was you and me, me and you and us. It was never just Y/N, and it was never just Hansol. I could not, in good faith, keep you here if it was me that was suffocating you. It was not fair.”
“You could never suffocate me,” you mumble to yourself, feeling a few tears trickle down your face as you speak.
It’s silent for a moment.
“What about you, Sol?”
The nickname slips from your bitten lips, and he sighs.
“What about me, Y/N?”
“If the tables were turned. If I had begged the way you did, would you have stayed?”
It’s not a fair question. You know it’s not, and you can tell he thinks it’s not as his eyes shut, and he silently nods his head. He tongues his cheek, running a hand over his buzzed hair and down his face.
“That’s not a fair question.”
“I know.”
You nod, choosing to refocus your gaze on the coffee table. There was a sticker you’d peeled off an apple a few weeks before you left, still stuck to the table leg. It looks glossed over, like it’d come unstuck and somehow been put back. Glue, maybe. Clear nail polish.
“Why didn’t you change the apartment?”
“In case you ever found your way back.”
There was a hint of hope in the back of his throat, and you realize that he’s wearing the same hoodie he wore the day you left. Baby blue, over a white t-shirt. You bought it for him, just a few weeks before you decided that things were too overwhelming. That the idea of forever was too similar to the feeling of impending doom, that seeing him so irrevocably in love with you when you couldn’t even understand the ache in your chest when you looked at yourself in the mirror...it felt unfair. It felt unfair to lose yourself in him.
It felt unfair to have the goodness of Hansol’s heart in the palm of your hand.
And it was unfair to get to break it into pieces as he knelt in front of you that very day, his forehead pressed against your thighs int he very same jeans you’re wearing now. The way his tears soaked through the material the same way the rain had, and how you bit back your own sobs as you carded your fingers through his hair that night – before untangling his arms from around your knees and walking out of the navy grey door you wish would open so you could bolt out right now.
“If I beg now—”
“You never have to beg for anything. Not from me.”
You felt your throat ache as you forced yourself to swallow, holding back a sob as he sighed quietly.
“Can I...talk about what it was like not having you around?” His voice is tentative, almost like he was talking to a deer he didn’t want to spook. You nod in silence, letting the tears drip onto your pants freely as you continue to stare at the coffee table.
“I still go by the grocery list you left on the fridge. Eggs, bread, strawberry jam and that gross fucking juice.”
His words are enough to get a snorted laugh out of you, your hand reaching to dig into your pocket for the napkin you’d taken from the café you’d been at earlier. You wipe the tip of your nose with it, shaking your head.
“I haven’t used pots or pans. I bought a crappy set from the dollar store to get myself through the days alone. I haven’t used the silverware, but I haven’t polished it either...so it’s just gathering dust in the drawer. I haven’t slept in the bedroom, either. I usually sleep here, on the couch. You left a tube of lipstick on the bathroom counter, and your shampoo is still in the shower caddy.”
He nods, and you can feel the heat of his gaze leave your face. You peek at him through the corner of your eye, seeing him looking behind you – at the wall of photos.
“I bought a sample size of your perfume, so the bathroom would still smell like it did in the morning when you would leave for work.”
You can feel your chest ache; almost like someone had reached into your ribcage and squeezed your heart so tight, it could burst in their hand.
“I refill the same disposable soap you bought the week you left. The detergent is still the same cotton scent, because you said that the other scents made your head hurt. I bought a new air freshener a few months ago but went back to return it because it was Febreze, and you don’t like Febreze unless it’s the Linen & Sky scent. I replaced the baking soda in the refrigerator, but the only food in there is what I mentioned earlier. Eggs, bread, strawberry jam.”
“And the juice,” you utter, and you can sense a dull ache start to thump at your temples. You bring your fingers up to your face, rubbing slow circles. Your eyes are low as they flicker up to the wall next to the door – his caps are hung up in the exact order they had been when you left. His navy New York Yankees, blue Texas Rangers, black Chicago White Sox and a pink one he rarely wore unless the two of you were going somewhere together.
It had your initials embroidered on the bill.
“I left everything exactly the same. I wanted it to still feel like home to you, if you ever came back.”
You turn to face him, seeing his eyes brimming with tears as he clears his throat, but interrupt him before he can speak.
“I carry a Polaroid of us in my wallet,” you start, running a hand over your face as you bring your knees to your chest, leaning back fully into the couch. “I carry a Polaroid of us, and I would show it to guys when they asked me if I was dating anyone. I couldn’t bring myself to delete any of our photos, so I put them all in a locked folder and forced myself to never look at it. I’ve eaten so much peanut butter, and it doesn’t even taste good. I hate it, actually. I hate peanut butter.”
He covers his mouth with his fingers, pursing his lips so as to not let his laughter out. You feel a smile try to fight its way onto your lips, but you swallow it down as you pick at a loose thread on the couch. You used to snip them when you still lived here. You’re sure if you reach just under the middle cushion, the gold pair of sewing scissors would still be tucked away safely.
“I left, and I was miserable. I was miserable because I was doing everything to let go of something...of someone I was so sure I didn’t deserve. I was trying to erase you from my life, but you were already missing. I would order too much food and wonder what to do with the leftovers. I would see a poster for a new indie movie I thought you’d like, and I’d go to text you, typing in the message box before I realized I couldn’t just do that. It wasn’t fair.”
“I saw the bubble pop up a lot,” he confesses softly. You must look confused, because he clears his throat before shrugging, “I once opened the chat while I was in the grocery store. I was going to ask you if we needed anything else. You were typing and then you stopped. I cried in the dry cereal aisle, a little girl called me a wimp, and I left without groceries. It’s kind of funny, now that I think about it.”
“I’m sorry.”
“That’s the last time you say that to me. I’m sick of hearing it.”
His eyes are serious, no longer glazed with tears. You nod slowly, before you run your tongue over your lips for a third time. It’s suddenly too dry in his apartment, and you feel your skin start to itch as you clear your throat.
“I miss you, Sol.”
You feel your eyes flood, a fat teardrop splatting onto your hand. You wipe it off on your jeans, before sniveling one last time and pushing off the couch.
“Thank you for listening, and for letting me in.”
He nods silently, before standing up. He doesn’t move towards the door – instead beelining for what used to be your shared bedroom. You wipe at your eyes haphazardly, drying your hands of what few tears were left on the back of your jeans. You can hear him rooting around, and you opt to move towards the hallway mirror to check your reflection.
In the corner of the mirror’s frame is a Polaroid of you and him. Your cheeks squished together, with your birthday scrawled in blue marker across the bottom in his handwriting. A lopsided heart follows the date.
It’s been so many years since that photo. It feels like so long ago.
He’s wearing the same blue hoodie, and your shoulders brave the same hot pink windbreaker.
He’d spotted it at a thrift store, the windbreaker. And the jeans you have on. And the t-shirt you wear to bed, still sullied with the scent of his deodorant and his toothpaste stain that doesn’t come out no matter how many times you wash it.
And you realize – that you are entangled.
You are everything he is, and he is everything you are. You mirror one another – from the love of cinema to the way you find each other in every universe; whether it’s in a baby blue hoodie and a hot pink windbreaker, in bottles of Fresh and Yogurt soju, or in a pink cap with your initials embroidered on it and the locket he got you with his engraved.
It burns the skin of your chest under your shirt.
Your bedroom at your mother’s house is riddled with more of him – from the single love letter you took when you left, to the odd collection of his shirt and hoodies you’d stolen from him over the years. He picked the forest green paint on the walls a few summers ago, and he made you a shitload of tchotchkes to line the floating shelves he’d helped you put up. You’d escaped there when you left him a year ago.
Only a few miles from him.
From home.
You bring your hand to your chest, feeling around for the gold locket and finding it twisted in your cleavage. It held two pictures – one of him as a baby, and one of you together. Close to your heart, close to your soul – you carried him.
You would beg. God, you would beg.
You would – if it meant you didn’t have to leave. If it meant you could leave your umbrella outside and know that Mrs. Kim next door would borrow it in the morning to get her newspaper before putting it back. You would beg on your hands and knees if it meant that Hansol wrapped his arms around you in this very moment, and let you breathe in the cotton and salted caramel and vanilla and everything he’s ever been.
You would beg, plead, pray to whatever God was out there to feel the warmth of his lips against your forehead. To hear that he missed you, he misses you. To stay up well into the night watching Princess Mononoke on his iPad in the kitchen while you bicker about how bad he is at polishing the silverware.
To lay in bed with him and count his eyelashes. To stuff a towel on the windowsill so you can open the window and breathe in the petrichor but not ruin the paint. To throw the duvet off the bed and run your hands under his shirt, likely stained with splatters of kimchi stew and the juice he fucking hates but drinks because it reminds him of the way you taste.
But it’s much sweeter when he thinks of it that way, he told you once. It tastes a lot better when it’s on your lips.
He loves that gross fucking juice when it’s lingering on your tongue.
You sigh, finally looking at your face in the mirror. Hansol is standing behind you, brows slightly furrowed as he seemingly stares at the back of your head. You jump, your hand splaying on your chest as you suck in a breath too quickly.
“You jerk, you scared me!”
“I’ll wear a bell next time,” he rolls his eyes, before holding up something in the mirror. Purple with white flowers, yellow with cats – your socks.
Ones you lost a year ago.
“Where did you find those?”
“Mrs. Kim next door found them in her basket after she pulled her clothes from the dryer yesterday. She said she remembered you running in your underwear for the newspaper and you were wearing the purple ones.”
Your eyes widen, “I’ve never run outside in my underwear! And I had shorts on that day!”
“My boxers do not count as shorts,” he snorts, before holding them out to you. “Underwear is still underwear, no matter who wears it.”
“Pft. Whatever.” You mutter before hesitating to take the socks. It could mean the end of whatever this was – you would have to stuff them in your pocket and walk towards his front door. You would have to turn his doorknob and hold onto the threshold of his apartment as you slipped your feet back into your wet rain boots. You would have to stand in his stoop as you shook out and opened your umbrella.
You would have to look into his eyes and say goodbye.
And for how long?
How long will goodbye be this time?
You reach behind you and carefully take the socks, your thumb brushing him. He doesn’t move, doesn’t react – only watching as you tuck the socks into the pocket of your windbreaker. His eyes return to the mirror, the Polaroid in the corner catching his attention.
“I haven’t looked at that photo in so long,” he murmurs, stepping forward slightly. You can feel the heat of his body on your back, before nimble fingers pluck the photo from the corner of the frame. He looks like he’s in pain as he takes it, as if it hurts him to move anything that was there when you left.
His thumb wipes dust off the photo, particularly off your face. You look at the mirror and see the perfect outline of the Polaroid, formed by the dust. You reach over and wipe it off, before wiping your hand on your jeans.
I’m ready to come home.
Please. Ask me to come home.
He glances up at the motion, tonguing his cheek as he manages to place the picture back perfectly.
“Nice try.”
You don’t respond, but he doesn't say anything else, either. He simply stares at the photo before sighing softly. He looks hesitant, and you continue to let your eyes linger on the heart-shape of his smile in the photo as you mutter under your breath.
“It’s still raining.”
“It’s only going to get worse. I’m surprised you agreed to go out with Seungkwan at all.”
You nod, before your eyes flit back to the mirror. He’s not looking at the photo anymore – but at you. His eyes are full of emotions you can’t place as he scans the entirety of your face, as if he’s taking you in; as if he can’t believe you’re real.
As if he can’t believe you’re home.
“You changed your mascara.”
You blink, opting to clear your throat as you nod, “how’d you know?”
“The other one was kind of blue, I think. This one is brown.” He shrugs, “I liked the blue one.”
“I’ll wear it more often,” you reply smoothly, before realizing it was one of the responses you’d give him when he complimented something you donned during your relationship. The hot pink windbreaker, the jeans you have on, OPI polish in Cos-mo Money on your fingernails.
“I mean, I didn’t...ugh. Sorry.”
“Mhm.”
He doesn’t say anything else, and you feel your throat dry as his eyes continue their path around your face. Eyes, nose...
Lips.
“I miss you,” he murmurs.
You feel your back stiffen as he shifts away, hearing his footsteps round the edge of the couch. He doesn’t sit down – instead, blowing out his candles as he gathers the bottles of untouched soju and tucks the unopened juice under his arm as he speaks.
“I miss you, and I don’t want you to leave. I understand if you have to, and I’ll be here when you’re ready to come home.”
You’re rooted in place as you watch him slink away into the kitchen, hearing him pour the liquor down the drain. The clinking of the bottles is mocking you as he rinses them, before sliding them into the glass-only recycling bin. The sound of the refrigerator opening pains you, hearing the clunk of the heavy juice bottle being slid into the door before it shuts again.
For what seems like the thousandth time today, you feel your eyes sting with tears. Your nose burns as you wait for him to slip out of the kitchen, your fingers toying with the zipper of your windbreaker before it gets the chance to start feeling too sticky on your skin. You tug it off, bunching it up and tossing it over the back of the couch before running your hands over your face in frustration.
“Too sticky?”
He appears next to you; eyes rimmed red as he sidles up. Or at least you wish he would – he's a good foot and a half away. The tip of his nose is pink, and there is a soft sheen on his cheeks – from tears finally spilling, you assume.
It makes you ache.
It makes your teeth hurt, the bittersweet pain of watching the man who you were sure put the stars in the sky every night feel like he had to act like you were a stranger while still yearning for you – just to make you comfortable. Why does he do that?
How can he do that?
“Hansol?”
“Mmh?”
You should feel pathetic, selfish, with the way the words crawl up your throat so easily.
“Can I stay?”
He doesn’t respond; his eyes glancing at the clock above the television. It was one of the first things you bought together – at yet another thrift store. It had a badly painted version of Shrek and Donkey on the face; the numbers shakily smeared, but the two of you bought it for giggles. It became a statement piece; your friends always commented on how ugly the thing was in comparison to everything else in your home.
But it was so you, and it was so Hansol.
So, who cares?
“Please. Please, let me stay, Sol.”
“You don’t need to beg. This is your home.” He shakes his head, and you can feel your voice shaking before you can even get the words out.
“You don’t have to miss me because I miss you. You don’t have to love me, because I love you. It’s not transactional.”
You almost miss the way he rolls his eyes, before he glances down at you by the slope of his nose. His brow is raised, your skin prickling at the sight.
“Don’t tell me how to feel.”
“I’m not.”
He shrugs, perching on the back of the couch. His hands are hidden in the pocket of his hoodie, and the proximity is enough to make your knees grow weak – worsening as a hint of that soft aftershave floats up your nostrils.
“You are. I’m allowed to miss you, you know. I’m allowed to think about you before I go to bed at three in the morning. I’m allowed to feel the twist in my stomach when I look at the toothbrush you left that I haven’t had the balls to replace, as if you’re still here. I’m allowed to still love you, after all this time.”
“I was gone for a year. You should hate me.” You lament, absently picking at your cuticles, “an entire year, Hansol. Two birthdays, yours and mine. So many holidays so many special events...all over my own insecurities of not knowing who I was and if I was even worth your time.”
He scoffs, shaking his head, “a year, ten years, a millennia. My heart has only ever been my own when you’re not the one holding it. Only then, could you have told me how to feel, and I still wouldn’t have listened to you. I will love you even if you do not love me, and even when you feel like you don’t deserve it. Even when you know who you are, and especially when you don’t. Because I know.”
You feel your lip jut out in a pout as you try to hold back the pathetic sob in your throat, only to see his hand slip out of his pocket and stop you from picking at your skin. He’s warm, like he always is.
He’s warm, inviting. Comforting.
You look up cautiously, only to see the same gaze you’d been used to in the mornings just a year ago. Soft, gentle, loving. Unadulterated adoration.
Glazed over with a hint of uncertainty. Of the present, of the future.
Of us, and everything we are. Everything we could be, and everything we are.
You look around the apartment, the weight of his hand on yours seeping into your bones. You take everything in again – the coffee table, the condensation left from the bottles, the remote. The television. The journal, with smudged blue ink. The candles. The hideous Shrek clock.
Your coffee table that you bought together. Your television, and the remote you always changed the batteries to because he would forget. The journal you bought him at a bookstore while he was preparing to visit his sister in New York City. The candles you bought around the time of that trip, because they reminded you of him – though he smells like cotton and they smell like candy.
The blanket you knitted yourself when he complained about being cold one evening – it took you four months, but it was well worth it to see the giddy grin on his face when you finally threw it over him before bed. The glass chess set that had been gathering dust in the corner for far longer than you’d been gone – one that you lost three games to him on, and sulked for hours as he peppered kisses all over your face.
Your bright red coat hung by the window, one that you’d gone frantic looking for as the colder months crept in – right next to his black one.
Coats you bought together.
“Can I see the bedroom?”
He nods silently, pushing off the back of the couch as you nervously intertwine your fingers. He says nothing, only squeezing your hand softly as he leads you down the hall – as if you’d never been there. He twists the doorknob open; the room illuminated only by the gloomy sky outside.
You reluctantly let go of his hand to step inside, your fingers flexing at your sides as you walk on the soft beige carpet. He leans against the doorframe, arms crossed and watching you stare at the floating shelves on the walls. Everything is still where you left it – wooden plane models, a few Smiski figurines, a singular LEGO wildflower bouquet. A deck of tarot cards that you used to fool around with him on long nights, stoned and flipping your bar of selenite through your fingers while he actively asked what upright Lovers meant.
The bed is made – the sage green sheets neatly tucked and folded under the mattress. The pillows are fluffed and stacked exactly the way you left them the day you went out the front door. Your pitcher of water had been refilled, and the glass wasn’t fogged over – it was new water.
Clean water.
The window is open, and a familiar pink towel is rolled carefully and stuffed onto the windowsill – the room smells of petrichor and your perfume. You spot the wall still lined with your shared collection of vinyl records, the player still holding Dizzy Up the Girl by The Goo Goo Dolls.
He bought you that one the day before you left. You remember laying on the floor with him, your head on his stomach while his fingers ran through your hair. You had told yourself you wouldn’t cry that night – but you did anyway, at half past four in the morning as he lay asleep in your arms.
Your fingers gently run over the needle, before you pick it up carefully and place it on one of the grooves. The first few notes of All Eyes on Me play through the small speakers before you lift the needle and stop it. You let it fall back into its slot in front of the record, before folding your hands behind your back and turning to face him – your eyes immediately dropping to the floor.
“Are you ready to come home?”
You look up wearily, feeling your breath catch in your throat.
“I love you, Hansol.”
“That doesn’t answer my question, Y/N.”
You move forward abruptly, circling your arms around his waist and tucking yourself into his chest. He reciprocates carefully, almost as if he’s afraid.
His hands tremble slightly as they ghost over your back, your own fisting the back of his hoodie as you press your face into the fabric. You feel his cheek rest on the top of your head, hearing a sigh slip from his lips as his hand slides up your back. Your voice is muffled as you speak into his chest, but you know he can hear you just fine.
Hansol has always understood you, deeper than words.
“I have to pick some stuff up from my mom’s.”
“Y/N. Answer the question.”
“I’m ready to come home, Sol.” You murmur, before feeling the tips of his fingers move your hair away from your neck. He smooths it down your back with one hand, the other swiping stray tendrils from your forehead. You look up at him, resting your chin on his chest as he pads his thumbs over your cheeks.
“I hate it when you cry. It makes my stomach hurt.”
His honesty makes you snort, and you struggle not to roll your eyes as he continues to caress your face. He runs his thumbs over your brows, across your eyelids, down your cheeks...
On your lips.
“You cut your hair,” you whisper, and he nods.
“I was having one of those moments. Like when girls give themselves bangs because they need to feel in control of something,” he shrugs, before his eyes light up slightly. “Didn’t you bleach—”
“Shut up. You promised me we wouldn’t talk about it after it happened. Plus, you look like Buzz Lightyear. Leave me alone.”
“I’ll have you know that being called Buzz Lightyear is actually a compliment,” he gloats, making you huff.
“Yeah, because being compared to a delusional space cowboy is the way to go.”
“You did not just call him a delusional space cowboy, bro.”
“You did not just call me bro, Hansol.”
He bites back his smile, carding his fingertips through your hair. You close your eyes at the sensation, preening at the way it sends subtle shivers down your spine.
“Call me babe, or something. Honey. I like doll, too, that was a good one.” You’re murmuring into his sweater, hoping you’ll open your eyes, and he won’t suddenly disappear. Your fingers reflexively tighten around the fabric of his sweater in your fists, and you hear the rickety laughter you’ve missed so much ring through the air.
“I’m not going anywhere, just relax.” His fingers tug gently at the hair on the nape of your neck, making you scowl. Your lip juts out as you look up at him through damp lashes, eyes full of guilt.
“Do you forgive me?” The words weigh on your tongue, and you feel the tiniest bit pathetic laying yourself out like this – but it’s Hansol.
“Nothing to forgive, you know.”
“You don’t resent me at all?”
"Not one bit.”
Your eyes scan his; narrowing at the hint of mischief in the depth of them as you pull back slightly. Your brows furrow, a scoff leaving your lips as you poke your finger into his chest.
“You’re lying.”
“I’m not. If anything...I just missed you.” He admits quietly, pressing his forehead to the top of your head before wrapping his arms around your neck and pulling you close, “I miss seeing you when I come home from work. I miss finding you passed out while folding laundry on the carpet. I miss holding you, like this.”
He sighs, shaking his head as he tucks strands of your hair behind your ears before thumbing at your pierced earlobes. Small hoops loop through them – gold ones, a gift from him many years ago.
“I miss sleeping next to you, in our bed. That couch has awful cushions, why did we buy it?”
“...We didn’t. Seungkwan made us take it when you moved out, remember? Because we...you know. On it.” You glance up at him quizzically, his cheeks tinging pink as the memory settles in the forefront of his mind. He grimaces, baring his teeth slightly as he shudders.
“I still can’t believe he didn’t knock.”
“It was his apartment, Sol.”
“...And it was his couch, huh?” He snorts, glancing down at you. You nod, letting a smile paint your lips as your laugh slips out. He smiles at the sound, leaning slightly closer. His fingertips tug on your earrings lightly.
“You missed me, right?”
“Is this when you fake me out two or three times before you kiss me?” You raise a brow, palms clammy as he shrugs.
“I could, or I couldn’t. Depends on your answer, and how much.” His face is ever so slightly closer to yours, and you never really know how to react to this side of him – now, or a year ago – despite being the only receiver of it for over half a decade. Everyone views him as someone so cool, so calm, so collected – no one really understands how easily flustered you get at his subliminally flirtatious comments, or the way he looks at you like he could eat you alive...or the way he eggs you on with his provocative insinuations and those stupid eyes of his until you fold like a house of cards.
He’s an enigma of a man, a lover, a soul.
“A lot.”
“A lot.”
“So much. I’ll get a billboard and make it say I love Hansol Chwe.”
“Oh, you missed me so bad.” He chides, making you scoff as you dig your fingers into his sides lightly. He squeals, his hands grabbing your wrists and holding them away from his body, “don’t do that!”
His eyes are considerably lighter than when you’d arrived – and you feel your cheeks grow warm as he lets your arms go, once more carding his fingers through your hair.
“You’re still awful at detangling,” he murmurs, before cradling your face in his hands. “Horrible, awful, no good at detangling your hair.”
“Yeah, well...” you huff, crossing your arms as you look away. “You kind of get used to someone else doing it for you.”
He hums, “do you need to go get your stuff tonight?”
You shake your head, glancing up at him with a small smile, “if I go tonight, the silverware won’t get polished. And we need that, so we can have dinner.”
“I am not polishing silverware tonight.”
“Oh, yes, you are. I can’t imagine how dusty my forks are.”
“Our forks, first of all. Second of all, we’re not polishing them tonight. We have other things to do,” he rolls his eyes, pressing a kiss to your hairline.
You swallow the hitched breath in your throat, feigning nonchalance as you raise a brow at him.
“Oh, do we? What other things, Hansol?”
“The usual, you know.” He plants another kiss to your temple, “first order of business is actually ordering takeout.”
“Takeout, he says. Have you got money for that?” You close your eyes as his lips brush the soft arch of your brows, your eyelids, forehead...the tip of your nose. “Last I checked, we were very frugal. Eggs, bread, strawberry jam.”
“You made us expand our budget for your nasty ass juice. I think takeout can be an option tonight,” he mumbles against your cheek, and you feel your stomach start to flutter as he brushes his lips against it. “Second order of business is actually a shower. We can listen to that true crime podcast you like while I detangle your hair. This is just unacceptable.”
“Maybe I should shave my head.”
“I’d hate for you to think that you’re a delusional space cowboy, babe.”
Your eyes widen slightly at the pet name, but he doesn’t allow you to speak as he presses his lips to yours softly – smooth with the scent of strawberry lip balm. It’s chaste, it’s fast.
Too chaste, too fast for your taste.
“Third order—”
“No, no. Kiss me.”
He raises a brow, but does as you ask. His lips mold against yours, your hands finding home on his chest. He moves to pull back, but you chase after him – pulling him back and deepening the kiss. You feel like you’re on fire as he wraps his arms around your waist, pulling you closer to him; your fingers pawing at his sweater as you slip your tongue into his mouth.
The groan from his throat still tastes like home.
He still tastes like home; like strawberry jam and your disgusting juice. Sweet, tart. Loving.
“I missed you, Sol.”
He doesn’t reply, his hand gingerly wrapping around your throat as he pulls you back in. The way he kisses you is desperate; holding you against him tightly as he pushes off the doorframe. He starts moving you backward, your hands wrapped around his wrist as the back of your knees hit the foot of the bed.
“Sol—”
“Shh.”
His lips never leave yours, his hand moving from your neck to the back of your head, tangling in your hair. He lays you back against the comforter gently, your hand fisting the collar of his hoodie. You tug at it as he licks into your mouth, a soft groan falling from your throat as his fingertips breach the hem of your t-shirt and graze over the skin of your belly.
You pull back from his lips with a quiet pant, your own swollen as you blink up at him. You feel his fingers squeeze your side carefully, eyes searching your face.
“Y/N?”
His voice is soft as he hovers over you lightly, his knee slotted between yours, and you feel your throat burn as your hand strokes his jaw.
“I’m sorry for leaving.”
He shakes his head, his hands moving to hold your face, “stop it. Stop being sorry for taking care of yourself. I love you. I know you, and I know that if you felt the need to leave...you had to do it. Please stop being sorry. Just...just let me love you, even if you have to leave again in another year. In ten years, in a month...tomorrow.”
You breathe out shakily, peering at him through teary eyes. His gaze is still everything it’s ever been.
Warm, gentle.
Home.
“Please, just let me.”
“I love you.”
“I know, babe. I know.”
You sit up abruptly, your hand moving to pull at the hem of his sweatshirt. He obliges, pulling it over his head and tossing it to the side as you move up the bed. His lips find yours again as your head hits the pillow, slower than before. Like he’s savoring the moment, his fingers toying with the button of your jeans before he pops it free. He breaks the kiss briefly, pulling your jeans down with ease. You kick them off the edge of the bed as his hands slide up your thighs slowly, warm and soft. A finger snaps the waistband of your underwear against your hip, making you scowl as you swat his hand away.
“Don’t be mean.”
“M’not being mean, baby.” He bites back a smile, watching as you sit up on your elbows, feeling the bed sink slightly under him as he hovers over you, the tip of his nose brushing yours. You look up at him through your lashes, moving to bridge the gap as he pulls back slightly.
“Sol?”
“I love you.”
Your chest heats as he presses his lips against yours, his hand pushing your thighs apart slightly. It slides up your hip; his thumb rubbing circles into your lower belly before he slips it under the hem of your shirt. He deepens the kiss, pushing your shirt up to the bottom of your breasts as the cool air makes your skin prickle with goosebumps. You move to pull it over your head, tossing it somewhere across the bedroom before pulling him back to your mouth, slipping your tongue between his lips.
His hands wander, softly clawing at your sides and enveloping your hips in the warmth of his fingers as your own pull at the short ends of his hair. His lips trail up your jaw, soft and feathery, before his teeth nip at your earlobe. Your knee digs into his side as he tugs lightly at your earring, and you twist away from him – only to feel the scrape of his teeth against your neck, earning a whine from your throat as your legs tighten around his hips.
“Take your pants off,” you whisper, a frown tugging at your lips as you feel him shake his head.
“Not yet,” he speaks against your skin, his lips trailing down your neck and across your clavicle. His hold on your hips loosens as his hands slide down your thighs, parting them further to slot himself between them as he peppers kisses down your chest – flattening his tongue on your nipple before you can speak. A choked sound leaves your mouth as he rolls his tongue over the sensitive bud, his thumb brushing over your neglected nipple with precision. He’s gentle, your thighs trying to close around his hips as he hums against your skin.
“Missed seeing you like this,” he murmurs, switching sides and pulling your nipple into his mouth with a soft suck. Your breathing is shaky, embarrassingly shaky – and you feel him smile against your skin, “really? Already? I’m flattered.”
“Shut up,” you bite, earning a chuckle as he trails his lips back up your neck with a tentative roll of his hips against yours. Your cheeks grow hot, feeling the weight of his cock against your clit through your flimsy underwear. Your fingernails dig into his shoulders lightly as you try to grind your hips up against him, only for him to pin you to the mattress.
“God, I missed you.” His voice is gravelly, rutting his shaft against you harder before his hand suddenly slips between your legs and slide over the damp patch of arousal soaking through your panties. He presses his fingers against it, a gasp catching in your throat – your cheeks burning as you feel him pull away from your neck. Your fingers move to pull at his sweatpants, but he moves your hand away with a quick shake of his head as his hands slide down your legs. He follows their path with his lips, dragging open-mouthed kisses up your thighs and calves, even pulling your socks off to kiss the sides of your feet.
His fingertips hook around the cotton fabric of your panties, his eyes flickering up to meet yours as he pulls on them gently. You lift your hips to let him pull them down entirely; the fabric flung somewhere across the room as he spreads your thighs, settling between them with a kiss to your hip. You cover your face with shaky hands as his lips trail across your skin, peering up at you through his lashes as he ghosts over your center. You peek out from between your fingers to see him biting back a smile as he shakes his head, “baby, it’s just me.”
“Yeah, well—” Your sentence is cut short with a choked gasp as he flattens his tongue against your cunt, licking a fat stripe through your folds and gathering your arousal before sucking your clit into his mouth carefully. His eyes flutter shut at the taste, your teeth sinking into your lip to stop the embarrassing whine trying to claw its way out of your throat. He sucks harder, your fingers flying to his hair and tugging the short strands as best as you can before you feel his fingers prodding at your entrance. They slide in easily, your thighs closing around his head with a soft whimper. He forces them apart with his shoulders, pinning your rutting hips to the mattress with his arm as he curls his fingers inside you, his tongue working you over almost painfully slow — and the warmth in your lower just starts to spread as he pulls away.
“Did you touch yourself while you were gone?” His voice is much steadier than you trust your own to be, his fingers expertly working you open as you nodded, feeling his lips trail down your shoulder. “Did you think about me while you did it?”
“E-Everyday,” you hate the meekness in your tone, your nails digging uselessly into his bicep as he smiles against your skin. His free hand trails up your arm, gently pulling your hand away from his body and kissing your knuckles.
“Show me.”
You force yourself to peer at him through your lashes, eyes low as he brings you closer to the edge — only to see him kiss the tips of your fingers, before pulling them into his mouth. Your lips part with a soft groan, rolling your eyes as you feel his tongue slide between them, perfectly coating them with his salvia before pulling them out and snaking your hand between your thighs. His eyes are dark — desperate, even. Needy.
“Show me.”
His fingers slow inside you as you swallow hard, dragging your fingertips through your folds, spreading them slightly and circling your swollen clit. His eyes don't leave yours as you cover your mouth with your hand, your thighs twitching at the stimulation. You break eye contact, your body feeling hot as you let your head hit the pillow, squeezing your eyes shut as the mix of your fingers with his bring you closer to the edge.
“Sol, I’m—”
He didn’t let you finish your sentence, pulling his fingers out of you just as the taste of your orgasm tried to hit the back of your tongue. You let your lips part, brows furrowing as the feeling died right at his fingertips. His fingers are wet against your thigh, and he has a small smirk toying with the corner of his lip as you pout.
“Sol…” your voice is whiny as he trails his lips up your body, ghosting over your chest as you huff. “I thought you said you weren’t mad at me.”
“Oh, I’m not.” He shakes his head quickly, but he’s not looking at you. His hand pulls at the waistband of his sweatpants, low enough to let his leaking cock spring free. It’s hot and heavy against your thigh, your mouth watering slightly as he looks up at you, “I could never be mad at you.”
“Then why—”
“Because I can,” he interrupts, wrapping his fingers covered in your juices around himself. He brushes a kiss to your lips, “because I want you to ruin me all over again.”
Your eyes fluttered as he rolled his hips against yours, his length dragging through your wet folds and his tip bumping your puffy clit with a hiss from his lips. Your hands fist the sheets as he speaks against your jaw, “I thought about you every single day. Just like this.”
“Sol—”
“Fucked my hand thinking about you. Every night. Even the smell of your perfume made me want you, I missed you so much.” He’s whispering, and you can hardly hear him over the blood rushing to your ears, “missed seeing your pretty lips all swollen after sucking me off. Will you? Have I earned it?”
He doesn’t let you respond, his hand gently tilting your chin up to slot your lips with his before snaking down your bodies and wrapping around his cock. He guides himself through your slit, teasing the thick head against your hole as you gasp into the kiss.
“Please—”
“Don’t beg.” He mutters against your mouth, “I won’t do anything if you beg.”
“Sol, please—”
“Y/N.”
His tone is warning as he circles your entrance, smearing beads of precum on your slick skin before gently easing himself inside you. Your thighs close around his hips instinctively, your teeth sinking into your bottom lip as he slowly sheathes himself in your gummy walls — before he stops, not even halfway in as he looks you dead in the eyes.
“Tell me you missed me." His hands hold your thighs tightly, the rings on his fingers digging into your skin. Your mouth falls open as he gives a tentative roll of his hips, but he pulls right back out before you can savor the feeling. He shakes his head with a click of his tongue, "tell me you missed me, Y/N."
"Missed you," you whisper, tears pricking at your eyes as you tilt your head up to kiss him. He lets you, slotting his lips with yours as you wrap one leg around his hip, "missed feeling you. Haven't stopped thinking about you."
The admission is enough to make him grind his cock against you, the fat head bumping your clit over and over as you slip your tongue in his mouth. The kiss is all teeth and tongue as he rocks against you, a groan falling from your throat as you taste yourself all over him and making you clench around nothing. Your nails dig into his shoulders as you roll your hips with his, only for him to pull away with a chaste kiss to your lips, still ghosting over your face as he peered at you through thick lashes.
"I love you." Your hand cups his jaw gently, his own trailing up your arm to wrap around your wrist. He kisses your palm, leaning into your touch as his eyes close, "I love you, Y/N."
You pull him down to you, brushing your lips to his, "I love you, Sol."
He nods, tapping your hip with his hand and squeezing the flesh, "turn around."
You roll your eyes, a smile trying to fight its way onto your lips as his hands slide up your hips, helping you turn onto your belly, "you never change."
"Man of habit, what can I say?" His voice is low as he presses his lips to the dip of your spine, your skin littering with goosebumps as he moves your hips flush to his. He drags his mouth up your back, his fingers caressing the skin of your sides as he moves them up to your shoulders, gently wrapping his hand around your throat with a soft squeeze, "missed you so much. Missed touching you…kissing you. Having you."
"I'm here." You whisper back as he presses kisses to the side of your face, your eyes fluttering shut as his lips brush your eyebrow. "Have me."
"M'not gonna last very long," he murmurs against your cheek, your hand reaching back and tugging gently at his hair. His hand snakes between you, wrapping around his cock and dragging it up your slit with a hiss. You push your hips back against him, biting down on your lip as he nudges your clit, his lips pressing kisses to the curve of your jaw, "might not last at all, actually."
"Just wanna feel you," you let him tilt your head back, brushing your lips with his as he pulls you up, your back flush to his chest as he finally bottoms out. You clench around him, his nose buried in your neck as he inhales shakily. His hand falls away from your throat, slipping down to cup your tits, squeezing gently as he gives an experimental roll of his hips. You're embarrassed at the tremble in your thighs, the sharp breath you suck in as he mumbles against your skin, "there she is…missed this."
"Have it…use me," you whisper back, your jaw falling slack as he starts moving his hips into you. He keeps you close as he grabs at your soft skin, kissing up the slope of your shoulder, inhaling deeply at the dip of your neck before gently pinning you to the mattress. Your fingers grip the sheets as he kisses down your spine, hiding your face in the pillows as you meet his thrusts halfway. His rings are digging into your skin as he palms at your ass, the sharp sound of the smack registering before the sting of his palm, soothed by his grip as he kisses your shoulder.
You feel yourself growing fuzzy, your limbs melting into the fabric as he sucks the sweet spot just under your ear — his cock dragging perfectly against your walls and making your skin litter with goosebumps, the pillow absorbing your whines as your skin muffles his.
"Just take it, please…" he breathes out, his fingertips digging into the meat of your hips as his movements grow sloppy, "it's yours. I'm yours."
"M-Mine," you mewl weakly, and he only groans as he pulls out abruptly, flipping you onto your back and slotting his lips with yours as he slides back in. Your nails dig into his back, sinking down the expanse of his shoulders as he swallows your whimpers — the kiss is all teeth and tongue as he spreads your thighs with his hands, his lips trailing down your jaw and nipping at your earlobe.
"Should've knocked you up years ago, fuck." He buries his face in your neck, mouthing at the skin there as your breathing grows shaky, your walls clenching around him. He nips at your collarbone, "need to fill you up every day. Make you mine forever…you'd like that, wouldn't you?"
"Y-Yeah," your voice is full of air as your cunt squeezes around him, earning a spent laugh from his throat. His hand snakes between your bodies, thumb finding your puffy clit and making you jerk as he rubs tight circles into it, the coil in your belly threatening to snap. You let out a shuddered whimper, feeling his lips brushing the column of your throat, "missed this pussy so much, baby. So perfect for me. Made for me."
His lips are frantic, kissing every inch of skin he can reach as your breathless pants fill the room, the air smelling like sex and sweat as you wrap your legs around him. He snakes his slips into your mouth in a sloppy kiss, your thighs tight around his hips as you let go, soaking his cock in your release with a whine pouring into his mouth. He twitches inside you, mumbled reassurance as your thighs tremble, his forehead damp against your shoulder as he spills inside you.
He kisses the dip of it, stamping his lips along the column of your throat as he runs his hands up and down your thighs, squeezing softly as he meets your mouth again.
"I love you," you murmur, cupping his face in your hands as he hovers over you slightly. He nods limply, kissing you smoothly as his hands spread your thighs, holding your knees to your chest as he gives another slow roll of his hips — making you jolt with overstimulation as he lets out a weak laugh.
"Gotta make sure it takes, baby." He speaks into your mouth, kissing you chastely as your legs shake around him, "love of my life. I love you."
He mumbles something else, but it's lost as he kisses you firmly, overstimulating you both as he keeps making a mess between your thighs. You pull away, holding him away from you by the short hair, "what did you say?"
He blinks at you, raising a brow before his cheeks tinge with embarrassment. He shakes his head, trying to brush a kiss to your lips but you move away.
"Don't let me ruin this, Y/N." He sighs, closing his eyes as he presses his forehead to yours. He peels them open again, the swirl of adoration and worry circling the light amber of his irises. You give him a pointed look, pressing a chaste kiss to the corner of his mouth, "what did you say?"
"…Please don't leave me again." He buries his face in your neck, your eyes burning as he whispers against your skin, "please, please, please…don't leave."
You pepper your lips to the side of his face, pulling him away from your neck to connect your lips. Tears wet your lashes as you hold him close, your hands pressing against his cheeks as you pull back.
"Don't beg," you mumble, your voice thick as tears brimmed his eyes, "you never have to beg for anything. Not from me, never again."
"I love you, Y/N."
"I love you, Sol."
YOU'RE ANXIOUSLY SCRUBBING PANS THE NEXT MORNING WITH A JOINT HELD BETWEEN YOUR LIPS.
You know he said you could come back, you know he said that you can stay…but something about it makes you nervous. The way his shirt barely covers the curve of your ass but still smells like him, the way you've relit all the candles around the apartment as he sleeps soundly in your shared bedroom. His lips were pouted when you slipped out of his arms early that morning, your body sore in places it hadn't been in months. The bathroom mirror confirmed the tightness of his grip — bruises littering your hips, nips of his teeth along your ass and thighs, even a mark sucked into the dip of your hip.
You foolishly texted Soonyoung if he could drop off something to take the edge off at the apartment — and you realized you'd forgotten to tell him that you would be there. His jaw had dropped as he held out the bag of pre-rolls, expecting to see Hansol in his comfortable sweatpants glory — only to see you, in the shirt that didn't even remotely cover the black fabric of your underwear. You'd paid him in a wad of cash and closed the door before he could say anything, shooting him a text the moment you lit one of the pre-rolls to please keep his mouth shut.
The vibrations of your phone on the counter, messages from your groupchat and Seungkwan — told you that he hadn't been able to do that for very long.
You'd opened the windows, the sky still gloomy but the air fresh and cool — settling the anxiety in your stomach as you dried the last pan. He'd been right — he hadn't touched them since you left, the dust settled on them from sitting in the cabinet for so long. You fumbled around the kitchen, pulling the silver polish from the top shelf of the pantry when you felt hands on your waist. You jumped, your hand settling on your chest when you realized it was him.
"You really need to get a bell," you mutter, feeling his lips curve into a smile against the back of your neck as he takes the silver polish from your hand and tosses it somewhere on the counter. His arms wrap around you, pulling your back to his chest as he squeezes gently.
"Called Soonyoung?" His voice is raspy, the way it always is when he's just woken up. You smell mint on his breath, and you figure you must've not noticed when he started moving around in your anxious state. You nod, holding the joint out to him over your shoulder as he sways you both.
"He already ran his mouth, can't keep a secret to save his fucking life." You mutter as you feel his lips brush your fingers, wrapping around the end of your joint and pulling back. He grimaces, "is this that gross ass strain you like?"
"Everything I like is gross to you. My juice, my weed, my favorite PopTart."
"I'm not gross, and Brown Sugar Cinnamon isn't even close to being the best."
"I'm gonna ignore that, and good thing I don't like you, Sol."
"I know you think that's a compliment and sick segue to say you love me, but not liking me is embarrassing as fuck," he snorts, gingerly placing the gross thing back between your lips. "Keep that shit to yourself."
"You're so fucking annoying," you mutter, smiling despite yourself. Your skin prickles slightly as you feel his hands slide down your hips and bunch his shirt under his palms. He slips his hands under it, thumbs barely hooking on the waistband of your panties before he presses his lips just under your ear.
"You wanna polish all this shit now?"
"We didn't do it last night."
"I'd argue we did better things last night—"
"Get off me, you little freak." You huff, trying to wiggle out of his hold but failing miserably as he only turns you around. You tongue your cheek, tapping the joint out on an ashtray you'd fished out from under the double-decked coffee table before letting him pull you close again. "You're not getting out of doing this today, Chwe. I mean it."
"Seungkwan invited us to lunch," he murmurs, caging you between him and the counter. You raise a brow, "Seungkwan invited us?"
"You, my girlfriend, and me, your boyfriend. Me and you. Us. We," he gestures between the two of you, "are cordially invited to lunch at the Boo Seungkwan residence. Expect ridicule, badgering and half a cold pizza slice because Soonyoung is already over there and stoned out of his mind."
You stopped listening after me, your boyfriend.
"You love me, right?" You ask softly, tugging at his shirt gently. Another plain white one, but there's a red stain on the collar that belonged to you. Red lipstick that didn't come out after you washed it twice, leaving a lingering of your presence behind.
Just like the bruises that littered your hips, and the toothpaste stain on your shirt that belonged to him. Just like your initials on his cap, the locket around your neck, the windbreaker, the hoodie. His journal, the stickers from your apples stuck to the leg of your coffee table. The sample bottle of your perfume that you'd seen sitting on the bathroom counter, and every single vinyl in your collection. The gross juice in your fridge that he didn't like but you loved, the Shrek and Donkey clock, the chess set…and everything you are. Everything he is.
You and him.
Him and you.
Together, in everything. Lingering, cohabitating, sharing…
Entangled, enamored, bounded by souls not willing to be apart…
summary: when vernon is hired as your new manager at one of the most long-standing record stores in nyc, he ruins the perfectly crafted bubble you curated. he's pretentious, doesn't respect that sometimes you need to work on your thesis during shifts, and did I mention he has an earring? he's annoying and your worst nightmare, but when you decide to take him up on his offer to show you new music, you slowly realize that he might just become your favorite person.
warnings: fingering, unprotected sex, reader on top, praise, semi-public sex, sex in a car, power bottom!vernon 🤓 (basically), dry humping, marijuana smoking, alcohol, forced proximity, miscommunication, mutual pining, music sharing used as a love language, pathetic jealous vernon, vernon is also pretentious af, stubborn education-focused reader, also reader that's slightly scared of feelings 😝. nsfw (minors / ageless blogs dni).
word count: 19.5k
note: so I became a vernon bias after seeing svt in dc. and if we're being honest I did like him before that and simply kept it hidden bc I'm stubborn 🙂↕️☝️ but hey! coming to terms with your bias line changing means that new fic ideas are born, hence what I wrote here that feels like a fever dream. this fic was a lot of fun and I hope you like it! also, the in rotation music below is v important, especially since this is a music-focused fic lol. enjoy!! (taglist posted at the bottom.)
in rotation: in between days, the cure / safer to hate her, you me at six / complicated, avril lavigne / emotional, charli xcx / please, please, please, let me get what I want, the smiths / thinking of you, katy perry / back to the old house, the smiths / discovery channel, hayley williams / night drive, jimmy eat world
For someone that worked at a record store, you knew jack shit about music.
Music was everywhere. The historical foundation of it was right below your feet. Who knew what kind of songs were rooted deep in the soil where Reverb Records was built on? You listened to music, of course – you weren’t a psychopath. You paid some streaming service a monthly subscription so you could listen to the same couple of albums from your teenage years over and over again. You had even dated a few musicians, but that was fairly common in the small town you grew up in.
You assumed that when you moved to the city, that notion would be like finding a needle in a haystack. New York City was bustling with life. Everyone moved here from all walks of life, looking to find another purpose, a deeper meaning. That’s how everyone became a New Yorker, one way or another. But live music existed in this city around every corner. You couldn’t go into a bar nowadays without seeing some new-age indie singer who looked like he hadn’t trimmed his beard in years and probably wasn’t wearing deodorant at the mic stand. Even on campus, where you were attending you final year of grad school, there was someone practicing their guitar in a dining hall.
Perhaps it was a cruel twist of fate that the only place that would hire you part-time was a record store. But you needed the cash and a job was a job. You were utterly unhelpful to customers who were looking for a certain artist or genre, but you were organized and did what you were told. No one kept the store as spotless as you did. Your boss, Aileen, might’ve even considered bumping you to manager status if you at least tried to learn a thing about the records you were selling. There wasn’t enough time in the day though. Your mind was almost entirely booked up by school work that you couldn’t even begin to think about learning the cultural significance of the Velvet Underground & Nico.
As the saying goes though: if you won’t do it, someone else will.
After a long day of classes, you ran from campus to the record store. It was only about a mile, but the autumn chill was coming fast and of course, the bus wasn’t working today. Which meant you had to sprint just to make your 4 PM to close shift. You busted through the doors, hair disheveled and your face halfway buried in a faux fur coat, only to see your boss handing over a key to some man by the cash register. Actually, not just a key. The key. To a man you didn’t know.
Was Aileen on some kind of new drug she didn’t tell you or the other employees about?
Your cheeks were red from running as you approached the counter, one eyebrow already cocked in confusion. Stuffing your hands inside your pockets to warm them up, you asked, “Um … what’s going on here?”
The man with Aileen turned around and you almost buckled. Almost. There wasn’t anything all that special about him. He was just … handsome. And truthfully, not many handsome people came into this record store, so it threw you off just a little. He didn’t notice though. You had learned to school your expression since undergrad, warding off any frat guy that tried to step within two feet of you.
“Oh, right on time,” Aileen said, gesturing between you two. “Meet Hansol, your new manager.”
You looked to where your coworker, Mingyu, was putting up new posters in the back of the store. He shrugged before going back to work, almost shoving a pin through the corner of his thumb by accident.
When you turned back to your new manager – apparently – his hand was out for you to shake. “You can just call me Vernon,” he said in a voice much deeper than you assumed.
You only had to take one look at him to know everything about him. Vernon thought he was special. Vernon wanted to be interesting. Vernon probably listened to artists that only had less than one thousand monthly listeners. The kind of person that made your teeth grind.
His brown hair was cropped and gelled into a few spikes, mimicking a look one of your ex-boyfriends had in high school. Probably. One hoop earring dangled from his ear and he smiled at you almost cat-like, both sides of his lips curling and looking like an upside down three. A small scar was near his mouth, right where a previous lip ring would be. He was wearing an oversized black tee with a washed-out picture of Green Day and baggy cargo pants.
Not management material. Incredibly pretentious. Even for a record store.
Eventually, you slipped your palm from your jacket pockets and shook his hand, telling him your name. He nodded and turned back to Aileen, who continued to give him the lowdown on everything in the store. You took that moment as your reprieve and hurried to the backroom, throwing your jacket and backpack in a locker. Pinning your name badge to your chest, you walked out and approached Mingyu, still pinning posters to the wall. He swore under his breath when he thought he got a paper cut.
“Hey,” you whispered up at him on the small step ladder. Your eyes never left where Vernon stood with Aileen, until he looked over at you and you felt your stomach curdle. “Mingyu,” you called, tugging on the bottom of his ripped jeans.
“I don’t have time to gossip with you about your Art History professor,” he whispered back, rather loudly. “My shift ends in 20 and I have to finish decorating or Aileen is gonna kill me.”
You ignored him and yanked on his jeans again. “Since when was she hiring a new manager?”
“Oh, him?” Mingyu looked back to the register before shrugging. “Beats me.”
You crossed your arms over your chest. “He looks pretentious.”
“I don’t know. He’s kinda hot though.”
Your brow furrowed as you looked up at him. “You think with your dick.”
“Most men do.” He jutted his chin towards the counter again. “I’d head over there before our new manager yells at you.”
Rolling your eyes, you headed to the register where Vernon was bringing a crate of vintage records behind the checkout. A lot of these were purchased for display purposes only, but you guessed that anyone could be bought, given the right price. His arms were kind of skinny, but he was able to lift up the crate without protest. Mingyu was built like a god and he didn’t go a second without complaining.
“Aileen told me you were really good with organizing. It’s half the reason why the store looks as put together as it does,” he said, hands on his hips as he surveyed the area. Turning back to you, he referred to the crate with one hand. “I was asked to go over inventory in the back. So as you man the register, I need you to display these records on the wall here in release date order.”
You glanced from the stack of records, and then back to him. You did this about three times until he realized he lost you somewhere. There would a few covers you recognized, a few you didn’t – you had never seen Surrealistic Pillow before – but this couldn’t be that hard.
“Of course,” you replied, surprising him. “I just need to use my phone to Google the release dates.”
“You don’t know them from the top of your head?”
“Do you?”
“Yeah, a good handful of them.” He picked up one from the crate. “Bleed American from Jimmy Eat World was released in … 2001, I think.”
You took your phone out, searched the release date, and … holy shit, he was right.
Meeting his eyes again, you replied, “How the hell do you know that? I can’t remember stuff like that.”
“I just like music a lot,” he shrugged, placing the record back in the stack. “You can’t even remember when Dookie was released?”
You narrowed your eyes. Was he trying to make you look stupid? Of course, you didn’t know this off the top of your head. You had a life. This was part-time.
He blinked, not waiting for you to answer. “You work at a record store.”
“I’m in a grad program,” you clarified, crossing your arms again. “I needed a job, and Aileen needed an employee that was type A. It was a match made in heaven.”
“I just don’t understand why you would wanna work somewhere when you’re not passionate about it –”
Your hands clenched. “Not everyone is passionate about their job, Vernon –”
“No one is really passionate about records anymore though,” he added, brushing past you, and your arms lowered to your sides. “I mean, look at this store. Reverb Records was one of a kind in the 70s, a staple in the New York music scene. To work here is like walking through history. And now it’s been reduced to … a fraction of the store dedicated to vintage comics and POP figures.”
“We needed to venture outside of music to stay in business,” you defended, remembering the day Aileen broke the news that they almost lost the property. “If we didn’t, none of us would even be working here.”
Vernon nodded, but you could tell he was struggling to not roll his eyes. “Whatever. I’ll be in the back if you need me. Feel free to use your phone for those dates.”
You watched him as he headed to the backroom, walking past Mingyu, who was finally getting down from the step ladder. He put out his fist, which your coworker gladly bumped his own against. When Vernon disappeared into the backroom, Mingyu turned to you with a thumbs up.
You frowned. He never learned.
It was a particularly dead night at the record store, especially for a Friday. Reverb was located on a pretty popular shopping area in the city, surrounded by thrift stores and a chic coffee shop that a niche Fashion Week model went to once so now it was filled everyday with students. You had your notebook out for Medieval Art History next to the register, your eyes skimming over the barely legible writing. You supposed you could simply print out the slides Professor Lee made, which were far easier to read than your own handwriting, but copying down his notes helped you study better.
Mingyu’s hand smacked down on the counter, startling you. Your head snapped up and you placed a hand on your chest. He giggled at your expense. “Not funny,” you chastised, looking back down at the page.
“It’s a Friday,” he whined. “Why are you concerning yourself with homework?”
“Maybe because I have a test Monday morning and I’m working every day this weekend.”
He tapped a finger against the counter, but you were steadfast, continuing to ignore him. Did that actually say Lindisfarne Gospels or was your handwriting really that bad?
Suddenly, Mingyu whipped the notebook closed and you viewed up at him with an aggravated expression. “What could you possibly want from me?”
“I have a free ticket to the DJ set at the Blitz Club tonight,” he said, picking up his backpack that you didn’t notice had been at his feet. “I’m heading out now, but I could meet you at the club tonight. You know you want to.”
Your nose scrunched up. “Too loud.”
“You had a blast the last time though.”
“I was drunk out of mind,” you recalled, “and I made out with said DJ.”
Mingyu shrugged. “Sounds like a normal Friday to me.”
You shook your head and opened your notebook back up. “I can’t. My shift doesn’t end until 10 PM anyway. The line for the Blitz Club is so long if you don’t get there right at 9:50.”
“Your loss,” he scoffed before heading for the door.
Your head tilted up again, and with a grin plastered on your face, you called out, “Try not to almost kiss your roommate like last time.”
Mingyu’s hand partially pushed open the entrance, making the bell chime as he sneered at you. “You’re hilarious. He’s hanging out with that girl he met at the office anyway.” He lifted his hand in a mock wave. “I’ll find someone to lock lips with. Trust me. See you!”
A sigh escaped your lips as your favorite coworker left. You busied yourself for a moment, finding Chan’s name badge that he’d been looking for near the cup of pens. You put in your reminders app to give it back when you shared a shift with him next week. Picking up your notebook, you said out loud to yourself, “Okay, Insular Art. The Book of Kells. Allegedly created in 800 AD. 340 folios –”
The store’s music volume immediately went up.
Your head shot up, jaw shifting, and you smacked the notebook back down on the counter. The store was deserted and you couldn’t even be left alone to study for a test that you were so terrified of failing. You turned on your heel, striding to the backroom as you wondered why you decided to go to grad school in the first place.
Vernon was sitting in the small office he shared with Aileen when she wasn’t working. The desk was made of metal and was probably as old as the store, with cabinets that creaked when opened. The computer, thankfully, was updated, but their internet went in and out sometimes when Aileen forgot to pay the bill. Currently, Vernon was leaning back in the chair, feet up on the desk, going through their long inventory list and checking off what needed to be restocked. (A project Aileen constantly abandoned.) He drummed his fingers on the tabletop while chewing on the end of a pen.
You leaned against the doorframe, crossing you arms over your chest. “You know, if you keep chewing on those, you’ll get ink in your mouth.”
His gaze lifted, a smirk playing at his lips. “Not the first time I’ve ingested it.”
Your nose wrinkled. “Anyway,” your arms released to your sides, “did you turn up the music? I can’t focus.”
“I figured our customers would enjoy a little bit of Blink this evening.”
You leaned forward to where the monitor with the security camera footage was displayed, showing no one inside the store. Your eyes flickered back to his. “We haven’t had a single customer since 5,” you informed him. “And I’m trying to study.”
“I think you’re just trying to kill my vibe.”
“I think you’re trying to kill my vibe.”
You were both competing in a staring contest that you were desperate to win, until you realized that it didn’t matter. Nothing mattered, especially this argument. Shoulders sinking, you sulked. “Can you please just turn down the volume a little?”
“Sure,” he replied in a tone much more friendly than anticipated. He sat up straight, leaning towards the computer, and adjusted the store volume. You tried to ignore the way his Adam’s Apple bobbed when he smiled, how his earring glinted in the shitty lights of the office. Turning around, he gestured to you with the pen. “Please is such a pretty word. You should use it more often.”
Your eyes narrowed. It was your turn to drum your fingers on the doorframe, afraid they would form into fists. “What is your problem? You’ve had a vendetta against me ever since your first day.”
He raised a single brow. “Name three things I’ve done.”
“One,” you lifted a finger, “you chastised me on that first day for not knowing the release dates of vintage LPs. Two …” Another finger. “You’re constantly turning the music up and down. Pretty sure just to annoy me or it’s when you really like a song because I can see you playing air guitar on the security cameras.” Your third finger went up. “And three, you practically pop quizzed me on our new release stock as soon as you entered the store last week.”
He exhaled heavily, finally standing from the chair and at his full height. “Honestly,” he shrugged, “I just think you’re pretentious.”
Your jaw nearly dropped. This man … this Vernon … was seriously calling you pretentious just because you didn’t know release dates off the top of your head. He was insane. Where did he get off?
“Well, I think you’re pretentious,” you snapped back.
“Shocker.”
After a long moment of silence, he let his head fall back and groaned with frustration. For a second, your mind wandered. Just for a second. But you didn’t even let yourself entertain that thought because this was your manager and he just insulted you.
“Listen,” he continued, rounding the desk and holding a hand out. “Let’s call it a truce. Working together is going to be hell if we don’t.”
You bit the inside of your cheek and studied him. “I’m not agreeing to anything until you admit that you were being a dick to me –”
“I was being a dick.”
Your lips pursed, not expecting that. He looked down at you, almost leaning into your space, and you felt your cheeks warm. Shaking your head, you clicked your tongue before letting your hand meet his. “Fine,” you said evenly, “truce.”
You felt your hands start to get clammy already, so you pulled it away. He tried to wipe his palm on the back of his pants, but you noticed. You always noticed. Bowing your head slightly, you muttered, “I’ll get back to it. Thanks for turning the volume down.” You spun around and walked towards the exit, hoping you didn’t find a teenager behind the register with a wad of cash in their hands. (Happened on a Chan-only shift, which meant he definitely nodded off in the backroom for an hour.)
Vernon called your name as you had one foot out of the backroom, and you turned your head. He was now leaning against the door frame, a smile tugging at his lips, and he stuck a hand in his front pocket. Your breath stilled for a moment. Only a moment.
Maybe you should’ve agreed to go with Mingyu tonight. Obviously, you needed another drunk make out if you were starting to fawn over your shitbag manager.
“Who’s your favorite artist?” He asked.
You didn’t expect that question. “I … I don’t know,” you shrugged. “I’m almost always listening to the same couple of albums for the nostalgia. Maybe Avril Lavigne?”
“Interesting.” He nodded, amused. Why was he smiling at you? “You should let me show you some music sometime.”
You snorted. “What? So you can chastise me again?”
“Nooo,” he quipped, dragging out the word as he stepped closer to you. “We made a truce, remember?”
“R–Right …” Your voice got smaller the closer he was. Even just a foot away from you felt a little suffocating, but maybe that was because he was wearing a heavy cologne.
“I’m not going to chastise you. I promise.” He put his hands up in surrender. “I just want us to chill out, listen to music, and maybe you’ll be able to see why I appreciate working here so much. Why I’m so pretentious in your eyes. And I’m not saying that’s not a fair assessment, but I just want to show you some music and you can decide for yourself. Simple as that.”
You hummed then, almost wanting to laugh that he wanted to prove himself to you. It was … sweet. Somehow. Something about his voice here made you forget why you didn’t like him in the first place. “Sounds like something friends would do,” you muttered.
He smacked a hand on his head, feigning surprise. “I totally didn’t tell you,” he exclaimed before grinning down at you. “In the fine print of our truce, it said we had to become friends.”
In a shocking turn of events, you gave Vernon your number, but maybe that should’ve been a given since he was your manager. Even worse, you were currently spending your single day off this week by taking the subway to his apartment in Bushwick. You buried your face in the collar of your jacket, trying not to inhale the stench of cigarettes from the person next to you. This was an exquisite form of torture. You were being set up. Why else would you be doing this in the first place?
Maybe because your conversation over text went a little like this –
Vernon (Manager): you’re off today, right? want to spend it on your first music lesson, or is your brain too fried from school?
You: he has jokes. hilarious.
You: I can come over a little after 3.
Vernon (Manager): see you then!
You shook your head when your voice of reason fought against you. This was so dumb. Why were you doing this? So he could prove a point? You might’ve called a truce, but this was stepping out of bounds for work ethics. And he was still pretentious. So were you. Kind of.
Despite your reservations, you still got off at the right stop, walking up the stairs and into the cold autumn air. You pulled out your phone, struggling to bring up walking instructions, even with your screen-friendly gloves on. In the time span it took you to walk to his apartment and wait for him to let you in, you could’ve turned around and immediately took the subway back home, simply see him at work later that week. But you didn’t. And that was something for you to dwell on another day.
“You’re a fast walker.”
You turned, seeing him hold open the door to his building. Your cheeks were red from the chill – not for any other reason – and you squeezed past him just to feel the warmth of the old, rickety brownstone. “Yeah, well,” you said, already beginning to climb the stairs because you assumed he lived on the second floor. “I’m all legs anyway.”
He didn’t agree, just chuckled at your reply and followed behind you. Once you were both on the second story, he took the lead, gesturing for you to come inside apartment 202. Unwrapping the scarf from your neck, you let your gaze flit around the room. His studio looked the same as every other one in Bushwick, right down the peeling white wallpaper in the tiny kitchen. Where he differed, though, was the large record player in front of the couch, in lieu of a flatscreen TV. You walked over to it immediately, pulling at the sleeves of your sweater, and investigated the soft hum of whatever was playing. Oasis. Time Flies… Your dad liked to listen to Oasis when you were a kid.
“You ever heard that one before?” Vernon asked from behind you, crinkling some kind of paper.
“I’m … not sure. But my dad really liked this band,” you explained, not bothering to look back as you studied the large bookcase next to the player. Instead of novels, he filled these shelves to the brim with records. They weren’t organized, and some had more wear than others, but the collection was impressive.
Vernon noticed you admiring the shelves. “I’m not made of money. I get a lot of these as gifts or from yard sales.”
“Oh, I wasn’t assuming –”
You whirled, noticing the silver tray and ground weed on the coffee table before your eyes fixed on the joint he was rolling in his hands. Blinking slow, your gaze flicked up to his as he sealed the end of the joint with his tongue, wrapping his lips around it slightly. You swallowed, and he smiled.
“Have you not smoked a joint before?” He lifted a brow. “I just thought – I can put it away –”
You tsked. “Oh, my god. Yes, I’ve smoked a joint before. I’m not a prude, Vernon.” You walked forward and opened the window slightly, allowing fresh air when he finally lit the end. “Truthfully, I was just surprised that you could roll one yourself. Bet you used to smoke cigarettes and hand-roll those too, right?”
“Now, that I take offense to. You really think I’m that pretentious?” He shook his head as you took a seat on the carpet beside him. After a moment, he smirked at you. “Yeah, I hand-rolled them in high school. You got me.”
You chuckled, hand over your mouth to hide your snort. When he smiled – really smiled – it was so wide that you could see his gums. His eyes even crinkled at the corners. For a moment, you wondered why you two ever disliked each other in the first place. It felt unfair to hate someone who beamed like that, who laughed with you as if you didn’t just tease him like a child.
He set down the joint to get to his feet, fingers brushing over the spines of his vinyls on the shelf. “I looked through some of the top sellers on Record Store Day this year. Figured that would be a cool place to start because you might recognize some of the album names,” he said, finally pulling out one in particular. “I really liked this one by the Cure. The Head On the Door.”
Your eyes squinted as he showed you the cover. “Oh, yeah, I recognize that one. I thought you might play something by – um … oh, Charli xcx. We sold out of that album of hers with the red cover in less than a few hours this year.”
He lifted the tonearm and looked back at you with a grin. “We can listen to that one next. I managed to snag that record a few years back on eBay.”
After lowering the stylus onto the spinning vinyl, the apartment was suddenly filled with the upbeat sounds of the first songs, slowly introducing a hyper-strummed acoustic guitar. Vernon lowered the volume slightly, and you weren’t sure if it was to cultivate a vibe or he was still cognizant of that time you stormed into the backroom to complain about the music inside the store. Sitting back down beside you on floor, he placed the joint in his mouth and lit the end with a lighter that had seen better days. Smoke wafted into the air before being pulled out the open window with the help of his overhead fan.
He held the joint out to you and you took it instantly. “What kind of strain is this?”
His shoulders sagged as he coughed softly. “Does it matter?”
“I guess not.” With the joint resting between two fingers, you brought it to your lips and inhaled. It was a little harsh, but not bad. You couldn’t remember the last time you smoked weed; it had to be a while though. Maybe you actually needed this just to chill the fuck out finally. If you kept worrying so much about your thesis, your head would surely explode.
He propped one elbow on the edge of the couch, facing you, as you handed the joint back to him. “Is this what you do when you’re not at the store?” You asked in a slightly hoarse voice.
His eyes narrowed. “I don’t just work at a record store and smoke weed all day. Do you really think I’m a walking stereotype?”
“None of those words just came out of my mouth.”
“Well, you sound a little judgey.”
“I’m not being judgey.”
“You sure?”
“Just answer the question.”
He laughed after taking a drag, and then another. You focused on the way smoked billowed from his nostrils, until he started speaking again. “I also do photography on the side. If I didn’t, I wouldn’t be able to afford to live in this city.”
“I get it,” you nodded, playing with the joint between your fingers when he passed it over. “Reverb is for extra cash. Student services for my grad program pays half of my living expenses. Thank god.”
He adjusted his stance, his chin resting on his fist as he studied you. The record transitioned into the third song, but he barely noticed in that moment. He let you smoke the joint for as long as your heart desired. Something told him that you needed it. With one finger tracing his lips, he said, “You never told me what you study.”
He was smiling at you. Again. All cat-like.
“I didn’t think you’d be interested.”
“You gotta stop assuming things about me.” He tapped your arm jokingly. “Tell me. I’m interested.”
When you felt your insides start to turn to mush, you couldn’t help but mimic his posture: one elbow propped on the couch, the side of your head pressing into the heel of your palm. Your eyes were hazy now, a dull pink entering the whites. His words were swirling around in your head, haunting you like a ghost.
Tell me.
You breathed in another drag.
I’m interested.
You exhaled.
“I’m studying European History,” you finally replied, handing the joint back to him. Your fingers brushed, but only for a moment. “I want to become a professor.”
“A professor,” he nodded, his brow shooting up as he inhaled. Coughing away from her direction, he added, “That’s … oddly fitting. Are you almost done with the program?”
You nodded, unable stop looking at him as he flicked the end of the joint against an ash tray. “I’m working on my thesis while taking a few concurrent classes in my fall semester only. It makes things a little harder, but the courses are relevant and do help with research. I could do without having to take tests, though.” You shrugged. “I’m managing.”
“That’s a lot on your plate, on top of work,” he mused. One knee curled up to his chest and he rested his arm on top, the joint in his fingers halfway gone already. “You’re kind of a superhero.”
Your gaze flickered up to his again, breath stilling for a moment. The air was so warm, despite the open window, and your body was starting to feel fuzzy. He turned his head to yours, that grin on his lips so dangerous that it sent a shiver through you. Maybe it was the weed, but he looked like he was moving closer to you, invading your space.
Not that you wanted that. No, you couldn’t want that. Because if you wanted that, it would ruin everything in the carefully crafted plan you made in your head long ago.
Vernon’s eyes squinted then, and he finally replayed his words over. “Well,” he paused, “a superhero in the sense that you’re taking on a lot with probably no ‘thank you.’”
Blinking, you realized he was making a joke. You snorted and hit his arm, but he captured your hand before it could fall on your lap. For a moment, you wondered if time had stopped – it was the weed; it had to be the weed – because he was slipping the joint back into your palm so smoothly while saying the dorkiest line possible: “For you, my lady.”
He stood, walking over to the record player, leaving you with a half-lit joint in your open palm while your head was far too in the clouds to comprehend anything. You were so high that you didn’t even realize the album ended, and he was now switching it over to something different – Charli xcx, the red album. A melodic symphony hummed through the speakers, followed by a woman’s voice harmonizing, “I’m a dreamer … Step, step out the Beemer …”
When he came back to sit next to you, he noticed you still staring at the joint in your hand. His gaze flickered from your face, to the joint, before he started laughing. “You’re probably done, right?” He tried not to snicker, but it was hard not to when you were giving him this far-off look in your eyes. Plucking the joint from your hand, he put it between his lips and relit it.
It took you a whole minute to realize it wasn’t in your hand anymore, and you viewed up at him sheepishly. “I’m so sorry,” you whined. “I got … I think I got too high.”
He couldn’t hold back his laughter anymore. “It’s okay. Think you needed this more than I did.”
“My brain feels like slop. But in a good way.” Gravity got the upper hand as you let your whole head fall onto the cushion now. “How are you comprehending anything right now?”
Vernon smiled, all cocky. “My tolerance is infinitely better than yours.”
“Whatever. Dick.”
You flipped forward, letting your spine press into the edge of the couch as the back of your head rested on the cushion, which was just hard enough to ground you in this state of mind. Neither of you said a word. The record played another song, and another, as Vernon finally ashed what was left of the joint. He let his head fall too, your gazes pinned to the ceiling. The overhead fan started to swirl in his vision, and he grinned to himself.
“Vernon?”
“Yeah?”
“You know a lot about music.”
He turned his head and dramatically held a hand to his chest. “That might be the nicest thing you’ve ever said. I’m touched.”
You chuckled under your breath, hitting his forearm again. “No, I’m serious. I … This is nice.” You paused, listening to the song playing. All over … Deep under my skin … You got me so emotional … Your lips pursed. “I really like this album.”
He raised a brow. “Not just the weed talking?”
“No. Surprisingly,” you added. “We should keep doing this. Until you tire of me.”
“It’s a plan.”
You were beginning to realize that Vernon was true to his word. Almost every day – even after work, closing shifts and all – the two of you got together to listen to a few of his favorite records while he rambled on about the artist. Sometimes you got high, sometimes you didn’t. You simply liked being there besides a calming presence, listening to another person talk about their favorite subjects. A complete contrast to the hustle of grad school work, but you liked it.
There was a certain comfort that came to being around him, one you hadn’t experienced before. His voice was deep, yet soft, and he spoke about music with confidence. Like it was his favorite thing in the world. He could go on tangents without taking a breath, and you’d notice the way he’d sometimes pause when he talked for far too long. You didn’t stop him though. You only smiled, let your head fall back against the couch, and listened.
What had you let yourself become?
Perhaps, it all started on the day you both met up in Central Park. Neither of you had a shift that day and you had managed to get done a good chunk of thesis research in the morning. Around 2 PM, you found him lying on a flannel blanket near the edge of Central Park, carrying two Italian subs from the pizza joint near your apartment that you swore had the best in the city. Vernon didn’t hear you approach; his eyes were closed as he listened to the music blasting through his headphones with one arm behind his head. A sliver of his stomach peeked out from underneath his grey hoodie, making you stumble – for what reason, you weren’t sure – and almost drop the tightly-wrapped sandwiches.
Vernon sat up then, finally hearing the rustle of your sneakers on the fallen leaves, and chuckled. “Woah, no need to rush.” He stood and grabbed the subs from your grasp. “You’re holding precious cargo.”
Your laughter was awkward, tense. You were simply not understanding why the mere sight of his exposed skin had your stomach in knots, even though you knew the truth. Of course, you did. But you were going to sit there and pretend you didn’t because that was easier than confronting what was real.
After demolishing both your sandwiches – “These actually might be the best in the city,” Vernon had agreed – you sat back on the blanket as he handed you one of his headphones. He hadn’t upgraded to Bluetooth ones yet, said he was going to use these until they died, but you did notice that the sound on right bud he gave you might be softer than the left. He asked if you wanted an edible and after all the schoolwork you did this morning, you took it before even answering him.
“I’ve always thought that music sounds better on a record,” he said, scrolling through his library to find one artist in particular. “Besides this album. Maybe it’s because this is the first album I ever listened to and it was through headphones. Something about the nostalgia factor of it all.” He turned his head to yours and smiled. “But I want you to hear it this way.”
Intimacy, closeness, was always laced in his tone. Little statements like, “This is for you,” or “I’m interested,” or “I want you to hear it this way,” meant so much more when they came from his lips. Words lost meaning. Just a simple “hello” as he passed you at the register blurred into, “Do you want to hang out later?”
You managed to see the album cover before he turned off his phone. That blue album by the Smiths. You’d seen it before. Every douchebag with a mullet that came into Reverb bought it. But as you laid back and let the edible take over, you began to appreciate the music in a whole new way. Maybe you were becoming one of those douchebags with a mullet, but there was something about the melody of these songs, how some were recorded acoustic while others were with a full band. Everything blended into a kaleidoscope of powerful vocals and lyrics that made your brain melt.
Vernon would cut in at some parts to tell you fun facts about the song, and other times he would just stay quiet. Neither of you were comprehending much anyway, focused solely on the pretty words pouring into your ears. As the album finally hit the last song, you realized Vernon was singing under his breath. Your head slowly turned, watching the way his lips moved to form the words, “So please, please, please … Let me, let me, let me … Let me get what I want …” It helped that your earbud wasn’t as loud, letting you tune into more of his voice.
You were staring at him now. Nothing could tear your eyes away. He was drumming his fingers on his stomach, that small sliver of skin poking out yet again as he bent his arm behind his head. He was in his own world, singing softly, while the autumn leaves started to fall around his head. It was the last week of November. Leaves shouldn’t be falling, especially when it was forecasted to snow next week. But fate had a funny way of doing things, and the red and yellow cascading around his spiked hair looked like a painting.
Maybe it was the edible hitting the home stretch, but you were noticing things about him that you didn’t before. His nose scrunched when he sang. His fingers tapped to the beat of the drum, the pads calloused and cold. His other ear was pierced once, but he only wore an earring on his right one. His skin was pretty, and yet, you liked that he still had some acne scars littered around his cheekbones. He needed chapstick – bad – but his lips were still pink and nice and –
What if you kissed him?
Jesus. That had to be the edible. Because no way in your right mind would you ever consider kissing Vernon. Just a couple months ago you were fighting the urge to wring his neck. But now you were … staring at his lips again, learning the way he mouthed, Please, remembering when he told you that itwas such a pretty word. It was even prettier when he sang it.
Kissing him would be so easy. You could kiss him, and then get it all out of your system. You could lick the smile off his lips, taste whatever made him secretly ache. Every lingering thought that you had about him would vanish. You didn’t have to worry about accidentally holding his hand when he passed you a joint, or hope that you wouldn’t moan his name the next time you touched yourself. You could kiss him right now and everything could go back to normal –
His eyes opened as soon as the song finished and he looked over at you. For a moment, you assumed he was going to ask why you were staring at him. Instead, he moved to his side and propped himself up on one elbow. “Do you even know who the Smiths are?”
Moment ruined. His inner douchebag with a mullet made a triumphant return. Thank god, you didn’t kiss him.
You frowned. “I might not know as much as you do about music, but I know who the fucking Smiths are, Vernon.”
His grin widened. “Just making sure you’ve been paying attention.”
Time seemed to blur. Autumn faded into the first frost, and snow started to gather on the streets of New York City. The air got even colder, making you revisit memories of stubbed-out joints and sharing headphones in nicer weather. If you tried hard enough, you didn’t think about kissing Vernon ever again, but most days, you found it too difficult to put in the effort. It was wrong, icky, harboring feelings for your friend and manager. But you told yourself that they weren’t deep; they were just a product of your yearning for intimacy, for the quick press of another’s lips against yours.
That’s all that it was. That’s all that it would be. It might take a few months, maybe a year, but feelings falter and you had more important things to worry about.
Was this what ego death felt like?
Mingyu had called out today because of the snow, saying that his “bike was frozen solid to the ground.” Thankfully, Chan had been available for his shift, and you watched him from the register as he helped a customer look through your stock of records from the 90s. He was truly a guru for all things 90s pop. And he could sing too, a mini Timberlake in the flesh.
“I was thinking …” Vernon started.
You stood up straight, looking away from your laptop. The store wasn’t so busy today because of the snow, so your delightful manager had given you permission to work on your thesis while manning the register. He was sitting on the edge of the counter behind the checkout, dangling his feet slightly while he studied one of the new releases they got in stock a few days ago. For a moment, you let your eyes follow his two fingers that skimmed down the track listing.
Finally, you blinked, leaning against the register and crossing your arms. “That isn’t good.”
He lifted his head, glaring at you. “Funny.” Setting the record back in the box, he bent forward and gripped the edge of the table. “Are you opposed to playlists?”
“Not particularly, no.”
“Second question: are you opposed to someone making you a playlist?” He asked, and when you simply tilted your head, not understanding what he was getting at, he sighed. “I was attempting to build up suspense. I made you a playlist.”
“Oh.” You released your arms, letting them fall at your sides. “Why?”
He was looking at anything but you now. “Because I …” His back was tense as he pulled out his phone. “I don’t know. I just thought it would be a nice way to share all the music we’ve listened together so far.” He lifted his head again. “Don’t read into it.”
Before you could reply, he slipped off the counter while pulling up your texts. You looked down at your own phone, seeing a new text from him on the lock screen.
Vernon (Manager Friend): [Spotify Link: Your New Favorite Playlist]
“It seemed almost wrong to make it on Spotify.”
You lifted your head up and met his eyes, brow furrowing.
“Burning music onto CDs is a lost art,” he explained, and just that one sentence completely killed every romanticization you had about him. “I’m simply too lazy to do all of that now.”
“Well, that’s good then,” you said, turning back to your laptop when you still felt your cheeks start to heat. Why were you blushing? This was unlike you; this didn’t mean anything. You reminded yourself this as you turned your head, finding him over your shoulder. “I don’t own a CD player. Most people don’t nowadays.”
He thought for a moment, and then flicked your arm. “Right.”
Despite yourself, despite what he told you – you read into it. There was no way to not when he told you it consisted of songs that he always wanted to show someone like you. You kept the playlist on repeat, wondering if it could be burned into your brain like a CD. Most were songs you’d heard before, but there were some that stood out, some that you wanted injected into your veins to be a part of you forever. Was this how he felt? Hearing a song so beautiful that you never wanted to part from it? You listened to the playlist more times than you liked to admit, allowing the last one in particular to replay until you got tired of it: Night Drive by Jimmy Eat World.
Come alive on the driver’s side … So close I taste your breath … Your lips go dry, but there’s sweet inside … Wine must go right to your head …
The lyrics were pouring through your right AirPod when Mingyu started waving a hand in front of your face. You had begun to listen to the playlist during shifts, distracting yourself from whatever album Aileen had plugged into the speakers to repeat throughout the day. Pausing the song, you took out your AirPod and asked, “Do you need me to yell at you again for your shitty organizational skills?”
“No,” he quipped, “and I find it rude that you would assume I would change my ways. I’m leaving now anyway. My bike is still frozen outside, so Wonwoo is picking me up.” He pondered, and then added, “Well, him and his girlfriend are picking me up in her car. But at least I don’t need to take public transit.”
Your brow lifted. “Your nerdy roommate finally bagged that girl from his office?”
“He is not important.” Mingyu tapped his fingers on your screen, noticing the album cover to the song you’re listening to pop up. “What the hell? Since when do you listen to anything other than Avril Lavigne?”
“Excuse you, I listen to more than just her. I just keep my favorites in rotation.” You then shrugged. “I’ve been trying to venture outside of my bubble.”
“You? Outside of your bubble?” He almost wanted to laugh, but that would earn him the kind of look that made him feel like knives were piercing his stomach. Instead, he smirked a little. “That seems like a song Vernon would listen to.”
You didn’t look at him, knowing you’d been caught redhanded. Mingyu could be such a gossip; telling him things meant the entire city knew. Busying yourself with cleaning up around the register, you replied, “Not sure what that could mean.”
“Well, you two have been hanging out after Reverb closes.” He crossed his arms over his chest, his biceps still visible even underneath his ripped denim jacket. “Oh, come on. I see your Instagram stories. You would never willingly be in Bushwick, unless …”
You shot him that signature glare. Already, he felt a pain in his gut. “What are you trying to suggest?”
He narrowed his eyes, and then said, “You guys are hooking up.”
“Can you lower your voice?” You whispered back harshly. “We do still have those security cameras, you know.”
“You didn’t answer my question.”
“No!”
“I thought we were lowering our voices.” His grin widened. “Honestly, he was the last person I expected you to go after, but I am kinda into the whole manager and employee thing.”
You frowned. “I am not hooking up with Vernon.”
Mingyu realized you were serious. His expression fell. “Then, what is it?”
“We’re just friends,” you scoffed, opening up your phone to check the time. It was then, as you were staring down at your screen, reading the title of the Spotify playlist, that you realized Mingyu was probably looking at the same thing. He saw it, noticed Vernon’s name as the creator, and you felt every bone in your body freeze as if you were standing outside.
Both of your heads lifted at the same time. Mingyu was the first to say, “He made you a playlist.”
There was no way out of this one, not even as you locked your screen again. “Um –” You swallowed hard. “Yes.”
“And you’re not fucking?”
“No, Mingyu, we’re not fucking,” you grumbled. “He told me not to read into it.”
Suddenly, it dawned on him, and Mingyu damn near giggled with how innocent both of you were being. Something about this was so pure, despite the obvious tension between you and Vernon. “So he likes you,” he stated confidently, “and you like him.”
“No,” you replied so quick he almost didn’t finish speaking. “We’ve been just hanging out for a couple months. He’s been showing me music on the off days I’m not at school and after work. That’s all.”
He chuckled under his breath. “A guy would never do all that unless he liked someone.”
“We’re just friends –”
“And you would never willingly go out of your comfort zone unless …” He scrunched up his nose, trying to think. “Well, unless you had a crush. I’ve known you for over a year now. This isn’t that hard to figure out.”
You blinked at him. “I resent that statement. I don’t have a crush.”
“Maybe I’m wrong.” Mingyu put his hands up in surrender, and then immediately lowered them. “But I’m not though.”
Your mouth opened to retort, but the bell above the door was chiming as a tall, lanky man sprinted through it. Wonwoo, Mingyu’s roommate, stopped short by the entrance, his glasses fogging from the heat inside the store. His voice was slightly muffled by the scarf wrapped around his neck, “Mingyu, come on. She has the car running outside and with our luck, she could get a ticket.”
“A tragedy,” Mingyu muttered, adjusting the strap of his backpack and heading for the door. Wonwoo sighed, stepping back into the cold air, and as Mingyu reached the door frame, he looked back at you. His expression was smug, and you felt every hair on the back of your neck stand up. “See you tomorrow, lover girl.”
So maybe you did have a crush.
But that didn’t mean anything. It couldn’t mean anything, and you simply didn’t have the balls to approach the conversation otherwise.
Mingyu had to be full of it. A guy would never do all that unless he liked someone, was such bullshit. You had been friends with men before, and you were sick of the assumption that the opposite sex couldn’t be friends. Just because you were defying your own rule with your crush meant nothing. Absolutely nothing. You knew that Vernon saw you as a friend anyway.
You didn’t want to ruin this. You couldn’t remember the last time you were this relaxed in your two years of grad school. The last thing you wanted was this to slip from your fingertips.
You needed a distraction – anything to not think about the stupid feelings growing inside you, the kind that made you want to claw at your stomach to stop the butterflies. For the first time, you were working the closing shift on a Saturday with Mingyu because Vernon had taken the day off. You were trying to focus on writing your thesis behind the register, but the store had been swamped today, leaving you with your racing thoughts and the best customer service smile you could muster. Mingyu was in the backroom doing god knows what, but you did notice that the music throughout the store had changed to club songs when he was in charge.
When you finally had a moment of reprieve, you slouched against the back counter and scrolled through your phone. You stopped when you noticed an ad for a local band Vernon had recommended to you a couple weeks ago called Broken Antenna. They were playing a show in Queens tonight, conveniently right after your shift ended at Reverb. Tapping your fingers on the counter behind you, you wondered if this was crazy, impulsive even. You were never like this, making spur of the moment plans, but something was telling you to live a little.
If not for yourself, just to get these thoughts about Vernon out of your head. At least for one night.
After looking around to make sure no one was in the store, you walked to the back and found Mingyu spinning in the office chair that Aileen or Vernon typically occupied. He stopped the second you knocked a fist on the doorframe, looking up at you with wide eyes. “Having fun?” You said with a brow raise.
“We all need a break every once in a while,” he quipped, standing up and sliding his phone in his back pocket.
“Speaking of breaks,” you replied, and now he was lifting a brow, “you got any plans tonight? There’s a band playing in Queens and I don’t want to go alone.”
Mingyu grinned big.
It didn’t take much convincing. You definitely could’ve texted one of your friends from school to go, but truthfully, you knew Mingyu was dying for another night out with you. Despite how drunk you got the last time you both went to a club, you could admit that it was still fun and he was one of the few people that could get you to let loose for a few hours.
Once your shift was over, you hid your belongings in the backroom, bringing only your jackets, before locking up the store and heading to the subway. It didn’t take long to get there, and you probably arrived at the bar-turned-venue only forty minutes after the set started. After showing the bouncer both your IDs, hands shaking from the cold, you were let inside the packed bar. Mingyu was tall, so he took the lead with pushing through the crowd. The band was loud and slightly off pitch, but the crowd was lively and made the experience all the more fun. Tugging you towards the bar, Mingyu order four tequila shots and two beers.
It was going to be one of those nights with him.
You both downed your shots immediately, and by the time Mingyu was pulling you into the crowd, you felt your vision start to blur. Maybe it was because you drank almost half of your beer now too. Or maybe you were simply a lightweight. Both could be true. As the band shouted at the crowd, Mingyu hollered back, angling his phone over the throng of people to capture someone crowd surfing on video. How someone could be crowd surfing in this packed bar, you had no idea, but you clutched Mingyu just to get out of the way.
Looking up at your coworker, you couldn’t fathom how he wasn’t tripping over himself right now. His height allowed him to tower over everyone and his muscle mass was extensive, but it was like the two shots hadn’t effective him in the slightest. This was your sign to start going to the gym more often, build up some muscle, because you couldn’t keep getting this tipsy after just a couple shots.
He pulled out a nip of whiskey from one of the pockets in his cargo pants, and then offered it to you. “Want some?” He asked, going up to your ear to yell over the music. Your eyes squinted, and even he looked confused why the nip was on him. Everything inside you told you to slow down, but if you didn’t, you’d have to be burdened with the aching realization that you liked fucking Vernon.
So you took the nip and drank half of it.
You were swaying now, hands in the air as the music rang through your eardrums. You couldn’t even hear your own thoughts at this point. Which, honestly, had been your goal. Lacing one of your arms with Mingyu’s, you both began bouncing up and down to the band together, screaming when the singer pointed to you two in the crowd.
The next time you jumped up, your ankle twisted on the ground, almost making your knees buckle. You clutched onto Mingyu hard, but he didn’t really notice you fall. The alcohol was getting to you, and you had now just spilt the ounce left of your beer all over your favorite work sweater. You hissed at the soreness in your ankle, not realizing as you started to stand that another person was pushing through the crowd. There was a new pair of shoes next to you, and you tilted your head up to meet a familiar face.
“Are you okay?” Vernon asked over the guitar blaring through your ears.
He didn’t look surprised to see you, but you were blinking, trying to get your vision to cooperate. “I – yes,” you shouted back. Your eyes couldn’t focus on anything right now, especially with the alcohol coursing through your body. “What – what are you doing here? I didn’t – didn’t expect …”
You couldn’t even finish your sentence, your mouth just deciding not to move anymore. Vernon searched your eyes, pupils wide from intoxication, and he plucked the beer glass out of your hands before you could pull away. “Hey!” You snarled, but he held his arm back, even in this packed crowd.
“What do you mean, ‘what am I doing here?’ I showed you this band!” He replied, hostility laced in his tone. “I’m taking you home.”
“But I came here with –” You looked to your left, seeing Mingyu’s arm not intertwined with yours anymore. Confused, you looked over the swarm of people and saw him now bumping shoulders with the small pit that formed in the middle of the floor. Your jaw dropped – when did he leave your side? You hadn’t even felt it.
Before you could register it, Vernon tucked your fingers through his and began pulling you out of the densely packed crowd of drunk adults. Even through the fog of tequila and whiskey, a small flutter rose in your stomach when you realized your hand was locked around his. His palm was warmer than you expected, nothing like your cold skin, constantly pricked with goosebumps.
The December air was so cold that it burned your skin, making your cheeks flush even more than alcohol. Vernon’s hand was still in yours, still tugging you, the wind whipping back your hair and almost taking your feet off the ground. But he guided you, kept you upright. Only about a block later and he was ushering you towards his old Chevy parked on the street, helping you into the passenger seat. You huffed when he reached over you to grab your seatbelt, “I can just –”
“Please, shut up,” he muttered, locking the seatbelt in place.
Your lips sealed immediately.
He rounded the car quickly before jumping inside and starting the engine. He held his hands out, waiting for the heat to crank on. After a minute, he started blowing into his hands and glanced over at you, watching you shiver as you forced your head to stay up. Grabbing your freezing palms, he placed them over his mouth and blew his own hot breath into them. Your eyes were wide now, unsure of what to do.
Something about sharing his warmth with you felt so intimate. More intimate than kissing, even sex.
Once heat began to sputter out of the vents, he let go of your hands and pulled into the deserted city street. Your looked at your palms, now face up on your lap, and wondered if this was one of those daydreams you had when you were blackout drunk. It had only happened twice, but it was enough to become a pattern. A buzzing sound emerged beside you, and it took you a long moment before you realized Vernon was talking to you.
“H-Huh?” You hiccuped, shoving your hands in the pockets of your jacket.
“I asked what your address is.”
“Oooooh,” you nodded, a line forming between your brows as you concentrated. “I … hmm, I can’t remember right now. I think it’s … jeez.”
Vernon pinched the bridge of his nose. “Where’s your wallet?”
“Uhhhhh …” Your words slurred, trailing off as you pulled your wallet from your pocket.
He grabbed it immediately, filtering through the cards with his eyes still on the road. You watched his fingers flip through your wallet, trying to ignore the warmth brewing inside you, until he located your license. Looking down for a quick moment, he found your address and nodded, throwing the wallet back to you. “Ow,” you murmured.
As you leaned your head against the seat rest, you noticed that he was rolling his eyes at you, white knuckling the steering wheel. You were so drunk that you considering prying his fingers off, holding one of his hands to release the tension inside of him. But your brain felt like goo and you couldn’t make sense of a damn thing.
“You’re … you’re b-being m … mean,” you stuttered, and then poked him in the arm.
He made an annoyed sound under his breath. “I’m not being mean. I’m literally driving you home.”
You studied him for a moment, as much as an intoxicated person could. Your eyes narrowed. “Iffffff you’re not being m-mean, then what … what are you? Jealooooooous?”
The car halted at a stop light and he looked over at you immediately. His stare was blank, serious and critical. “Yeah,” he stated, no hesitation.
You chuckled for a moment, your breath tainted with the stench of cheap whiskey, until you realized that he wasn’t joking. His gaze was still locked on yours, until the light turned green and he was pressing on the gas again. Your laughter died instantly as you faced the road with him, playing with your hands on your lap.
Silence echoed throughout the car.
The fog in your head was telling you to close your eyes, but you willed yourself to keep them open. “Is t-this …” Your throat was suddenly dry. “Is this about Mingyu?”
Vernon sighed. “Fuck, it’s – it’s not about Mingyu.”
A dull pain emerged in your forehead. How could this be happening already? Rubbing at your temples, you whined, “Then whaaaaaat could it possibly be about?”
“I’m going to sound like a dick.”
You snickered, “Never stopped you before.”
He didn’t even register your words, because he was shaking his head and rubbing a finger over his top lip, frustration clawing at him. “I thought …” He paused, and somehow, having to look at the road and not into your drunken gaze made this so much harder. “I just thought you would’ve asked me. To go see the band, I mean. I didn’t even know you were interested in going. If I had known, I would’ve asked you or hoped you would ask me.”
“B-But I … I only went because I saw an ad for the c-concert. And I wanted a distraction from …” Your voice got quiet as you wrinkled your nose. “I still don’t understand … hoooow you’re … y-you’re jealous.”
“I’m jealous that someone else got to spend this time with you when it should’ve been me.”
You were staring at him again, his words almost suffocating you, compressing into your head and matching the throb between your temples. You wanted to scream. You wanted to cry. You wanted to hurl yourself right out of this vehicle. Tonight was about freedom and not coming to terms with whatever was happening inside you. Not a confession.
Vernon licked his lips, meeting your eyes for a split second. “I thought listening to music was our thing.”
Your breathing stilled, your lips falling open in shock. Fingers digging into the seems of your pants, you felt the bile rise up in your throat, and you desperately tried to shove it down. This was sick. This was twisted. Why the fuck was he telling you this right now? Why couldn’t he just pretend that he wasn’t mad, drop you off, and be on his merry way?
“That’s it?” He added, turning down the heat slightly. “You’re gonna say nothing –”
God, you actually were going to puke.
“Can you pull over? I think I’m gonna vomit.”
His brow furrowed, startled, but he pulled onto the side of the road without saying a word. He had parked on the bridge, just as small flurries of snow started to fall. You practically punched the door open, stepping out, and not even being able to make it to the edge of the bridge. Vomiting all over the sidewalk, you were surprised when another pair of shoes materialize beside you and a hand began to rest on your back. But you supposed this was his thing: appearing when you needed him most. You coughed and looked up at Vernon, the anger vanishing from his expression.
You hacked again, phlegm dribbling on your chin. “You’re gonna get puke on your shoes.”
“I know,” he exhaled heavily, before swiping away the drool on your lips.
He let you continue to hurl your guts out as snow gathered in your knotted hair. Vernon refused to move away, kept a firm hand on your back as you extracted all the alcohol left in your body. When you were finally done, you straightened your back and he tucked hair behind your ears. You wiped your mouth, looking up at him all doe-eyed, and his resolve almost crumbled. He ushered you back inside the warm car before you could start shivering, intent on getting you home more than ever.
You weren’t sure how long it took you to fall asleep in his passenger seat. But when you woke up the next morning with no recollection of the conversation from the night before, the single thing you did remembered was someone tucking you in.
At some point in every adult’s life, you learn that you’re just not as young as you used to be. When you went through the entire weekend and realized you had gotten blackout drunk at that concert, you came to the conclusion that you shouldn’t go that hard ever again. The body you had in undergrad could handle things that you simply couldn’t today.
Your memory of that night ended when Vernon appeared beside you in the crowd, after you almost fell on the dirty ground of that bar. Mingyu had been at your side. Or had he gone away around then? Again, you couldn’t remember. But at some point, Mingyu was with you, and then Vernon had helped you to your feet. The rest was a tequila and whiskey-induced blur. When you swallowed, you still got a tinge of it on your breath, no matter how many times you mouthwashed.
Your next shift with him was on Tuesday evening. Running from your last class of the day, you slipped and fell on a patch of ice, not taking a moment to collect yourself before you were sprinting to Reverb again. Your ass was already hurting and there would surely be a bruise, but you couldn’t worry about that right now. The wind bit at your cheeks and you stuffed your frozen hands in your pockets, until you reached the door of the store –
At the same time as Vernon.
You both stopped short, your hands reaching for the handle. His cheeks were red, and something told you it wasn’t from the winter air. Averting his gaze, he held the door open and said, “After you.”
You nodded, “Thanks.” Your tongue darted out as you passed him, licking your lips, and he noticed. (Of course, he noticed.) He entered into the store after you, brushing snowflakes from his cropped hair. You spotted Mingyu talking to Aileen at the front before you turned to Vernon beside you.
Despite the rush you’d been in, both of you lingered by the doorway, kicking the snow off your shoes. Vernon was looking at his boots, refusing to meet your eyes, and you didn’t want to beat around the bush. Lowering your head slightly, you said, “You haven’t texted me in few days. Is something wrong?”
Finally, his eyes flicked up. Instead of answering your question, he replied, “I didn’t … I didn’t know if you’d want to hear from me.”
Your eyebrows furrowed. “Why?”
“You don’t remember anything from Saturday?”
You rubbed the back of your neck. “Not exactly,” you muttered, a red flush creeping onto your cheek. “I might’ve had a bit too much to drink. I think Mingyu drove me home. Or we took the subway back. It’s kind of a blur.”
Hurt flashed across his face for a moment, but he recovered quickly. “Oh, yeah, he did,” he nodded, scratching behind his ear. “I’m glad you got home safe.”
You felt the tension between you dissipate, the air suddenly feeling cleaner, relaxed. A smile made it’s way to your lips as you both began to walk towards the backroom. You waved to Aileen and mentioned, “I’m pretty sure I saw you there, right? Everything kind of gets hazy after you appeared next to me. But it was cool to see some of those songs live after listening to them together.”
“Yeah,” Vernon exhaled heavily, “I was thinking the same thing.”
“Aileen held you up all day,” you said while still staring at your laptop behind the counter.
Mingyu paused by register, adjusting the strap of his backpack, and nodded. “We’re trying to figure out what shipment this week got held up at the port. I don’t know. I guess her husband is gonna help her figure it out.” He ran a hand through his hair. “Way out of my pay grade.”
You finally glanced up and shut your computer, making sure to save your thesis document first. There were lines under Mingyu’s eyes that hadn’t always been there. He was always in pristine condition, a partier that never sacrificed his beauty sleep. Rather than talking around the subject, you were blunt: “No sleep this weekend?”
He chuckled. “Yeah. Got my first proper night on Monday. On Saturday, I almost stayed up for a full 24 hours.”
“That’s not like you,” you replied, and he agreed with a chuckle under his breath. Leaning your hip against the checkout, you played with the buttons on the computer and added, “Speaking of Saturday, thanks for taking me home after the concert. I know I can be very annoying when I’m drunk. Next shift, I’ll bring you Shake Shack for lunch.”
“You really do know the key to my heart.” He placed a hand on his chest and pouted. He looked so much like a puppy sometimes. And then, his expression fell. “I didn’t take you home though.”
Your eyes darted around, confused. He was probably too tired to remember right now. “I was so sure you did. Even Vernon confirmed it.”
Mingyu’s brow knitted. He was pausing by the register, not caring that Wonwoo was most likely waiting in the freezing cold to pick him up from his shift. Tapping three fingers on the counter, Mingyu huffed out a short laugh. “Well,” he clicked his tongue, “I don’t know why he would say that. Because he drove you home.”
You blinked, making sure you were understanding him. Your arms crossed over your chest and your eyes narrowed, assessing his answer. No, he was telling the truth. Mingyu was the worst liar on the planet; you could tell by his stance. The last time he tried lying to Aileen, his back hunched so much you thought he had an underlying medical condition.
“Then why would he tell me the opposite?” You asked, agitation laced in your tone.
Mingyu shrugged. “Beats me. Do you think he said something to you while you were drunk that he’s glad you forgot? You guys are basically in love.”
“You are so fucking dramatic,” you scoffed. “He did ask me if I remembered anything from Saturday. Maybe he –”
“You know I’d love to stay and chat about your emo boy struggles,” Mingyu cut in, already walking away from the register and wrapping a scarf around his neck. “But Wonwoo definitely has the car running. Just text me. I’ll answer. Don’t give me that look. I promise.”
The bell above the door rang as it closed behind him, leaving you with the question still on the edge of your tongue. What the fuck did Vernon say to you when you were drunk?
After a long week of classes, thesis writing, and your weird manager-turned-friend kind of icing you out, you were surprised to receive a text from said friend on Sunday evening. You had spent the majority of the weekend reading through a portion of research for your thesis, the words so mind numbing that they began to blend together. You found this study interesting, honesty, but research writing had a way of making just about anything boring sometimes. There was only so many times you could read about the impact of the printing press on the Protestant Reformation.
When you finally looked down at your phone – twenty minutes after it lit up – you saw the preview of Vernon’s text and straightened up. You had been sitting in the same position on your couch for so long that your back cracked.
Vernon (Manager Friend): are you doing anything tonight?
You: thesis
Vernon (Manager Friend): let me rephrase: are you doing anything important tonight?
You: this is important. rude.
Vernon (Manager Friend): I want to see you tonight
You: that’s all you had to say, vernon. no need to beat around the bush
Vernon (Manager Friend): who am I if not beating the bush?
Vernon (Manager Friend): that came out weird
Vernon (Manager Friend): meet me at the borough exchange in bushwick around 9. there’s a show I want you to see
You: can I bring some friends? promise I hang out with not just mingyu
Vernon (Manager Friend): I’ll believe it when I see it
You texted your friends, tried not to get offended when they acted surprised that you wanted to go out on a Sunday night, and then ransacked your closet for something to wear. Nothing was right. It was either too casual or too fancy. The jeans you liked didn’t hug your waist the same just out of the dryer and your favorite going-out top didn’t fit your chest like it used to. Eventually, you decided on your favorite pair of jeans – the ones that fit perfectly but were a little ratty at the bottom – and a tight, white thermal long-sleeve that was casual enough but made your boobs look good, even without an open neckline. There was no reason to overthink this. It was a Sunday, and this was just Vernon.
Just. Vernon.
After throwing on your parka, you met up with your friends, Hana and Seungkwan, at the subway. Hana had been one of your classmates since undergrad, while you met Seungkwan a few years ago at an art gallery and you both quickly bonded over medieval art and thrift shopping. The three of you saw each other when you could, during planned dinner reservations made weeks in advance or nights like these when you were going out of your small bubble and needed some company.
A missed train or so later, your group finally managed to get off at the right stop and headed for the Borough Exchange. It was a dive bar near Vernon’s apartment that you maybe visited once before. (Mingyu was right. You didn’t typically go out of your way to see Bushwick.) You shivered as soon as the warm air hit you when you entered the small pub, music blaring from the back where a live band was playing. You could only guess that was where Vernon wanted to meet.
Pushing through the bodies of tipsy patrons, you vowed to not have a drop of alcohol tonight after last weekend. Even the thought of whiskey made your head throb. As you guys settled near the wall of the dance floor, Hana shouted over the loud guitar solo, “Where’s you friend?”
“Not sure,” you shrugged, and then checked the time on your phone. “It’s past nine. Maybe he’s running late?”
“Uh, based on your description of him,” Seungkwan called out, pointing towards the front, “I think that’s him on the stage.”
Your head whipped around, gaze meeting Vernon's immediately as he sang into the mic. His fingers danced across the strings of the red electric guitar in his hands, calloused and dry, but he was so talented you almost didn’t believe it. He was backed by a band behind him, who you remembered from a picture he showed you once. His best friend, Minghao, played the base, while Seokmin was on the drums and Jihoon commanded a keyboard. They sounded great. They sounded professional. Vernon’s singing was out of this world, reminding you of all the old bands he spent showing you, but so authentically him. When did he start possessing such raw talent?
Your voice was unrecognizable, almost in awe, as you said, “Wow, he’s so –”
“Hot,” Seungkwan finished, and you turned to him with wide eyes. “Oh, come on, I knew you were going to say it.”
“Of course, she was,” Hana said, bumping her hip against yours. “He’s the one she’s been spending so much time with. She even came to see him at the drop of a hat.”
Seungkwan’s cheeks were so big as he poke you in the arm. “This is so fun! Almost like high school all over again, just without all the trauma. You liiiiiiike him.”
“Shhhhhhhh!” You scoffed, tugging on both their sleeves, your attention back on the stage. Your lips widened into a huge smile. “There’s a concert in front of us. Pay attention.”
Vernon and his band were only allowed to play for fifteen more minutes, until the bar manager came near the stage during one of their songs and started twirling his finger for them to wrap it up. They finished their covered of Complicated by Avril Lavigne before Vernon grabbed the mic and thanked the small crowd for listening. “Feel free to pick up our EP at the door,” he added, lifting up one hand. “We’re Awkward High-Five.”
Seokmin came up from behind the drums to slap his hand against Vernon’s. Minghao bumped his shoulder as they all jumped off stage, muttering, “We have to change the name. I was busy when you guys voted on it. It’s terrible. Even Woozi agrees with me.”
Jihoon pinched the bridge of his nose, already walking off to the bar for a drink.
“You’ll get over it, Hao,” Vernon replied, his stare completely focused on you. Minghao rolled his eyes before heading outside to have a cigarette, Seokmin quickly following behind. You were so nervous that you weren’t sure how to unclench your fists. It felt like it was only you two in the room as he walked over, your gazes unwavering. Even your friends stepped off to the side to give you privacy, or maybe Hana just wanted to talk to Jihoon. It didn’t matter, because you couldn’t focus on anything but the way Vernon was smiling at you. And now you were grinning even bigger. And the world felt like it was so small, fit for only you and him.
“Hi,” you murmured.
“Hey.” One of his hands reached out to caress your wrist. Just barely, only for a second. But enough to make your cheeks heat. “You came.”
“You called.”
He nodded, “Indeed. I knew it’d be tough to tear you away from your computer though.”
“It was, but …” You tried stopping yourself, teeth sinking into your bottom lip, and he noticed, eyes flickering just for a moment. They softened for you. And finally, you admitted, “I missed you.”
His mouth formed into that cat-like smile again, eyes crinkling at the edges. “Let me buy you a drink.”
He bought you a Shirley Temple because you expressed that you didn’t want alcohol tonight, and he joined you. The drink was sweet and syrupy, and gave you a quick glimpse of him being able to tie a cherry stem with his tongue. He didn’t let you dwell on it though – that’d be too dangerous – and he tugged on your hand to force you to introduce him to your friends. He spent an hour chatting with all of you, making an effort to tease Seungkwan because he noticed the way your friend laughed when he did. All the while, you felt his free hand skim the small of your back. Hardly there, a ghost of a touch. You felt it though. You always felt him.
When both of your glasses were empty, he turned to your friends instead of you and asked, “Would you guys mind if I drove her home?”
You shook your head. “Do I have a say in this?”
“No,” they said in unison, and then Seungkwan added, “You should drive her home, Vernon.”
“Better than taking the subway,” Hana added. “Not many people have a warm car in this city.”
You rolled your eyes before you gaze locked with his, allowing him to lead you out of the bar with a firm hand on your back this time. Minghao and Seokmin were tossing their instruments back of a van while Jihoon smoked what was left of the joint in his pocket. He offered it to Vernon as he said goodbye to all of them, but he simply waved his hand. “Nah,” he answered, “gotta drive home.”
He never turned down a joint before.
Blasting the heat as soon as you both got inside his car, the memories of Saturday night became a little more clear. You didn’t voice it, but you suddenly remembered the plushness of his passenger seat, the way his glove box didn’t close fully, the stench of weed and cologne that lingered in the fabric walls. You gave him your address, wondering if he’d give himself up, but he simply nodded and pulled out of his spot on the curb.
He handed you his phone with Spotify open. You looked at him with confusion, pushing the aux cord in when it tried to pop out. “Show me an album you like,” he said with a jut of his chin.
“Really?”
He nodded eagerly. “Really.” His eyes flickered over to you quickly, noticing the way you lit up as you scrolled through his phone. Your tongue stuck out slightly from the corner of your mouth when you concentrated, and he hated that he had to tear his eyes away from you to drive. You had no idea, and how could you have know, how much it meant for you to show him music you liked. How you were engaging in a love language he never realized was there.
After much deliberation, you set his phone down and the familiar sound of Katy Perry’s voice filled his old speakers. He recognized this song from somewhere – Hackensack? – but it was acoustic. He’d never heard any of Katy’s softer work. Flicking his phone screen on for a moment, he saw an album cover that said, Katy Perry: MTV Unplugged 2009.
“I realize how random this is,” you began when his eyes met yours before turning back to the stop sign ahead. A smirk played at his lips. “Don’t laugh. I’ve listened to this album at least every week since I was a kid. I just really love it.”
The songs faded into each other – from Lost to Waking Up in Vegas – taking him back to his childhood too. He remembered when his sister used to sing these songs into her hairbrush, screaming in his ear just to piss him off. Did you experience them a different way? Or did you, too, jump around your room with your hairbrush pressed against your mouth as you belted? He wondered how much this album meant to you, if you listened to it in times of distress, if you had your first car make out to a song as silly as I Kissed a Girl. There were a million memories that you probably had with this album and he was now hearing it for the first time, through your eyes.
He slowed down at a red light as the chorus to Thinking of You picked up, and you sunk into the passenger seat, watching the streetlights twinkle outside as you warmed your hands inside your jacket sleeves. Vernon had never heard this song like this before, had never taken the time to hear the lyrics or how the guitar riff slowed: Cause when I’m with him, I am thinking of you … What you would do … If you were the one who was spending the night …
Vernon was looking at you now – really looking at you – and he wondered if the world had stopped because all he could hear was white noise in his ears. The way your lips tugged into a smile made your cheeks dip. The way your eyes lit up at the smallest of things. How proud you got when you did something right. When you got excited to talk about your studies. Everything hit him in that moment and he realized how icing you out this week because he was being an awkward asshole made him miss you. Miss this. Just you and him.
The ringing stopped, and the song filtered through.
Oh, I wish that I was looking into your eyes …
Vernon pursed his lips. “Do you want to go somewhere else instead of your apartment right now?”
You turned to him, beaming, all warm like the shit heating system in his car. “Sure.”
He nodded, finally looking back as the light turned green. Instead of going straight, he took a right, heading for one of the parks in Brooklyn. Pulling into the parking lot, you were greeted with the sight of Prospect Park Lake at night, something you hadn’t considered seeing before. The lake was man-made, sure, but the stars shined down on it just right, making the water glitter like diamonds.
Vernon parked right in front of the snow piles, but you both could still see the lake from here. He leaned back in his seat, his elbow resting on the edge of the window while his cheek pressed onto his fist. “I used to practice guitar here when I was a teenager,” he mused, watching the water. “I didn’t have the money for lessons, so I had to teach myself. The lake was the only place where I found peace and quiet in the city. Usually, it would just be me here and someone’s dad fishing.”
“How did you afford a guitar back then if you couldn’t get lessons?”
He sneered. “I have always been a yard sale fiend.”
Settling into a comfortable silence, the Katy Perry album ended and transitioned into his liked songs. You could tell because the Cure was now playing, a song he had showed you months ago. Your hands twitched, and you eventually turned on your side in the passenger seat to face him. He was still staring at the water lick against the rocks, running a hand over his spiked hair. “Did you bring me here to kill me?” You asked, brows narrowing.
“What?” His head whipped to yours. “Why would you ask me that?”
You tilted your head. Was he that oblivious, or did he want you to say it? This had to be one of your worst nightmares. “You’ve been acting so strange around me recently,” you answered, now playing with the broken zipper dangling by your waist. “I mean, for instance … why didn’t you tell me about your band before?”
He shrugged. “I didn’t think you’d be interested.”
“Tell me,” you said quickly, your mouth forming in a soft smile “I’m interested.”
You made his words more beautiful, like wind chimes on the first day of spring.
So he told you. Turning in the driver’s seat, he spoke about when he met his friends, how they decided to make music. It had been Jihoon’s idea; he was the mastermind behind everything. When they weren’t practicing covers of songs they all grew up listening to, Jihoon was writing their music or putting together melodies. He would get home from his 9 to 5 accounting job and immediately open his notebook to write, finding joy in this as much as his other friends. They had only been doing this for a year as a hobby, and just recently decided on a name, but he wondered if maybe, just maybe, if they applied themselves … “I don’t want to get my hopes up though,” Vernon waved his hand. "Especially with Hao’s bad attitude about the name.”
“He’ll get used to it. Hopefully,” you snickered. “The name is … well –”
“Not you too,” he sighed.
He was looking at you again, and suddenly, it felt like you were the Mona Lisa. Like you were an LP being ogled by a customer chasing a deal. His eyes were intimate, almost hungry, and his words were slightly laced with the impulse to be closer: “I missed talking to you this week. I know we didn’t share a lot of shifts, but I didn’t text you. I know I was being weird.”
His palm was open and resting on the center console. You couldn’t help but reach out and coast your fingertip over one of the lines. Without looking at him, you asked, “Why did you lie about driving me home after the concert last weekend?”
“Caught red-handed,” he muttered, closing his fingers around yours, but only for a moment. Your gaze flicked up and met his. “I was embarrassed.”
“Because …?”
“Because I was jealous that you didn’t ask me to go with you,” he admitted, running a hand down his face. “Because I was being possessive over your time when … well, when that’s not for me to dictate.”
“You can be possessive over my time, Vernon. Just ask me first.” You flicked his arm, and he opened two fingers over his eyes to look at you. “And no more lying.”
He let the hand fall from his pretty brown eyes, grinning so big that he was showing his perfect teeth. You were almost jealous of him now, his nice, straight teeth, not one out of place. But he was staring at you like your smile lines didn’t mean a thing, like your front teeth weren’t stained from years of black coffee or that stress zit near your chin didn’t exist. His hand closed around your wrist again, thumb running over your pulse point. It was so intimate and yet so far away and oh, my god – you were finally going to say it –
“Vernon.” Your voice was so quiet you almost didn’t recognize it. “What are we doing?”
He stifled a laugh. “I’m not sure.”
You didn’t respond, unsure how to take it, but his thumb was still caressing your wrist and sending shivers up your spine that you hadn’t felt in years. When was the last time someone touched you this way? With reverence, with actual desire?
“Pretty certain you can’t go back to being friends after admitting I got jealous over you,” he clicked his tongue, and then tilted his head up. Brow furrowing and his other palm out on the console, he added, “It was never about Mingyu, FYI. But did you really have to go with him? I mean, like, the guy’s a god.”
You giggled. Actually giggled. The sound was unfamiliar, but never with him. “I don’t like Mingyu in that way.”
He squinted one of his eyes, a snarky reply on the tip of his tongue. But he wanted for you to continue; too scared to admit more of the truth. Rejection was fleeting, not painless, and he could see that you were fighting the same battle with the way you were biting your lip. God, did that make him want to kiss you more –
“I like you,” you whispered back, resting your palm over his other one. “And I’ve just been … too scared to ruin this. But I know I can’t be anymore. So if you didn’t bring me here to kill me, the least you could do is –”
He didn’t let you finish your sentence, leaning over the center console to crash his lips onto yours. Noses bumped, teeth gnashed, but when his hand came up to cradle your jaw, you let yourself melt into it. His kiss was slow, despite all the pent-up tension that had been riddling inside him. Morrissey’s voice filtered through the speakers – And you never knew … How much I really liked you … Because I never even told you … – as Vernon licked into your mouth in a way that had your thighs pressing together in the cramped passenger seat.
He tugged on your bottom lip, and then let go. He pushed himself back against his seat, realizing he’d gotten a little more excited than planned. But he’d finally got to kiss you, and your lips were so soft, and the way your soft sounds filtered into his mouth made him undoubtedly hard –
He noticed you bring a hand to your bottom lip, swiping a droplet of blood, and that was all it took.
Cranking his seat back, you let him pick you up as if you were nothing but a doll, sliding you over the console until your hips were flush against his. You had to lean forward to prevent your head from bumping against the roof of the car and your legs were even more cramped as you kneeled on his lap, but you were doing this. How could you not when his hands were so slow, precise? They trembled slightly from pure excitement as he unzipped your jacket, letting them glide up the tight thermal you were thankful you chose to wear.
The windows began to fog up from the heat, but he didn’t notice a damn thing except for the way you were sitting so perfectly on his lap. He sat up a little, and you guided his hand to cup the swell of your breast. “Christ,” he muttered, now against your lips, “you have no idea …”
“About what?” Your hot breath fanned his cheek. His touch was barely there as he ran his thumb over your nipple, feeling it harden underneath your shirt. It felt like he was ripping you open and putting you back together just from a graze of his finger.
“How much … how much I’ve wanted to touch you,” he confessed, nibbling on your lower lip for a brief second. You pushed yourself more against him, and he almost moaned from the weight of your breasts in his palms. “I held myself back because we were friends and I didn’t want to become one of those guys. But every time we were alone, I couldn’t help but think about what it would be like to kiss you, especially when your eyes got all glassy after we smoked a joint, and sometimes I’d have to excuse myself to go to the bathroom because just being near you got me fucking hard. And it was so pathetic and needy, and so unlike me, but I started thinking about you when I jerked off –”
“I thought about you when I touched myself too.”
“Oh, fuck.”
You kissed each other like it was pure instinct, and it was rough, desperate, but needed. So needed. It was like watching the Discovery Channel, even Animal Planet – two mammals surviving on basic intuition and barbaric bliss. He kissed you like he’d been waiting for centuries, one hand pulling your hips against his while the other squeezed your breast. You pressed down on him, waiting until you heard that – oh, there it was – groan of his enter your mouth and his cock hardened in his jeans. You chased it, feeling it strain against his zipper, grinding down on it as he kissed you without trying to pathetically moan into your mouth. But it was hard – he was fucking hard – and you were so pretty on his lap that he could almost cum without being touched.
He needed to distract himself from his impending doom of cumming too early, so he took off his jacket – quite haphazardly, enough to make you chuckle – before he peeled off your thermal top, leaving you in just a lace bralette you threw on, not even thinking another soul would see it tonight. But here you were, and now he was swallowing hard, drinking in the sight of your hard nipples pressed against the flimsy fabric. And he simply couldn’t help himself, leaning forward and yanking down the lace, dragging his tongue around one nipple. You shivered in his hold, nails raking through the short hair at the nape of his neck. “Vernon,” you whined.
“Hansol,” he corrected, looking up at you as he shifted, tongue flicking against the other nipple.
“Huh?”
“Hansol tonight. Please.”
“Okay,” you whispered, the need in his voice making the hair on your arms stand up. Or maybe it was just his tongue, switching between both breasts as he lathered them with his spit. He wouldn’t stop, like he couldn’t get enough of you, like the goosebumps rising on your sensitive skin was the only thing keeping him alive. Eventually, you cut in, “But, Vern – Hansol –”
He chuckled, low and husky. “Yeah?”
“How the hell am I going to get my pants off?”
“Oh.” He leaned back, seeing the zipper on your jeans just halfway undone, hardly any room for you to move around. “That would be helpful.”
You practically snorted, pecking his lips before sliding off his lap and back into the passenger seat. Having you leave his lap was torture, but he tried to divert his attention away from his aching cock by struggling to take off his long-sleeve tee. Even you were grappling with kicking off your pants in the small vehicle, your panties so soaked just from dry humping that you had to shuck them off.
Vernon didn’t think this moment would ever come: you, sitting in his passenger seat, fully naked. It was something out of one of those wet dreams – and he had many about you – but he knew this was real because you were already climbing over the console and perching yourself right back on his lap, bare pussy pressed against his clothed erection. “Fuck,” he muttered under his breath, sitting up again as he watched your arousal seep into his jeans.
He was never washing these again.
Actually, he didn’t want to be gross. He would wash these.
(Theoretically, he wasn’t washing these jeans again.)
“I’ve never called you Hansol before,” you mused, pushing back his hair. “Why tonight?”
He grinned, all teeth. “I like the way you say it.”
“What if I mistakenly call you Vernon at one point?”
“That’s okay.” His hands skimmed up your sides again. “I just want to touch you.”
“Your pants are still on though.”
“Emphasis on touch,” he quipped. “We can worry about that after this.”
Holding onto your waist, he looked down and let one of his fingers trail over your folds, smearing the wetness. You breathed out a sigh, leaning back against the steering wheel, opening yourself up to him as much as you could in this confined space. It occurred to you then that if you guys had simply gone back to your apartment, he could’ve fucked you into the mattress, but it seemed fate simply wanted you both to have sex in a car at Prospect Park Lake.
As he watched you leak onto the pads of his fingers, you couldn’t help but blurt out, “It can become like Niagara Falls down there. You’re in the splash zone.”
He immediately let out the loudest laugh, leaning back in the seat as his nose scrunched up. The way he laughed made more butterflies rise in your stomach, igniting a fire in you that not even his fingers could do. You were unable to contain yourself, smiling from ear to ear. “Holy shit,” he breathed out when his amusement subsided, and then subtly tasted you on his fingers when he thought you didn’t notice. He had to fight the urge to groan at the flavor. “Good to know. Thanks.”
“Not a problem,” you joked, lifting up a hand.
He reached down again, but before he went any further, he met your gaze. “You still want to do this?”
“Yeah, Hansol,” you replied, and his eyes fucking lit up when he heard that name come from your lips. “I want to.”
“Okay,” he smiled, straightening his back and lifting his dominant hand up. Before you could ask what he was doing, he said, “Open up.”
Your brow furrowed, but you opened your mouth anyway.
He placed three fingers on your tongue, and you closed your lips around them automatically. No hesitation needed. He watched you, felt your tongue swirl around his digits, transfixed and fantasizing what else you could fit in your mouth. But that was for another time. And if he didn’t get his fingers inside you soon, he just might die.
A trail of salvia connected your mouth to his fingers as he slipped them out, but he made sure to wipe it away with his thumb. Snaking his hand between your bodies, both of you practically folded like pretzels, he tested the waters by dipping a single finger inside your tight channel, looking up to check if you were okay. You arched slightly against the steering wheel, careful not to hit the car horn and ruin the entire moment. He swirled that finger deeper, and you keened, pushing against him.
You cracked one eye open. “I can take more than one finger, you know.”
“Well,” he huffed playfully, “now you’re just sounding ungrateful.”
“I’m not –”
He shoved three fingers inside of you and curled. You gasped like the wind had been knocked out of you. “Fucking Christ, Hansol –”
“Not so ungrateful anymore, huh?”
You opened both eyes, seeing him smile at you, and your own expression reflected his. Grabbing the interior handle above your head, you rocked you hips into his hand. He let out a ragged, heartbreaking breath as he began to piston those three fingers inside you. His gaze was laser focused, watching your essence drip onto his palm. The sounds you made only spurred him on, wanting to go deeper, to find that spot that made you see stars. You were still a little tense, and that might have to do with the limited space you were in. So he pressed his thumb down, flicking your clit like it was the only thing he knew how to do, and viewed up when he heard you whine.
“Like that?” He asked, and your response came in the form of another mewl. “Okay, I got you. Come closer.”
Before you could shift, he was wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling you forward. He sat up, letting your chest become flushed with his, leaving no room for you to escape his long fingers. He shoved them back inside, crooked them even deeper, and your hips jumped in a way that told him he found it. That place. And now, you were whispering his name just as pathetically as he did with yours when he jerked off. “Hansol, please –”
“I know,” he cooed, tilting his head to graze his lips against yours. “Lemme make you cum. Soak my fingers.”
You nodded weakly, pressing your cheek against his as he fucked those three fingers into you. Your nails dug into his shoulders, anchoring yourself to him, as your hips began to roll in time with his hand. His praise was like a soothing rhythm in your ear, but you could tell he was desperate. He was so hard underneath you that you felt his precum soak through his jeans. His fingers moved faster, pressing down on your clit while you heaved out his name. And then you were letting go, stars exploding behind your eyes when his fingers curled just right inside of you, his thumb rubbing harshly on your swollen clit at the same time. You gushed around his fingers and he was huffing like it was his first time all over again, and god, if this is how you felt around his fingers, he didn’t want to imagine how you were going to feel wrapped around his cock –
“Hansol?”
He lifted his head up again, meeting your half-lidded eyes. It took everything in him to pull his fingers out of you, to lick your release off his fingers and try not to moan loud enough to scare you off. Your stare was already so fucked out and there was sweat at your hairline and holy shit, your lips – parted with just a tiny bit of drool lingering at the corner. Fuck, he was – “I’m so fucking obsessed with you,” he murmured, and then his face twisted. “I’m sorry. I sound like such a loser.”
“No, you don’t,” you chuckled softly. “You’re usually so confident. Where did all that go?”
“I think I turned to mush when you came on my fingers.”
Your brow shot up.
“I just …” He struggled to find the words, eyes darting around the car. “I didn’t really expect this to happen. Like ever. And the last place you’ve probably ever wanted to be is in my car, and –”
“Hansol,” you said, grabbing his face so he would look at you. “This is the only place I want to be. Do you want to have sex?”
“Yes,” he answered without hesitation. “I kind of need to be inside you.”
You both laughed together, sitting back on his lap as he unzipped his jeans and wrestled with shucking them down enough. Your eyes raked down him then, finally noticing just how toned he was without a shirt. His skin was soft, but almost had a pearly hue in the moonlight streaming through the foggy windows. His chest was wide and his arms were slender, yet toned. His collarbones were pronounced, and you realized there was a silver chain dangling on his neck. You reached out, playing with it, as he eventually pulled his cock out.
He was longer than you assumed – at least, longer than average – with not a lot of girth, but enough to make you gawk a little. A few veins ran up the shaft, and a pretty pink head with precum running down his knuckles now. His erection, once neglected, was now demanding attention, and Vernon held it as if he was scared of being inside you, as if the mere thought of you wrapped around him was too much of a fantasy to bear. He met your eyes and you slid forward, his cologne beckoning you closer.
At one point, it was that very cologne that made you want to move further away. How the tables had turned.
You reached out, hesitated, until he realized what you were doing and allowed you to wrap your nimble fingers around him. You gave an experimental stroke, and then another, and another. His cock was hard and throbbing, but the skin was as soft and delicate. Vernon’s breath hitched, making you whisper, “Hansol …” Your thumb rubbed circles on the tip and more precum drooled out. “I thought … thought about doing this … when I touched myself,” you mewled for him, and his head fell forward.
“Jesus Christ,” he moaned, his warm breath hitting your nipples in the best way possible. Your strokes were lazy, but enough to make his balls ache. “If you … if you keep touching me like that, I’m not gonna fucking last.”
You chuckled. “Okay, I won’t torture you any longer.”
“You can. Some other time,” he promised with a grin. “But don’t expect to get nothing in return. I think I need to spend a few hours with my face between your legs.”
The giggle you released turned into a snort, and you flicked his nose before aligning his cock with your entrance. “I can agree to those terms, if you survive tonight.” You hovered above him, your head bent over the roof of the car in perhaps the most uncomfortable position possible. You made it work though, allowing your lips to just barely graze his tip, the friction making you both keen.
Vernon sighed heavily. “Fuck, I might not.”
Slowly, reverently, you sank down on Vernon’s cock, taking him inch by inch. You let out a deep whimper as he filled you, the angle making you feel the length of him almost in your stomach. The moment he was seated fully inside, he let out a groan that was unrecognizable. A pathetic tilt resounded at the end, his breathing getting heavier and heavier the longer you simply didn’t move. He swallowed hard and demanded, “You need to move.”
“Are you going to cum just from that?” You asked, nearly out of breath.
“I might,” he confessed. “I wasn’t joking that I’ve been thinking about this forever. If you don’t move, I’m going to move you.”
You lifted your head to give him a look. “You’re so –”
His hands seized your hips, kneading hard, as he lifted you slightly off his cock before slamming you back down. You practically choked on your own spit, looking at him underneath you. He was smirking, and your jaw was unhinging. You didn’t have to say it; he could tell from your eyes that they were saying, Do it again. So his grip on you got firmer, and he began fucking you onto his cock.
Your hips ground against his, not wanting to be separated from him, and your arms wound around his neck. His moans turned louder, tongue lapping at one of your nipples again as you writhed on top of him. “Hansol,” dripped from your mouth like honey, causing his fingers to dig into your hips deeper with each pass. His breathing was so heavy, so pretty, close to a whine and making him sound absolutely ruined even though he was the one wrecking you like his life depended on it. Maybe it did. Because you were trembling and drenching his cock in your essence and fuck, you felt like a vice around him.
“I want –” He hit a spot inside you that made you almost double over. You met his eyes as he tweaked your nipple with his teeth. “I want you to cum inside me.”
He leaned back releasing your nipple that was now red and coated in his spit. “Probably not a good idea.”
“I’m on the pill.”
“Fuck, oh my god,” he murmured – anguished, desperate. “Why did you tell me that?”
It was like you flipped a switch inside him. He bounced you on his cock with renewed vigor, not even giving you the room to rock against him. There was a finish line now; there was a reason to keep touching you and a reason to have you gripping his hair like this was a ride you wouldn’t survive. He was panting now in your ear, taking a few moments in between to bite on the lobe, and when he felt his balls draw up, he somehow was able to snake a hand in between you without you noticing. His thumb was back on your clit, rubbing hard circles, and you whined and moaned, feeling like melted ice cream on a hot summer day.
Sparks blotted your vision. You saw white, and then realized what was happening. You were clenching around him so taut that you both moaned in unison. You soaked his entire shaft, and he was still fucking you through it, pinching your clit just right to prolong your orgasm. Your body was reeling, tears pricking at your eyes, not sure how much more you could take and wondering if you’d been cumming for hours. His voice sounded gruff and distant in your ear.
“Oh, my fucking – you’re so tight when you cum. I think I’m gonna die – shit,” he muttered, a whine echoing at the end. “When was the last time you got f–”
“A while,” you huffed, forehead falling into the crook of his neck as his movements slowed a little. He was rocking you into him now, trying not to cum so quick, but you knew he’d been at the edge for a while now, and Christ, you just wanted him to fill you so badly. “So make this worth it, Vernon.”
He snickered, “Yes, ma’am.”
You gasped when you felt him fuck up into you, thrusting his hips somehow in this cramped space. Teeth biting into his shoulder, you cried out his name. You were overstimulated and fucked out, but he needed to cum. So you clenched around him again, making him breathe hard and then – there it was. That groan again. So desperate and loud and whiney as his release spilled into you. Your fingers were in his hair now, tugging, and his head fell back enough so your lips could connect. His moans poured into your mouth and they tasted sweet like grenadine. Warmth filled you, dripping between your legs when he finally stopped bucking up into you.
Mouths detached then, hot breath fanning both your faces. Your hands now cradled his face as your lips barely ghosted over his. It took all your strength to finally sit up, feeling his softening cock begin to slip out of you, and he laid back in the seat to give you a better angle. When you were finally free, you slid over the center console and fell into the passenger seat. Neither of you bothered to put your clothes back on. The car was warm enough, the windows completely fogged, and you agreed that the only thing you wanted to do right now was just lie back.
Eventually, you both began to laugh, tickled at the absurdity of what just happened. Vernon flipped open his glove box in front of you and pulled out a small metal tin. He flicked the lid open, revealing two hand rolled joints and a quarter of one left. He took one of the full ones and lit the end with a lighter he conveniently had in one of his cupholders. After taking a heavy drag, he handed it over to you.
Bending your seat back all the way like his, you took the joint and let the smoke fill your lungs. You opened the window a crack, just to flick a few ashes out. The leather of the seat became sticky as some of your combined releases trickled out, but neither of you, not even him, cared enough to do anything but smoke this joint and giggle.
As you relit the end, he turned to you, his lips tugging up. “So,” he began, tucking a lock of hair behind your ear, “since I survived tonight, mind if I take you home to do as I promised?”
You inhaled and choked at the same time, passing the joint back to him as you coughed. He patted your back, concerned, until you started laughing uncontrollably. “We finally have hook up,” you said in between snorts, “and that’s the first thing you say?”
“Do you not want to then?” He asked with the joint hanging from the corner of his mouth.
“I would be a fool to say no, Hansol.” You made an effort to call him his chosen name even when you weren’t being intimate, and that, above all, was what made his cheeks flush. The thought of his face spending hours between your thighs made your skin prick. Your pinky slowly found his on the console. “I’ll agree to your terms, if … if you promise to take me on a real date. Not some listening party in your apartment, although those are fun. Even if it’s just pizza at Tony’s. I want it to be real.”
With the joint still in between his teeth, he held up your locked pinky fingers and smiled. “You got yourself a deal.”
