mingyuuuu

carat | gyu biased ♥️ (18+)

[gyuiebabie]

hey can someone tell me the name of the iconic ao3 minwon fic where mingyu is an insomniac and he moves into his grandmas house in a small town. and then he meets wonwoo and they fall in love but they’re in a homophonic town. this is the legendary one all minwonists have read and i just can’t find it 😭😭😭

please comment and help me out thank you carats ❤️❤️❤️❤️

[imhalfplastic]

the 10th thing

⊹ overview – pairing: roommate!mingyu x author!reader

genre: heavy angst, hospital au, hurt no comfort, strangers to soulmates. cw: major character death (mcd), terminal illness, medical descriptions, grief, emotional manipulation (self-inflicted) and hospital settings.

summary: two people share borrowed time and choose to fill it with something that lasts longer than the ending.

from kai: hi. i hope it makes you feel something.

now playing: breathe - lee hi

you were always better at ending worlds than living in one.

as a bestselling author, you had mastered the art of the 'beautiful tragedy.' you knew exactly which adjectives would make a reader’s heart ache and which metaphors would linger like a bruise. your agency called you a prodigy and your fans called you a healer. but when the doctor sat you down in that mahogany-furnished office to tell you that the persistent cough wasn't just 'writer’s exhaustion,' none of your words could save you.

it was an aggressive form of pulmonary fibrosis. a slow scarring of the lungs. a countdown.

the pity was the worst part. it started with your agent, who looked at you like a shattered vase he couldn't afford to replace. then came your parents, their voices reaching that fragile, high-pitched frequency that people reserve for the dying. they wanted you home. they wanted to surround you with organic juices and prayer circles and the suffocating scent of hope.

you couldn't breathe, literally and figuratively.

so, you chose the hospital. you traded your penthouse for room 402 of the medical center’s oncology and chronic respiratory wing. you told them it was for 'better access to experimental trials' but it was a lie. you just wanted to be somewhere where being sick was the norm, not a tragedy to be whispered about. you wanted to be invisible.

for three months, your only companion was mr. hwang, an eighty-year-old man who barely spoke and smelled like old peppermint. when he passed away on a rainy tuesday, you didn't cry. you just watched the nurses strip the bed and felt a hollow envy. he had finished his story.

you expected to be alone for a while. you preferred the silence, it was easier to write your final manuscript when the other bed was an empty void.

the new arrival happened on a sunny thursday. there was no drama, just the professional efficiency of nurses moving equipment. you watched from the corner of your eye as a young man was wheeled in. he was tall, with a frame that seemed too large for the narrow hospital bed, and skin that looked like it had once spent a lot of time under the sun.

"thank you, nurse. i can take it from here," he said. his voice was deep, steady, and surprisingly polite.

you didn't look up, keeping your focus on the paragraph you were struggling to finish. you heard him settling in. the soft thud of a bag, the click of the iv pole. it was a rhythmic, domestic sound that felt intrusive in your carefully curated solitude.

"it's a lot of words," he remarked after a while. his voice wasn't loud, just a casual observation directed at the frantic clicking of your keys.

you paused, finally looking over. he was sitting on the edge of his bed, leaning his back against the pillows. he looked tired, his dark hair a bit messy, but he offered a small, cordial nod.

"it's a book," you replied, your voice a bit raspy. "or it’s supposed to be."

he tilted his head, eyes drifting to the stack of notebooks on your nightstand. "i used to think about doing that too. writing something. but i think i lacked the discipline for a whole plot." he gave a weak, breathless laugh, his hand resting briefly on his chest. "i settled for a list instead. it's less daunting."

"a list?" you asked.

"yeah." he looked at the ceiling, as if reading something written there. "just ten things. i was supposed to do them before i ended up back here. i think i'm going to try to finish them now, while the ink is still wet."

he didn't say 'before i die.' he didn't need to, that was the unspoken subtext of every sentence.

"ten is a good number," you said, turning back to your screen. "achievable."

"that was the idea," he whispered. "but i'm only on item three and it feels like I’m running out of time.."

he didn't ask for your help. he just stared out the window at the grey skyline, leaving the thought of his list hanging in the air between your beds like a prompt you weren't sure how to answer.

-

you didn’t mean to learn his name. in room 402, names were anchors and you were trying to drift. but it’s hard to remain anonymous when the man in the bed next to you treats silence like a personal challenge.

it took two days for him to wear you down. he started small: commenting on the quality of the hospital’s lukewarm tea, narrating the dramatic lives of the pigeons on the windowsill, and eventually, introducing himself properly.

kim mingyu. he said it with a certain pride, as if he were presenting a gift.

mingyu was a natural oversharer. within forty-eight hours, you knew that he hated the texture of velvet, that he once tried to dye his hair blonde and ended up orange and that he could tell exactly which nurse was coming down the hall just by the rhythm of their footsteps. he was funny. not the forced, frantic humor of someone trying to ignore the end, but a genuine, sharp-witted levity that made you laugh until your lungs burned.

and then, there was the reading.

whenever your agent or the rare, authorized visitor came by to discuss the "legacy" of your work, mingyu would immediately fall silent. he’d pull one of your books from his nightstand (he had acquired your entire bibliography from the hospital gift shop) and bury his nose in it. he wouldn't look up, wouldn't eavesdrop. he gave you a bubble of professional dignity in a place that usually stripped it away.

one afternoon, after a particularly grueling session with your editor, you watched him close your second novel.

"you know," he said, his voice soft as he traced the cover, "i think your protagonist in this one is a bit too hard on herself. she deserves a break."

"she’s a reflection of the market, mingyu," you replied, though you knew it was a lie. "people like to see characters struggle."

"it's a good distraction," he admitted, placing the book back. "keeps me from thinking about item number five on my list."

you realized then that while you knew his favorite color and his embarrassing childhood stories, you knew nothing real. mingyu was a master of the shallow dive. he talked a lot to say very little.

you also noticed the empty chair by his bed. while your nightstand was cluttered with 'get well' cards you refused to read, his was bare. no flowers. no family photos. no frantic calls from friends.

"you don't get many visitors," you said one night, the room bathed in the blue glow of the monitors. it was a bold observation, a break in the cordiality, but he had invited it by being so loud.

mingyu didn't flinch. he just adjusted his nasal cannula and looked at the ceiling. "i... couldn't stand the way they looked at me," he said, and the humor was gone, replaced by a devastatingly relatable honesty. "like i was already a ghost. my parents... they wanted to fix things that are unfixable. it turned every conversation into a battlefield. and my friends? they stopped seeing mingyu. they just saw 'the sick guy'."

he turned his head to look at you, his eyes dark and searching.

"pity is a heavy thing to carry when you're already struggling to breathe," he whispered. "so i cut the line. it’s lonelier, sure. but it’s lighter."

you felt a sharp tug in your chest. he was the first person who didn't try to sugarcoat the isolation. he had chosen it for the same reason you had. to protect the last fragments of who he was before the illness claimed the rest.

he leaned back, a small, sad smile playing on his lips. "can i ask you something?”

“yeah,” you replied.

“after we finish here… do you think we’ll become the stories people tell, or do we’ll just become the blank pages at the end of the book?” he looked at your laptop, then back at you. “i wonder if it hurts to let go, or if it feels like… finally putting down a very heavy bag.”

and for the first time, the "bestselling author" in you had nothing to say. you just sat there in the dim light, two people who had run away from the world only to find the exact mirror of their own fears in a hospital room.

"that’s why i like your books," he said. "you don't give them easy endings. you let them be scared. it makes me feel like i’m allowed to be scared too."

"mingyu?" you said after a long silence.

"yeah?"

"what's item number four?"

he grinned, the shadow of his usual self returning. "that one’s a bit more difficult. it involves a sunset and a very specific type of ice cream that the doctors definitely wouldn't approve of."

-

attachment in a hospital is a dangerous thing. it’s not like the novels you used to write, there are no slow-motion montages or grand declarations. instead, it was built in the small, mundane thefts of time.

it was the way mingyu started "accidentally" ordering two puddings because he knew you hated the texture of the main course. it was the way you started reading your drafts aloud to him. not for critique, but because the deep, steady hum of his breathing seemed to calibrate the erratic rhythm of your own. he became your first and most vital audience, the only person allowed to see the messy, unedited skeleton of your thoughts.

for two months, you were more than patients. you were a secret society of two. you learned that he was an architecture student before his lungs decided to collapse his own blueprints. you told him about the ending of your book. the real one, where the protagonist doesn't get saved by a miracle but by a quiet moment of acceptance.

"i like it," he had whispered one night, his hand reaching across the gap between the beds, fingers barely brushing your knuckles in the dark. "it’s honest. don’t change it for the publishers. don't let them make it pretty."

but the thing about being an anchor is that when one person begins to sink, they can't help but pull the other down with them.

the news came on a sterile monday morning. the lead specialist, a man whose face you would never remember but whose tone you would never forget, didn't look at you. he looked at the new shadows on your scans, dark clouds blooming across the gray film of your life. the trial hadn't just failed, it had triggered an accelerated inflammatory response.

three months. maybe five, if the palliative care held.

the words didn't feel like a blow. they felt like a sudden loss of cabin pressure at thirty thousand feet. you didn't cry. you didn't even blink. but as soon as the door clicked shut, the world turned into a soundless, monochromatic void.

you looked over at mingyu. he was watching you, his expression uncharacteristically grave, the usual light in his eyes dimmed by the heavy silence of the room. he reached out, his hand open on the scratchy white sheets, an invitation for you to shatter against him.

you didn't take it.

instead, you turned your back. you pulled the thin, industrial-grade hospital blanket up to your chin and stared at the beige wall until the texture of the paint became a map of your own despair.

the wall you built in the following days wasn't made of bricks; it was made of a cold, impenetrable silence. for the next three weeks, you became a ghost while still inhabiting your body. you stopped typing. the laptop, once an extension of your hands, gathered dust on the nightstand. you stopped laughing at his jokes. you stopped acknowledging the small, kind things he tried to do.

it was cruel, and the writer in you knew it. you knew that for someone like mingyu, someone who had surgically removed himself from his own family and friends to avoid the suffocating weight of their pity, your silence was a different, sharper kind of abandonment. but you couldn't help it.

every time you heard him cough, every time he tried to start a conversation about a new 'item' on his list, you felt a surge of jagged resentment. how could he talk about a list when your pages were being ripped out? how could you be gentle with someone when you were already in the process of mourning yourself?

you started asking the nurses to keep the curtain drawn. the yellow fabric became your border wall. you wore noise-canceling headphones even when there was no music playing, just to signal that you were unavailable for the world. you treated him like a total stranger, a temporary roommate whose name you had forgotten. you hoped that if you made him hate you, his grief wouldn't be as heavy when your three months were up.

you were trying to protect him by being the villain in his story. you were trying to make yourself easy to leave.

but as you sat in the dark behind that thin fabric curtain, listening to the mechanical hiss of his oxygen and the slow scratch of a pen against paper from his side of the room, you realized the catastrophic flaw in your plan.

the silence didn't break because you wanted it to. it broke because the universe has a cruel way of reminding you that you aren't the only one running out of pages.

it happened at 2:14 am. the yellow curtain was still drawn, a flimsy fabric border between your grief and his existence. then, a sharp, crystalline smash. the sound of a water glass hitting the linoleum floor echoed like a gunshot in the sterile quiet.

you froze. your first instinct was to stay still, to keep the wall up. but then came the sound that dismantled you: a choked, wet gasp. it wasn't just a cough, it was the sound of someone drowning on dry land.

you threw the curtain back so hard the plastic rings shrieked.

mingyu was slumped over the side of his bed, his large frame trembling violently. his hand was outstretched toward the shattered glass, his knuckles white. his face, usually so composed in optimism, was pale, slick with cold sweat. he looked small. for the first time since he walked in, kim mingyu looked like he was losing.

"mingyu," you breathed, your voice cracking from weeks of disuse.

you scrambled out of bed, ignoring the protests of your own lungs, the familiar tug of your oxygen tubing. you reached him just as his knees gave way. you caught him, or tried to, guiding him back against the mattress. his skin was burning, yet he was shivering.

"don't," he rasped, his eyes fluttering open, dark and clouded with pain. "don't... look at me like that."

"like what?"

"like i'm already gone." he gripped your forearm, his fingers digging into your skin. "you've been doing it for three weeks. you stopped looking at me because you're scared of what you'll see. but i'm still here. i'm right here."

you felt the sob rise in your throat, a jagged thing you couldn't swallow. "they gave me three months, mingyu. three months. how am i supposed to look at you and know that i won't even be a memory for very long?"

the air in the room felt heavy, charged with the weight of everything you hadn't said. the monitors hummed, a rhythmic reminder of the time slipping through your fingers.

mingyu took a shaky breath, his gaze fixing on yours with a sudden, piercing clarity. the 'over-sharer' was gone, the joker was gone. there was only the boy who was terrified of the dark.

“i’ve been thinking about this,” mingyu said, like the words had slipped out before he could stop them. there was no bravado in his voice, just something raw and honest. “about you.”

your pulse jumped, sharp enough to hurt. you stayed perfectly still, afraid that any movement would shatter whatever fragile thing was happening between you.

he swallowed. “a month ago, i told myself it was better not to cross that line. that there would be time. later.” a small, humorless breath left him. “but later isn’t something we really have, is it?”

the machines hummed softly, but they felt distant now, like they belonged to another room, another life. all you could hear was your own heartbeat, loud and unsteady, mirroring the fear he was no longer trying to hide.

mingyu looked at you then, really looked at you. “i don’t want to leave this place still wondering,” he said quietly. “still pretending i don’t feel this.”

his fingers twitched at his side, like he was fighting the urge to reach out. “can i kiss you?”

there it was. not rushed but achingly sincere. the kind of question no one had asked you in a long time.

because the way he saw you now had nothing to do with charts or prognosis. nothing to do with pity, or obligation, or borrowed time.

he looked at you like you were still here. like you were still someone to want. and for a moment, despite everything, you felt painfully, undeniably alive.

you nodded. a small, breathy, almost timid, "yes." the word escaped your lips before you could even think twice.

he reached out, his hand trembling slightly as he gently cupped your cheek, his thumb tracing the line of your jaw. he was so much taller than you, even now, hunched over and weakened by the disease. he guided you forward, and when your lips met… it was strange. awkward, actually.

the plastic of your oxygen cannulas brushed against each other with a soft, clinical click. the taste of hospital salt and mint lingered between you. but as he deepened the kiss, pulling you closer until there was no space left for the silence, the fear started to recede.

for a few seconds, the three-month deadline didn't exist. the failed treatments didn't exist. there was only the heat of his skin and the desperate, beautiful reality of a boy who loved you enough to ask for a kiss in a room where people came to say goodbye.

he pulled away just an inch, his forehead resting against yours, both of you breathing the same recycled air.

"item number one," he whispered against your lips, his voice thick with emotion, a ghost of that familiar, teasing smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "it was the only rule i actually wrote down. do not fall in love."

"what?" you asked, a breathless, broken laugh escaping you as your eyes stung with tears.

"yeah," he murmured, his thumb tracing the line of your cheek with a tenderness that made your heart ache. "i think i failed that one the second you told me to leave you alone. i was supposed to be preparing for the end, but you... you made me want to start a whole new chapter instead. i’m a bit of a disaster, aren’t i?"

-

the aftermath of the kiss wasn't a montage of happy days. it was a countdown. for a week, you lived in a fever dream of borrowed intimacy. you spent your afternoons with your chairs pulled so close they touched, sharing a single pair of tangled earphones, listening to the demos of his favorite songs. he looked at you with a hunger that had nothing to do with food and everything to do with the fact that he was memorizing the exact shade of your eyes before the lights went out.

but reality has a way of turning down the volume just when the music starts to mean something.

the glass shattering that night hadn't been an accident, it was a prophecy. mingyu’s decline was steep, a jagged line on a graph that no one could level out. the fever took hold first, turning his skin into a furnace, followed by a struggle for breath so violent that his grin finally vanished, replaced by a raw, hollow terror.

when the crash cart arrived, the noise was deafening.

"icu," the nurse had said, her voice clinical and cold as they wheeled him away. you tried to stand, to follow the rattling sound of his bed, but your own body betrayed you, a fit of coughing pinning you back against your pillows.

for twelve days, room 402 was a grave. you sat in the silence he left behind, staring at the unmade bed next to yours. the agency called, they wanted the final chapters. your parents called, they wanted to come visit. you ignored them all. you spent your energy on the only thing that mattered: his tattered notebook.

you found it in his drawer. you flipped to the last page he’d written.

the list.

you opened it with trembling hands. it wasn't organized. it was messy, filled with doodles of tigers and architecture sketches.

item 3: see the stars without the glare of city lights (failed).

item 6: tell my parents i forgive them, even if i don’t mean it yet (done).

item 8: find a reason to want to stay.

item 9: be brave enough to be missed.

below item 8, in a different ink, he had scribbled: found her in room 402

your heart fractured. he only had nine items. the tenth was a blank space, a jagged edge of 'what ifs'.

against all odds, he came back nine days later. when they finally brought him back, he wasn't mingyu anymore. he was a collection of sharp bones and translucent skin, his breathing assisted by a machine that hissed like a snake in the corner. he was too weak for the icu, or perhaps, they simply knew there was no point in keeping him there.

you didn't stay in your bed. despite the nurses' warnings, you moved to the hard, plastic chair beside him. you stayed there until your spine ached and your own breath came in ragged stutters. you held his hand. the hand that used to be so warm, now feeling like cooling wax.

on the third night, the world outside was pitch black. the only light came from the soft, rhythmic glow of his monitors.

his eyes opened slowly, unfocused, until they landed on you. his hand twitched in yours, a weak, desperate pressure. he struggled with the oxygen mask, his chest heaving with the effort of a single word.

"you're still here," he whispered, his hand twitching on the sheet.

"i'm not going anywhere, mingyu."

he gave a weak, shaky exhale that might have been a laugh. "i figured it out. the list."

"shh, mingyu. don't try to talk," you whispered, leaning in until your forehead pressed against his.

"the tenth... thing," he rasped, a tiny, ironic smile flickering for a second. the old mingyu, the one who failed the 'no falling in love' rule, coming back for one last bow. "it’s not... on the list. and i think it’s you. it was always... just you."

you felt a sob break in your throat, hot and suffocating. "mingyu, please. not yet. we still have time."

he didn't argue about the time. he knew better than anyone that time was a currency he had already spent. instead, he just closed his eyes for a moment, his breathing heavy and rattling, each inhale sounding like a fight he was slowly losing interest in winning.

"thank you," he murmured after a long silence, his voice so thin it was almost translucent. "for not... looking at me like a tragedy. for just... being in the room."

you couldn't find your voice. you just squeezed his hand, pressing your face into the side of the mattress, trying to memorize the texture of his skin.

"go to sleep," he whispered, his words slurring slightly as the exhaustion took over. "i'll be here when you wake up."

it was the last lie he ever told you.

you must have drifted off in that uncomfortable plastic chair, your head resting near his arm. you woke up at 4:47 am. the room was bathed in a pale, sickly indigo light, but something was wrong. the air felt still. too still.

you looked up, and your heart dropped into your stomach. mingyu’s head was turned toward you, his eyes partially open, but they were fixed on nothing. his chest wasn't moving.

"mingyu?" you whispered, your voice trembling. you touched his shoulder. he was still warm, but he was unresponsive. "mingyu, hey. wake up."

nothing.

panic, sharp and cold, flooded your veins. you didn't just sit there. you lunged for the call button, pressing it repeatedly, the frantic plastic clicks echoing in the quiet ward. "help!" you tried to scream, but it came out as a broken sob. "somebody, please! room 402! help him!"

within seconds, the silence was shattered. the door swung open, and two nurses rushed in, followed by the resident on duty. they pushed you aside to get to him.

"he's in respiratory arrest," one of them shouted.

you stood there, trembling, anchored to the floor by your own iv pole, watching as they started compressions. the rhythmic thud-thud-thud of the doctor’s hands against mingyu’s chest was the most violent sound you had ever heard. you watched them bag him, forcing air into lungs that no longer wanted it. you watched the monitor, the jagged, artificial spikes caused by the compressions, and then the flat, agonizing line when they paused to check for a rhythm.

"again," the doctor commanded.

they tried for twenty minutes. you stayed in the corner, your hands pressed over your mouth to keep from screaming. you wanted them to stop because it looked like they were hurting him, and you wanted them to never stop because as long as they were moving, he wasn't gone.

but then, the doctor looked at the clock. he looked at the nurse, who shook her head.

"time of death: 5:12 am," he said quietly.

the chaos stopped as quickly as it had begun. the doctors stepped back. the nurses began to disconnect the tubes, their movements slow and respectful now. the room settled back into that terrifying, permanent silence.

the doctor approached you, placing a hand on your shoulder, but you didn't hear a word he said. you only saw mingyu. they had closed his eyes. he looked peaceful, but he looked like an empty house. the owner had moved out in the middle of the night without saying goodbye.

as you finally stood up, your legs numb and your chest feeling like it had been hollowed out with a knife, you saw the notebook on the nightstand. the wind from the open door caught the pages, flipping them over until it stopped at the very end.

he was gone. the bed next to yours was just metal and sheets again. but as you walked back to your side of the curtain, you picked up your pen. your hands were shaking, but your mind was clear.

you had a story to finish. and for the first time in your career, you weren't worried about the ending. he had already given it to you.

-

the doctors called it a miracle. you called it a cruel irony.

against every scan, every darkening cloud on the x-rays, and every statistic the specialists had whispered, you didn't die in three months. or five. or ten. the disease slowed its crawl just enough for you to breathe. not easily, but enough to hold a pen. enough to finish the task he had left in that empty bed.

it’s been two years since the silence of room 402.

today, you aren't sitting in a plastic hospital chair. you’re backstage at a crowded auditorium, the air thick with the scent of expensive perfume and the low hum of an audience waiting to hear from the woman who wrote the book of the year.

the cover is simple: just a smudge of ink, like a thumbprint, on a white background. the title is just two digits: 10.

you still feel the weight in your chest. sometimes from the scars on your lungs, but mostly from the space he left behind. every time you see a sunset, you think of item four. every time you hear a bad joke, you wait for a deep, raspy laugh that never comes. but like the question he asked you that night, he remains. he isn’t a blank page, never will be. he’s the story you’ll tell, the one that keeps living in you.

you pick up a copy of the finished book. the paper is crisp, the binding tight. it’s a story about two people who ran out of time but found something better in the middle.

you flip to the very first page, the one that comes before the tragedy, before the list, and before the goodbye. your fingers trace the words of the dedication, the ink dark and permanent against the white page.

it is the final word on kim mingyu. it is your tenth item.

to k.m.,

who taught me that a story doesn't need a forever to be a masterpiece. the world knows you as a character now, but i’ll always remember you as the boy who made me want to stay.

[haologram]

sweetness ᝰ k.mg [m]

— synopsis: you're alone in the woods following the tail-end of a very bad live-action rendition of the walking dead and you're in jeans of all things: but welcome to kim mingyu's early post-apocalyptic guide to falling in love. in three days, no less! – genre: strangers to ??? ; post-apocalyptic au (think very, very early post-apocalypse) ; angst, fluff, mild smut. — pairing: architect!kim mingyu x fem!reader – word count: 42.1k — rating: 18+. minors do not interact. – warnings: swearing. mentions of zombies, though it's really not that serious or pertinent to the plot once they start spending time together. mentions of death, porn, wattpad...and essentially, they're fucking stupid. smut warnings: virgin!reader (so essentially mildly unrealistic but i do what i want) ; mingyu consent king because i said so, unprotected sex (it's the apocalypse where are they gonna find rubbers??), mild choking (f.rec), clit play, 'just the tip' (was not just the tip), fingering (f.rec), brief oral (f.rec), jokes during sex because i can't be serious to save my life, dirty talk, begging?, creampie (ew!!), pet names (baby, sweetness, slut (whoops)) and i think that's about it. — what to listen to: sweetness - elliot james reay ; my kind of woman - mac demarco ; remedy - adele ; piece of my heart - janice joplin ; love at first sight - kylie minogue ; anyone - seventeen. – author's note: welcome back to haologram. i want to preface that i don't know jackshit about zombie apocalypses but i know a lot about camping and angst! apologies for any typos, and thank you to @aeristudios for beta-ing this before i put in the smut (i am a woman of many talents, but smut is not one of them!) as always, thank you to @/saradika-graphics here on tumblr for these daisy dividers & this behemoth is dedicated to none other than @gyuswhore. to emberly: happiest birthday & congratulations on your graduation. i love you eternally. ♡

YOU HAVE NEVER KISSED A BOY. 

It’s the only thing that crosses your mind as you sit in the middle of the forest, your hands covered in wild blackberry juice and blood from a gash on your palm, cause of the thorns. It sounds stupid, for that to be the thought that crosses your mind – but it means something to you. 

You run your tongue over the gash, the metallic taste of blood mixing with the sweetness of the berry juice in a gross cocktail on the back of your tongue. 

It was one of your hidden secrets. 

One you talked about only to your pillow, not even bothering to waste precious gel ink on confessing it into your journal. You hid behind your hair in classes; you barely spoke up at your part-time job – letting your hands do the talking. You spent your hard-earned pennies on cool lip gloss: sparkly, shimmery, sticky and smelling of berries, vanilla, even mint. You were meant for more, you thought – your life couldn’t be all studying and entitled customers demanding half off their service. 

You kept to yourself, and you had been close with two people: Lee Jian and Jang Jieun. Your best friends all through high school and college, glued at the hips like gum to shoes. They, too, knew of your lack of...boy kissing. Jieun had dated Jian’s cousin Hyunjin for three years before they broke up when he went abroad, and Jian had dated around through most of college – so neither of them had this problem. 

And now, as the world continued to crumble around you, neither would you – it was unlikely. Eventually, almost surely – you would also succumb to the brain-melting that turned you into one of those undead things. Rotting, your flesh practically falling off the bone as you lost all sense of coordination and eventually, hopefully, got taken out by one of the surviving, merciful humans. 

You lean your head back, scrunching your nose as your hair gets caught in the rough bark of the oak tree. You don’t bother complaining as you straighten again, rummaging through your backpack limply when you hear the familiar crunch of twigs. Your uninjured hand freezes, your shoulders tense as you peer over the edge of the ratty brown JanSport bag. 

If it was slow, you could easily outrun it. You could climb one of the trees, you could kill it from a distance— 

Your breath hitches as the rustling stops, and you look up through your lashes to see a very tall man looking down at you. He doesn’t look like he’s running; rather, walking – donning nice olive-green cargo shorts, a brown t-shirt paired with well-loved hiking boots and thick white socks. He wears a black watch that blinks 3:32 PM, and a silver chain peeks out from the collar of his shirt. Your fingers tighten inside the bag as you see him adjust the white cap on his head, and he raises a brow at you. 

“It’s kind of counterproductive to hold a knife in your hand if you’re just going to...sit there.” 

You glance down – your hand is gripping a red box cutter you’d taken from an abandoned warehouse you slept in a few weeks back. It had been a solace for a few days, until you heard the familiar chittering of the stupid, rotting bodies surrounding the building. You bolted out, leaving behind a rather large stockpile of bread and water – but you were alive, and you didn’t care. 

Your bag was almost empty now; aside from the box cutter, some rope, a jar of honey you were almost too frugal with, half a sleeve of crackers, an extra pair of ratty socks and underwear, an unscented bar of soap... 

And a stupid, unused tube of sparkly lip gloss that smelled like sickly sweet bubblegum. You didn’t even have a bra, the one you left with stolen by a fucking raccoon of all things. 

“Are you hurt?” 

His eyes are probing, and you remain silent as you nod slowly. 

“Can you show me? I have—”  “Do you have any food?” 

His eyes glimmer with amusement as he nods, and he tugs the packed rucksack off before crouching next to you. You push your own bag out of the way, pressing both your hands into your dirty jeans as you peer over the opening. The bag holds a netted pouch of oranges, apples and carrots, and there are tons of scattered plastic sandwich bags – not holding sandwiches, but what seemed to be dehydrated meals. Your eyes widen at the three biggest bottles of water you’d seen in weeks, your throat dry as you attempt to swallow. You’d run out the day before, hardly wanting to risk it with the streams. 

“Can I—”  “Let me see where you’re injured, first. And we can wash your hands, too.” 

You huff, sitting up on your knees and showing him your bleeding palm. The gash is still trickling, and he shakes his head as he fishes out a plastic first aid kit. You furrow your brow, watching as he pops it open to reveal it freshly stocked – and you move back slightly, eyes narrow. 

“Where are you getting all this stuff from?” 

He shrugs, “my family has a cabin in these woods. About a hundred miles north, give or take a few detours. But they’re gone, so. Yeah.” 

Your heart sinks a bit for the too-friendly stranger, but you don’t let it tug too hard. 

“...So, what are you doing out here? If you have shelter, I mean?”  “Looking for people to take back. You seem...alive. No undead freaks try to eat your brain yet?” 

You try not to look offended at his questioning of your consciousness, but you can’t find it within yourself to say anything as he carefully pops open a bottle of antiseptic. He holds his hand out for yours, your eyes running over the healed calluses on his palms. You’re not as wary as you normally are and it worries you, but you place your own hand palm-up in his with a restrained tremble. 

He’s cool to the touch. Almost as though he’d just run his hands through a stream, or the less possible option (for you, at least) — a nice, cold bath. 

“How long have you been on your own?” He asks, and you’re easily distracted from the sting of antiseptic by his conversation. You shrug, watching the dirt and blood and sticky berry juice melt away as he wipes at your hand with a pinch in his brow. 

“Since the beginning,” you mutter, your chest tight at the acknowledgement. Jieun and Jian had been amongst the first to go, and you’d narrowly escaped their attempt at infecting you by climbing out the window of your shared apartment after barricading your bedroom door. The entire ordeal had been so terrifying that you didn’t really remember it, much less how they got infected – but it wasn’t like you could do anything now. 

You’d been on high alert since – your muscles tense as you prowled the streets alone. Your phone had been long dead, tucked in the very bottom of your bag. You tried payphones, but you grew more and more fearful of any sounds in your vicinity. The city was seemingly abandoned at that point; the chitter of the undead was the only thing you could hear for miles – and you missed the cicadas. 

The man frowns, nodding as he smears a thick gel onto your palm. A roll of bandage is rummaged out of the bottom of his bag, and he carefully wraps your hand before tearing the end with his teeth and tucking it in place. 

“You’re not allergic to anything, are you?” He mumbles, shoving the kit back into his bag. You shake your head eagerly, and he smiles inwardly before pulling out one of the bottles of water. He uncaps it for you, the click of a new bottle soothing to your ears. “Careful, you’ll throw it up if you drink too fast.” 

You take the bottle gingerly, holding it awkwardly as you drink. It’s smooth down your dry throat, your eyes fluttering shut as you slump slightly against the oak tree. He chuckles softly, and you hold the bottle to your chest tightly with a pout on your lips. 

“You have no idea how long I’ve needed that.”  “You also need a bath—”  “Will you shut up? I’m already down, don’t kick me anymore.” 

He snickers, reaching into the rucksack and retrieving several bags. 

“You have a name?” 

“Obviously,” your tone is uninterested; eyes fixed on the bags in his hands. He glances up, wiggling his fingers to get your attention. You tongue your cheek as he tilts his head. 

“Well, what is it?”  “What’s it to you, guy?” 

You bite back a grin as he snorts, “cute. Fine, have your secrets.” 

He holds up a bag, “this is something you can just soak in the water. It’ll be cold but it’s a meal, there’s rice—” 

“That’s great and all, but I do not care. I’ve been surviving off berries, honey and a sleeve of crackers for three days. Just give it to me, please.” You hold your hand out, your exhaustion settling on your shoulders, making his eyes soften. He fishes out a thermos from his bag, placing it in your hand. You unscrew the top, warmth floating up to your face as you sniff it – your eyes never leaving him as he provides a spoon. 

“Porridge. It’s plain, but—” 

You don’t bother listening, your hand reaching into your bag and pulling out the honey jar. You take the spoon and shove it into the porridge, before thrusting the honey into his hands, open, please.” 

You kneel closer to his bag as he pops the lid, your fingers wiggling through the netted bag and prying an apple out through the opening. Wiping it across your shirt, you sink your teeth into it and take a bite, holding it in your mouth before grabbing the now-open jar of honey from his hand and carefully tilting it into the thermos. A soft drip of nature’s gold swirls into the porridge, and you stir it in carefully before taking the apple between your fingers to spoon some into your mouth. It’s warm and sweet with the crunch of the apple, and you feel your eyes sting with tears as you lean your head back against the rough bark of the tree again. Your eyes close as you chew, a hot tear streaming down your cheek that you wipe away haphazardly, before practically inhaling the porridge as though it were your first meal ever. 

Which...it kind of is, but that’s none of his business. 

The guy just coos, watching you eat as he carefully repacks his bag and you adjust to fold your legs beneath you. The apple core is held between two of your fingers; the large bites subsiding as you scrape the bottom of the thermos for the last bit of porridge. He smiles inwardly, shaking his head as he holds his hand out for the items. He smiles inwardly, shaking his head as he holds his hand out for the thermos and spoon. You shovel the last bite into your cheek, coughing slightly around the last chunk of apple in your mouth as he screws the lid back onto the dish and shoves it to the bottom of his bag. 

“Feel better?” He leans back on his hands, and you swallow hard around the porridge before reaching for the bottle of water. He takes it before you can, unscrewing the top and you mutter something adjacent to a thanks before carefully taking a sip. You hiccup slightly but fix your posture once more to sit with your back against the tree trunk. 

“I missed hot food.” You admit, watching his hand spin the lid back onto your jar of honey. He slides it back into your bag, and you pull the ratty thing to your chest and look over at him. “Thanks for...helping me out. Uh, you didn’t have to.” 

“Oh, it’s no problem.”  “You should get going. I’m sure someone else could need your help, too.” 

He snorts, shaking his head, “I’m on my way up to the cabin. I don’t know how I missed you on the way down, but there is literally no one else in these woods aside from the occasional bear and deer. Have you ever had deer? Delicious.” 

“No, I haven’t had deer. Are you always this talkative with strangers? Don’t you worry—” You cut yourself off, narrowing your eyes as you scoot back slightly, “aren’t you worried about stranger danger?” 

“Stranger danger became a thing of the past when that loser in those downtown chemistry labs released that stupid experiment upon the general public. If you were so worried about me, you wouldn’t have eaten the porridge, drank the water, or let me bandage you up.” He shrugs, before giving you a pointed look, “you’re injured, hungry, in jeans of all things and you’re lost.” 

“I am not lost.” You huff, and he raises a brow as he speaks, “yeah? Which way is North?” 

“That way.”  “That’s left, my friend.”  “And it’s about time you do just that, guy. I am not your friend, either.” 

“You’re quick with it. I like that.” He laughs, before gesturing at the bottle in your lap. “You can keep that, and we can refill it along the way.” 

“What are you talking about? I’m not going anywhere—”  “Again, you’re hungry, you’re lost and you’re dirty. I have food, I know this place like the back of my hand, and we can get you a nice bath if you just chill out.” 

“Did you just call me uptight?” You scoff, crossing your arms as he bites back a smile, shrugging one shoulder as he zips his bag closed, hiking it over the other and standing carefully. He dusts his hands of debris, giving you a lopsided smirk. 

“I said no such thing.” 

“You implied it.” You hop to your feet, and he only smiles down at you. The warmth in it makes your stomach settle slightly, but your brows remain furrowed as he leans down and picks your bag up by the strap. He hitches it over the same shoulder holding his own, before moving forward. 

“Come on, stinky. We’ll get you cleaned up, and you can joint he rest of the people I’ve found at the cabin.”  “I do not stink! How dare you—”  “Come on, princess. There’s a spring deeper in the forest. When was the last time you took a bath?” 

You reluctantly follow behind him, your fingers gripping the water bottle before he takes it and tucked it into the netted pocket of his rucksack. You tongue your cheek, wrapping your arms around yourself and tucking your fingertips under your sleeves as a breeze blows softly. Autumn would set in soon, and maybe the end of the despair, too. 

“Did you hear me?” He prods, and you kick a patch of grass behind his boot. He snickers, swatting his hand behind him and brushing your elbow. You smack the heel of his hand, his fingers pulling your fingertips before you twist them out of his hold. 

“Three days ago. I finished the last of my water cleaning myself up, I don’t trust the streams.” You mutter, wrapping your arms around you tighter as you move to his side. He bumps his hip to yours with purpose, and you spare him a glance to see his soft smile. “Don’t look at me like that, I’m clean.” 

“I’m not some weirdo, you know. I know these woods, and I wouldn’t put you in danger. You have to have some inkling of that, too, because you’re following me.” He raises his brows at you, and you only roll your eyes, kicking more twigs and pebbles. 

“Yeah, right. I don’t even know your name, guy.”  “Well, it’s—” 

You throw your hand up, the bandaged injury brushing his shoulder as you shake your head. 

"Don't tell me. You'll get attached and I fly solo."  "…Right. Totally, princess. There's a spring this way—"  "Stop calling me that!" 

"Well, it's not like I know your name, right?" He smiles cheekily, and you bite your tongue as you move ahead of him. Your back is damp from sweating in the sticky August afternoon, but you hold your head high as you keep trudging forward. This guy seemingly took pleasure in bugging you like his life depended on it; granted, you'd been in these woods for almost a month and a half and hadn't seen another living soul…you can't really blame him. 

But because you'd been alone for so long, you also couldn't really blame yourself for not wanting to get attached. Who knew what lingered in these woods — bears, mountain lions…more of the undead, and creepy crawlers that would kill you without a second thought. All you could do was hope that he wasn't one of those. 

"So," He starts, and you almost want to punch him in the face as you curl your fingers into your palms and tuck them under your armpits. He only chuckles at the visual, "what did you do before the world started crumbling?" 

"I was an architecture student with a focus on interior design. Three months from graduation and with a first-class ticket to to Germany where I scored a major internship." You grouse, your eyes still glued to the forest floor. You kick a bigger rock out of your way with the tip of your canvas sneakers, "I was top of my class. My models were outstanding. I was displayed all over my professor's lecture hall. I would've been great. God, I would've been so fucking great. Stupid outbreak." 

"Isn't surviving on your own for this long also something you could consider greatness?" He questions you carefully, almost as though you're a ticking bomb with no timer. You only shrug. 

"That just means you're great, too."  "You don't think I'm great?"  "I think you're annoying. God, is this spring actually close or are you just gonna lead me down some ridiculous winding path?" 

He snorts, his fingers cool against your skin as he carefully tilts your face to the left. The spring is down the hill, seemingly man-made and lined with big boulders. Your eyes widen, and you swat his hand away as you make your way down. He follows closely behind, your excited cheers being heard all throughout the woods as you slide down the hill, crouching on one of the boulders and sticking your hands into the flowing water. The water is slightly warm from the high sun but refreshing to the touch as you press your wet fingers against your neck, a sigh slipping from your throat as you dip them below the collar of your shirt. 

"God, that's good." The sigh of relief from your lips must be amusing, because you hear a soft chuckle from the top of the hill. You quickly untie your shoes, ripping them off your feet and stuffing your socks into them. You dip your feet in, sore and blistered from days of walking as he slides down the hill. 

"You should…take a dip. I can wash your clothes down the stream." 

You scoff, "that's vulgar. A stranger washing my intimates? Please." 

"You can wash your pink panties yourself, princess. I'm talking about your shirt and jeans. I have a change, if you want it." He rolls his eyes, tugging at hem of your shirt over the belt loops of your jeans. You swat his hand away, "go away! I can wash my own clothes! And I have a change, too!" 

"Whatever you say, princess. I'll be down this way…enjoy. Holler if you need me." He shrugs, standing abruptly as you scoff inwardly. You cross your arms as he crunches leaves and twigs beneath his heavy boots, and you nibble on your lip as you stare at the water. A groan leaves your lips. 

"Are you sure this water's safe!?" You call out, hearing an annoying chuckle from a few feet away. 

"Do you want me to get in with you, princess?" 

"Ugh, men." You grumble, tonguing your cheek as you stare at the water. You weren't a camper or anything, and your family never frequented hiking trails or the great outdoors all that often…but if he fed you, and he led you there, and he had experience in these woods…he had to know something, right? 

Hesitantly, you peek over the boulders to see him holding a rag in his hand, his bag still hitched over his shoulder as he plucked berries skillfully from a bush. Blackberries, you think — but not too much as you strip yourself of your top and jeans, folding them neatly on one of the boulders before glancing over your shoulder again. He's kneeling now, still carefully sorting through brambles and thumbing berries as you cross your arms around your chest, ignoring the heat radiating off your cheeks as you remember that your underwear is in fact, pink, and only turning darker as the water soaks into it. 

You're not gonna let a man you don't know see your intimates! 

You wade into the water, cool against your skin as you reach about neck deep. A sigh falls from your lips as you lean your hair back into the water, refreshing against your scalp. Your eyes are closed as you swim through the water, working away the ache in your shoulders from your backpack straps being too tight.  

"Feels good, huh?"  

Your eyes immediately fly open, your arms wrapping around your chest as you look up to see the guy setting his bag down…with his eyes closed. He's set down the berries on the boulder where your clothes are, but they're not blackberries. They're red, and kind of enticing as you try your best to quietly swim over. You lift yourself up slightly, covering your chest with your arms still as you touch one with your wet hand. 

"What are these?" You pick one up, piercing the flesh cell with your fingernail as he shrugs, eyes still closed as he expertly digs through his rucksack. You throw the berry at him, hitting him square in the chest and making him tongue his cheek as he shakes his head. 

"Thimbleberries. You can eat some if you want, they're pretty good. I use the bark to make soap, which is what I'm going to give you here in a second."  

"Bark to make soap? Incredible." You murmur, eyeing the berry in your hand. You run it under the water, wiping at the flesh carefully with the pad of your thumb before taking a tentative nip. The juice is sweet in the forefront of your mouth but tart on the back of your tongue, a hum from your throat catching his attention. 

"Good? I like it as spread. Sometimes we make wine back at the cabin, or those fruit leather strips." He nods, eyes still closed as you throw another berry at him. "Stop that! You're wasting berries and I worked hard to pick those!" 

"Open your eyes, dude. You can't see anything from where you are." You roll your eyes, and he lets out a huff as he tentatively peels open one eye. You give him a pointed look, holding out one of the washed berries as he pouts, plucking it from your fingers and stuffing it into his cheek as he speaks. 

"I'm just trying to be respectful."  "And I appreciate that, but I'm sure you've seen boobs before." 

He rolls his eyes, "that's not the point." 

"The point, guy, is that I don't care. You've seen boobs and it's not like you're gonna do anything to me, so what the hell. We can be adults about this." You shrug, shoveling another berry into your mouth. "Now, what's this bark soap shit you're talking about? How does that work?" 

"You've warmed up to me really quickly, haven't you?"  "The worst you could do is kill me. You don't have the guts, and I'm faster than you."  

Your voice is confident as you take more berries in your hand, making him shake his head in amusement as he digs into the bag one more time. A flash crosses his eyes, and he pulls his hand out to reveal a small bottle with a pink cap.  

"Here it is!" He holds it out to you, popping the cap to waft the smell into your face. You crinkle your nose, backing up slightly when he rolls his eyes. "Oh, come on! It smells nice!" 

"It smells like eucalyptus and despair, and I can taste it. I hate that, bleugh." You make a disgusted face as you bite into another berry to erase the scent from your palate, and he frowns.  

"It's either eucalyptus and despair or you stink for the next two days."  "I do not stink!" 

He snorts, and you reluctantly hold your hand out for it. He drops it into your palm, "I wouldn't recommend…being in the spring while you wash. You'll contaminate it." 

"So what do you suggest I do, genius? Give myself a little sponge bath?" You scoff, only for him to nod as if it's the most obvious thing in the world. You give him a deadpan look, slapping the boulder beneath your arms. "How the hell would I do that?" 

"Uh, you step out and scrub yourself with a washcloth, then rinse until you're clean? The point of hiking is to enjoy nature while preserving it, princess."  "This is surviving, guy. Not hiking for fun!" 

"Still. You may be faster but I'm stronger and I have no problem fishing you out myself." He shrugs, and you suck your teeth as you stare up at him. He doesn't budge, his eyes stern as he gestures you to get out. 

"I don't like you, guy." You mutter, and he only snickers as you make your way to a lower boulder to pull yourself out. He looks away, digging in his bag quickly before pulling out a soft washcloth and handing it to you blindly. You snatch it out of his hand as you pull yourself onto the boulder, making a wet plop sound as you sit on the edge. 

"I'll…give you some privacy. Just give me—"  "A holler, yeah. Scram, guy." 

He does just that. You do as you're told, peeling your soaked underwear off and scrubbing yourself silly with the stinky soap and washcloth— unfortunately, feeling a lot cleaner than you had in months. Your scalp tingles as you haphazardly scrub the soap into it, and you feel almost insane as you keep looking over your shoulder to see him nowhere to be found. You rinse yourself off with the bottle of water he'd given you, glancing over to see he's left his rucksack and your backpack next to you. You grab yours, fishing out the pair of clean underwear and pulling it over your legs before ringing your hair out. 

"Uh, hey, guy? Do you have a shirt in this thing?" You call out, glancing over your shoulder to see him jerk his head up from under the berry brambles. He quickly shuts his eyes as you cover your chest, your cheeks warming as he stutters. 

"Y-Yeah, yep! Uh, just…dig around!" 

You do just that, holding your arm over your chest as you root in the bag, pulling a brown shirt out and quickly pulling it over your head. You dip your feet back into the spring, "Thanks, I got it! We're good!" 

"Great, great." He stumbles back over, holding the rag of berries in his hand before clearing his throat. "Are you…you're not gonna walk around like that, are you?" 

"Well, I was kind of hoping to wash my clothes and just…lay here until dusk. Then…fall asleep in a tree or something." You shift, and you glance over to see him trying to hold in either a fart or laughter. You guess the latter as a smile breaks through, his teeth sinking into his lower lip as he turns his face away. 

He clears his throat, letting out a suspicious cough as you narrow your eyes. 

"You're laughing at me."  "I'm not, promise."  "You're a liar." 

He lets out a breath, corners of his lips upturning involuntarily as he smooths his shorts with his hands. "I am not. You're just…funny." 

"So you are laughing!" 

"This is bear country, sweetness." He manages, clearing his throat again and fighting back his smile. "We can't stay here. Bears climb trees, bears maul you, then you're dead before the world's back in order. Wouldn't want you to miss that internship." 

"Yeah right, internship's as dead and gone as any idea of society rebuilding itself after this. At this point we'll have to repopulate—" You cut yourself off, looking at him to see his eyes wide and cheeks red from the hot sun. "Uh…I just don't have very high hopes for that. So, I'm just going to take it day by day, I guess. If I die, then I die." 

"Except you won't, because you have me! So, get up. There's a cave we can camp in around here, trust." He rolls his eyes, flipping through his rucksack before producing a pair of shorts and holding them out to you. "…Seriously, you're not gonna walk around in your underwear, right? You'll get eaten alive by the mosquitoes." 

"Not true, guy. The DCA—"  "You wanna trust the DCA right now?" 

He gives you a look of disbelief, and you shrug.  

"A study in 2014—"  "That was a decade ago, sweetheart."  "I'm not your sweetheart, and who cares? Eucalyptus oil was approved as an effective mosquito repellent. If I get bit, I'll put my jeans back on. Not a big deal." 

"What if that virus is zoonotic?" He argues, shaking the shorts in his hands as a way to emphasize his point. You raise a brow, crossing your arms as you jut your hip out. 

"This ass is hypnotic, so at least I'll die knowing I gave it my all."  "I have another pair, just put them on. You're not being serious right now." 

"Take a look if you want, pervert." You scoff, before crouching to gather your dirty clothes. You stuff them into your bag, before peeling your socks out of your shoes with a discontented sigh. There's a hole in the toe, but the other socks have suffered the same fate. You sit on the boulder to pull them over your feet anyway, before his hand wraps around your ankle and he snatches it out of your hand. 

"Stinky, worn thin and one, two, three holes. Good grief, princess." He mutters, tossing it onto your lap before grabbing a fresh pair and a little box from his rucksack. You have half a mind to pull your leg away, but something about the cool feeling of his fingers around your hot skin makes you sit still as he cracks the box open. "These are moleskin bandages. We'll change them every night, because your shoes are horrible for this." 

He touches the side of your pinky toe, hearing you hiss before examining the sole of your foot with a frown. He pads at it with his thumb, tonguing his cheek as he sets it on his knee to look at the other. 

"You'll need insoles. I'll have to see what size boot you wear when we get back to the cabin, these are no good." He reaches over to grab your sneaker, peeking inside to see the soles worn and thin. He shakes his head, "maybe I should just carry you. This really won't do." 

"I'm not a baby." You spit back, and his hand on your foot squeezes, making you wince. You kick him gently, only for him to pop your toes with one hand as you squirm. 

"Not a baby, my ass." He moves to tend to your foot silently, even reaching into his bag several times for different ointments and oils before your feet are covered in slivers of moleskin bandages. He shoves the socks on, rolling the ankles as you realize how thick they are. He puts your shoes on for you, double-knotting the laces before glancing at the shorts. 

"You sure you don't want them?"  "Good God, man. If it makes you feel better, I'll wear your stupid shorts." 

"Well, now I don't want to give them to you." He sniffs, grabbing the shorts by the pocket as you loop your fingers into the waistband. "My shorts are not stupid." 

"Oh, I'm so sorry, shorts. I'm so sorry your owner is restricting—"  "Shut up!" 

"Good, now you know how annoying you are." You suck your teeth, yanking the shorts out of his hand and pulling them over your legs quickly. You tuck the drawstring until they're snug, before standing and pulling your backpack over your shoulder. "Now, move it, guy. I'm tired and I want to rest without feeling like I'm gonna die." 

You shove past him, marching off with no direction as he snorts behind you. You hear him behind you; the rustle of his bag being thrown over his shoulder. You keep walking aimlessly, before crossing your arms on your chest and talking over your shoulder. 

"What did you do before the world decided to end?"  "I thought you said you didn't wanna get attached, princess?" 

You scoff, "yeah, that's why you don't need to know my name. That's how people keep stray animals, you know. They say they'll only take care of them until they're healthy, then they name the thing and suddenly that animal is getting scraps off the table and it sleeps at the foot of the bed." 

He chuckles, his stride lengthening to end up next to you. He tilts you slightly to the left, to a different pathway than your original wandering.  

"That's a good point, I guess. But like animals, people are won over by personalities. We could have things in common, shared experiences and the like." 

"I doubt you and I have anything in common, guy." You quip, shaking your head and feeling your damp hair brushing your neck. You swipe it back, behind your ears as he hums.  

"You sure?"  "I won't like you anyway. You're annoying and invasive, you know that?"  "Annoying and invasive got you clean, fed, and is now finding you a place to sleep. I'd watch that mouth if I were you." 

You don't like the way your stomach flutters at his tone, but you scoff anyway. 

"Throwing it in my face only shows you're doing it to make yourself the good guy."  "Or it's me reminding you that you don't know me, and I don't have to do this."  "See my previous statement, guy." 

He only clicks his tongue, shoving his hands in his back pockets as he shrugs. 

"So what did you do? Were you always a professional loser?" You loll your head back, looking up at him as he runs his tongue over his lip. 

"You're mean, you know that?"  "You'll learn to like it."  "No doubt about that, princess." 

He pushes you behind him as he steps in front of you, a rockier path leading downwards appearing a few feet ahead. He reaches back, his fingers brushing your hip before you instinctively give him your hand. He grips it carefully, his other hand reaching back to hold your hip as he leads you down the unstable terrain. 

"I was an architect with a Master's degree in interior design. I completed my degrees in three years because I was an overachiever, but that got me chances to design three buildings downtown and a few apartment buildings in the outskirts. I was working on a house before the outbreak started." His voice is straight, almost a bit solemn as he kicks a few rocks out of the way. "It was for my family, but you know how the wind blows." 

You feel your chest tight as you reach the bottom of the terrain, his hand slipping off your hip, but you don't let his hand go as he moves to pull it away. He glances down at you, and you clear your throat as you drop his hand, rubbing your palm on the back of your shorts.  

"I'm sorry for your loss…guy."  "Life goes on, princess." 

You hate the way your heart sinks as he shrugs, before his hands tilt your shoulders to the right. You force one foot in front of the other, clearing your throat again and staring up at the trees surrounding you. 

"How do you feel about mahogany?" You blurt, tucking your hands behind your back as he carefully maneuvers your shoulders to move you in certain directions. He snorts, "mahogany? The wood?" 

"Yeah. Let's have a conversation."  "You feel bad now, don't ya?"  "Never fucking mind." 

His laugh is full bellied as you stalk forward exaggeratedly, your shoes kicking pebbles and twigs out of the way as you worm your way along. He catches up to you in two quick strides, the heel of his boot nudging the back of your sneaker as you stop to climb over a fallen log. 

"Stop that!"  "I like mahogany, but mostly for flooring, staircases and doors. Not so much for anything that's eye level or above, I think it's too heavy. It's too rich of a color to be so high, I think." 

You feel your lip twitch as you manage to get over the fallen log, crossing your arms defiantly as you glance over your shoulder to see him doing the same. 

"Hm."  "Disagree?"  "No." 

He smiles inwardly, but you quickly face forward once more as a clearing comes into view. Running water can be heard in the distance, and you try to walk confidently as the path becomes muddy. 

"How do you feel about…elm burl?" You try, any nonchalance escaping your throat as he hums next to you, his lips pursing as he shakes his head. 

"I love the patterns on it, but I don't think it's ethical to use it. It's so scarce and deforestation is a problem as it is, I can't imagine using it willynilly. Or willingly, actually. There are better materials."  

You blink up at him, your cheeks warming as he glances down at you. His brow raises, "what?" 

"Nothing."  "It's something. What, you like burl?" 

"No, I actually hate burl. I don't think it's worth the time it takes to harvest, and I don't like the fact that people think the scarcity makes it more beautiful. It feels superficial and it grosses me out when I see homes that have it because I just know they paid up the ass for it. I know it's a great wood for homes in terms of durability and even super moisture resistant but it's frustrating to see the ignorance go over people's heads." You huff, crossing your arms tighter as he nods slowly, a quick hum from his throat as you look away. 

"Sorry."  "No, I like it. You've got passion." 

"Whatever." You roll your eyes, feeling your ears grow hot as he scoffs, his hip bumping yours with purpose. You swat at him, his hand grabbing your wrist and pushing it away as he speaks. 

"It's good that you're like that! I knew so many people in the industry who didn't care. You don't know how frustrating it is…or maybe you do, depending on who you know." He grouses, his lip jutted out in a pout as you stop at the edge of the path. Lower is more muddy terrain, but you're too in awe of the beautiful waterfall to even care. 

"Woah." Your arms fall to your sides, your eyes wide as he stops next to you.  

"It's pretty, isn't it?"  "Will you judge me if I cry?"  "Yes." 

"You suck," you shove his arm lightly, before wrapping your fingers around the straps of your bag tightly. You watch the water flow, before feeling his hand on the back of your head. He turns it slowly, and you see a series of boulders leading up to the waterfall. 

"Wanna see it up close, princess?" 

You don't get a chance to respond as he takes your arm anyway, pulling you down the terrain and around the water. You try your best to keep up, carefully maneuvering over bigger rocks and shaking your arm out of his grasp, only for him to reach back again and you slide your hand into his.  

Like it's normal. 

Because it is. 

"Be careful, alright? These are slippery." He pulls you in front of him as the boulders appear in front of him, moving your hands to hold onto the dry edges. You wedge the tip of your shoes into the gathered rocks beneath it, and he grips your hips to hoist you up easily. 

And you ignore the stupid flutter in your stomach again, standing up straight and moving out of the way as he pulls himself up with ease. You flicker your eyes away from the bulge of his biceps against the fabric of his shirt, swallowing hard as you carefully make your way up the boulders.  

The spray of the waterfall is cooling against your warm skin, your eyes wide as you watch it cascade over the rocky ledge. You carefully put your bag down as he reaches your side, your fingers poking through the running water. You crouch down, running your fingers along the jagged edge of the platform you're standing on. 

"How'd you find this?" You voice is full of air, only to hear him hum behind you, the weight of his rucksack hitting the stone as he sets it down. You glance over your shoulder to see him staring at the water, head tilted to the side as he shrugs. 

"I found it on the way down, actually. It was pouring and I couldn't risk sleeping in one of the trees or in one of the tents. I used to play a game on Nintendo that had a world with a cavern behind a waterfall and when I saw this one, I looked around. The cavern, I mean, and there's no bears or anything. Lots of stalactite, though; it's pretty cool." He nods, looking down at you. You must look amused, because he scoffs. "What's so funny?" 

"You play Nintendo games?"  "I was a boy once! A teenager!" 

"What game was it? Super Mario Odyssey? The first world has a waterfall. Actually, a couple of them do, I think." You turn your attention back to the water, only to feel him crouch next to you. He wraps his arms around his knees, sticking one hand into the water as he clicks his tongue. 

"It was, actually. Nerd."  "No way, loser." 

"Way," he chuckles, pressing his wet fingers against his neck before carding them through his hair. "I'm gonna check out the cavern, make sure nothing's in there. I'll catch a fish or something and we can eat before we turn in for the night." 

"Oh, I'm not all that hungry—" Your lie is cut off by the grumble in your stomach, and you give an exaggerated cough to cover it up before he nudges you with his elbow. He has a knowing look on his face, rolling his eyes at you as he stands up straight. He turns on his heel, and you watch over your shoulder as he takes a flashlight out of the pocket of his bag. He clicks it on, whistling to himself as he ventures fearlessly into the cavern. 

You let your shoulders relax as he disappears, a breath falling from your lips as you sit on the ground. You tug your shoes off, tossing them to the side before laying on your back next to the water with your knees bent, crossing your arms on your chest. Closing your eyes, you let the anxiety of trusting a stranger seep out of your bones — because had he wanted to harm you…he would've done it already. 

Some people are good! 

Your nose burns as tears line your lashes, but you find an odd comfort in the sound of the waterfall paired with crickets you hadn't heard the entire time you were alone. Practicing vigilance, constantly being on edge…lack of sleep from almost falling off tree branches definitely left your body in fight or flight mode. You don't remember the last time you cried, either — likely even before the outbreak, if not the day you found out you got the internship in Germany. 

"Fuck," You mutter, covering your face as you remember the letter you left on your desk, the envelope practically shredded from your excited hands. You'd even bought a frame to hang it over your desk, but it had been left dismantled for days while you called everyone who knew, while you celebrated and recovered from the gnarliest hangover you'd ever had. And it stayed there, when you escaped your roommates by a hair and fucked off into the woods. 

Your mind races with what ifs.  

What if you hadn't gotten out? What if you'd come home later like you'd planned to, having been asked to dinner by one of your group mates to compare notes? What if you'd been more prepared — the university had done everything to keep the students calm, promising a safe, virus-free environment. You'd packed a bag haphazardly, anyway, leaving it propped on your windowsill should you ever need it. You practiced constant distancing, staying two feet or more away from anyone at all times.  

The outbreak at the University started with the football team. A nice boy named Jaehyun was in the wrong place at the wrong time, only to trail his way back onto campus during a tailgate and infect three other people before he was taken out by two cheerleaders with a crowbar. At least, that's how you remember it before you practically sprinted your way back to the dormitory, finding Jian and Jieun along the way and telling them what had happened. They immediately u-turned with you, and you all packed your bags that night. T-shirts, tank tops, underwear…snacks and water. 

Eventually, you'd be the only one to use yours. Shirts ripped from snagging on tree bark; snacks finished within three weeks of your escape. You rationed water so carefully that you were in a constant state of dehydration, until you found the stocked warehouse. There was only one person there, and she never spoke to you — ducking out of the facility within hours of your arrival. You gorged yourself on the bread and canned foods, spearing them open with your box cutter and drinking all the water you could reach for.  

Until that place was raided by those things, and you once more narrowly escaped. 

You'd been in the woods since. Alone, tired, hungry. Cold on some nights, having lost your only sweater to a tree branch tearing straight through it when you fell off. Your jeans were wearing thin, and the summer heat only made surviving all the harder — but for whatever reason, despite your pessimism, you couldn't bring yourself to give up. 

You were meant for more. 

"You alright?" 

His voice startles you, making you jolt up. You clear your throat, running your hand through your hair as you nod almost too quickly. 

"Yeah. Yep, fine. Is uh…are you good?" You curse yourself for stuttering, staring at the scar on your knee from when you fell off your scooter as a kid. He crouches down next to you again, facing you before you hear the click of the flashlight. You look at him out of the corner of your eye, his own glued to your face. 

"You're not a very good liar, you know that?” His voice is softer, but you scoff as you tilt away. 

"I'm a great liar, thank you."  "Tell me a lie right now."  "You're cute." 

You roll your eyes as he gapes, shoving your knee with the end of his flashlight. "You take that back! I'm very cute!" 

"Sure, guy." You snort, before tilting your head towards the rucksack. "Aren't you tired from carrying that thing? Don't you have like, shoulder pain? Shouldn't you lay down?" 

"Worried about my well-being, princess?" He teases, and you raise a brow at him, an almost disinterested look crossing your features as you nod. 

"Yeah, who else will lead to me safety? If you're exhausted, you'll make all sorts of mistakes—"  "It would actually kill you to be nice, wouldn't it?" 

His voice is still lighthearted, eyes warm as you turn to look at him. You run your eyes along his face, taking in his features before you blink slowly, meeting his eyes once more with a shrug of your shoulders. 

"It might, I don't know. I've never tried it."  "Might be a good time to start, pretty." 

"Shut up," you roll your eyes, pushing yourself off the ground and grabbing his flashlight. You tug your shoes on haphazardly as he snickers to himself, and you feel his eyes follow you as you flip the flashlight in your hand. You click it on, shining it into the cavern as he gets up to follow behind you. Your eyes widen as you flash the light up to the hanging stalactites, your lips parting with a soft woah. 

"Nice, isn't it?"  "Beautiful. It's shimmering, the salt. Do you see it?"  "It's even prettier when it's warmer light. We'll light a fire in here in a bit, you'll see." 

You nod, carefully trudging forward, "do you think any animals have ever lived here? Bats, even?" 

"If that were the case, I think we'd be surrounded by bat shit."  "Bat guano is actually very important for some cave-dwellers. Lots of animals eat it." 

"Taking the phrase 'eat shit' to another level, huh?" He makes a sound of disgust, only making you chuckle as you shake your head. 

"Well, the animals who eat it are inherently gross to the average person, anyway. They're detritivores, the bugs and stuff that eat it. They're eaten by spiders, and pseudoscorpions. Ever seen a pseudoscorpion? Cutest little dudes." 

He doesn't reply, making you glance over your shoulder to see him smiling inwardly as he looks at the ground. You narrow your eyes but move your attention to the pebbled floor beneath you. You run the light over it, seeing the toe of your shoe incredibly close to an otherwise blind pseudoscorpion. Your eyes widen as you crouch, your fingers gently pinching its round body as you turn to him. 

"Look! See? Pseudoscorpion; claws like a scorpion, but he's just a little guy." You smile widely, holding the light above the small arachnid. "Not dangerous to humans at all, either. Very helpful, they eat bugs and pests, which makes them…" 

You trail off as you notice how intently he's looking at you, his hands clasped in front of him. You clear your throat before quickly setting it down and watching it scurry away. "Anyway, uh. Yeah, so there was likely a bat colony here at some point. Maybe a couple big spiders, but they won't do anything to us if we don't bother them."  

You nod, pressing your lips into a thin line before turning on your heel and venturing deeper into the cave. 

"Why do you do that?" His voice rings out behind you, and you stop walking, glancing over your shoulder. 

"Huh?"  "Why do you stop yourself from talking about things you like? Or get embarrassed by it?" 

Your cheeks feel hot as you turn fully, but you keep a straight face as you tilt your head, opening your mouth to say something when you see him hold up the pseudoscorpion you'd put down. He holds it out to you, taking the flashlight from your hand and lowering the brightness to create a spotlight of sorts as you take the animal in your hand. He shines the light on your hand, eyes expectant and…warm. 

"They're…uh, so they're synanthropic, or synanthropes. Like raccoons, that means they're technically harmless to us, but they've developed in environments near humans for so long that they can benefit from us without being a bother. Generally, that is." You nod slowly, before gesturing at the spindly arms the arachnid is holding up. "Their pinchers have venom they use to subdue their prey, usually smaller bugs like ants or mites, but it's not enough to cause damage to a human. They also have spider-like silk glands in their jaws, which helps them stay safe during winters. There are more than four thousand species of these things." 

You clear your throat, "my father was an entomologist. He and I were really close before the outbreak, and he liked arachnids most. He was covered in tattoos of bugs, but he had one of these on his wrist for me, and he had a sequin spider on his chest and a peacock parachute on his arm for my mother. When I asked why I got this one, he said it was because I was half of him, and half of my mother; but that's a story for another day." 

Pressing your lips together, you carefully place the arachnid back on the ground, watching it pinch at a passing ant. You let a smile cross your face, before feeling the heat of his eyes on you. 

"I don't like bugs, personally." He starts, bringing the brightness back up on the flashlight and handing it to you. "I think my biggest fear is actually wasps." 

You nod, biting back a smile as you shrug, "wasps are the Devil incarnate, so I don't blame you. Such angry things." 

"Exactly! How is it my fault that I have to go outside? Should I just cease to exist for them?" He pouts, crossing his arms on his chest as you chuckle, tapping the flashlight against his arm before slipping past him.  

"Let's get outta here, I'm starting to feel itchy." You say, carefully maneuvering your way back out of the cavern with him hot on your heels. The air outside is sticky, warmer than inside the dark cave, but it's welcome as you flick off the flashlight. "I'm getting tired." 

"I'll get started on dinner, then." He nods, and you don't get a chance to say anything before he stops, looking at you over his shoulder, " and I'll listen to you any time. So just…talk, yeah?" 

Your eyes widen, but you can't reply as he makes his way down the boulders, pulling something shiny out of his pocket. You hear a click as he reaches the edge of the water, and you peer over the ledge to see him crouched, his hand stuffed in his pocket before pulling out a palm full of what looks like to be seeds. His eyes are concentrated as you lay on your belly, using your elbows to prop yourself up and watch him toss the seeds into the water.  

Almost instantly, the surface ripples with fish — a quick flick of his wrist pinning one of the poor fish in place on the rocky spring floor. The rest scatter, his jaw tight as he reaches into the water from the shore and plucks the fish out, pulling the knife out and rinsing it in the water. He clicks it closed, shoving it back into his pocket before laying the fish on one of the boulders.  

You watch him repeat the process twice, from different angles around the spring until he silently returns to the boulder with his pile. You keep watching as he examines the fish carefully, running his fingers over the scales and tosses one into the woods behind him with a tick in his jaw. He stills suddenly, looking around before meeting your eyes. The tips of his ears tinge pink as you blink at him, his voice clear as he speaks to you. 

"Are you just watching me?" 

You don't respond verbally, only nodding as a smile creeps onto your lips. He shakes his head, muttering to himself as he descales the fish quickly. Your eyes are low as fatigue begins to sink into your bones, before you hear his voice again. 

"You're real pretty up there, but you'd be prettier if you gathered some wood. Hop to, princess." He calls, using his knife to gesture around himself. You scowl as he looks up, a toothy grin on display as he waves you down. "I can't have you falling asleep just yet, you'll miss dinner. Come on." 

Scoffing, you ignore the heat in your cheeks as you push yourself off the ledge, carefully making your way down the boulders. You land on the ground with a crunch of twigs beneath you, making faces at him as you start picking sticks up. You hold them against your arm, examining them and plucking any remaining leaves off before you come across the fish he threw behind him. You glance up, seeing his back muscles tense beneath his shirt as you leave it where it is, his silver chain sparkling in the sun; picking up the sticks around it and covering it carefully. 

"Why'd you kill it if you weren't going to eat it?" You ask as you near him, holding your collection in your arms. Your shoulder brushes his arm as you peer at the fish in his hands, "how do you know what fish is okay to eat?" 

"You kind of just have to trust your gut and also, fully cook it. We've never had advisories around here, and there's no salmon in these areas. If you see a bear with tapeworm around, it's usually from the fish in the waters. Therefore, don't eat the fish." He says pointedly, carefully clipping the fins of the fish off, "you'll know what to do depending on what the conditions are. You have to be alert and pay attention to your surroundings." 

"So, why'd you kill it?" You ask again, watching him look away as he sliced the head clean off with a shudder. 

"It's either sick and dying or getting ready to die. It was bloated around the kidneys; it likely had disease. It wouldn't have spread to the other fish, but it's always best to put them out of their misery." He nods, before grabbing the head and throwing it as far as he could into the woods. You hear it land somewhere, but don't look away from his hands as you clear your throat. 

"Have you ever killed anything else?" You ask softly, and he glances down at you with concern. 

"Not people, if that's what you're asking." 

Your face must show relief because he lets out a laugh of disbelief. "There's no way you think I'm capable of that. I have morals." 

"I don't know that, guy." 

"Well, now you know. The biggest thing I've ever killed was a trout when I was sixteen, and I cried the entire summer. I couldn't eat it, either; my mother made me soup for three nights." He rolls his eyes, and you look at the fish in his hands, holding out one of the sticks. He takes it, stripping it of the bark with his knife before spearing the fish on it.  

"Then how do you know deer is good?"  "I'll only eat it if someone else takes it out. I'm good at a lot of things but I can't kill anything. Fishing is the closest I get to it, and even then, I'm only doing it out of pure survival. I've never been a good hunter; it makes me sad and…queasy." 

You nod, watching him behead the other fish before looking up at him. 

"So, what about those undead things? Would you kill one?"  "I've had the pleasure of never coming across one. I think, morally…" 

He trails off, spearing the fish with the stick before tossing the other head into the woods. He sighs, looking down at you. 

"They're already dead. Out of survival, you have to do it if you're in danger. It's the only way I can justify it, if it were the case." He holds the stick of fish out to you, scooping the wood out of your arms as you take hold of the stick. "I have a lot of morals and values that I'm not willing to give up, even out of survival. I believe things should happen naturally, but I also don't believe anyone should suffer. That fish was suffering, and likely in pain. Those things…they're rotting from the inside out, they're suffering and in turn, making others suffer. Full death is the only option." 

You nod silently as you both climb the boulders, his hand on your back at an arm's length from behind to catch you if you slip. You both make it back to the ledge, and you glance over your shoulder to see him looking into the forest before scooting into the waterfall. 

"The sun is starting to set, so we'll have dinner and then you can get some rest. I'll stand watch for a bit." His voice is a little flat as he makes his way towards you, and you feel a bit of guilt settle in your belly. 

"Sorry if that conversation made you uncomfortable." You murmur as he walks by, and he waves you off as he slips into the cavern, only taking three steps into it before answering you. 

"It doesn't. It's good to talk about what you think, even if you're not sure when you'll go through it yourself. Death is an uncomfortable topic for everyone, but there is growth in that discomfort. Death is not the end of life, or love, for that matter, but it is inevitable." He shrugs, putting the pile of sticks down before separating a few. You peek in, before he appears in front of you and flips open a pocket of his rucksack, procuring a box of matches.  

"Morals, values, it's all growth. Both to keep them, and to release them. Death is only temporary, because you live on in those who knew you. That's why I'm trying to stay positive in these days, you know? It's hard to be sad when you're making yourself look at life from a different angle." 

He kneels, striking a match and tossing it into the pile of sticks as you slink into the cavern. The crackle of the wood is soothing to your ears, and the flame grows bigger within a few seconds. 

"If you always think, why not me? Or even, why me? You'll get nowhere. Those aren't answers you're supposed to have, because if it was meant to happen to you, it would have. You just have to keep your head up." He nods, skirting past you as he slips his matches back into the rucksack. He picks it up, along with your backpack, and pulls them closer to the fire. He pulls out a few washcloths, before untucking the sleeping bag he'd had strapped to the back of the bag. 

"Here, sit." He unzips it, laying it flat on the ground before taking the fish from you. You glance down at it, watching him sit cross legged on the other side of the fire. You look at him for a second, watching the way he props two stones on either side to hold the stick of speared fish in place. Toeing your shoes off, you lay them off to the side before kneeling onto the bag. It's cool against your skin, and you almost lie down but keep your arms rigid at your sides as you clear your throat. 

"Do you think that's easier for you because you have your life more figured out?" You ask, and he glances at you with an amused look.  

"You keep talking like I'm just this experienced guy," he snorts, carefully balancing the speared fish over the flame. "I've had one job my entire life. I've had the same group of friends since I was a kid, and I've kissed one girl." 

"Well, yeah but you've already done so much more than I could ever imagine. You've designed things and actually saw them come to life, you've helped people," You shrug, poking the fire with a stick before tossing it in to hear it crackle. "For example, I've never even kissed anyone. Now that the world is ending and all—" 

"The world is not ending, princess. You're being negative." He interrupts pointedly, and you give him a glare. 

"Yeah, well…I should be allowed to complain." 

He only smiles inwardly, turning the fish over once. The smell is beginning to fill the cavern, your stomach growling loudly; your arms wrapping around you as he snickers. 

"It'll be ready in a bit, don't worry." He says, tentatively pausing before you feel his eyes on you. You glance up from the fire, his gaze shamelessly falling over your face and shoulders as you lean back. 

"Why are you looking at me like that?" You bring your knees to your chest, resting your chin on them before wrapping your arms around your shins. He just shrugs, shaking his head before leaning back on his hands. 

"Why haven't you kissed anyone? Just…didn't want to?" His head is tilted to the side, and you feel your cheeks grow hot as you stare up at the stalactite around the curve of the cavern.  

"…I mean, I had chances. I just kind of kept dodging them." You say slowly, picking at a loose thread in the shorts you're wearing. "I've been on dates and stuff, and they'd always lean in, but I just wasn't that into them. And it's not like I value abstinence or anything, not that there's anything wrong with that but it's just not my vibe. I've…felt lust, and shit like that. However, I feel like a kiss should mean something, and if I'm not attracted to them enough, then…" 

"That's one less step towards a kiss. Okay. I get it." He nods, "if it makes you feel better—" 

"Don't try to relate to me right now. I'm sure you had girls throwing themselves at you." You scoff, and he rolls his eyes. 

"Again, just the one girl, and I was with her for three years." He holds up three fingers, and you tongue your cheek before shrugging. 

"Why'd you break up?" 

He seems hesitant to answer, nibbling on his lower lip before looking up at the stalactite. You take the moment to peer at him in the flickering light of the fire, and you really look at him — soft lips, slope of his nose…paired with sharp eyes, and strong brows. 

Pretty. 

"She wanted to get married." He says quietly, kicking at a bit of rubble. "I was fresh out of school, and I'd just started designing my first building…I wasn't going to have time to dedicate it to wedding planning. I wasn't sure if I would have time for her, but I tried my best. We got engaged anyway and I was always busy. It just didn't work." 

"Who broke up with who?" You ask, leaning forward nosily as he tongues his cheek. 

"I broke off the engagement." He sighs, running a hand through his hair. "It wasn't easy, but it also wasn't working. Sometimes I wonder where I would be if we had gone through with the wedding. Would I be a dad? Would we have fought as much as we did towards the end of it all? Just…so many questions that I also can't bring myself to care about because I'll spiral over nothing. It was two years ago, life goes on." 

"Do you want to be a dad someday?" You grab another stick from the pile next to you, poking the flame as he takes the fish off. He shrugs, staring at the fish tentatively. He turns it gently, watching the flame lick at the skin of it before answering your question. 

"My future wife has to want kids for me to be able to make that decision." He clicks his tongue, "no use in me wanting something when she's the one bearing them. I'd just…you know. It's not fair to make that decision on my own." 

"You think you'll get married? If the world doesn't end?" You continue messing with the fire as he turns the fish again. 

"I mean…I hope. I made a bucket list on the first day of my freshman year in university, and it was the third or fourth thing I had on there." He carefully adds two more sticks to the bottom of the fire before glancing up at you. "Do you want to get married? Have kids?" 

You dig your chin into your chest, smiling inwardly as you give a weak shrug. 

"…I don't know."  "You're lying." 

"I think I should focus on actually kissing a guy, first. Imagine if this outbreak hadn't happened. Maybe I'd be getting lots of dudes hitting my line in Germany." You roll your eyes, before sighing. 

"I think I just want to fall in love one day. I was very focused on my studies my entire life, I've been to two tailgates, and I've been drunk twice in my life, and one of those was when I found out I got the internship. I've never kissed a guy, and I've never been a girlfriend, but that was my choice. And now, I don't have that choice, because the universe has just decided that it is fate for me. It's not like romance has ever been my top priority. I was loved by my friends and my family all the same, and the only love, or passion, or desire I truly had in life was design and architecture. God, I used to dream of my buildings being part of skylines and I went through a phase where I'd conjure up dream homes for my friends. I even promised that one day I'd build them, and I'd help decorate to their style…and now they're gone. They're gone and I'm here, with a stranger and in a cave complaining about the fact that I'll now never get the chance to fall in love or kiss a guy; when neither will they, because they are gone." 

You close your eyes momentarily, tucking your chin into your chest before you blink up at him. He's looking at you with a flicker of sadness in his eyes as he shifts back on his hands, a slight tilt to his head. You maintain eye contact, nibbling on the inside of your lip and poking at the fire with the stick in your hand. 

"Tell me your name." 

"Y/N." You speak plainly, making the choice to lay down and toss the stick into the fire. You cross your arms on your chest, closing your eyes. "Not princess, sorry to burst your bubble." 

"Y/N what?" He leans over slightly, and you feel a smirk tug at the corner of your lips. You open your eyes, catching him staring down at you. He doesn't look away, his eyes incessant as you turn your head slightly so he's not upside down in your vision.  

"What's it to you, guy?"  "The curiosity will kill me, princess."  "I literally just told you my name, you don't have to keep calling me that." 

"I like watching you squirm, it's cute." He shrugs, carefully pulling the stick off the rocks and out of the fish, laying it flat on a washcloth and slipping out his knife. He sinks the blade into the flesh of the fish as you turn to rest on your side, your eyes heavy as he holds a piece of the fish on the blade out to you. "Careful, it's hot." 

You lean forward slightly, biting down on the piece of fish with your teeth before pulling it into your mouth. It's hot, yeah, but it's juicy and even a bit sweet as you chew. 

"Good?" 

You only nod as you hold your hand out for another piece, the sound of the crackling fire making you sleepier by the minute. You both eat in silence, with him grabbing the end of the sleeping bag and pulling you to his side of the fire so he doesn't have to keep reaching over to give you pieces. You pick it off yourself, still laying as you eat despite him telling you it's bad for you. 

"Is the sun down yet?" You mutter, wiping at your eyes lazily. He glances over his shoulder, the sun peering through the waterfall and creating a pattern on the walls of the cavern. 

"Almost. Come on, I have to put the fire out and let the smoke air out. You can sleep in a little bit."  "You've said that twice now, guy." 

"Sue me for wanting to spend time with someone." He scoffs, "and my name is—" 

"No, don't tell me. You'll get attached." Your sentence is almost interrupted by a yawn, but you force yourself off the sleeping bag, lazily dragging yourself towards the entrance of the cavern when you hear the hiss of the fire dying under the bottle of water he dug out of his rucksack. You hear the crinkle of the plastic before rustling, the smell of burnt wood wafting out of the cavern as he appears next to you with the sleeping bag. He spreads it out for you again, and you lay on your stomach as he moves to the side. He sits next to your head, a rag in his hand as he pulls the knife out of his pocket once more. 

"What're you doing?" You ask tiredly, leaning up on your elbow to watch him. 

"Just cleaning the knife. If my math is right, we'll be at the cabin in two days if we don't get any rain. If we do, it's three or four. I've got to ration things properly." He nods, and you peer at the knife. There's a corkscrew on it, and you forget the name of the style of knife but you smush your cheek with the heel of your palm as you point at it. 

"Why do you need a corkscrew?"  "Do you always ask this many questions?" 

"Well, guy, it's not every day we're being hunted by the undead, you know." You say pointedly, tapping his knee as he scoffs. 

"Mingyu." 

"Hm?" You look up at him with tired eyes, and he glances down before shaking his head with a sigh. 

"That's my name. Mingyu."  "Okay? What am I supposed to do with this information?"  "Pft, I don't know. Maybe stop calling me guy?" 

"And what, build a foundation of trust? You'd kill me if I got bitten by one of those rotting things." You huff, a hint of humor in your voice as you move to lay on your side.  

"Uh, yeah. You'll be dead anyway, princess."  "I don't like your attitude, Mingyu." 

"Sucks to be you, sweetness." He shrugs, and you let out an annoyed huff. You fold your arms under your head, using your bicep as a pillow. You blink at the running waterfall in front of you, the sun's rays bleeding through when you speak again. 

"Where are you going to sleep?"  "Probably right here. I'm just gonna zip you up later, because it gets kind of cold in the cavern."  "Won't you be cold?" 

You feel him shift next to you, your eyes looking up at him as he shrugs. "I can handle it. You already have goosebumps." 

It's silent for a while. You watch the sun continue to set from behind the waterfall, the moon rising and illuminating the water. You blink tiredly, your body sore from the day but your fingers tap his knee gently as you push yourself up. He looks down at you, leaning back on his hands with a gentle smile on his lips. 

"Yes?"  "Can we go to sleep now?"  "Yeah, you can go to sleep." 

You shake your head, "that's not what I said." 

He snorts, "what do you want from me, princess?" 

"I want you to sleep! That bag is so heavy, I know you're probably sore all over and you're not admitting it to save face or something." You point an accusatory finger at him, and he purses his lips, nodding his head as if in agreeance. 

"Wow," he says incredulously, "you're quite the mind reader. What else can you see? Can you tell my shoulders hurt real bad, too?" 

"Mingyu!"  "You're so freaking cute, actually." 

"Fine, freeze." You huff, laying back down and flipping the rest of the sleeping bag over your shoulders. You face into the cavern as he chuckles, patting the sleeping bag over your shoulder.  

"I'll sleep soon. Just gotta keep you safe for a little longer." He admits softly, giving your shoulder a quick squeeze before sighing. You don't respond, curling your knees to your chest and hugging yourself in an attempt to sleep. The last thing your eyes catch before you close them is the time blinking on his watch — 9:42 PM.  

You manage to doze off for a bit, your back popping as you stretch your limbs slightly; only to feel Mingyu has disappeared from next to your head. You lean up a bit, the moon in a different part of the sky now before feeling the heat of his body on the ground. He's snoring softly but shivering, still wearing his boots but his watch is slipped off and next to his head. You grab it: 2:09 AM. 

Groaning, you move to shake him awake when he jolts up on his own. He glances over his shoulder at you, eyes slightly bloodshot as he squints at you. 

"Are you okay?" His voice is raspy, and you shake your head as you run a hand over your face. He shifts to sit up, when you drape the folded-over part of the sleeping bag out onto the floor and point at it. 

"Lay down." You pat the bag, before sitting up on your knees and tucking your mussed hair behind your ears. He blinks at you, silently giving in and sprawling across the bag. You crawl towards his feet, untying the laces of his boots quickly before yanking them off. 

"Leave them on," He mumbles tiredly, but you just pat his knee. 

"You're shivering, you're tired and you're sore. Just take them off to sleep well." You murmur, bringing the boots up to his head and sitting them next to him. You tuck the watch into them, before laying back down on your side of the bag. "Good night, Mingyu." 

You try to ignore how his name feels on your tongue, only to hear him whisper behind you as he turns onto his side, his breath hitting the back of your neck. 

"Mmh. Good night, Y/N." 

THERE IS A MOP OF HAIR UNDER YOUR FINGERTIPS AS YOU STIR THE FOLLOWING MORNING. 

It's slightly chilly, your skin prickling at the soft breeze that blows through the waterfall, but the rest of you remains warm as you wiggle slightly. Your hips are achy as you strain your neck to see Mingyu's head laid on your chest, his arms wrapped around you like he was trying to protect you from something. Your legs are hooked at your ankles around his waist, holding him flush to your torso. Your hand in his hair is nothing to the one dipping below the neck of his shirt, imprinted with the pattern of his necklace and absolutely not comparable to his on your hip – under your shirt. 

"Mingyu." You pat his shoulders, the man not stirring in the slightest. You pat harder, only feeling him inhale deeply, but not wake up. You let out a huff of annoyance, making a fist and hitting his shoulder with the side of your hand. He jolts on reflex, waking up almost instantly as his hand shoots up to rub at his shoulder. 

"What the hell is wrong with you? Why'd you hit me?!" You refuse to let the rasp of his voice distract you, and you force yourself to focus as you scowl and measure the distance between you with a pat to his chest and yours. 

"You're on top of me, dimwit. I'm practically roasting." You wipe sweat from your neck, the sleeping bag sticking to your damp back. His eyes widen, and he glances down at the hand under your shirt. He rips it away, pushing himself off you almost in a tizzy before clearing his throat, kneeling above you. 

"I, uh—"  "If you're gonna say you're sorry, just save it for when you actually fuck up."  "Still, I'm—" 

"Mingyu." You hold your hand up, watching the guilt flash through his features as you point your fingertips at him. "I genuinely don't care. I'm just concerned about the fact that you radiate so much fucking heat. Aren't you sweaty? Jesus." 

You sit up, grimacing as you feel your shirt stick to you. You reach into his boot, fishing his watch out — 6:07 AM. You tap the face with your nail, "we should get moving. If today is anything like yesterday, I need to get up before I lose motivation and leave myself out on a platter for the undead." 

"Even in the mornings, you just say the most insane shit." He mutters, rubbing at his eyes before sitting back on his feet. "Are you hungry? I made more porridge before—" 

"Will you catch another fish?" You ask quickly, sitting up on your knees and clasping your hands together. He gives you a deadpan look, and you jut your lower lip out in a pout, "come on, buddy! Just one fish, please? Please, please—" 

"Don't beg, I haven't even processed your question." He grumbles, wiping at his eyes again, before stretching his arms over his head. His eyes are squeezed shut, a sliver of skin peeking out from his untucked shirt. "What if I just teach you how to catch one? It's easy." 

"Or…you can just catch it for me while I start another fire." You wiggle your brows, and he lets out a sigh as he stretches again. "C'mon! You've gotten me used to a certain lifestyle—" 

"Okay, okay." He lets out a sigh, rubbing his face before standing up. "Alright, checklist. Fish, porridge, bath. Oh, and changing your bandages…what else? Oh! Laundry, too. We might get out of here closer to nine." 

He shakes out his legs, marks from the sleeping bag imprinted on his skin. He takes his watch from you, slapping it on his wrist before lolling his head back. 

"My back is killing me, I can't wait to get back to my bed." He huffs, twisting from side to side and you wrinkle your nose at the sound of the joints popping before his eyes widen and he glances down at you with an accusatory look. "For the love of God, please stretch before we head out today. You were kicking the shit out of me in your sleep last night." 

"Is that why I woke up being melted into the sleeping bag?" You chide, and he just rolls his eyes before running a hand through his hair.  

"Shut up."  "Mmh, I don't think so." 

You giggle as he scowls down at you, and you stretch your arms over your head as he grabs his boots. He shakes them out, making sure no critters crawled in during the night before shoving them on. You reach over before he can bend, tying the laces quickly before patting the tip of the boot and pointing to the spring. 

"Come on, fisherman. Bring me home something good."  "You're lucky you're entertaining."  "You can say I'm cute." 

"And why would I lie like that?" He muses, chuckling as he skirts past your swatting hand and grabs his cap off the rucksack inside the cavern. He stretches his arms over his head one more time, letting out a pained grunt before rolling his shoulders back and making his way down the boulders. You peer over the side of the waterfall like you did the day before, sitting with your legs hanging over the ledge as you watch him pop his knuckles before crouching at the edge of the spring again. 

You'd never admit out loud that watching the way his brain works is a little…intriguing. The seeds, the quickness of his reactions, the way his eyes never lost focus despite the movement of the waters. Really, this is nothing that should impress you as much as it does — but you've also been alone for so long that the most entertainment you have is your brain replaying The Breakfast Club spottily as you roamed the forests aimlessly. 

"What happened to starting the fire?" He calls from the same boulder he stood at last night, hand on his hip as he looks up at you. You shrug, pointing at your socked feet, "can't find my shoes." 

"You mean you didn't look for your shoes. I moved them to the entrance before I went to sleep. Put 'em on, princess."  "What if I wash your clothes for you while you bathe? Will you gather the wood then?" 

He rolls his eyes, shaking his head as he guts the fish and beheads it faster than he did the day before. He looks around, finding a stick at the edge of the spring and spearing it through. You watch with a bitten smile as he makes his way back up the boulders, holding the fish out to you with a feigned look of annoyance on his face as you take it. 

"You're so annoying, stop smiling like that." He mutters, turning around as you chuckle.  

"Thank you, guy!"  "Stop calling me that!" 

You only laugh harder as you get up, propping the speared fish on the side of the cavern and pulling your shoes on. You grab your bag, opening it carefully and slipping your jar of honey into the pocket of his rucksack before digging out your dirty clothing and the bar of soap you had. You roll your intimates into your shirt, staring at the bunched pair of jeans at the bottom of your bag before pulling them out. You shove it all under your arm, glancing over the boulders to see Mingyu already climbing back up with his arms full of wood.  

"Need some help?" You call, and he shakes his head, making it back with a tick in his jaw. He drops the wood, rolling his shoulders back slightly before clearing his throat.  

"You should probably bathe; the fish can wait. Plus, then I can take your clothes," you hold your hand out, and he nibbles on his lip.  

"I'll make the fish first, then I'll bathe. I don't want it to sit out for too long. You can wash your stuff first and lay it out in the sun so it can start drying. Use the bottled water, I've got a filter and we can fill up before we leave." He nods, almost to himself as you put a hand on your hip. 

"At least give me your shirt and socks, guy. You're not going anywhere, anyway, you're gonna make the fire right here." You shrug, holding your hand out as he raises a brow. 

"You just wanna see me strip—"  "I'll fucking kill you, actually." 

He laughs, dodging your attempt at hitting his arm swiftly. He gathers the sticks carefully, piling them together as you set your stuff down before moving to shake out the sleeping bag. You roll it back up, tucking it under the straps of his rucksack before plucking at his shirt. 

"Give it here, fella." 

He snorts, flicking his cap off before tugging his shirt over his head. You take it, your eyes not missing the deep bruising on his shoulders from the weight of the rucksack. You chew on your cheek as you take a closer look, your fingers floating over the skin when he clears his throat. 

"The bag is heavy, but it's fine. I'm fine, plus we should be home by tomorrow night. Don't worry about it." He says softly, and you involuntarily let out a noise of distress as he unties his boot laces to hand you his socks. You take them, huffing as you make your way to the second boulder down — the biggest one, and you soak each item individually in the higher end of the spring water. You barely dip your underwear, not wanting him to see the lace in your hand. 

Your knees dig painfully into the boulder beneath you as you lather soap all over the clothes, the smell almost sterile as you rinse them and wring them out repeatedly. The knee pain only stops when you tug your shoes off to wash your socks. You wring your underwear out the most, wanting it as dry as possible so the sun can finish drying it faster than the rest of the clothes. You lay everything out, the morning sun hitting the boulder just right as you manage your way back up to the cavern. 

Your eyes linger on the bruises on Mingyu's shoulders, spanning down his back. You crouch behind him, tossing your shoes to the side and examining the purple and yellow splotches before you feel his hand reach back and pat your thigh. 

"Stop it. You're making me self-conscious." 

"I'm just admiring your back muscles." You blurt, his laughter immediately ringing out as he swats at your leg. 

"Seriously, stop. Just come eat your fish, princess."  "What will you eat?" 

"Don't worry about me." He says pointedly, before standing up and grabbing his rucksack. He digs through the front pocket. He procures a bag of what seem to be toothpaste tablets, and two toothbrushes (one used, one new) are seen through the plastic. Your eyes widen, and you almost topple over as you stand to hold your hand out. 

"No please or thank you anymore, huh?" He snorts, pulling the bag open to give you the packaged toothbrush. You tear it open as he holds out two tablets, "chew them. They have fluoride so I wouldn't recommend swallowing it, but…you do what you do, you know?" 

You do as you're told, chewing the tablets until a paste forms and you scrub at your teeth for what seems like twenty minutes before the foam gets too much. He only bites back his smile as he does the same, before his eyes widen in realization and he pulls more bandages out of the bag. He holds his toothbrush in his jaw, grabbing your injured hand and peeling the wet bandage back. Your gash seems to be healing fine, but he dries the skin out with an alcohol pad before wrapping new bandage around it. 

You end up swallowing your toothpaste like a lunatic, giving Mingyu the toothbrush to put away before plopping in front of the fire that has now slightly charred the side of your fish. You flip it over, waiting for Mingyu to sit with you as you speak. 

"I used to be a masseuse, you know." You nod, and he seems interested as he nods, sliding everything but the moleskin bandages back into his pack and pulls out the same washcloth he used for the fish last night. He sits next to you, pulling the fish off the fire and sliding it in front of you before taking your foot in his hand, stretching your leg over his thigh. 

"Were you? Was that your part-time job?" He asks, carefully peeling the bandages off your feet. You wince as he presses the pad of his thumb into the arch of your foot, nodding as you wave his hand away from your foot. 

"I did it for three years, I think. Almost four, I made pretty good money, but I almost always needed a massage, too. I quit when I found out I got my internship," Your voice is soft, almost as though you're trying to butter him up for something. He seemingly catches on, pressing his lips into a thin line as you pick pieces off your fish to feed him and yourself. 

"You don't have to do that for me, you know. Don't feel like you need to repay me or anything, I'm helping you because I want to and it makes me feel useful. Just let me do it." He says sternly, carefully sliding a bandage over the top arch of your foot. He wraps another on the side, your fingers holding a piece of fish to his mouth. He takes it, chewing almost angrily as you sigh. 

"Don't you think that you should let people help you, too?" You ask, "I mean, what if it makes me feel useful? I may not know you all that well, but it doesn't mean I want to see you in pain." 

"I'm not in any pain. It's just uncomfortable, it'll go away."  "Mingyu."  "Please, just drop it." 

You huff, tucking your foot under you as he gestures for you to give him the other one. You glance at the watch — 7:03 AM, or something similar because his hand keeps moving as he wraps bandages around your feet. 

"We're making pretty good time, I'd say." You nod at the watch, and he glances down at it with a semi-impressed look. "Maybe we'll be out of here by eight instead." 

"Maybe. Eat up, I'm going to bathe." He murmurs, patting your knee before he slips away, taking a netted bag with him that you hadn't noticed him take out. You watch the way his back is stiff, the bruising patching up to the curve of his neck. His biceps are just as tense as he disappears around the waterfall, and you lean back on one hand as you pick at the fish in front of you. You sip your water diligently, hearing the soft running of the waterfall amongst the buzzing of flies and bugs.  

The morning is quiet aside from the sounds of nature. You finish your breakfast, putting the fire out with the little water you have left in your bottle before reaching over to his rucksack and fishing out one of the apples in the netted bags. You wipe it across your shirt, sinking your teeth into it and holding it between them as you lay on the ledge with your foot hanging off the edge. 

Mingyu returns shortly, hair dripping before he shakes his head like a dog, spraying the side of your leg as he makes his way up the boulders. The sun is significantly hotter now, so the spray doesn't bother you nearly as much, but you still kick the side of his thigh with your eyes closed. 

"Come on, princess. We've got to get moving, and we only have one water bottle left so we gotta fill up before we leave." 

You don't open your eyes, blindly feeling around for your empty water bottle and tilting it to the waterfall. The sound of water falling into the bottle is enough confirmation for you, earning a chuckle from Mingyu as he does the same. You can feel his presence around your head, before he takes the bottle from your grasp and finishes filling it for you. 

"Can you get the clothes? I'll filter these while we walk."  

You peel your eyes open, looking up to see him donning a form-fitting, sleeveless white shirt that nearly makes your eyes bulge out. You sit up quickly, almost choking around the last bite of your apple before you push yourself off the ground and scramble down the boulders, tossing the apple core far into the woods as you reach the clothes. They're surprisingly dry, almost hot to the touch as you fold them quickly and stuff them into your backpack. You hold your socks in your hand as you pull your backpack over your shoulders, tightening the straps before making your way back up to the cavern. You practically throw his socks at him, not catching the furrow of his brows when they land on his arm (and then, the ground.) 

"What's got you so frantic? Take a deep breath."  

"Nothing. Just…excited to get the day started." You speak through your teeth, shoving your feet into your socks, not bothering to shake out your sneakers before pulling them on. You lace them up haphazardly, before looking into the cavern. There's nothing, but you still pat the side of the opening in gratitude before making your way down the boulders. "Uh, you take your time. I'm just gonna…roam." 

"Like hell you are, stay put." He scoffs, screwing a contraption on each of the water bottles before setting them down and grabbing his bag. You look away, focusing your eyes on the forest ahead of you and the sunlight spotting through the trees. "You need sunscreen." 

"No, I don't."  "Being stubborn gets you nowhere with me. Get up here."  "Can't, sorry. Already said my thanks to the cavern, means I can't go back." 

You shrug, feigning nonchalance as you imagine the irritated look on his face. You dig the toe of your sneaker into the ground beneath you, kicking at the dirt when you hear him move around behind you. His arm brushes your shoulder as he skirts past you, the bottles of water held tightly upside down by the straps of his rucksack as he grabs your shoulders and makes you face him. 

"There's no trees for about ten miles with the route we're taking. If you don't put on sunscreen, you're gonna get a sunburn and I don't have anything to soothe it." He says flatly, his fingers covered in thick sunscreen as he presses them to your face. You let out a groan, rolling your eyes as he works it into your cheeks and forehead, trailing his fingers down your neck. You can feel your pulse pick up a bit, and you're hoping he doesn't as the tips of his fingers breach the collar of your shirt. 

"Arms and legs. Sit." He makes you sit on the edge of the boulder, a scoff leaving your lips as he rolls up your sleeves slightly and spreads more of the sunscreen all over your arms and fingers, even working it into your cuticles. "Mingyu, I'm gonna be all sticky." 

"Sticky beats blistering sunburn, plus this dries faster when you're not complaining."  "I'm not complaining!"  "Yes, you are, but I can handle it. So just let me take care of you, damn." 

He rolls his eyes as he crouches, pushing the shorts up high on your thighs before wrapping his arms around your ankles. You glance down at him, and you must have some sort of look on your face because he holds the sunscreen up to you. 

"Is this fine or do you want to do it yourself? I don't want to make you uncomfortable."  "You're not making me uncomfortable. I'm just not…used to this." 

"Yeah, princess, no one is." He says pointedly, almost slowly as if he's talking to a child. You scoff, crossing your arms as your cheeks turn hot. 

"That's not what I'm talking about." You grumble, your fingernails digging into your arms as he uncaps the sunscreen again, taking some in his hand before shaking his head. 

"Then what are you talking about?" He slathers the cream on your shins, dipping slightly under your socks as you chew on your cheek. He reaches your knees, reaching behind them to coat the back of it before tapping the side. "Answer my question." 

His fingers brush the inside of your thigh, your hand shooting out to grab his wrist as you take the sunscreen in your hand. 

"The touching. I'm not used to the touching, okay?" You mutter, cheeks burning in embarrassment as you quickly cover your thighs in sunscreen, "you're so casual with it and I don't know what it's supposed to make me feel, and I don't want to think about it right now."  

You cap the cream, shoving it into his chest before standing up and fixing your clothes to cover you. He blinks down at you, confusion and concern coating his gaze before he clears his throat. 

"I didn't—" 

"It's fine, Mingyu. I'm not uncomfortable, you're not in any trouble, nothing like that. It just makes me think too much. Now, let's fucking move." You gesture to the woods behind you, and he nods slowly, slathering the rest of the sunscreen left on his hands on his arms. He seemingly doesn't know what to do with his hands, crossing his arms on his chest before walking into the forest. 

The first few minutes are silent. Just crunching of leaves and twigs under your shoes, his posture rigid as he tries to hide how often he rolls his shoulders back. You keep your eyes on the ground; your own arms crossed on your chest as he keeps about a foot of distance between you. His shorts are navy blue now; a cute little flower embroidered on the pocket with baby blue thread and the letters KMG. 

"What's the K for?" You ask, and he glances at you over his shoulder. 

"What K?"  "On the pocket of your shorts. KMG. MG is for Mingyu, right?" 

You gesture at the embroidery with your pinky, and he reaches his hand back to touch the pocket before a look of understanding crosses his features. 

"Ooh. It's Kim. Kim Mingyu." He shrugs, patting the pocket before crossing his arms on his chest again. You nod, "Lee Y/N." 

"Nice to meet you, Miss Lee."  "Nauseated to meet you, too, Mr. Kim." 

You miss the way he smiles inwardly; your eyes focused on the caps swinging from the back of his bag. You notice they also have his initials embroidered, as does his rucksack on the bottom left corner.  

"Why is all your stuff labeled with your initials?" 

"I went a little crazy when the outbreak happened, and all the things at the cabin that I took there in case of something like this look exactly the same. So, I hand-embroidered my initials on everything that was mine, and then everything else with whoever has it. There's a handful of guys up there, but you're the only girl I've come across thus far. When we get there, you'll get some clothes and a towel, and we'll pick a color and put your initials on them, and you can stay as long as you want." 

He shrugs, your chest warm at the idea of having community again. 

"As long as I want?"  "As long as you want, sweetness." 

You bite back your smile, nodding to yourself, "do I get my own bed, too?" 

"I believe so. If not, I'll just make some of the guys room together so you can have your own space." He glances down at you, "you can be happy about it, you know. You must've been very lonely out here by yourself. Don't think I didn't notice how tired you were, you were practically stiff from all the stress in your back." 

"It was just…I felt a little pathetic." You start, "I wasn't prepared, but who truly is for something like this? We speculate, but we never actually think or hope it will happen. I was so sure I'd be in Germany, I thought my life was set in stone for me and I'd be…well. Yeah." 

"This idea you have that you can't be great because you didn't make it to Germany is a little concerning to me." He speaks softly, stuffing his hands in the pockets of his shorts. "I think you're being too hard on yourself. You've made it on your own for this long, I think that shows resilience. I don't necessarily commend you for making it this far with such little food sources, because that's dangerous but things are scarce and you're alive. You're still kicking, so who says you can't do bigger things? Better ones?" 

"You should be a life coach."  "I was a cheerleader in grade nine, I know a thing or two about spirit." 

You snort, "I was a cheerleader, too. I only lasted six weeks because I broke my ankle during a standing back tuck. I ended up having to get surgery; it was the worst pain of my life and my mother was furious about the money we shelled out for the uniform and summer camp."  

He bites back his laughter, shaking his head before clearing his throat. "What other things did you do besides school and work?" 

"You mean did I have any hobbies?" You tilt your head, trilling your lips and sucking your teeth, "I was pretty good at playing guitar. Electric, bass, acoustic…my mom taught me. And piano, she loved piano, all that classical mumbo jumbo but she loved rock. I was also an incredible masseuse, you know—" 

"You just don't let up, do ya?"  "You're asking me questions, I'm just answering. I was a master assembler of furniture, I was also good at baking. I made a cake or a pie for me and my roommates every week. I'm an ice cream connoisseur, specifically Ben & Jerry's and my favorite flavor is Cherry Garcia. I also really like soup and stews. Soft tofu stew? Absolute gas, my man." 

There's a soft glimmer in his eye as he hums, "anything that you wish you could do right now?" 

"Listen to the radio. I'd sit in my room with my mom's favorite station on odd days and my dad's on even. Rock on Mondays, Wednesdays, Fridays and dance pop on Tuesdays and Thursdays, and then I'd alternate on the weekends. My dad loved Kylie Minogue, my mom was super into Janis Joplin." 

"What's your favorite song? Of all time, and not your parents'. Yours." He looks around, carefully slipping in front of you as another hill is in your way. He starts reaching his hand back but quickly pulls it back to his side as he skillfully makes his way down, looking over his shoulder at you. You glance at his hand stuffed in his pocket, giving him an odd look before holding onto his elbow and making your way down.  

"Of all time? Can I do top five?"  "Sure." 

"Safe and Sound by Capital Cities, Ooh My Love by Stevie Nicks, You Don't Know My Name by Alicia Keys, You and Me by Lifehouse, Look On Down from the Bridge by Mazzy Star." You nod along as you speak, still holding onto his arm as you make your way through a vast field. 

"You have a very 'divorced dad that's still in love with his ex-wife while trying to fit in with his kids' type of music taste." 

You laugh as you register what he says, your fingers tightening around his arm as you shrug, "my parents used to sing together like they were going through a million and one divorces. Instead of fighting, they sat at my mother's piano and sang until they got over it. What's your favorite song? Top five?" 

"Hm, I don't know. I liked a lot of different genres, but I think one of my favorite songs was definitely My Kind of Woman by Mac DeMarco. I listened to it a lot when I was in high school, almost on loop on days I had exams. I haven't heard it in a while." He nods, before clicking his tongue. "In fact, I think the last time I heard it was on the drive back to my parents' house after things ended with my ex-fiancée." 

"Oh, boy." You wince, "what was she like? Was she nice?" 

"Oh, the sweetest, really. Got along well with almost everyone. Smart, reliable, dependable…" He trails off, shrugging his shoulders with a tick in his jaw. "She was great." 

"So why didn't you try harder to make it work?" You ask softly, "I mean, if she was so great, and she sounds almost perfect…what happened?" 

"I wish I could tell you." He lets out a sigh of defeat, clicking his tongue, "I felt like a jerk, and I constantly wondered if I'd done the right thing. I would get calls from her, and I was cruel to answer, knowing things wouldn't change and I was drowning myself in work to avoid my feelings of guilt. We stopped talking a month or so after, because I stopped picking up her calls. She moved to Taiwan just before the outbreak, she got a really good job out there working with the Society for Wildlife and Nature and I'm here. I abandoned the house project for my family because I needed time to process everything, and though I'm over it now and I'm moving on…the guilt of never finishing that house eats away at me now." 

"You're just a mess, huh?" You chuckle softly, patting his arm before shaking your head.  

"We live with so much guilt, humans. We feel guilty about the things we do, the things we don't do, the things we think about and the things we don't. It's a never-ending cycle, and someday…it ends. Yeah, your family isn't here anymore to enjoy that house. But you can still finish it, you can bring new growth there. You'll marry, you'll have a kid or two and that golden retriever that everyone seems to want…and you'll heal because you'll see the space used for what you intended it for, you know? Togetherness, love, care and caution. Someone will trip up the stairs, and you'll have anticipated it. Someone will get shoved into a hall closet by their sibling and you'll have already pictured it because that's what a home is. Memories, good and not-so-good, tangible and in the mind, alike; because you are your family. And they live through you, still, and whatever you put into the world." 

He doesn't speak for a minute, your hand still holding onto his arm as you both keep walking in the field. The silence is comfortable but thick, like one of you said something the other wasn't expecting and it's still suspended in the air, processing. You stare at the ground, watching your feet go in front of each other as the sun beats down on your backs. Mingyu rolls his shoulders back silently, and your fingers slip off his skin as you move to slip your hand into your pocket. 

His fingers dart out of his own pocket, grabbing yours and interlacing them. Your fingers are stiff for a second, and you lean forward slightly to look at him — only for him to turn away. You frown, but curl your fingers around his hand… 

And you ignore the way your heart quickens stupidly in your chest at his thumb rubbing circles into your skin. 

The walk continues without much conversation, minutes turning to hours but his hand never letting yours go, even as he rolls his shoulders back and winces in discomfort. You feel a pang in your chest as he does it repeatedly, the sun moving overhead and making your skin grow hot. You ignore the fatigue settling into your thighs, leaning your head on Mingyu's bicep when he glances down at you. 

"Your hair is scorching hot." He presses his free hand to your face, before reaching behind him and pulling one of the water bottles off his bag. He looks at it, the water clean on one side and the filter blinking green. He lets go of your hand, twisting the filter off and standing in front of you. "Close your eyes, this is gonna be cold." 

"No way you're soaking me with that right now."  "I'm not, but your head is hot, and I have an extra cap. It's just to cool you down. I'll even give you a carrot if you just let me do this."  "Do I look like a horse—" 

He sprays you with the bottle mid-sentence, an unimpressed look on his face as you scowl. He does it again, and you just close your eyes as he runs his fingers through your hair. The water drips down your shirt, soaking through as you move your arms to cover your chest. He tugs a cap off the back of his bag, pulling it over your head before moving to tuck your hair over the backstrap in a makeshift ponytail. He swings the bag off, flipping it open and handing you a carrot. You stare at it, tonguing your cheek as he pulls the bag back over his shoulders. 

"I'm literally soaking wet."  "The sun'll dry you out, don't worry. And you'll bathe later, so it's no big deal."  "Sure, no big deal. What about the carrot?" 

"Eat it." He shrugs, holding the bottle of water in his fingers as he blindly feels around for your hand. You let him take it, rolling your eyes as he bumps your fingers with his thigh in every movement. You glance at the carrot in your hand, sucking your teeth before holding it up to him. 

"You didn't breakfast."  "I wasn't hungry."  "Bullshit. Eat it." 

"You eat it." He sticks his tongue out at you, but you give him a stern look that makes him roll his eyes, his hand coming to grab the carrot and he bites a piece off with his teeth. You take the water bottle from his hand, swinging it on your side as you keep your eyes trained to the trees in the horizon, your dripping hair keeping you cool in the beating sun.  

"What are your hobbies?" You kick at the grass patches, and he hums as he chews. 

"Well, I was just very go-with-the-flow. I liked cooking, I did almost all the cooking when I lived in the dorms with my roommates and when I moved in with my ex. I also drew a lot, I designed a few album covers for a few of my friends that were underground artists in college. I also play guitar, but just electric. I have a shit poker face, and I can't lie to save my life; so, I know better than to gamble with my friends, but I'm very hands-on. I like embroidering things, if it wasn't obvious, but I overall just like using my hands to do something. It keeps me busy and the end result is almost always something I'm satisfied with." 

You nod silently, before clearing your throat. 

"What was her name?"  "Mina. Jeong Mina." 

"Mina and Mingyu…M&M." You mumble to yourself, your fingers around the water bottle tightening slightly. The trees seem to be getting closer, and you stay silent for the rest of the walk, even when it feels like hours. Your hair dries slowly, your shirt drying even slower as you limply trek the last few miles with your hands linked between each other. Your back tenses as you hear a noise in the distance, but you see nothing as you look around slowly, even stopping Mingyu before walking into the shade of the trees. You glance around, your skin prickling but nothing catches your eyes until you hear Mingyu whisper in your ear. 

"Don't move." 

Your eyes dart around the field behind you, before you catch a sparkle less than half a mile away. You try to focus, but Mingyu's hand is pulling you slowly behind him as you realize that it's an animal, a bear. The sparkle is the eyes staring straight at you in the high afternoon sun as your breath hitches in your throat. You watch it move slowly, preparing to run as Mingyu's foot crunches something, and you both freeze as it keeps gauging your every move. 

"When do we start running instead of standing here like idiots?" You speak through gritted teeth, now fully behind Mingyu and moving deeper into the trees.  

"They're not usually around these parts, the bears stay closer to the water…so if there's one, there could be more." He mutters, his hand tightening around yours as you pull on it. "Don't let go, okay?" 

"Mingyu!" You grit, pulling harder as you turn to face into the woods. Yet another dilemma lays ahead — a mountain lion, watching you from the trees. Emerald eyes are set on your face, ears are set back, black-tipped tail flicking as you make eye contact. You must stop moving because Mingyu bumps into you, glancing over his shoulder to see the large cat's claws dig into the bark of the tree. 

"We have a better chance with the lion that we do the bear. At least she'll give us a head start," you're breathless, not wanting any sudden movements to make it pounce. You feel your heart beating wildly in your chest as the lion glances down before making contact with your eyes again. You dare yourself to look down, seeing a deer carcass laying on the forest floor.  

"Bear is turning around," Mingyu's voice trembles slightly, but you mention nothing as you stare up at the lion with the most courage you can muster. For whatever reason, you put your hands up, carefully skirting around the dead animal that makes your heart sink in your chest. It's nature, you tell yourself as Mingyu keeps himself close to your back, pressed into you so hard that you can feel his chest rising and falling with every quipped breath. The lion follows you with every step, occasionally glancing at the carcass beneath it as you make it to the other side of it.  

"We're leaving now," you say to no one in particular, and the lion stares you down, lowering its head as Mingyu's fingers dig into your arm, his hand in yours tightly squeezing. You watch the lion's tongue peek out to run over its snout, before a lazy yawn guarantees your temporary safety. Mingyu pulls you deeper into the forest, but you don't turn around, even as the lion closes its eyes. 

Your grip on Mingyu's hand is almost bruising as you turn slightly, a shiver running down your back as he lets out a breath. You don't want to seem weak — because you're not. You're strong, you've done this for months alone. 

Emotions are not weakness. 

"I think I'm gonna throw up," you mumble, your breathing shaky as Mingyu pulls you into his chest. His fingers are warm against the back of your neck, squeezing softly as your forehead rests against his shirt — you can feel how fast his heart is beating as his necklace digs into your face, hearing him try to regulate his breathing and wrapping his arms around you tightly. You swallow a sob, but he just pulls the cap off your head, resting his cheek on top of your hair.  

"It's okay. We're okay, we're alive." His voice is full of air as he squeezes the back of your neck again, your eyes watery as you squeeze them shut, gripping at the fabric of his shirt as you let a breath out. He keeps you close until you've stopped trembling, his hand squeezing your arms and neck, running up and down your back. "God, that carcass made me so nauseous." 

You let out a snort, the reality of it all hitting you in the face. You're actually in this world right now, surrounding by things that the government created to hurt its own people. You're in the woods with this stranger named Kim Mingyu, who is annoying to the point that it's slightly endearing, and you can feel your breakfast unsettled in your throat. You let out a humorless laugh, your shoulders shaking as the laughter takes over your body.  

"What the hell is so funny?"  "I should be in Germany. That's what's so funny." 

You pull back, wiping at your eyes as another hysterical chuckle slips from your lips. "I should be in Germany! Instead, I'm letting a man I don't know take me to a cabin in the middle of nowhere and opening up about myself when I could be falling in love and being successful in Germany!" 

He nods, his hands moving to hold your cheeks. His thumbs stroke the skin of your face gently, before he lets go and tugs your cap back on. He grabs your hand, taking the water bottle from your other hand and slipping it back onto his rucksack. 

"Come on, we're a few miles out from another cavern." He mumbles, holding your hand tightly as he pulls you flush to his hip, his eyes alert as you both move through the forest tensely. Every footstep is too sudden, your hands tight around each other and you mouth a silent prayer to whatever God is out there to calm you the hell down. Mingyu is in no better shape, opting to constantly glance down at you when he thinks you're not looking — but he doesn't break eye contact when you meet his. He only blinks at you, gaze roaming your face before turning back to the unmarked forest floor.  

"Are you upset with me?" His voice is soft, meek even; your hand squeezing his lightly before you lean your head against his arm with a sigh. 

"Never," you shrug. "It's scary. I'm scared, and you're just as human as I am. I could literally feel your pulse going crazy. We're fine. You don't have to be brave all the time, you know? Fear is human." 

"You're like a quarter. Both sides different, but still the same coin." He sighs, lolling his head back before rolling his shoulders, not letting you question him about what that meant. "My back fucking hurts." 

"Thought you said it didn't."  "Yeah, well sometimes I lie."  "To save face?" 

"Absolutely." He nods, rolling them back once more. "I can't be a wimp in front of a pretty girl; it's like shitting my pants." 

"That's a bad analogy, whatever the fuck you were trying to say."  "That it's embarrassing, princess." 

"That's such a horrible analogy, Mingyu." You wrinkle your nose, choosing to will the flutter in your belly away as you reach a shadier part of the woods. He keeps you close to his hip as he peers ahead, your cheek beginning to stick to his arm as you both sweat. You can only imagine how much his back hurts, the heavy rucksack moving with every roll of his shoulders. You glance down at his watch, the blurry face reading 4:53 PM. 

"We still have so many hours left to our day." You groan quietly, feeling his thumb rub at the side of your hand in attempts to comfort you. "How long until we get to this cavern?" 

"An hour or so. Don't worry, you can lie down as soon as we get there." He nods affirmingly, and you sigh as you force your eyes to stay open, the heat making your exhaustion set in much faster. You remind yourself that Mingyu is just as tired, if not more, and in pain as you put one foot in front of the other for what feels like an eternity. 

Eventually, another slight clearing appears. Your eyes widen as you take in the height of this cavern — seemingly man-made but ancient. The trees have grown around it, warping around the entrance and mosses have overtaken the exposed rock. There is yet another spring below, but you can't bring yourself to bathe. You're too tired, and unfortunately, still very shaken up – even as Mingyu's touch grows increasingly comforting. 

And confusing to your wildly beating heart. 

"Here it is," he says plainly, pulling you in front of him as you both make it to the steps. "This was made hundreds of years ago, passed through generations before the last owner died and left it to the people that live in the cabins up in the colony. We opened it to the hikers; there's a sign on the north hill for it. It's just kind of a refuge now; it's kind of an unspoken rule that we have to keep it clean and tidy if we want it to stay usable."  

You nod along to what he's saying, your thighs burning slightly as you make up the stone steps with his hands on your lower back. The entrance has a battery-powered lamp hidden inside the corner, and Mingyu grabs it, turning it on and illuminating the entire cavern. There isn't much to see — some dying potted flowers in the corner, a small window with glued sticks as a muntin. As you step in; a hinged door, oddly shaped but perfect for the entrance. You step inside cautiously, your foot landing on a soft rug. It's almost like a small apartment, except there is dust everywhere and you're certain there is a spider in the upper left corner of the wall. You glance down at the rug; a large sun embroidered in orange thread staring back up at you as you look at Mingyu. 

He's not looking at you; his eyes are closed as he leans against the entrance of the cavern – a weary sigh falling from his lips as he forces one foot in front of the other, stepping inside and letting his bag fall off his shoulders. He reaches to close the door, a wince crossing his features as he manages to drag the locks in place quickly. 

"Hungry? I can go catch something, it'll be quick." His tone is pained as he rubs his shoulder with a grimace, and you just shake your head as you toe off your shoes, dropping your bag onto the ground with a stretch. 

"Maybe later, I'm not that hungry." You let a shudder fall off your frame as you kick your shoes into the corner, grabbing the rucksack and hauling it against the wall. You tug the sleeping bag out, unzipping it and laying it out on the ground as Mingyu sits on a milk crate that's next to the lamp, fiddling with the brightness as you toss the cap on top of his bag. You pull the water out of his bag pockets, reaching into the main slot and pulling out two oranges. 

"I thought you said you weren't hungry?" Mingyu's voice rings in your ears as you kneel in front of him, pulling at the laces of his boots. "Let me go catch something—" 

"Can you shut up?" Your voice is gentle, holding no malice as you tug his boots off one at a time. You toss them to the side of the room, watching him lean against the wall of the cavern with an uncomfortable sag to his shoulders. You pat the sleeping bag, "come. Lay down, I'll peel an orange, and you can sleep." 

"I can peel my own orange."  "Or you can just let me do it for you." 

He rolls his eyes, scoffing as you move out of the way, patting the sleeping bag again. He reluctantly slides off the milk crate, and you take his place as you sink your nails into the orange skin. He turns uncomfortably, grunting softly as he lays on his side, looking up at you. You raise your brows, smiling softly before crossing your legs at the knee. 

"Something on your mind?"  "I didn't reapply sunscreen every two hours and we didn't stretch properly. Are you feeling okay?" 

"I'm fine, gosh." You roll your eyes, carefully keeping the peel together as you move around the orange. He sits up painfully, "but—" 

"No buts, Kim Mingyu. I'm okay." You nod affirmatively, before pointing your pinky finger at him, "it's you I'm worried about. You and your back. I watched you walk down the boulders this morning, you hold a lot of tension in your traps and deltoids, and even a bit in your acromion." 

"It's like you're speaking Klingon to me right now, princess." He blinks up at you with drowsy eyes, resting his chin in his palm as you roll your eyes. 

"Your back, you hold a lot of tension in your upper back from the fucking bag." You jerk your thumb in the direction of the brown rucksack, but he just shrugs as if it doesn't make him want to stiffen forever.  

"I'll just take a hot bath when we get back to the cabin. I'll be fine." He mutters as you split the orange in half, and you slide off the milk crate onto your knees in front of him. You offer a slice, only for him to open his mouth lazily. You slip it past his lips, before eating one yourself with a shake of your head. 

"Hot bath is not enough, you need a cold one, too. Maybe even a massage, and I can help with that." You say pointedly, and he rolls his eyes again, turning away from you defiantly. You chuckle, leaning over his broad frame and holding another orange slice to his lips. He takes it, chewing carefully as you hold another in front of him. "What are you so afraid of? Relief?" 

"Nothing, I'm just not used to the touching." He repeats your words back at you, and you scoff.  

"You had a partner!"  "Two years ago, I had a partner two years ago. And what if I moan or something? Isn't that embarrassing?"  "That's literally normal. It's only weird if you make it weird, tons of people moan during massages. Even I've done it." 

He pouts, his lip touching the side of your finger as you tap the orange slice to his mouth. He takes it, and you pat his shoulder. "It'll bring you lots of relief. I wouldn't offer if I didn't know what I was doing, you know. I'm not going to hurt you, not on purpose, anyway." 

"I know." He mumbles, picking at a loose thread in the sleeping bag. 

"Let me just work out a few knots," you whisper, hearing him groan exaggeratedly as you lightly tap your knuckles into his back. He sits up, meeting your eyes with a tired look in his, "what if you're a bad masseuse? What if you're just talking up your skills? I won't even know until my back still hurts in the morning." 

"At least try me out, damn." You scoff in mock offense, shoving an orange slice in your cheek as you pluck at his shirt. "Take it off. Lay down on your stomach, and you can put your arms under your head if you want." 

He tongues his cheek, "what if it hurts?" 

"It's going to hurt a little bit. You're already in pain, but this will be more of a release pain. Not a pent-up pain," you shrug, before tilting your head towards his bag. "You have any oil or lotion in that bag? Even the sunscreen is fine, too, if you don't." 

He shifts, thumbing at the hem of his shirt before sighing. "There's a bottle of almond oil at the bottom. It's in a bag so it wouldn't make a mess." 

You nod eagerly, crawling over to it and flipping the bag open. You dig around through the items, your eyes widening at the hidden pistol at the bottom. It's covered with a sheath, seemingly never used as you hear the thwip of Mingyu's shirt being pulled off. You shake your head slightly, spotting the oil in a bag and grabbing it before closing the bag. You turn to see Mingyu's teeth sinking into his bottom lip as he stretches his arms behind him. 

"Stop stretching, fool. Lay down." You nudge his thigh with your foot, and he swats you away as he reluctantly does as he's told. You open the bag, taking the oil out to read the front, almond oil. "Oh, this is gonna smell so nice. At the place I worked, we'd heat this up and the rooms would smell for days." 

You kneel next to him, popping the cap of the oil as he shifts slightly "We can stop any time, just let me know, okay?" 

"Are your hands cold?"  "No, they just smell like oranges."  "Great, now all the bugs are gonna want me." 

"At least someone does," you snort, earning a swat from his hand as you snicker. You pour a bit of oil on your hands, warming it in your palms as you lean over him. "Tell me about your life. Anything." 

"What happened to not wanting to get attached?"  "Sometimes I lie." 

You don't show any emotion on your face as he turns his head to look at you, only giving him a raise of your brows before tapping the side of your hand on his ribcage. "Go on. Talk to me." 

He looks a bit skeptical, settling his head back on his arms as you slide your slicked hands onto his skin. He flinches slightly as you lightly dig your fingers into the tense muscles, running up the marks of the bruising. "Uh…so I used to play football. That's how I got my scholarship." 

"What position did you play?" You wrap your hands lightly around his shoulders, squeezing softly as he tries not to squirm, "I was a wide receiver for the first year, then a quarterback the rest of my time on the team. I would've made captain but I graduated early." 

"Athletic, smart, hardworking…and ridden with guilt. What a dreamboat." You tease, digging your thumbs into his shoulder blade. He scoffs, almost a grunt, "shut up. I'm sure you've got your own demons." 

"Skeletons in my closet are few but sentimental," you admit, your skin prickling as you hear a soft gasp fall from his lips as you work through a small knot. "But we're not talking about me." 

"Fine," he huffs, the heel of your palm digging just under his shoulder. "What do you want to know?" 

"Whatever you wanna tell me. What's your favorite ice cream flavor? Do you think you're a bad kisser? Do you have a favorite color? Ever considered modeling?" You shrug, all the questions nonchalant as he hums, "what would you do with your life if you weren't an architect?" 

"Well, I'm not an architect anymore, so I'd probably be doing this." He says pointedly, biting down on his lip as you press your thumbs into his lower back. You tap the skin softly, making him jolt as you snicker, "what about the rest of my questions?" 

"Well, let me get to them!" He squirms as you slide your hands deeper, your thumbs settling in the dip of his spine comfortably.  

"You've got back dimples. Cute."  "Shut up."  "They're cute. You're so cute." 

He doesn't reply, but you watch the tips of his ears turn pink as he buries his face into his arms. 

"You fluster easily?" Your voice has a coolness to it that you've never heard, but you don't care as you watch the flush crawl down his cheeks. "Oh, you're adorable." 

"Will you stop that?" His voice is whiny as you laugh, softly digging your fingers into the skin. "I like red. The color." 

"Is there any other red?"  "You know what—" 

"Shh, just answer my questions." You smile inwardly as you slide your hands back up, finding another knot under the bruises. You work your fingertips into the muscle gently, watching his brow furrow as he clears his throat.  

"Ice cream…I like strawberry. Sometimes vanilla, but strawberry is usually the contender. There was a creamery I used to go to a lot as a kid, and I never chose the flavor because the auntie who worked there gave me strawberry the first time I ever went. So, I got it every time until we got an ice cream maker at the cabin, and we just started making our own." He sighs as the knot slowly starts to give, your palms hot against his skin, "as for the modeling, I did a bit of that too, for money. I posed for the photography students, and I was semi-nude for the art students for a semester." 

"Semi-nude? You're so scandalous," you chide, smoothing your palms over his shoulders once more. He sucks his teeth in response, opening his mouth to say something but you hear his breath hitch as your fingers slide under the necklace, squeezing the sides of his neck. You lean down slightly, "so, are you a bad kisser?" 

"You can't ask me that. It's in poor taste."  "Oh, you're such a bad kisser."  "What would you know, virgin?" 

"Hey!" You pout, squeezing the back of his neck lightly, digging your thumbs into the skin as he bites back a groan. "I told you that in confidence!" 

"Last I checked, we're here alone, sweetness. And you didn't tell me that, I just confirmed it." He grunts into his arm, a muttered fuck falling from his lips as you run your hands down his shoulders tightly. You feel your cheeks grow hot, shifting on your knees as you clear your throat. 

"Yeah, well. It's one of my only secrets, so I expect you to guard it with your life." You grumble back, rubbing your hands down the length of his back with slight pressure. You squeeze his side, your fingers coming to pull at his necklace as you lean down further, "did you hear me, Kim Mingyu?" 

"Yeah," his cheeks are burning red as his voice comes out a bit breathless, turning his head to face away from you. You lean over his body, finding his eyes open as he glances at you out of the corner of them. You give him a pointed look, making him huff as he closes them. "Yes, I heard you." 

"Thank you."  "It's not like I was going to tell anyone, anyway." 

"I don't know that," you say, leaning back onto your legs and patting the dip in his shoulders. "Feeling better?" 

"I feel tired." He mutters, wrapping his arms tighter under his head as your tongue peeks out to wet your lips. He lifts his head up, giving you a defiant look with pursed lips before clicking his tongue, "you're pretty good, I guess." 

"You guess?" You snort, tapping his side. "I can keep going until you fall asleep, if you want. I'll turn the light off, too." 

"What about you, though?" 

"What about me?" You question, dropping the closed bottle of oil into the bag and sealing it, putting it aside as you peer at him through your lashes. 

"Aren't you sore? Tired? Shouldn't you sleep, too?" 

You shrug, "my bag isn't as heavy, and I just need to stretch a bit. I'll do it in the morning, probably take a bath, too. I'm just offering because you're actively in pain, more than I am. Just take it as a thank you." 

"You don't need to thank me."  "But I want to, and this is the only way I can."  "Tell me about yourself instead. I'll take your thanks that way." 

"Nope." You shake your head, untucking your legs from under yourself and stretching them out. You take your socks off as he sits up, a pout on his lips as he gets in your face. 

"Come on! You asked me all those questions and I answered!"  "You answered because you have no self-preservation skills. That's a problem." 

"I've kept you alive for two days!" He shoves your shoulder lightly, and you turn your head to look at him, glancing at the spot where he touched your shoulder. He swallows carefully, fixing the sleeve of your shirt where his fingers wrinkled it. "Sorry." 

"I kept myself alive for much longer, but fine," you roll your socks, squeezing your calves with your hands as you bend at the waist. You close your eyes, wrapping your arms around your knees and bringing them to your chest. "What do you want to know?" 

"Whatever you wanna tell me."  "You suck at this." 

"You're so mean." He huffs, resting his cheek against your shoulder. You try not to stiffen, opting to continue running your fingers down your shins as you clear your throat, "Mingyu." 

"Fine." He shifts, instead resting his chin higher up. "What's your favorite color? Have you ever considered modeling? Do you think you'd be a bad kisser?" 

"You're so unoriginal." You snicker, making him scoff. "Fine, why are you braless in the middle of the woods?" 

"First of all, a raccoon stole my bra, like, two weeks into this mess! That's not my fault!" You gape, your brows furrowing as you turn to face him. He's really close, his eyes boring into yours as you wrinkle your nose at him, "you're such a man. Of course you'd notice." 

"Or, I have my chin on your shoulder, and I don't feel the strap."  "I could've gone strapless."  "There's no support in those things."  "You saying I need support?" 

"I'm saying you seem like a reasonable person, and no reasonable person likes strapless bras." He rolls his eyes, and you bite back your smile as you turn away from him. "Are you going to answer my questions or not?" 

"My favorite color is green. I was a nude model for a portrait class last year and no, I don't think I'd be a bad kisser. There is skill in the yearning." You shrug the shoulder he's not perched against, and he gasps in feigned shock. 

"Fully nude?"  "Fully nude. It was a bunch of girls, and most of them were my friends, anyway."  "But you called me scandalous for semi-nude?" 

"I'm a woman, it's different. Women have this gravitational beauty that men just don't possess. It's the same feeling you get when you look at, I don't know, the Northern Lights, or the moon, or the ocean." You quip, turning to face him again. "I'm sure you'd agree." 

He tongues his cheek, eyes burning into yours before he shrugs. "I would but that's just—" 

"Shut up."  "But I have more questions."  "Then ask them, loser."  

He leans his cheek against your shoulder, eyes round and wet as he stares up at your face. You raise a brow, your gaze pointed as he wrinkles his nose at you. 

"What is your dream partner like?" His voice is soft, his arms crossing on his bare chest; the face of his watch blinking at 9:43 PM. You hum, your tongue darting out to wet your lips again. His eyes follow the movement, before shamelessly looking back up at you. 

"I don't know, actually." You admit, "I just hope he's sweet. A nice guy, but he has to be nice to everyone, you know? The aunties, kids, animals, too, because I don't like assholes. Uhm, I like lip gloss, so he'd have to be okay with me wearing it, and I like it when they dress nice. Also, when they smell nice. And I like a man that can eat, too. I don't know."  

"You wear lip gloss?" He's gentle as he asks, and you move away carefully. You grab your bag, leaning back with it in your lap. He lingers behind you, and you move back enough and bring your hand up to rest his cheek on your shoulder again. He goes without resistance, watching you open your bag and pull out the folded clothes. You reach into the bottom, taking out the sparkly pink tube of bubblegum lip gloss and holding it up to the light. 

"I used to collect them before the outbreak. I had at least two in every bag, all sorts of flavors and colors. I don't like this one all that much, that's how you can tell I wasn't really expecting this to seriously happen." You laugh humorlessly, unscrewing the cap and giving it a soft sniff. It was brand new, still sweet with the scent as you close it. 

"Put it on, let me see." Mingyu nudges you, and you scoff, "it's just sparkly. There's nothing more to it." 

"Let me be the judge of that." He huffs, making you roll your eyes as you uncap it again, reluctantly putting it on. The formula is a little sticky, but it tastes fine as some of it seeps into your mouth. You wipe the corners of your lips, seeing Mingyu watch you intently out of the corner of your eye. 

"Up to your standards, Mr. Kim?"  "You're so pretty when you shut up, you know that?" 

He's rolling his eyes almost too hard, but you just smile widely as his cheeks flush once more. 

"You've done that a lot, you know." You mention slowly, putting the things away in the bag and sliding the lip gloss on top before zipping it up and tossing the bag aside. 

"Done what a lot?"  "Call me pretty. Five times, actually. And you called me cute three times." 

"You're keeping count?" He asks pointedly, before you give him an annoyed look. "So what? I can't have eyes?" 

"Sure, you can, I just know that you're gonna fall in love with me." You jest, hearing him click his tongue, "would that be so bad? I'd say I'm pretty cool, the aunties love Kim Mingyu. And I don't care if you wear lip gloss, I like the way it looks on you."  

"You met me yesterday," you deadpan, and he gives you a look that says so? 

"I can still think you're pretty. I can think whatever I want; which is why I think you're smart, and strong, and mean, and you're pretty but that won't change." He shrugs, "you're…something. I can't quite figure it out, but I will." 

"Or you could give up." You wiggle your brows, "it's not that serious. The world is ending." 

"Then why are you so resilient?" He whispers, his eyes intense as he leans slightly closer. "Why are you so intent on staying alive if you're so convinced there is nothing to live for?" 

You blink at him, lips parting before he leans forward slightly.  

"If you didn't think there was something worth living for, you would've easily given up on yourself ages ago. I wouldn't have found you literally licking your wounds, and you wouldn't have let me feed you, or bandage you up. You would've looked that mountain lion in the eyes and taunted it, and then you'd be dead." He shrugs, his breath hitting your lips as your jaw tightens slightly. "So, stop acting like the world is ending. It's not. It doesn't end until you want it to, and even then, I won't let you think that way. Life isn't over because of this. Life doesn't end, ever. It keeps going, so you keep going." 

He's so close that the tip of his nose brushes yours, "stop playing both sides of the coin. Either you're in it, or you're not. And as far as I can tell, you're in. So, stay in." 

You can't tear your eyes away from him, your breath hitched in your throat as you stare at each other. A beat passes, a minuscule beat where you glance down at his lips — before you move back from him, wiping the back of your hand across your lips. Glitter smears over your skin with the thin layer of lip gloss, and you move behind him to turn the lamp off. He says nothing, allowing you to lay on your side and face the wall. You curl your knees to your chest, staring at the light bleeding through the window that illuminates the room.  

He shifts behind you, a groan as he likely lays on his back. You say nothing, even when his voice whispers good night. 

You can't sleep.  

Mingyu took his watch off at some point, tossing it to the side and you saw it blinking lightly above your head, reading twenty minutes until one in the morning. His eyes are closed, back rising and falling steadily as you turn for what feels like the hundredth time, facing him as he sleeps shirtless and on his belly. You're shivering slightly, the cold of the night seeping in through the floor as you wrap your arms around yourself. 

You think about what he said. Not because it bothered you, of course not… 

You just didn't like to be seen that way, to be perceived further than what little information you voluntarily offer about yourself: architecture student, design snob, mean girl who doesn't need anyone. You had a problem with accepting whether this was something you could be positive about, and you think that of all people, Mingyu could understand — a life set in stone, something you'd wanted for so long…just ripped away. The idea of becoming great in what you wanted versus the reality in becoming great for survival were two different things, and while you knew you'd done well in keeping yourself alive…a part of you wonders what would've happened if you'd made it to Germany. If the outbreak happened after you left, if you would've managed to escape the hurt in your chest when your parents on the island stopped picking up your calls. 

Or the way your mind flashes the day you hit the pavement falling out of your first-floor window, falling away from your two lifelong friends that you'd never get to see again. All because of a loser in downtown that opened fire against public health for no reason other than stupidity and selfishness. 

You simply wonder, but wondering does nothing for your bitter heart as you watch Mingyu sleep soundly; a shiver sweeping through your body as you give in to your heart's incessant tugging. 

"Mingyu." You whisper, but he doesn't open his eyes. A huh is heard, soft and sleepy, before you speak slightly louder. "Mingyu." 

He doesn't respond, only sighing and lifting his arm, his fingers beckoning you to come closer. You nibble on your lip for a second, before he reaches over and curls his arm around your waist, pulling you closer. You move with it, letting him tuck you into his chest before pulling your side of the sleeping bag over your shoulder. You're engulfed with warmth, his arm holding you close to him as you feel him move your leg over his hip, your cheeks heating before you hide your face in the dip of his neck, his necklace cool against your lips and cheek. 

"Sorry." You mumble, but he just squeezes his arm around you lightly before you feel the ghost of his lips on the shell of your ear.  

"S'okay, princess. Can't sleep?" He sighs, his palm rubbing circles into your back as he drums his fingers in tandem. Your nose is filled with a mix of him as you bury your nose deeper into his neck, "it's just cold in here." 

"You'll warm up soon." He mumbles, his hand sliding up to palm at the back of your neck. Your skin prickles slightly as he squeezes, breath hitching in your throat as your face is engulfed in a hot flush. His thumb traces circles into the side of your neck, "wear your lip gloss tomorrow. I like it." 

"Think I'm gonna do stuff just because you like it?" Your voice isn't nearly as confident as you move back to look up at him, his eyes still closed as he shrugs. 

"I think you should do stuff because you wanna, but if you want to do it because I like it—"  "Mingyu." 

He laughs tiredly, and you scowl inwardly as you rest your forehead on his bare chest.  

"You're cute, Y/N."  "Why are you messing with me right now? Aren't you sleeping? Go to sleep."  "I can't sleep when you're tossing and turning. I was just waiting for you to tell me you were cold." 

"Pft." You grumble, trying to turn out of his hold when he tightens his arm around you, sliding down a bit to be eye level with you. He's hovering over you slightly, eyes teasing, tired, as they look down at you. Your blush grows hotter as he blinks down, your fingers curling into fists as you lamely hit his shoulder. "You're taking advantage of the fact that I'm cold." 

"If anything, I think you are doing that. It's been cold before, when you were on your own. You managed." He raises a brow, his fingertips drumming against your back again. "If you wanted to cuddle, you could've just said that." 

"I don't."  "Then move." 

He lifts his arm up, giving you a pointed look as you cross your arms on your chest. You chew your cheek, looking away from him as you click your tongue. "You're being mean." 

"You're not being honest."  "Mingyu!" 

"Stop whining and tell me what you want, babe." He quips, "you're cute." 

"That makes four times, you know. Or five, actually." You mutter, clenching your jaw repeatedly to will the stupid flutter in your chest away before groaning. "Can you just hold me? Please? I'm tired and I'm cold and I just wanna go to sleep." 

He doesn't respond, wrapping his arm around your waist once more and holding you close. Your cheek is smushed with his as your arm drapes around his side, your fingers dangling over his back. If he feels your lips curve into a smile against his jaw, he says nothing — but you feel his frame relax under the weight of your limbs wrapped around him, his arm under your head bending at the elbow to pat the back of your head. His fingers run through your hair soothingly, your eyes fluttering shut as you whisper thank you against his skin. 

"Good night, sweetness." 

MINGYU IS STILL ASLEEP WHEN YOU GET BACK FROM YOUR BATH. 

You'd escaped his grip without waking him just forty minutes earlier — and you're grateful you did, because you can't be blamed for the insane butterflies filling your stomach. He'd been fully on top of you once more, his head resting between your breasts and his hand slipped into yours, pinning it next to your head. He'd been snoring softly, pouting in his sleep with every inch you managed to move away, but eventually turned on his side as you wiggled away. You took a deep breath then, covering your face with your hands and feeling the heat of your skin against your palms.  

You can't lie and say you didn't curse everything that got you into this mess — but you absolutely hate the idea of the crush you knew was forming in your chest. A crush, your mother always said, is a lack of information. And boy, do you lack information right now. 

But something about him makes you not want to care. You want to throw caution to the wind, you want to let him hold you close every single night, you want to rub his back until he falls asleep, you want to wear lip gloss for him, and you want him to kiss you. You want to kiss him, over and over until you can’t breathe. 

Until you need him to breathe. 

You wonder if this shows how inexperienced you are, how easy it was for him to get into your head. His words, his help…his spirit and incessant need to keep going when the world is crumbling around him. 

But he's just you in another person, isn't he? Smart, strong, resilient…and full of guilt.  

So full of guilt — but his is from the past, and yours is from the present, from the thundering in your chest caused by him and his casual touching that you welcome without a word, by him and his ability to show fear despite wanting to be brave and succeeding. 

Him, and how easily you felt seen, and how you've never, ever given in so easily. 

Not to your feelings, not to your circumstances, not to a man.  

You've religiously fought against every single odd in your life. Every single fight with your parents, every argument with your friends that left you in a puddle of furious tears, every single stepping stone that was set slightly higher for you because you're a girl. A girl with dreams and aspirations and a need to be the top of your class, the best in your department. 

A girl with the incessant need to be great. 

And you feel a little foolish to think that a few words from a man, a man you don't know, can make you realize that greatness can be found in anything. You hate it, honestly, because then, your mother is right. Your father is right, everyone who has ever told you to take it easy has been right — greatness is found everywhere, and your father's voice echoes in your mind from the night you left the island for Yonsei. 

"You are going to shine, because you are a star. Stars shine everywhere, so just take it easy, kid. We'll be here when you get back, in all your greatness." 

And now, they're gone. 

Just like Jian, and Jieun. 

Just like all the boys you never kissed, and all the boys that gathered the strength for weeks to tell you what Mingyu has been able to say so easily — that you're strong, smart, pretty. And you're only more skeptical of him as you realize just how easy it is for him to talk to you like that; like you're prey he's about to sink his teeth into, like you're going to fall in love with him and it'll be the best thing in your life for three months before he decides to find another, or that you're just simply not enough. Not experienced enough, not smart enough, not strong enough to keep maneuvering a world like this — where nothing is for certain. 

Not enough. 

You feel guilt seep into your bones as you glance down at him from your spot in the entrance, your hair dripping down your shirt — his shirt, the one he was wearing when he found you. The brown one with KMG stitched into his chest pocket, and the lace of your pink underwear peeking through the bottom as you feel your eyes burn with tears. 

You move around quietly — covering yourself in sunscreen, peeling yourself an orange and grimacing at the taste after the toothpaste tablet. You wash your clothes, letting them dry on the steps, you stretch fully and even massage your feet lightly. You bandage your hand up, replacing your moleskins as silently as possible before slipping your socks on and tugging your jeans on.  

You stare at the tube of lip gloss at the bottom of your bag, your heart fluttering as you swipe on a thin layer — before wiping it off with the back of your hand. You shove it back in the bag, your hands gripping the fabric before you toss it onto the steps and grab a carrot out of Mingyu's rucksack. 

You watch the sun rise by yourself on the steps of the cavern, nibbling on the carrot when you hear a grunt from inside. You lean back slightly, peering into the entrance to see him stretching his arms over his head, his hair mussed with sleep.  

He looks around for a second, patting the side of the sleeping bag when he sees you looking at him from the entrance. You give him a curt nod, pressing your lips together before tapping your wrist and looking away.  

He moves about — you listen to him brush his teeth, put things in his bag, shoving his boots on before stepping out with an apple in his mouth and your shoes in his hand. His watch blinks 6:39 AM, and you feel him pull his cap over your head as you grab your shoes from him. 

"Why didn't you wake me?" He murmurs, sitting next to you to lace up his boots. You scoot over slightly, your thigh still brushing his as you shrug, chewing far too much for your small bite of the carrot. He gives you a pointed look, sighing before turning slightly. "Did I make you upset? Did I do something? Say something?" 

You don't respond verbally, shaking your head as you tug your shoes on; and that's when he notices you're fully dressed, and your hair is damp. He leans back slightly, your indifference making his eyes narrow as he studies you. You don't acknowledge it, tying your shoes and finishing your carrot in two bites.  

"We should get moving." You murmur, and his brow furrows as you move to get up. His hand grabs your ankle before you can move away, looking up at you with confusion in his eyes. 

"What's with you? Is this about last night?"  "What about last night, guy?"  "You tell me, princess." 

You roll your eyes, shaking his hand off your ankle like a bug off your hand before turning to grab your bag. You slide it over your shoulders, hooking your thumbs in the straps before making your way down the steps. You stop a few steps from the bottom, looking over your shoulder. 

"Come on. We don't have forever, you know." 

Mingyu seems taken aback at your change in attitude, and you kind of applaud yourself for staying in character. You hear him slowly stand, and you make your way to the forest floor as he barrels down the steps. You walk forward until you feel him move you in the right direction, and then you pull away from his fingers. You roll your shoulders back, gripping the straps of your backpack as if they'll keep you sane. 

You don't speak for a while. He gives you wayward glances that you don't bother meeting, holding his hand out with every hill that needs descending, but you don't take it. He grows a little stiff in front of you, awkwardly sliding his hands in his pockets as the sun starts to grow hot with the waning morning. 

You look around diligently as you both walk, your eyes still a bit tired from your late-night tossing and turning. You'd woken up twice during your slumber, both cause of odd flashes in your dreams about the very same mountain lion you'd seen yesterday — only to be soothed back to sleep by the feeling of Mingyu's heart beating steadily against your ear. You scowl inwardly, keeping your eyes trained to the ground and kicking pebbles out of your way. 

Mingyu stops abruptly, making you bump into his back, hitting your forehead on the clip that holds his sleeping bag. You grimace, rubbing at the skin when he turns around with a frown, his arms crossed on his chest as he peers down at you. 

"I can't keep going in silence. Tell me what I did." 

"Why do you think what you do is so important to me? Why do you think you're that worthy of having an effect on me?" You snap, sucking your teeth as you let your hand fall from your forehead, "not everything is about you. It's not like what I do will matter to you this much, so just leave me be." 

"Oh, this is so about me." He scoffs, letting out a humorless laugh. "What the hell is the problem? What did I do?" 

"You're confusing me! That's what you're doing!" You scream, screwing your eyes shut and covering them with your hands before letting out a defeated groan. "You ask me questions like you care, you touch me like it's second nature and you say nice things to me like you don't need reciprocity. You act like you're just this nice guy, and you tell me all this shit about how resilient I am as if I don't know. I know I'm strong, okay? I know I am, it's all I've ever been. I don't need you to tell me and I don't want to hear it anymore, because I want to have a chance where I don't need to be any of that!" 

Your breathing is shallow as you wipe at your face, unaware at the tears streaming down them. You can feel the heat of his gaze on you, and you dig the heels of your palms into your eyes so hard you see splotches of color amidst the darkness. 

"I need you to stop acting like I'm the only girl in the world. The cuddling, the teasing, the casual touching, holding hands and all of that…it has to stop. I can't do it. I don't know what it's like to be liked, much less to like someone. I have a weak mind and a weaker heart, and you're confusing me. Just let me be if nothing will become of it." 

Your voice is no higher than a whisper, and you can't bring yourself to look at him as you sniffle. You wipe at your cheeks with the back of your hand, crossing your arms on your chest as you glance at his watch. 

11:32 AM. 

"Keep moving. It'll be lunch time soon." You murmur, pushing past him to keep walking in the general direction. You get maybe three feet ahead of him when he finally starts moving. He doesn't say anything, just stepping ahead of you and trailing to the left. You follow silently, aside from the sniffling — watching the way his hands palm at the fabric of his shorts before he just stuffs them in his pocket. 

You entertain yourself by watching the time tick by on his wrist as you keep walking in silence — the sniffling stopping around 1:15 PM. You stop to eat, and he hands you things without looking at you; which somehow, hurts far worse than you could have imagined. He uncaps the water for you, he peels an orange for you, but he says nothing; only pulling his hand back if he brushes yours accidentally. 

And suddenly, the fullness of your belly can't win over the emptiness in your chest. 

You hadn't expected the day to go by so slowly. It feels agonizing — the heat of the sun on your back, the weight of your heart in your throat paired with a dryness in your mouth that no amount of water can quench. You ignore the worried glances he gives you as you bring the bottle to your lips again, his arms crossed on his chest as you cap it. 

The walk is uncomfortable. Sure, the dense trees bring a comforting refuge from the sun…but you can't stop thinking about him, even from ten inches away. You can't stop glancing at him every time he's in front of you, every time he instinctively reaches his hand out before retracting it, every time you almost take it. It's 3:29 PM before he finally speaks. 

"You're not the only one with a weak heart, you know. You're confusing me, too."  

It's all he says, keeping his voice gentle and quiet, his eyes trained forward as another clearing comes about. Instead of a field, you're met with what seems to be a newly constructed fence — heavy iron and lined with chicken wire at the bottom. He moves in front of the gate, kicking gravel around until the sparkle of a gold key catches your eye. You point at it silently, before he sees it and grabs it. He unlocks the gate, pushing it open slightly and poking his head in when you hear a shriek so loud that it makes you wince. 

"You're back! Mingyu's back!" It's a man's voice, and Mingyu is pushed back by whoever it is throwing himself at him. He doesn't stumble much, wrapping his arms around the guy with a smile. 

"I told you I would be, Chan. And we have company." He pats the man's back, who stiffens as more people gather around the open gate. More men stare back at you, their excited smiles turning to faces of horror as they lay their eyes on you. Gasps and chatter rise, and Chan embarrassedly drops from Mingyu's arms, avoiding your eyes as he clears his throat. 

"Introduce her, idiot." One of the men with thick brows speaks up, a pouty look to his lips as he crosses his arms on his chest. Mingyu scowls, "mind your damn business, she's not here for you." 

"It's not like she's here for you, either." Another one rolls his eyes, leaning against one of the posts. He's lanky, nimble fingers running through faded blond hair as he looks you up and down. "In jeans? You're brave. What's your name?" 

Your mouth opens, but no sound comes out as an embarrassed look glazes your face. "Uh…" 

"Y/N. Her name is Y/N, now let us in. Don't you know? We're really tired." Mingyu speaks mockingly, waving them all back before grabbing Chan's wrist and pushing through them. You follow hurriedly, taking the key off the lock and holding it between your fingers as they let you slink past and one of the men locks the gate behind you. You lose Mingyu in the gaggle of men, chattering heard as they all push him towards the cabin that towers over you — four stories, you think. You can't see that high. 

"She's cute," you hear someone whisper behind you, and you instinctively curl in on yourself before you hear a smack, followed by an ouch! 

"Shut up. Leave the girl alone, she's needs to feel safe here."  "I just said she was cute! I didn't mean anything weird by it!"  "You're a guy, Soonyoung. We're all guys. She's gonna take a while to get used to us, so don't make her uncomfortable." 

A grumble is heard, and you glance over your shoulder, the blond from before and another man with jet black hair behind you.  

"It's okay. Mingyu's called me cute five times." You hold up five fingers, his name heavy in your mouth as the man with the jet black hair elbows the blond. 

"See! It's not weird!" He scoffs, before holding his hand out. "I'm Soonyoung. This is—" 

"Minghao. I can introduce myself, thanks." He rolls his eyes as you turn to shake Soonyoung's hand, his fingertips cold against your skin. "You must've been scared out of your mind out there. Were you on your own?" 

"Uh, it's not really scary." You shrug, before shaking Minghao's hand. "I was alone from the beginning, so I just…adapted, I guess. I almost didn't let Mingyu help me." 

Minghao's eyes hold something you can't recognize, before his other hand covers yours. 

"You must be tired. Let's get you inside, hm? Seungcheol is making dinner." He pats your hand, before pulling you forward. You follow behind him, but his hand in yours doesn't make you feel anything different. It's just like holding hands with Jian or Jieun, or your parents — warm, kind. Just supportive, really, a guide. 

Holding Mingyu's hand makes you feel like a schoolgirl with a crush. 

Not that you have a crush on Mingyu, anyway. 

You let them lead you to the front of the cabin, with Soonyoung taking the keys out of your hand and placing them in a bowl by the door. You step inside, immediately hit with a blast of cold air that makes your skin prickle. Minghao pulls you in, shutting the door behind you and pulling you closer, your hip bumping his as you walk through the open living room. 

"You should settle in. Let's see if Mingyu has a room for you." He squeezes your hand softly, before pulling you towards a hall closet. You see Mingyu's back inside, sorting through piles carefully. Minghao lets your hand go, "come downstairs when you're done settling in. We'll get you some food and you can meet everyone." 

"Okay. Uh, thanks, Minghao." 

"No problem, sweetheart." 

You miss the way Mingyu's back tenses at the pet name, but you turn back to see him holding a pair of navy blue shorts up. He shrugs, draping them over his forearm before grabbing a towel off the top shelf. He glances at it, touching the corners before putting it back and grabbing another one. He does the same, before nodding to himself and closing the door, a ring of keys around his wrist. 

He doesn't say anything as he turns to you, tilting his head towards the set of stairs to your right. You ignore the sinking feeling in your stomach as he turns without speaking, two steps at a time. You follow silently, thumbs hooked in the belt loops of your jeans as you look down hallways upon hallways of rooms. Some doors ajar, most closed — but your thighs are burning as you reach the fourth landing. 

"Jesus Christ, are we almost there?" You grouse, and he only chuckles inwardly before stopping in front of you. You frown up at him, but he just shrugs, leading you down the hall of several doors, before a blue one ends the hallway. The letters KMG mock you in white paint, before he turns to the one next to it. It's green. 

"This used to be a bed and breakfast before it came into my family. Hence, all the rooms." He nods, pressing his lips into a thin line. He holds the items in his hand close to his chest before looking through the keys with one hand, before finding one with a matching green stripe on the bow. He unlocks the room carefully, opening the door to show a fully furnished room with pale pink walls and a cherry-print comforter. You feel your chest tight as he slips inside, setting the items in his hands down on the white desk in the corner.  

"There's pajamas in the bottom drawer, if they don't fit you, we can alter them. Uh, you have your own bathroom and a hair dryer, so don't worry about sharing. There's a radio, so you can listen to music or the news or whatever you want. There's a TV, and a VCR player because this place is kind of old, but everything still works. There is also a handful of different chargers in one of the desk drawers, I don't know if you brought anything with you but I'm sure you can find something compatible if you have a phone or something. The bed is yours, and so is the room, as long as you want it. And you get your key, so no one comes in here unless you want them to. Lights out by eleven, though, so just be a little quieter than normal if you're not going to bed. Oh, and there is a pair of slippers in the closet that you can have, so don't worry about walking around barefoot." 

You feel a little silly as you fiddle with the hem of your shirt, nibbling on your lip as tears fill your eyes. You try to blink them back as you look around the room, the bathroom door ajar next to a white dresser with painted cherries. Mingyu looks up from the keys, holding the one to the room in his hand when you let out a shaky breath. His eyes widen, and you quickly turn away from him, wiping at your eyes and fanning at your face. 

"You can just leave the key." Your voice is thick, "thanks." 

He doesn't say anything, but his boots are heavy against the wooden floor as he stands behind you. You can feel the warmth of his body radiating off him, only to feel his hand pull at your backpack. You let him take it off, crossing your arms on your chest as you glance over your shoulder to see him hanging it on a hook next to the bathroom door.  

"You don't have to stay, if you don't want to. You can pick any other room, but I chose this one for the sake of privacy. I'm the only other person on this floor, so feel free to move around. Just let me know, and I'll unlock another room for you." 

You nod, almost scared to step past the threshold — almost like it makes it real. That you have a bed again, a door that locks, a place to shower whenever you want. He sighs, stuffing his hands in his pockets before stepping in front of you. 

"We don't have to talk, either, if you don't want to. Just…don't miss meals, okay?" His voice is soft, and you bite back the words in your mouth as he skirts around you. Your hand reaches for him, your fingertips brushing his wrist. He stops, glancing down at you as you tear your eyes away from the room in front of you. 

"Are you upset with me?" 

He shakes his head, his own fingers tapping the inside of your wrist as he moves away. 

"You set a boundary. No matter how I feel, I'm not going to overstep that. We're all good." He nods, stuffing his hands in his pockets. He tries to move away again, but your fingers grab his elbow gently. He glances down at your hand, raising a brow as you quickly drop your hand. You clear your throat, and he turns to face you fully with a questioning look on his face. 

"What do you mean, how you feel?" 

He shrugs, the corner of his lip twitching into a lopsided smile.  

"I think you have this idea of romance that's kind of…misconstrued. It's not always like the movies, and it's not always like the examples of romance we see around us. Our parents, friends, etcetera…romance is different for everyone." 

You must look unimpressed, because he swipes his tongue over his teeth before he smiles. 

"Are you seriously mansplaining romance to me right now?"  "No, I'm telling you that it's not the same for everyone. I think romance can happen fast, and I think that one person can experience different kinds of romance throughout their lifetime. I think there's romance in everything, including the way you're staring at me like I'm a dumbass." 

"You are a dumbass." You mutter, "and I know what romance is. I know it's not the same for everyone, so you're just telling me shit I already know. So, you're a mansplainer." 

"Sure, but I'm also absolutely enamored with you. Smitten, bewitched. Under your spell, even." He admits gently, before turning on his heel. "Think about that, sweetness." 

You feel all the air sucked out of the atmosphere as he walks away, humming to himself as the keys jingle on his wrist. Your eyes are misty as you process the words out of his mouth, watching him walk confidently down the stairs like nothing has changed. You almost hate him, your heart beating normally just for a moment.  

Just a moment. 

The clock on your desk reads 9:22 PM. 

Instead of going downstairs, you settled into your room a bit; after crying your eyes out in the shower, you diligently stepped out and did little skincare with what was stocked in the bathroom, and swiped on a thin layer of your lip gloss before getting dressed. Mingyu had given you three shirts, three pairs of shorts, a pair of long pants, a bunch of socks and a zip-up. You were given a pair of boxers, and you limply laughed as you pulled them over your hips before pulling one of the black shirts over your head, only to see KMG embroidered on the pocket in pink thread. You hold back your tears, opting to dry your hair in the bathroom before digging through the mess of cables in your desk for one to charge your phone. You manage to find one, plugging it into the wall before turning on the radio to 105.7 Seoul City Central — your heart skipping as My Kind Of Woman by Mac DeMarco starts bleeding through the static. 

You leave it on, opting to pull the comforter back and examine the sheets when a bump in the hallway makes you jump. You still, feeling footsteps clambering on the wooden floor before you quietly tiptoe your way to the door. 

"Get off me!" You hear bickering in the hallway, but you don't recognize the voices. You twist the knob of your door, peeking your head out to see three men wrestling as Mingyu holds a tray in one hand with an unimpressed look on his face. Soonyoung is amongst the men, as is Chan and another man you've yet to meet. 

"I don't need a pack of wild animals following me to drop off food, you know." He puts his hand on his hip, steam rising off the plate as your stomach rumbles. The men on the ground continue horsing around, making Mingyu shake his head before rolling his eyes. You stare at the men on the ground with your brows raised, before your eyes flicker to Mingyu. He's watching them too, walking closer to your door before one of the men breaks free, and Chan starts screaming his head off as you cover your mouth with your hand. 

"Mingyu! They're pinching me!" Chan whines, as he tries to crawl away. Mingyu snorts, switching the tray in his hand to the other side before helping him up. Soonyoung continues to pin down whoever is beneath him, earning a shriek along the lines of not the nipple! 

"How many guys does it take to bring dinner up four flights of stairs?" You ask softly, and Soonyoung looks up from the man beneath him, nipples pinched painfully over the man's shirt. The man takes the chance and knocks him off, wrestling Soonyoung's arms to his sides and pinning them with his knees on either side. You cover your eyes as he twists Soonyoung's nipples through his shirt, a strangled yell ringing out as you bite back your laughter. Soonyoung manages to push him off, and they end up rolling down the stairs as you, Mingyu and Chan share a pursed-lip look until you all clear your throats in unison. 

"Usually, just the one. But, Chan here has something he wants to give you." Mingyu tilts his head in Chan's direction, who smiles shyly as you look at him. You give him a soft smile, "nice to meet you, Chan. I'm Y/N." 

"I know." He nods, before wincing. "I mean, it's nice to meet you, too. I just…I noticed you're not wearing earrings. I don't know if you wear them or not, but I have a pair I don't use. I just wanted to know if you'd like them."  

He holds up a plastic baggie, a tiny pair of gold hoops with small rubies dangling off. Your eyes widen, and you hold your hands up as he shakes his head, tucking them into your palm, "just take them. We were all new at some point." 

"I can't, really—"  "Good night, Y/N. Rest well." 

Chan waves as he skips off, leaving you with the earrings in your hand and Mingyu standing next to you. You look at the earrings in your palm, before trilling your lips as you look up at Mingyu. He's already looking at you, holding the tray out to you. Your eyes widen at the colorful array, reaching to take it before dropping your arms to your sides and moving out of your doorframe. He slips past, setting it on the desk as he turns the radio down. 

"Dinner. Soft tofu stew, rice, half an orange, and this yogurtade thing that Junhui likes; he made it for you. He was the one with Soonyoung." He nods, "oh, and this. Cake. Dark chocolate with raspberry filling, from Joshua. You didn't meet him yet, but I said you'd be up for it tomorrow. Hope that's okay." 

He gestures vaguely at the tray, "just leave it in the hallway if you don't want to go downstairs. I'll pick it up later." 

He pats the back of your desk chair, pulling it out for you. You silently take the seat, crossing your legs at the knee as tears fill your eyes for the third time. He coos, patting the back of the chair again before turning to leave, "enjoy." 

"Will you stay?" You blurt, looking at the earrings in your hand instead of him. You can feel the heat of his eyes, and you clear your throat as you shift in your seat, "I don't like eating alone." 

He hums in response, tapping the door before slipping out. You look up to see him opening his own door, light filling the hallway as he ducks inside. He comes back with a chair in his hand, closing the door behind him and sliding it next to yours. He closes your door gently, leaning back in his chair as you reach for the utensils on the tray. You run the pad of your thumb along the engraving on the spoon handle, blowing a breath out through your lips before setting it back down. 

“Thanks. For everything, you know.” You’re quiet as you stare at the steaming food, shifting slightly on the soft cushion of the chair. Your hair is still damp, your skin almost raw from how hard you scrubbed at yourself but it was the best feeling in the world. Your hands splay on your knees, tugging at the hem of the boxer shorts as he clicks his tongue. 

"You don't have to thank me. Just eat." He nods at the food, his eyes averting as your phone buzzes on desk as it turns on. Hundreds of notifications fill the screen, making the entire table buzz incessantly. He reaches over, carefully silencing it before turning it over. There is a photo of you holding up your acceptance letter to the internship in Germany stuck inside your phone case — one you'd meant to send back to Jeju before the outbreak. You'd slipped in there for safekeeping, only for it to find a permanent home there when you assumed the island was destroyed. 

You eat in silence, ignoring the tears building in your eyes as the warm meal fills your belly. Mingyu is quiet next to you, content with just sitting beside you and watching you eat, shifting slightly with every few bites. You only make it halfway through the slice of cake before you push it away. 

"Full?"  "Very."  "Want me to take it down?" 

"I can take it, just give me a minute." You shake your head, leaning your elbow against the back of the chair and using your hand to hold up your head as you look at him. He's relaxed, showered — donning another brown shirt, but in sweatpants and his watch is gone, replaced with a silver bracelet. His eyes are warm as you meet them, but you clear your throat and look away. 

"Are they nice? The guys?"  "Oh, yeah. A little annoying and loud at times, but sweet. They like to have fun." 

"Are you the only one who ventures the great outdoors for survivors?" You try to add some humor to your voice, but it's meek as you pick at your cuticles. He pulls your hands away from each other, and you instinctively interlacing your fingers with his. He doesn't pull away, watching you cross your legs at the knee. 

"I don't want them to get hurt. A few of them were pretty banged up when I found them, and Chan was wandering around bear territory a few miles south of here when I found him. I actually found him a month before I found you, so he's relatively new. And the youngest, by far." He nods, stroking the back of your hand with his thumb. "His parents were jewelers. He had a bright future coming his way, too, but the outbreak took his parents, his brother and the business with them. He's been alone since, but…he's surprisingly positive. Quite the mood maker, actually." 

"That's so…wow." Your voice is no higher than a whisper, and you glance at the tray. "I don't know my way around." 

"Come on, I'll show you." He grabs the tray with one hand, standing up carefully and keeping you flush to his hip. He barely makes it out of the bedroom when he glances at you, letting go of your hand and gesturing at the sweater you'd hung on the bedpost. "Put that on, you're not decent." 

"I thought you said they were nice guys?" You raise a brow, but indulge him anyway, zipping the sweater halfway up before pushing in your chair and moving his out of the way. He rolls his eyes, holding his hand out for you to take. You interlace your fingers again, letting him keep you close as you both make your way down the stairs. You grow a bit wary as you reach the first floor, squeezing Mingyu's hand as you tuck yourself behind him — a group of men gathered on the living room floor with bottles of soju and empty Yakult scattered around a table with playing cards. 

"Mingyu! Join us, Jeonghan can deal you in." Soonyoung calls, but he shakes his head, "Jeonghan is a cheater and I hate playing games with you, you're always on my dick about everything." 

"He's just mad because he's bad at mafia." Minghao mutters, and you snicker inwardly as Mingyu pulls you into the kitchen. "Wait, is Y/N with you!?" 

"That's none of your business!" He calls over his shoulder, rolling his eyes as you look around the kitchen, your eyes landing on the same man with the pouty lips scrubbing dishes with a set of pink dish gloves all the way up to his elbow. Mingyu sets the tray down on the island, and the man with the gloves looks up, brows furrowed, "this is Seungcheol. He's the oldest, he's actually an old friend from college. We played football together." 

Seungcheol gestures at the tray, "I'm not washing that. Everyone eats downstairs." 

"She's new, give her a break."  "It's not about her, it's about you. You made the rule, Gyu."  "Yeah, well. I didn't tell you to wash it, anyway." 

Seungcheol tongues his cheek, shaking his head before directing his gaze at you. "Was he this fucking annoying when he was bringing you back?" 

"Oh my God, yeah." You nod eagerly, feeling Mingyu's hand squeeze yours as Seungcheol laughs. "He was so annoying and invasive, asking me all these personal questions—" 

"Asking your name is not invasive!" He refutes, but Seungcheol is only amused as you hold up your interlinked hands. Mingyu huffs, pouting as he lets go of your hand; only for you to find it again as he tries to move away. You keep him at your hip, the warmth of his body comforting against your back. 

"Invasive." You reiterate, "but it's nice to meet you, Seungcheol. And I'll wash this, don't worry about it." 

"Nah, just leave it. I got it." He shakes his head, taking the dishes off the tray before looking at you pointedly. "But no more eating in your room. That's how we get ants, and you need to socialize. I heard you were alone out there, that's not good for your mind." 

"I'll try to eat down here more often, promise." You cross an X over your chest, and he nods, "rest well, okay? We can get better acquainted tomorrow." 

"Good night, Seungcheol."  "Good night, gorgeous." 

"Don't call her that." Mingyu grumbles, pulling you out of the kitchen before Seungcheol can quip back. You let him pull you along, glancing at the men in the living room once more to see them all looking at you. You give them a quick smile, only for Soonyoung to point at you and turn to the group, and Minghao rolls his eyes as the man's name fall from his mouth as you and Mingyu reach the bottom of the stairs. 

"Soonyoung—"  "See, Jeonghan? I told you she's cute! And Mingyu's keeping her to himself! Look at him, practically dragging her like a hostage—"  "Soonyoung, that's enough." 

He pouts, crossing his arms on his chest as the other men glance at you. 

"I'll be downstairs tomorrow, and we can all get to know each other. I swear I'm cool, I'm just…nervous." You give them a thumbs up, and Minghao just gives you a wave of his hand. 

"We're not going anywhere, sweetheart. You take your time." He nudges Soonyoung with his elbow, "and stop calling her cute. She's a lady." 

"Stop calling her anything that isn't Y/N. Her name is Y/N, call her that." Mingyu scoffs, earning an oooh from the group as he tugs you up the stairs. He tongues his cheek, grumbling to himself as you make it up the first two flights of stairs. 

"What did you mean by saying that you're 'enamored' with me?" You ask as you reach the first step of the third floor, and Mingyu clicks his tongue, "just that. Enamored." 

"Okay, yeah, but what does it mean?"  "Whatever you want it to mean, sweetness."  "Mingyu." 

"It means I'd kiss you, if you let me. If you wanted me to." He says softly, shrugging his shoulders like it's not a big deal. "I'd kiss you breathless, if you wanted me." 

You don't respond, your cheeks hot as you walk up the rest of the steps in silence. Your hand stays slotted in his, before you reach the fourth floor landing. Your hips bump as he walks you back to your bedroom, and you still in the threshold of the room. You glance around, and sure, it's yours — but it doesn't really feel like it. 

"Mingyu?" You look up at him, nibbling your lip as he hums in response. You tug on his hand, wanting his full attention as you speak, "Mingyu." 

"I'm listening, princess."  "Can I sleep in your room?" 

"But I'm invasive?" He jests, and you scoff, pulling your hand out of his when he grabs your arm, pulling you into him with a chuckle. "You don't get to make fun of me in front of my friends and then pout when I do it back. It's unfair." 

"I can do whatever I want," you huff, trying to twist yourself out of his hold when he spins you around to face him, his hand wrapped around the back of your neck as he looks down at you. You glare up at him, much to his amusement, "can I sleep in your room or not? I don't sleep well alone." 

"I just don't know if we'll get any sleep if I say yes."  "You are so fucking annoying, Kim Mingyu. No wonder Seungcheol hates your ass." 

"Cheol doesn't hate me, otherwise he wouldn't be here." He says pointedly, glancing at your lips before inching slightly closer, "and considering how fast your heart is beating right now, I don't think you hate me all that much, either." 

His fingers drum on the side of your neck, the tip of his nose brushing yours as he tugs on the collar of your shirt.  

"Brush your teeth, turn the lights off. I'll make room for you." 

He slips away, ducking into his bedroom without another word as your hands cover your face like you're trying to hide the stupid smile spreading on your lips. You let out a breath, doing as you're told…and swiping on a bit of your lip gloss before grabbing your key and your phone off the desk and closing the door behind you. Mingyu's door is slightly ajar as you peek into it, your knuckles rapping against the painted wood as he's crouched in the corner of the room. 

"Close the door, please." He waves you in, returning to his task. You look around the room, illuminated by the moonlight seeping through the window — a desk like yours, but his bed is bigger, the room is bigger. He's got lots of knick knacks lining the walls, and a bunch of photos. You stare up at them, seeing him pictured with a newborn baby girl; the image marked 2001. 

"Little sister?" You say softly, and he hums. "Yep. She's safe, in Shanghai. She's there for school, I sent her money to stay over the summer so she wouldn't be trapped here during the outbreak. I haven't seen her since last spring. There's a landline downstairs, we call once a week when I'm not out looking for survivors, but my watch has a tracker that she can follow on her phone. It's fine." 

You feel your lips curve into a frown as you cross your arms on your chest, but you nod anyway.  

"Aha! Found it, I knew I had this somewhere." 

You turn on your heel to see him holding up a vinyl — specifically, Stevie Nicks' 1989 album, The Other Side of the Mirror. 

"Here, you can have it. You mentioned one of the songs on here in your top five." He holds it out to you, your eyes catching a silver reflection in the moonlight on the corner of the vinyl — an autograph.  Your eyes widen, and he taps your arm with it. "Take it." 

"I can't." 

"You can. I'm giving it to you, princess. Have it." He tucks it under your arm, and you jut your lip out in a pout as you hold it to your chest. Your nose burns as he laughs in disbelief, and you tuck your chin to your chest as a tear trickles down your face. "You're such a crybaby." 

"Shut up!" You stomp your foot like a child, "my mom had this one, she stood in line for it. She said she'd give it to me when I graduated." 

You sniffle, running your fingers along the cardboard as Mingyu moves around the room, opening the window and fluffing his comforter.  

"You're shit at comforting people, you know." You mutter as he glances at you from the headboard, fluffing a pillow in his hand as you wipe at your cheeks haphazardly. He snorts, pulling at the pillow before dropping it on the bed. 

"Literally, what do you want from me? Huh?" He shakes his head in amusement as you slide the record on top of his dresser, your forefinger tracing the autograph as he bumps your hip with his. He meets your eyes, his thumb brushing a stray tear off your cheek as you sniffle again. He slides his hand down your face, fingers curling around your neck as he pulls you close, leaning down. "You act like I can read your mind." 

"You should learn," You grumble as he pinches your cheek between his knuckles, "that's what good men do." 

"Okay, what good men do you know that can do that?"  "I knew my father."  "That's a good start." 

"And I know you can learn." You mutter, before moving away from him and climbing into his bed. You throw the comforter over your shoulder, feeling the bed dip behind you as Mingyu yanks it back. "Mingyu!" 

"You didn't even ask if I was ready to go to bed."  "Well, I'm ready. That means you should be ready." 

"You're also in my spot, sweetness." His lips brush the shell of your ear as he leans down, his hand squeezing your side gently before patting your back. "Scoot over." 

You move away begrudgingly, a scowl on your lips as you turn onto your back. He slides into bed next to you, opting to prop himself up on his elbow. You blink up at him, crossing your arms on your chest as he tugs at your sweater. 

"Why do you still have this on?"  "Wouldn't want to be indecent." 

He rolls his eyes, and you zip it up the rest of the way to make a point. "I'm just sleeping in here. No funny business." 

"I never said we'd be partaking in any 'funny business' to begin with, sweetness."  "Yeah, well, you're looking at me like I mean something to you and I don't like it." 

"You don't?" He leans slightly closer, and you bite back a smile as you press your hands to his chest. pushing him away lightly. 

"No."  "You're lying."  "A little." 

He takes your hands off his chest, pining them on either side of your head before interlacing your fingers. You tilt your head at him, "is this your way of keeping me all to yourself? Like Soonyoung said?" 

"You wouldn't like any of those guys, anyway. Not the way you like me," He rolls his eyes, hovering over you. He runs his eyes over your face as you suck your teeth, stopping at your lips. "You're wearing lip gloss." 

"Who said I like you in any kind of way? You're fucking annoying." You lie, rolling your eyes as you realize he's still looking at your lips. You nudge the side of his hip with your knee, "Mingyu." 

"Hm?"  "Let me go."  "Not until you admit you think I'm at least cute." 

"Oh boy, we'll be here all night." You sigh in feigned concern, before gazing back up at him. "How's your back? Still hurting?" 

He shakes his head, "a lot better, actually. I guess you were right." 

You huff, "you guess? I was right! Even with all my hard work—" 

"You enjoyed it, don't lie to yourself."  "That's not the point, dipshit. It's still work." 

You turn away, "I used to charge a hundred and eighty dollars for a 90-minute massage, you know. I gave you one for free." 

"Because you're a shitty business magnate." He smiles, and you tongue your cheek as his nose brushes yours slightly. Your breath hitches, "no, because I care about you. Sometimes." 

He stills on top of you, eyes slightly narrowed as he scans your face. You nibble on your lip nervously, your knees twitching on either side of his hips as you avert your eyes to the headboard, littered with carved swallows. He lets go of one of your hands, instead cradling your cheek gently, his thumb pulling at your lower lip as he makes you look at him. 

"Sometimes?" 

"Well, we just met." You lose all confidence in your voice as you meet his eyes, so fucking warm as he looks at you. Warm and kind and comforting, inviting…caring. Loving, maybe. 

Hopefully. 

"You don't care about that," He probes, eyes scanning your face, "you threw caution to the wind the moment you met me." 

"I did." You admit in a whisper, your hand carding through his hair as you swallow hard. "It wasn't like I had much of a choice, though." 

"You did. You could've not spoken to me at all, like you didn't speak to me for hours today until you yelled at me." He pouts, "eight hours, you know. Eight hours without talking to me." 

You mock his pout, "so long, huh? Must've been the worst for you, poor baby." 

"You're so fucking mean." He gripes, burying his face in your neck. You snicker to hold off a shiver that wants to snake down your spine as his lips brush your skin, "you like it." 

"Shut up." He mutters. Your hand cards through the hair at the nape of his neck before plucking at the collar of his shirt, moving his necklace over your fingertips and dipping your hand beneath it. The bruises are still there, albeit a bit lighter as you rub the pads of your fingers against them. His breathing tickles you, making you squirm when he squeezes your hand. "I missed hearing you talk today. I missed you." 

Your cheeks heat slightly as you shift beneath him, your fingers tracing random patterns into the skin of his back, "you met me two days ago." 

"I don't care." He groans, "I wouldn't care if I met you this morning. Time is relative, anyway, because it feels like I've known you an entire lifetime. I like having you around. I like it when you're mean and that you smell like honey and that you're so fucking smart and I like you." 

You sink your teeth into your lip to stop yourself from smiling, but your chest bounces slightly with embarrassed laughter. Mingyu pouts into your neck, your fingers slipping out from under his shirt to squeeze the back of his neck. 

"Stop laughing at me!" He whines, sitting up as you slide your hand down his chest. You pluck at his shirt, opening your mouth to speak when you hear someone knock on his door. You roll your eyes as he looks over his shoulder, and you sit up on your elbows, his hand slipping out of yours to hold himself up properly. 

"What's up?" He calls, and the man on the other side clears their throat. 

"You sleeping yet? The guys wanna play a couple rounds of pool." It's Seungcheol, and you pull at Mingyu's shirt as he opens his mouth. 

"Tell him you're busy." You whisper, your lips brushing his cheek as you talk. He glances at you, your eyes pointed as Seungcheol knocks again. "Tell him." 

"Uh, sorry, Cheol. I'm a little tied up at the moment." Mingyu lies through his teeth, making the man on the other side scoff, "doing what? You just got back, pull your pants up and come join us." 

"Do you really think I'm rubbing one out right now? I'm tired." He tries to defend himself, but you press your lips to his cheek. He stills, and you plant another one right on the curve of his jaw, the soft slope of his neck before your hand slides up and tilts his face towards you. 

"Tell him you're busy." You say again, your lips touching his as you speak. He leans into it, but you shake your head, pulling back as you gesture towards the door. He groans inwardly, letting you pull away fully and speaking loud enough for Seungcheol to hear him as you move to tug your zipper down.  

"I'm really tired, Cheol. Maybe another night. Promise."  "Lame. I bet if Y/N came down, you would too." 

Seungcheol leaves with two knocks to the door, and Mingyu clicks his tongue, words dying in his mouth as you tug on his shirt again — only to be interrupted by two more.  

"Mingyu! Stop being a bitch and come lose!" Soonyoung's voice rings through the door, making Mingyu turn to look over his shoulder again, "Hosh, I already said no. And you just want an easy win!" 

"Mingyu." You whine quietly, wrapping your legs around his waist to get his attention. He tries to focus on you, your lips pouted as you brush them to his again. "Want you to kiss me. Please, please." 

"So fucking cute." He mumbles, nuzzling his nose to yours, only for another bang on the door to make you jump. He groans, pressing his forehead to yours as Soonyoung hits the door yet again. 

"Come on, Gyu! We haven't seen you in an entire week! What could possibly be more important right now?!" Soonyoung complains, jiggling the thankfully locked doorknob and Mingyu's brow furrows in frustration as he opens his mouth to retort when you roll your eyes, sitting up abruptly and slotting your lips with his. You kiss him softly, your hands holding his face as he melts into you, a satisfied hum sounding from his throat. He pushes you back against the bed, his hand sliding to your hip as you slide yours down his chest and around his sides to rest on his back. Soonyoung knocks again, and you pull away with a huff. 

"Can you please go away? We're a little busy!" You call, your nails digging into Mingyu's back as Soonyoung's gasp is heard through the door. His footsteps are heard clambering down the stairs almost immediately, and you look back to see Mingyu a little dazed with glitter on his lips. 

"Are you really that bad at games? I thought you were kidding when you said you don't have a good poker face." You huff, making him blink a few times before he shakes his head. 

"No, I'm not bad at games. I do have a shit poker face, though, and they like embarrassing me about it." He mumbles, and you tongue your cheek when he leans down, brushing his lips to yours. "I don't believe that was your first kiss." 

"Good thing I didn't ask," You mumble, nipping at his lower lip with your teeth and slipping your hands under his shirt. He's warm to your cool fingertips, making him flinch slightly as you laugh against his lips. "Take your shirt off. Wanna see you." 

"You just wanna see me strip." He chides, and you raise a brow as you drag your nails down his back, earning a shaky moan against your jaw, his hand tightening around your hip. You brush your lips to his cheek, your hands bunching his shirt against his skin, "take it off. Please?" 

He sits up on his knees, towering over you as he pulls the shirt over his head and tosses it somewhere across the room. You let your eyes roam shamelessly as he leans back over, your hands sliding up the hot skin as you sit up slightly. You kiss him again, slower — feeling your belly fill with warmth as his hands pin your hips to the mattress, sliding up slightly and bunching your shirt under his hands as your underwear grows damp. You feel him stop moving, only sinking down lower and the back of your head hits the pillows as he breaks the kiss, trailing down your jaw. You tilt your face away, giving him more room when he stops, lips brushing the shell of your ear. 

"We have to stop." He mumbles, his thumbs tracing soft circles in your sides as you turn to face him. His cheeks are flaming red, your own warm to the touch as you clear your throat. 

"Why? Did I do something wrong?" Your hands ghost over his shoulders, and he frantically shakes his head, his own hands coming to hold your face gently, "no, not at all! I'm just…" 

You look at him pointedly as he trails off, only raising a brow, "Mingyu, if you're pitching a tent—" 

"Why do you have to say it like that?" He whines, burying his face into your neck as you let out a chuckle of disbelief, your hands patting his shoulders, "how else am I supposed to say it? Boner?" 

"What is wrong with you? Not like that!" He groans into your neck, making you laugh even harder as you wrap your arms around his neck. You press a kiss to his shoulder, your fingernails raking lightly against his skin as you let your head fall back against the pillows. You hum, "you act like you've never done this before." 

"Not with you, I haven't." 

You still slightly, giving him a soft sigh as you run your fingers down the back of his neck, before running your fingers through his hair and pulling him away from your neck. He pouts at you, clearly embarrassed as you press a kiss to his cheek. He sits up slightly, holding himself over you as you run your fingertips down his chest, "We can fool around, you know. I just…don't wanna go all the way yet." 

“Got it.”  “Maybe just the tip. I heard that’s a thing.” 

"We're not doing anything you don't wanna do, I promise." He nods, and you smile softly, puckering your lips up at him. He meets you halfway, planting a chaste kiss on your lips, "this is all at your pace, sweetness." 

You nod, a bit of insecurity washing over you as you look at the ceiling. "Was it bad? The kissing?" 

"Absolutely not," he shakes his head, gently grabbing your jaw to make you look at him. You make eye contact as he huffs, "again, I don't believe that was your first kiss. Unless you're a fucking witch, of course." 

"I just read a lot of books," You mutter, picking at your cuticles, "watch a lot of movies…not necessarily of the general rating variety." 

"Books and pornography didn't teach me how to kiss. Say it like it is." He scoffs, and you raise a brow, "not everyone can be as good at applying knowledge as I am. Plus, I told you yesterday…there is skill in the yearning. And I don't watch porn!" 

"Everyone's seen porn at least once."  "…Not me. I can't even spell pornography."  "You're such a liar, babe." 

"M'not your babe." You grumble, biting back your grin as he mocks you, before pressing his forehead to yours. You blink up at him, sticking your tongue out as he squishes your cheeks in his hand. You swat his hand away, "not yet, anyway. I guess. Ugh, I hate you." 

"No, you don't."  "You're fucking annoying."  "Again, annoying fed you, clothed you, bathed you…kissed you." 

"First of all, I kissed you." You argue, poking an accusatory finger in his chest. He only grins down at you, kissing the tip of your nose as you wrinkle it. 

"And you're so brave, sweetness. I can be a little softer, if you want." He states, his eyes searching yours as you smile, "I'm not gonna break, you know. You can be whatever you want. Be rough, even." 

He clicks his tongue, ears tinging pink once more as he looks away. "We don't even know if you like that." 

"You don't know if I like that. I know myself pretty well, I'd say." You shrug, "not having experience with guys doesn't mean I don't know what I like. I can explore on my own." 

"Have you?"  "Wouldn't you like to know, dude."  "I would, yeah. And don't call me that." 

He lowers himself slightly, holding his head up over your belly with his chin in his hand. You shift to look at him, sitting up on your elbows, "you know I don't care, right? I can help, if you want me to." 

"I care." He says softly, "I don't want you to do anything you're not ready for, I'm never going to expect or demand anything from you. I just…want you. We can talk about what you're ready for when you're ready for it, even if it takes years." 

The idea of years by Mingyu’s side settles a bit of fear in your bones. The idea of years by Mingyu’s side, having known him for three days – something in his gaze truly does make it feel like a lifetime. 

A lifetime of you and him. Of no engagement before you, of no other boys before him. Of learning all over again, with someone new...even if he’s the someone new for you. 

You trill your lips to hide the smile daring to inch itself onto your face, nodding as you look down at him, running your fingers through his hair. "I would've been ready right now, if they didn’t come banging on the door. Your friends are really good at killing the mood, you know?" 

"They normally don't come all the way up here, I don't know what's gotten into them." He pouts, eyes apologetic as you chuckle, "they miss you, I guess. It's normal to be oddly attached to some cute guy that saves you in the woods." 

"That feels backhanded, but I'll take the cute, I guess." He rolls his eyes, and you wrinkle your nose at him as you tug on the strands of his hair. He grunts, pulling your hand out of his hair and interlacing your fingers with his when he glances down at your body, suddenly letting go of your hand and hovering over you again as he speaks to you. "Why aren't you wearing pants? Did you go downstairs like that?" 

"Yeah? It's not like I need them; it's just us here." You shrug, snapping the waistband against your hip. He scoffs, "next time, put a pair of pants on." 

"Why, if you're just going to take them off me?"  "Y/N."  "So scary, ooh." 

You smile, running your hands up and down his chest. You palm at his arms, raking your nails down the skin and watching it prickle. Your eyes trail all over him, biting down on your lip as you wrap your fingers around the base of his throat, tugging lightly at his necklace as the cross pendant dangles above your face. 

"Wear pants when you go downstairs." He repeats, and you nod, thumbing at the pendant before making eye contact. You run your hands down his chest again, plucking at the waistband of his sweatpants, "can I see?" 

He tongues his cheek, "maybe. What's in it for me?” 

"Does there have to be something in it for you? What, do you want me to beg?" You smirk, pulling at the drawstring to untie it. He shakes his head, "if you beg, I'll give in too fast. I'm weak." 

"Good to know…" you click your tongue, toying with the drawstring as it comes undone. You tug on it, "just want you." 

"Do you?" His lips brush yours as he leans down, your hands moving to tug your sweater off. It slips down your arms, and Mingyu takes it, tossing it somewhere across the room as you wrap your legs around his waist again. Your teeth nip at his lower lip before you kiss him gently, carding your fingers through his hair, "want to see you." 

"You're looking at me right now, though?" He presses a kiss to the corner of your mouth, your cheeks warm as you shake your head. His eyes are patient as he ghosts his lips over yours, smiling against them as you pout. 

"Wanna touch you."  "Yeah? Where?"  "Everywhere. Anywhere you want." 

"Take me to dinner first, why don't you?" He laughs as you let out a whine of annoyance, nudging his hip with your knee as he buries his face in your neck. He peppers a few kisses along the exposed skin, mumbling against it, “so pretty, baby.” 

“Mingyu.” You draw out his name as he smiles against your clavicle, his hands sliding up your sides and bunching your shirt around his wrists as he brushes his lips on yours again. You’re unamused as he pulls back before you can kiss him, but he shrugs. 

“What’s in it for me, sweetness?”  “Uh, hot girl in your bed. In her underwear. At your mercy.” 

He gives you a deadpan look, “‛at my mercy’ is a stretch, I think.” 

“What, you don’t think I can be nice to you?”  “No, actually.” 

“Ye of little faith,” you feign hurt, holding your hands to your chest as he shakes his head. He rolls his eyes, biting back a smile as he pinches the hem of his shirt between his fingers and pulls it over his head. Your hands move to touch him; fingertips cool against his warm skin making him jerk away slightly. You wrap a finger with the drawstring of his sweatpants, tugging on it gently, “what about these?” 

He opts to shrug, before his hand plucks at the hem of your shirt, “what about this?” 

“Oh, this old thing? Got it from a guy who rescued me in the woods, and he was real cute—” He cuts you off by pressing his lips to yours, muffling your laughter as you feel his hands push it higher. His thumbs graze the swell of your breasts as you shiver, his lips trailing down your jaw and nipping a soft mark under your ear. Your skin litters with goosebumps, “you can touch, if you want.” 

“I want to take it off.”  “Then take it off me, Mingyu.” 

He pulls the fabric of your shirt over your head carefully, letting your hair fall around your head before tossing it to the side and pressing a wet kiss to the column of your throat. His voice is a hushed whisper, “thank you.” 

Your words get stuck in your throat as he trails down your chest, kissing and nipping your skin; your fingers carding through his hair as his hands cup your breasts, carefully thumbing at your nipples. A shaky breath falls from your lips as he looks up at you through his lashes, tracing the left bud with the tip of his tongue before he pulls it gently between his teeth. The soft gasp that cuts through the air makes him chuckle, wrapping his lips around your nipple with a soft suck; your fingers tightening in his hair as your cover your mouth with your other hand. 

He pulls at your wrist, interlacing your fingers and pinning it next to your head, “need to hear you, baby.” 

“You don’t n-need to–“ 

“Well, I want to.” He’s eye level with you, pressing chaste kisses to your face, “I want to hear you beg and cry and say my name like it means something to you. I want to know I can make you feel good.” 

He hovers over you slightly, his gaze raking over your flushed face. You can’t keep eye contact, your voice lost on you as his fingers ghost over your skin, “if you want to stop, we can stop. Just say the word.” 

“I want you to touch me, Mingyu.” You murmur, his hand splaying on your hip as he kisses the apple of your cheek, “I am touching you, baby.” 

“No, I want you to touch me.” Your fingers cover his hand on your hip, pulling it slightly lower. He raises a brow, dipping his fingertips beneath the waistband of your underwear as you nod, burying your face in his neck. He pulls the fabric down, and you lift your hips to help him slide the damp underwear down your legs. He tosses them somewhere, your thighs falling open for him as you plant soft pecks to the expanse of his shoulder; before feeling his cool fingertips dip between your legs and slide between your folds. You suck in a breath – your nails digging into his bicep as he collects your arousal on his fingers, and you hear a soft chuckle fall from his lips. 

“Look at you, huh?” He whispers, tracing slow, tight circles into your clit. You whine into his neck, making him shiver as your teeth scrape the soft skin, “so needy.” 

You’re almost embarrassed at the way your hips move against his hand; the room filling with the slick sounds of his fingers bringing you closer to the edge and your soft whimpers of his name and please, please don’t stop. 

“Please, please?” He mocks you, his fingers slowing down to an agonizing pace as you feel the coil in your belly tighten. “Please, please don’t stop? Why?” 

“Wanna cum for you,” your voice is shaky and barely above a whisper as he presses his lips to your hairline. You mouth at the column of his throat, “wanna be yours.” 

“You are.” The rasp in his voice sends you over the edge, a choked mewl of his name falling from your throat as his hand tangles in your hair. He pulls you away from his neck as your thighs close around his hand, kissing you messily. It’s all teeth and tongue, a touch of desperation when you feel his painfully hard cock against your hip. 

“Gyu,” you breathe out against his lips, nipping at the lower one to get his attention. Your hand trails down his softly chiseled chest before you tug at the sweatpants. His eyes are heavy with query as you press a chaste kiss to his lips, “let me help.” 

“It’s okay,” he shakes his head, but his eyes betray him by fluttering shut as you palm him over the thin material. He tilts his hips away, pulling his hand from between your thighs and plucking at your lower lip with his fingers, “open, pretty.” 

His eyes are low as you take his fingers in your mouth, snaking your tongue between them before he pulls them out and grabs your jaw gently. The kiss is slower this time – his lips sucking on the tip of your tongue as your stomach fills with butterflies at the weight of him over you, your nails digging into his shoulders as he moves to settle himself between your thighs again. 

“Don’t worry about me, alright? I’ll be fine. Just relax and let me know if you want to stop.” He plants a kiss on your hip, before wrapping his arms around your thighs and pulling you to his face. You suck in a breath as he drags his tongue through your slick folds, your thighs trembling slightly as he carefully sucks your clit into his mouth. Your head falls back against the pillows as he busies himself between your thighs; pulling a whimpered moan from your chest as your hand finds his hair and tugs hard. You earn a grunt, your free hand finding your nipple to pinch between your fingers as he traces your entrance with his tongue. You grind your hips against his face, feeling the way he’s humping the mattress beneath him in a desperate attempt to get some friction. 

“Mingyu,” your voice is airy as you manage to pull him away from your dripping center, “wanna feel you.” 

His eyes widen, his hands around your thighs tightening as he glances up at you, “...you said you didn’t—” 

“Mingyu.” You interrupt, your eyes pointed as you tug on his hair gently. He lets you pull him up, making his way up the mattress. Your hand pulls at his sweatpants, “please. I’m ready, I promise.” 

“Y/N,” he sighs as you plant a kiss to his clavicle, “are you sure? We don’t have to do this, and I don’t have—” 

“I promise, I am sure.” You nod before stilling and meeting his eyes. He blinks at you, your hand still holding the waistband of his sweatpants, “you...want to, right? I don’t want to if you don’t.” 

“I want you to be sure, Y/N.”  “I don’t like when you call me that, actually.” 

“You called me guy for like six hours,” he snorts, making you pinch his hip and earning a squeal. He huffs, swatting your hand away from him before hooking his thumbs in his waistband, “you are positive you want this? With me? Right now?” 

“Yes. Take your fucking pants off, Kim Mingyu.” You roll your eyes, and he sticks his tongue out at you as he does what he’s told. He wraps his hand around his cock as he settles between your knees, your eyes widening slightly at the mess of precum on his lower stomach, “you’re big.” 

He raises a brow, “huh. Never thought of it that way.” 

“Yes, you have.” You deadpan, the little smirk on his lips proving your point as you sit up, “but...it’ll fit, right? You’ll make it fit?” 

“There is no way on this earth you haven’t seen porn if you’re talking like that.”  “Consider I used to read Wattpad?”  “And somehow, that’s worse.” 

You move your hand in a mock-talking motion, earning a roll of his eyes as he takes your hand in his, weaving your fingers together before pressing a kiss to your hairline. You let him lean you back against the mattress again, peppering the side of your face with his lips before feeling him speak against the shell of your ear, “just let me know, okay?” 

You nod silently, eyes fluttering shut as you feel him drag the tip of his cock through your folds. He keeps you close, giving you a tentative nip at the side of your neck. 

"Gorgeous," his teeth scrape against your throat as you cant your hips up, your body begging for the weight of his cock against your clit. He pins you down against the mattress, mouthing at your neck with a slow roll of his hips against yours. A shudder runs down your spine as your nails dig into his back, whined sounds spilling from your lips as the room grows hotter around you. 

"You sure you want it?" He pants above you, your thighs shaking with overstimulation as you rut against his weeping cock. "Just the tip, yeah?" 

"All of it. Will you give it to me if I do?" Your voice is airy, your nails digging into his shoulders as he ducks his head down, connecting your lips in a searing kiss. His hips roll slowly, your skin prickling as he bites down on your lower lip, tugging at it before letting it spring back. 

"Beg me for it." 

"Mingyu," you whine, feeling his mouth hot and wet against your neck. His teeth graze against your collarbone, making you gasp as he lapped his tongue over the spot with a groan, "come on, pretty girl. Beg for it." 

“Please. Want you to fill me up.” Your voice is shaky as he sucks a mark into the base of your throat, your fingers moving to tug at his hair, “Gyu, please. Need to be yours.” 

His lips are on yours before you can say anything else, carefully dipping the tip of his cock inside you. Your breath catches in your throat at the slight stretch, and he lets his hand snake down and trace tight circles in your clit, “I know, baby. Just relax for me, yeah?” 

“Kiss me,” you whisper, feeling his lips brush yours almost instantly. He’s soft, interlacing your fingers for the umpteenth time that night as he licks into your mouth. You let him, sucking gently on the tip of his tongue as he carefully buries himself to the hilt inside you; stilling as he feels your fingers tighten around his, “you wanna stop?” 

You shake your head, digging your nails into his skin as he moves slowly, kissing anywhere his lips can reach. Your fingers drag down his back as the burn ceases, your legs wrapping around his hips, “move, Mingyu.” 

“You’re so pretty,” he murmurs, giving a harsher roll of his hips. “So pretty, made just for me, right?” 

“Yes,” you gasp out, burying your face in his neck as he brushes that spongy spot that makes your vision blurry. Your voice is lost on you, choked whimpers of right there filling the room as Mingyu’s hands roam your body with a searing touch before he holds your jaw gently, brushing his lips to yours as he brings you closer to the edge. 

“Mine,” he whispers, pressing a wet kiss on your lips as you clamp down around him. “I’m yours, yeah? Just for you, baby.” 

He doesn’t await your response, sitting up and pulling you onto his cock as your eyes prick with tears of pleasure. His ears are tinged pink as your moans of his name slip out, pleas of harder making him bite back a whine as his grip on your thighs becomes almost bruising. He pushes your knees to your chest, your eyes rolling back at the suddenly deeper angle. The familiar coil is building in your belly as his hand moves to wipe your tears, your own covering the back of it as you tilt your head to kiss his palm. 

“So good for me, yeah? Take my cock so well, angel.” His voice is soft, diabolically paired with the way his hips were meeting your ass with sharp thrusts. Your hand wraps around his wrist, pulling it down, and his fingers instinctively wrap around your throat with a gentle squeeze to the sides, “fuck, you’re so perfect.” 

His movements grow sloppy as the mix of sounds fills your ears – pitched whines from your lips, soft groans from his, the embarrassingly wet squelch between your legs that makes your cheeks hot as he teases you about it, tells you that you’re such a messy little slut. 

“Come on, baby. Need you to cum for me, yeah?” His fingers find your clit, tracing tight circles as your gummy walls clamping around him – the heat in your belly flushes throughout your body with a choked mewl of his name. His hips stutter against yours, only making your legs tighten around him as he bent to kiss your lips, spilling inside you with a soft whine that made your skin prickle with goosebumps. 

He stays sheathed inside you for a minute, his hands running up and down your sides as you limply try to kiss him back, wrapping your arms around his neck. You hold him closely, nipping at his lower lip with a whispered thank you. 

“Tired?” His voice is low against your lips, thick fingers massaging your thighs as you nod silently, making him chuckle as he pulls you off the mattress, wrapping his arms around you and carrying you off to the bathroom as you lazily mouth at his neck. 

“Let’s get you cleaned up, hm?”  “Will you kiss me again?”  “I’ll kiss you all you want, princess.” 

Mingyu’s eyes are glued to your face in the dead of night. 

The moonlight streams through the blinds of his bedroom, casting lines across your back and bleeding over your shoulders. Your lips are pouted, brows furrowed as your head rests on his chest. You’re covered in another one of his shirts, but this one more personal – a ‘lucky’ one he had from before the world went to shit, covered in paint stains from his projects during college. You’d pulled it from his drawer without a second though, thumbing at the frayed hem of the sleeve before pulling it over your head and crawling into his embrace. 

Not a second thought before your eyes closed; your arm draped across his waist as you buried yourself into his side. 

And Mingyu wonders if the feeling of not being good enough for you will go away.  

Of knowing you were meant for more, for greatness. How your heart yearned for that internship in Germany, to go home to your parents and brag about it. He wonders if he’ll get the chance to fall in love with you and truly fall in love with you – before you realize he might not be enough. 

Mingyu is not all that experienced. In life, love, feelings. Sex, art, music. Mingyu knows one thing and one thing only, and that’s the cadence of his heart – the steady rhythm never wavering. Beating carefully for over two decades, softly guarded albeit accepting. 

A handful of friends. A mother, a father, and a little sister he misses dearly. An ex-fiancée. A woman whose hand he held, lips he kissed, body he roamed. A woman who gave her heart to him, and he’d realized too late that he’d bitten off more than he could chew. A woman who, with angry tears in her eyes, told him he wasn’t worth the time she gave him because any other man would’ve locked it down by then. 

That he simply wasn’t man enough for a woman like her, but that she wished him the best – though, she would be the very best he’d ever come across. 

She was right about one thing: Mingyu had never really felt man enough for a woman like Mina. He hadn’t felt the earth beneath his feet for years before that final fight – simply flying by the seat of his pants and giving his all to everything he could. He burnt out, and he burnt out fast – his relationship crumbling before anything else could, and he remembers the way the diamond ring he saved to buy for six months bounced right off his chest as she threw it at him. 

It sits somewhere in Shanghai with Minseo now. She was the first to know Mingyu had called the engagement off and comforted him by shipping over a container of almond biscuits from the local bakery. His parents had been supportive, even offering to pay his rent for a while if he needed a minute to figure himself out – but Mingyu did what he did best when he felt out of control: he started a new project. 

He drew up blueprints for a house – a beautiful two-story for his parents, with rooms to fit him and Minseo should they want to visit and stay. He gathered vendors, he put in orders for materials, he even contracted Wonwoo onto his plan before the world around him also crumbled. He left the city with his best friend and Seungcheol, their arms linked and beelining for the cabin. 

Mingyu has those blueprints still shoved in a shoebox in his closet. He brought them with him. He kept paint samples, a singular nail and a sample of mahogany wood he’d intended to use for a porch swing – one he’d pictured his parents sitting on and Minseo wiggling her way between them, but things didn’t turn out the way he’d intended. Minseo was across the sea, and his parents were gone.  

Mingyu had felt such an ache of despair in his chest that he’d been tempted to call Mina at the beginning of it all. She always knew the right things to say, especially in his moments of crisis – but he stopped himself from doing it. He deleted her number instead and made Wonwoo stay in the cabin with Seungcheol with the excuse of going out to look for survivors. This was his new project. 

He found all the boys in different states. Hansol and Seungkwan had been together, sharing a backpack and taking turns doing night watches. Jeonghan and Joshua were tree dwellers, and they’d hung around Minghao and Junhui often enough to lead Mingyu to the cavern they were all sleeping in. Seokmin had been the ray of light for Soonyoung, the both of them attempting to stay positive throughout their scavenging, and he remembers how Soonyoung burst into tears after eating a piece of fish roasted by Mingyu. He’d found Jihoon on the west end of the mountain – carrying nothing but a bottle of water and a notebook, a pen slotted over his ear. Chan had been the fastest to warm up to him, badly bruised from several tumbles out of trees and all sorts of scraped up.  

Then he found you – tired, hungry, and hurt. In jeans, and alone. Your eyes were distrusting, but there was something in them that made his heart lose that normal cadence he’d been so used to. The arch of your brows when he walked closer, the curve of your lips when you quipped back with a quickness he was not used to, and it made his head spin. The way your lashes kissed your cheeks as you slept... 

The way your hands felt. Soft despite a couple scrapes, but you moved them with a flair only an artist has. You spoke coolly, your expressions fitting every word spilling from your lips perfectly. You were smart and convincing, and riddled with guilt. You were weighed down with the guilt of not graduating, of not making it to Germany, of not seeing your parents one last time. Of not knowing what you’re doing – even when none of it is your fault. 

Mingyu thinks he’s fallen in love with you at first sight. 

“Why are you awake?” Your voice is raspy against his chest, his brows jumping as he glances down at you. Your eyes are barely open as you press a kiss to his skin, a terrible blush crawling up his cheeks and ears as he tries to respond. You shake your head slightly, patting his hip with your hand, “cat got your tongue?” 

“Sorry.”  “Answer the question, guy.”  “Just...thinking, princess.” 

You hum, carefully sitting up and looking down at him. Your hair is in disarray as you run a hand over your face, blinking a few times before tilting your head at him, “about?” 

“You.” 

He can see your face go through a range – confusion, contentment, skepticism. It settles on something he can’t quite put his finger on, but you shrug, “what about me?” 

“Anything and everything.”  “What, am I the girl of your dreams?” 

Your brow is raised, and Mingyu can’t seem to find the words as you cross your arms. Your eyes are expectant, but Mingyu averts his attention to the ceiling fan – following the lazy spin of it when he feels you move closer, throwing your leg over his hip and hovering over his face. 

“What’s your deal, Kim?” You ask, your hair falling into your face as he smiles. He reaches up, tucking it behind your ears as you carefully swat his hands away, “tell me!” 

“Go to bed, pretty. We’ve got a long day tomorrow.” He leans up, pressing a kiss on the corner of your lips. You huff, your lips pouted as you get off him and lie down on your side, facing away from him. He rolls his eyes, turning over before wrapping his arm around your waist and pulling your back to his chest. You don’t resist, but you don’t look over your shoulder as you make a show of closing your eyes and huffing again, before he presses his lips to the back of your neck. 

“Good night, sweetness.”  “Shut up.” 

Mingyu cannot believe he’s fallen in love with you.  In three days, no less. 

MINGYU DOESN'T KNOW IF LIGHT EXISTED BEFORE HE MET YOU. 

Well, of course it did.  

Maybe not as bright, not as welcoming, not as warm or moody. Maybe not in the way the sun illuminated your skin at dawn, seeping through the blinds and casting patterns on the curves of your nude frame. Maybe not in the way your eyes twinkled every time you looked at him, a shy smile pulling at the corners of your lips as you physically blocked him out of your view with your hand to finish whatever you were doing. Maybe not in the way your laugh rang out through the cabin and made his skin prickle, and maybe not in the way that he can't sleep when you're still awake because he swears, he can see your face through his closed eyes. 

He didn’t really know what the feeling was, but something stirred in his stomach every time he saw a sliver of skin when you stretched. Every time he saw you settle in your chair to eat dinner, every time you eagerly climbed four flights of stairs just to flop on his bed and make out until you were both too turned on to ignore it. 

You turned into a different person then. Sure, you were confident, cocky even on a regular basis — but there was something that changed. You became an enchantress of sorts, and he couldn't bring himself to say no to you even if it meant he ruined his sweatpants and his sheets over and over again getting you off, even overstimulating you to the point of tears. He won't say no, because he loves the way his face grows hot when you say his name all sorts of low and raspy and how you didn't bother closing the door all the way anymore, your sounds bouncing off the walls shamelessly.  He kind of liked that someone got sent up to slam his bedroom door shut every night. 

It’s been three years since he met you in the woods.  

Things had progressed slowly in the beginning, but he knew how you felt by the way you settled in his arms at the end of the night. You would kiss him good night, you would invite him in the shower with you, you would crawl into his lap if he was sitting somewhere – even if he was in front of the guys. No one said anything as you settled into his chest, his arms immediately pulling you closer as he continued his conversations. 

And he felt something settle in his belly when he saw you getting along well with the guys. You became a master at beating Jeonghan at cards, and you would spend hours just sitting with Minghao in one of the basement corners talking about anything and everything. Soonyoung, Seokmin and Seungkwan would rope you into their hooting and hollering, and you would find an escape in Joshua or Wonwoo once your ears hurt from all the yelling. You, Hansol and Chan grew accustomed to falling asleep on the couch while watching old movies, piled on top of each other, and Seungcheol would be the one to throw a blanket over you. You added a touch of something to the group, but he found himself quietly staring at you from across the room when you would settle in the breakfast nook.  

That was when you looked the calmest, other than right before bed. There was always a cup of untouched coffee sitting on the table, and a handful of blue pencils you’d found in Your knees would be pulled to your chest and holding a sketchpad he’d found in the back of his closet, specifically after you said you were bored while hanging off the edge of his bed two weeks into your time at the cabin – and you’d been glued to it. You’d flip it closed if he came too close, and you would leave it in your room and hide your key if you were doing something else. 

You’d left for Germany six months ago, with a snug ring on your hand that meant you had someone back home waiting for you. 

The country had fallen back in order, almost too soon after you’d situated yourselves in the cabin. Community clean-ups were organized as the same labs downtown tried to find any way to fix the damage caused. They were out billions of dollars, and eventually, things fell back into place. Hospitals were rebuilt, airports were reconstructed, and travel was reinstated. Diplomas and degrees were awarded to seniors who had been on track to graduate before the outbreak, and Mingyu watched you try on your cap and gown with a satisfied little smile. 

And you got an email a few months later – congratulating you on your graduation and telling you that your internship in Berlin was awaiting your arrival.  

Mingyu remembers it like it was yesterday – you’d almost thrown up out of excitement before something settled in the back of your eyes. Uncertainty, worry. 

Guilt. 

“It’s only six months,” Mingyu whispered as he cradled you in his arms, pressing a kiss on your temple as you cried quietly. “It’ll fly by and it’ll be like you never left.” 

You were on a plane the very next week. You held determination in your eyes then, even when glossed with a layer of hot tears that you refused to let spill. Until you got to Berlin and called him every night for a week straight – trying not to sob as he gave you updates on himself and the guys, and showed you designs. He’d been hired to do a few projects around the city, finally putting a little extra cash into his pocket. 

“You’re almost home, just a few more days.” Mingyu had reassured you just yesterday, as he looked down at the designs on his workbench. Your designs – the ones you’d hidden before you rolled them up the week you left and handed them over at the airport. 

“A project for us.” You’d said, and he’d peeled them open (per your instruction) once you were in the air and on your way to Berlin.  It’d been a perfect mix of your design and his old one – two floors, enough rooms to fit his sister and now, many brothers. A kitchen big enough for an island and to hold an annoying amount of boisterous people shouting about how hungry they are, and still – a cozy breakfast nook, one a lot like the cabin had: where you used sidle up to Mingyu and steal off his plate, kiss his bare shoulder, ask for a kiss. And his porch swing – big enough to fit you, him...and hopefully, a growing family. 

“How’s the house comin’ along?” Seungcheol asks, holding his daughter above his head as Mingyu crosses his arms on his chest. “Looks about done to me.” 

“It is done,” Mingyu nods, “just need to furnish. Paint, too...but Y/N is home soon, and I don’t think I’ll have enough time to move everything alone. She might wanna help, anyway, so I guess it’s fine.” 

He feels his throat tight as he speaks, nibbling on his lip as he glances over at Seungcheol, who has a warm smile on his face, “thanks for helping me out. I thought I was going to lose my mind without her.” 

“You put on a brave face for the woman you love, it’s only natural you freak out once she’s actually gone. Plus...I think you got most of the jitters out when you put that ring on her finger. Nice job.” He shrugs, clicking his tongue as he looks up at the house again and turns his daughter to face it, “can you believe Uncle Mingyu’s gonna make you a big house like this one? You get a room all to yourself, I never had one of those.” 

Mingyu snorts, “I never said I’d make you one.” 

“And jealousy is a disease.” Mingyu stiffens, his fingers on his biceps tightening as he hears a car door slam behind them. Seungcheol smiles inwardly, hiding his face in his daughter’s hair as she lets out a string of incoherent babbling, something that sounds a lot like Y/N amongst it. 

“And to think, I was going to ask you to design it.” Seungcheol teases as Mingyu forces himself to peek over his shoulder – seeing Chan smiling brightly as he unpacks the trunk of Seungcheol’s SUV. Tears blur his vision as Seungcheol’s hand moves to squeeze his shoulder, the rough denim of your jacket rubbing against his arms as you wrap your arms around his waist. 

“Where are your manners, Kim Mingyu? No hello for your fiancée?” He covers his face as he sniffles, and Seungcheol’s rickety laugh is heard as you sway Mingyu from side to side with all your strength. You squeeze him, “aren’t you happy to see me? I wanted to surprise you!” 

He wipes his face haphazardly, taking a deep breath before turning around and almost crushing you in his embrace. Your arms wrap gently around his neck as he buries his face in your hair, breathing in the soft scent of your shampoo that he’d missed so much.  

“I’m gonna put your bags inside,” Chan announces, “since Mingyu’s gonna cry—” 

“Shut up, pipsqueak. When you find a girl worth waiting for, you’ll cry, too.” Seungcheol snaps, balancing his daughter on his hip before grabbing your duffel out of the front seat. “Take your time, lovers.” 

Chan is heard in the distance asking why Seungcheol can tease you but not him, paired with a heavy hit of something and an oof as you tap Mingyu’s shoulders, “I can’t breathe.” 

“Just a little bit more,” he murmurs, albeit loosening his grip as you suck in a breath, “I thought I was dying.” 

“Pft, you can’t die without me, Gyu. Also, I bought a Switch in Germany. We’re playing Super Mario Odyssey and reliving the days we met, because I had a dream you didn’t find me and I cried.” You ramble, “we should get together with the guys, and we should order pizza, I’m starving. I missed you, did you miss me? Oh, and I—” 

Mingyu stops you with a kiss, cupping your face gently and pulling away before it can turn greedy. Your eyes are wide, “are you okay?” 

“Do you still hate burl?”  “Absolutely.” 

“Okay, good. Had to make sure Berlin didn’t change your morals,” he mumbles against your lips, pressing another kiss to them before holding you close, “I missed you.” 

Your smile is shy as you let him card his fingers through your hair, looking up at him through your lashes, “I love you.” 

“I love you more.” He peppers kisses to the top of your head, and he’s sure you can feel him smiling as he presses his lips to your cheeks and forehead, “let me show you the house.” 

You nod excitedly, grabbing his hand and leading the two of you up the porch steps. He shamelessly looks at the fit of your jeans on your hips, “do you remember when I posed the question of whether or not the virus was zoonotic?” 

“Yes, and yes, my ass is hypnotic. That is precisely why I wore these jeans. God, Mingyu. Get with the program, learn my moves!” You scoff, and he ignores the bickering he hears in the newly built kitchen as he pulls you into one of the downstairs bedrooms, his hands tight on your waist. 

“I love you, I love you, I love you.” He presses you against the door, his lips traveling the side of your face before meeting your lips in chaste, flirty kisses before resting his forehead against you. “I missed you, so much.” 

“Enough to catch me a fish, guy?” You laugh, tucking your hands into the back pockets of his jeans, making him roll his eyes. 

“Enough to catch you a million, princess.” 

HAOLOGRAM © 2025 || no translations, reposting or modifications are allowed. do not claim as your own. viewer discretion is advised. your media consumption is your responsibility.

[gyuiebabie]

angsty fluffy or smutty mingyu prompts pleaseeeeeee 🥹😝👋

[wongyuseokie-deactivated2026010]

Exile | k.m.g

Summary: You two were high school sweethearts, and your love story was something only found in the scripts of a shitty teenage rom-com, but he was a jock, and you were shy and quiet. It shouldn’t have worked, but somehow it did. Now, fast forward ten years, and things aren’t the same. Your lives aren’t the same; he’s stuck in the past, and you only focus on the future. Neither of you has your priorities straight, and neither realises that your present is a complete and utter mess. You won’t let him go because he’s all you’ve ever known, and he won’t let you go because you’re the only thing right in his life, but will love and high school promises keep you two together?

☆ 18+ minors dni |☀︎fluff | ☁︎ angst | ♕smut | ♥ completed works

Word Count: 20,221 words

Pairings: Kim Mingyu x Female Reader Genre/Trope(s)/AU(s): Slice of Life AU! Fluff, Angst, Smut (the holy trinity, if you will) 

Content Warnings: Slice of Life AU! (don’t say I didn’t warn you; this won’t be a nice one, or will it hee-hee). Yelling, swearing, crying, arguments. Couples counselling–do note I am not an actual therapist. I just write fiction. Incredibly angsty. Body insecurities and mentions of blood are not much or graphic. Smut Warnings: unprotected sex (don’t do this). Fingering, oral (male and female receiving). Multiple orgasms, squirting, hand jobs. Use of sex toys. Hickies. Dry humping. Mingyu cums in his trousers (but like, what can I say? He’s in love). Shower sex.   Authors Note 1: This is a Seventeen rewrite of an old fic of mine, so if it looks familiar, that’s why hehe. 

Author’s Note 2: Thank you to my darling @the-boy-meets-evil for beta'ing this despite being so busy. I love you dearly. Part of the Broken Illusions Stories

© wongyuseokie 2024. All rights reserved.

“Okay, I kept my mouth shut the entire dinner, but honey, this is the fifth time you’ve been back home since you and Mingyu moved in together, and I still see no ring. No signs of a marriage, nothing,” your mother started to say as she sipped her wine, making you groan as you took a large gulp of yours. 

“Can we not ruin every trip back home with this?” You moaned, and your mother shrugged. 

“I’m ruining nothing, but honey, ten years, and you two still aren’t engaged or together. As a mother, I want to know you have stability,” your mother spoke, looking down at the red-coloured liquid in her glass. 

“I don’t need a husband for stability,” you bit back, making your mother raise her brow in disapproval at you with your tone. 

“I never said that, but how long do you two just plan on dating? You two have moved in and been together for ten years. Now? Honey, he hasn’t even come back to visit the last two times you came,” your mother continued explaining, making you groan. 

“I’m thinking he dodged a bullet,” you mumbled, earning a sigh from your mother. 

“Besides, he hasn’t even proposed, so why should I pressure him?” You suggested, and your mother frowned at you. 

“You could ask him?” Your mother offered gently, and you sighed deeply.

“Or are you like him? Dragging your feet?” Your mother questioned, and you shrugged. 

“We’re comfortable. Why is that not enough for you?” You asked, genuinely wondering why your mother always brought this topic up.

“Is it enough for you? To be comfortable? If that’s what you are willing to settle for, then sure, but my love, comfort is fine, but it’s dangerous. When you’re too comfy in a relationship, you take every second for granted, and you think it’ll last forever, and you get lazy,” your mother lectured, making you roll your eyes at her. 

“Can you stop projecting your marriage or failed marriage onto my thriving relationship?” You asked immediately, feeling guilt surge through your veins at your harsh words. 

Your mother only ever wanted to help you. 

“Mum,” you started to say, stopping when she held a hand up to stop you. 

“It’s because of my failed marriage I can spot the warning signs from a mile away. I’m not saying you and Mingyu will be a repeat of what your father and I were, but if you don’t get clarity on where you two stand, you’ll always be in the grey with him,” your mother explained before finishing off her drink. 

“I don’t need him to prove anything to me, but when was the last time you spoke about the future?” Your mother asked, and you fumbled to give her an answer and came up blank, making your mother only sigh more. 

“Get some rest. You have an early train to catch tomorrow. This is food for thought,” your mother said kindly before standing up to hug you and heading upstairs. 

You sighed deeply, took in the night sky, and thought hard. 

You and Mingyu stopped discussing the future when he kissed you at sixteen. Sure, you two were young, but you knew in your heart he was the one. But as your relationship progressed, Mingyu seemed to hold onto the past, and anytime the future would come up, he’d change topics and walk away, and if he tried to reminisce, you’d walk away. 

You two were in different tenses, but neither of you ever wanted to acknowledge the present. 

The present, where the last time you two had a date night was five months ago, and the last time he made love to you—properly, not just a quick fuck or a sloppy blowjob—but the last time he was intimate with you, was also five months ago. The present you and Mingyu shared looked like a foreshadowing of a hollow future. You let out a frustrated groan. 

You and Mingyu had to talk if you wanted to save whatever you two had, but why did it feel like a part of you had already let go?

“Sweetie, the wine may have made me too bold, and I apologise for overstepping. Your relationship is none of my business,” your mother apologised for the fifth time that day, and the most recent apology was in the car on the way to the train station. 

“It’s fine. I guess you’re not wrong. You did give me a lot to think about. I got defensive because I’ve felt distant from him, we’ve both not had the time, and I guess I felt like you were calling me out when I know that’s not the case,” you admitted, and your mother gave you a soft smile before turning back to look at the road. 

“It’s like a bandaid; maybe he feels the same, and a talk will help, but keeping it in your head, where your demons lie, that’s the worst, so just rip it off and let the wound heal with time,” your mother said wisely making you smile. 

“If anything goes wrong, I’m always a safe place for you to come home to,” your mother added, and you nodded at her, thanking her profusely as you hugged her goodbye. While you appreciated her offer, you did not want to be back here sobbing and seeking refuge in a week. 

 You shook your head, trying to free yourself of the thoughts taking over your mind, taunting you, that you and Mingyu were destined to end. 

You two would be fine; you both survived high school and university and would continue to do so in the long run, but one question kept plaguing your mind. 

Why was the main aim to survive? 

Why wasn’t it to rekindle the flame? 

Why did it feel so desperate, and why did he feel so far away? ~~ Warning Signs  ~~

It felt weird. That’s the first thing you noted the minute you placed your hand on the doorknob of your apartment. You usually didn’t notice such insignificant details, but the doorknob felt cold.

Was it a preemptive sign that you’d be greeted with coldness from Mingyu? 

Or was it the frost that had settled over your relationship that made everything you touched feel cold?

You drew in a deep breath for courage, something to face him. You knew him forever and didn’t know where the sudden apprehension came from. Why did it all feel so difficult? 

“Baby!” You were greeted with Mingyu yelling. His arms moved to wrap around your waist and carried you as he planted a soft kiss on your lips. 

“Missed you,” Mingyu mumbled against your lips, making you smile, but that moment was short-lived when you saw the state of the house. 

“What’s wrong? I know I didn’t do anything, considering you just walked in?” Mingyu joked, placing you down on the floor. 

“The house is a state. You knew I was coming home today. Why is it such a mess?” You complained, and Mingyu frowned, following you into the living room. 

“Why don’t you nap, and I’ll clean up?” Mingyu offered, and you shook your head. 

“How would I sleep if you’re cleaning up? It’d be noisy, jeez, Mingyu. You know it’s not rocket science to keep a household together,” you nagged, making him frown at you. 

“Why are you like this? You just walked into the house and started bitching, I thought you’d update me about how the trip was, but instead, you’re here kicking up a fuss,” Mingyu threw back, and you rolled your eyes at him. 

“A fuss? Mingyu, there’s nothing to update. All I got was the third degree about why my boyfriend of ten years can’t commit to anything more. Coming home, I realised her concerns were warranted because you’re still that kid, Mingyu. You wanted to be composed and strong, but even vocalising a future without him hurt you. You need to grow up because I don’t know how long I can keep doing this,” your voice faltered at your last words. 

“Wow, why don’t you tell me how you feel?” Mingyu mocked sarcastically, and you knew what he was doing. He was using his pride to cover his hurt, and you hated this quality of his. It made him annoying and standoffish. 

“I’m so over this. When you want to grow up and have a conversation like an adult, find me, but I’m taking a nap, and once I’m done, I’ll clean up; don’t bother helping. I’m used to cleaning up your messes for you,” you spat, knowing your words hit Mingyu hard. There is so much venom lacing your comments, piercing Mingyu’s heart. 

“The bedroom, you should sleep in the guest room. It’s a mess in our bedroom,” Mingyu mumbled, and you rolled your eyes at him, scoffing. 

“Of course it fucking is. What in this house isn’t a mess?” You asked, making Mingyu look down to the ground. You knew you had gone too far, but you had to make him hear you, and sadly, he only heard you when you were like this. 

“Whatever, I’m going to take a nap,” you mumbled, not having the energy to fight any longer as sleep started seeping into your bones. 

You awoke a couple feeling extraordinarily guilty and groggy, but Mingyu should have known better. You never needed the house to look perfect, but it should have been clean. Or livable, like adults.  

You groaned, deciding to get out of bed and shower before starting the housework. At least it’d wake you up a bit. Since you were in the guestroom, you couldn’t find anything else to wear except one of Mingyu’s oversized shirts, and while you wanted to be petty and not put on anything that resembled him, you knew you were taking it too far. 

You sighed, putting on his shirt, smiling at you wrapped up in his clothes, taking in his scent. You never told him, but it always felt like he hugged you tightly, keeping you safe whenever you wore his clothes. They were like a security blanket, one you needed desperately because the owner of the clothes lately gave you no assurance about the relationship. 

“Mingyu?” You spoke as you stepped out into the hallway and walked into the living room. It was neat, clean, and tidy, and you immediately felt guilty. Mingyu didn’t deserve your harsh words; he would eventually get the job done, but that’s the problem. It was inevitable, and you didn’t know if you could wait any longer. 

You walked towards your shared bedroom to find Mingyu fluffing the pillows and jumping slightly when you touched his back, startling him. 

“Sorry, you woke up early, nearly done,” Mingyu rambled, and your heart broke when you heard his voice crack and took in his swollen, red eyes and puffy nose. 

“Baby,” you cooed, and Mingyu glared at you, jerking away from your touch. 

“Don’t call me that. I’m not a fucking kid,” Mingyu spat as he threw the pillow onto the bed and walked over to his side of the bed and sat down, and you crawled onto the bed and sat between his thighs, making him look at you.

“I’m so sorry, I was frustrated,” you apologised, and Mingyu scoffed. 

“You used all my insecurities, our past, and the fights we’ve had against me, and that sucked. You called me a kid. You insinuated that I couldn’t keep a household together when I’ve fought tirelessly for us for the past ten years,” Mingyu exclaimed in annoyance, his words making you snap. 

“No, you didn’t fight for us; you fought just to have the idea of us, but you got comfortable, but that’s all you’ve ever done. You’ve never taken the next step,” you cried out, and Mingyu groaned. 

“You’re insane. I fought, kept up with your life, adjusted mine, and did all that because I love you, but I don’t know what else to do because clearly, nothing I do is enough for you,” Mingyu answered, his voice getting softer. 

“You’re right, you did, but you stopped and got comfortable fuck, Mingyu. I don’t know if you see a future with me. You’ve given me no indication,” you started to say, earning a glare from Mingyu. 

“What do you want me to propose?” Mingyu asked, making you glare at him. 

“Not like this, and not because I forced you,” you added, and Mingyu groaned, getting off the bed and fiddling around in the drawer next to you. 

“I was going to do it tonight,” Mingyu admitted calmly as he tossed a black velvet box onto the bed. 

“What?” You asked, and Mingyu rolled his eyes at your confused expression. 

“I was going to give you forever tonight, but you never fucking wait, do you? You always rush into the future without caring for what you leave behind. You’ve been five steps ahead of me for so long, and forgive me if I slipped up somewhere along the way, but I got tired of running after you when you’re so ready to let go of me,” Mingyu answered tearfully. 

Mingyu plopped down on the bed, his back to you, his head hanging low. You could hear him take in shuddered breaths, and your heart broke because you knew you had hurt him this time. 

“Mingyu,” you started to say, moving simultaneously to place a hand on his shoulder, making him look at you with teary eyes as he turned around to sit on the edge of the bed to face you. 

“I know I’m not everything you want in a partner. I just thought our love would be stronger. That it would conquer everything, that you’d love me harder than our problems? I know I did, but I guess that’s how immature I am because I guess that’s not reality,” Mingyu lamented, and even though you knew his words could be misconstrued to hurt you, that wasn’t the case. He was thinking out loud. 

“Mingyu,” you repeated, making him sigh as he moved back to sit against the headboard, patting the space between his thighs again. This time, you moved to sit between them quickly, your hands moving to pull him into a tight embrace.

“I’m so sorry,” you mumbled into Mingyu’s hair as you patted his back, moving as he cried into the embrace. 

“For what?” Mingyu mumbled, his voice thick with emotion. 

“For ruining a proposal?” Mingyu asked, letting out a dry laugh as he pulled away from the embrace, wiping his tears away and staring at you. 

“You didn’t. I guess this fight was bound to happen fuck. I knew we were falling apart, but I foolishly thought that if I ignored our problems or loved you harder, then it’d be okay, we’d be okay,” Mingyu admitted, placing a hand on your cheek and wiping away a tear. You hadn’t realised you were crying until he wiped away the tears. 

“But I only did one thing. I only ignored our problems, and I know I only ignored you. I love you more than life, but I failed to show you how much, and now I’m hoping that a shiny ring will fix it all, and I know it won’t,” Mingyu continued to speak, taking a deep breath before speaking. 

“I’ve used up all my good graces, that I’m sure of, but can we try? One more time? Please? I don’t think I can let you go, not yet. I don’t think I can ever let you go, but if you give me one more chance, my love. I’ll try, and if it’s over, I’ll let you go. Don’t give up on me,” Mingyu begged, and you nodded. 

“Mingyu, I’m so sorry. I should have conveyed my feelings to you in a healthier manner instead of simply yelling. Everything I heard from my mum this weekend was in my mind, and I couldn’t get it out. I just kept going over it, again and again, and I hated it, and I guess I just took it out all on you, and I’m so sorry,” you apologised, cradling his face in your hands. 

“No, it’s okay. I think we both saw this fight coming. I guess it’s easier to rip off the bandaid?” Mingyu joked, a sad smile adorning his handsome face. 

“I just felt so far away from you, so distant, and I guess when everyone questioned me about the integrity of my relationship. It just annoyed me, and instead of talking to you, I lashed out, and I’m sorry for that,” you apologised, meaning every word. 

“I love you; I do. I know I haven’t been good at showing it, fuck, our last date was five months ago,” Mingyu started to say, and you knew he’d begin to spiral if you didn’t shut him up in the best way you knew. 

“Mingyu,” you said softly, making him look at you as you inched closer and crawled onto his lap, his hands naturally finding your waist. 

“We’ll talk, and we’ll be okay,” you encouraged before placing your lips onto his, making him melt into your touch. His hand moved from your waist to rest on the hem of your shit, well, his shirt, but he didn’t care.

“Fuck,” Mingyu groaned as you moved your lips away from his to latch onto his neck, kissing the soft skin, gently nipping it, leaving faint marks, and running your tongue over the spots you bit. 

“Baby, if you keep doing that,” Mingyu started to say as you pulled away from his neck to peel the shirt off your body, leaving you in your underwear. 

“I know we have a lot to talk about, and sex isn’t going to fix anything, but I do, for once, want to feel close to you again. I want to be loved by you,” you admitted, and Mingyu nodded, understanding what you meant as he got off the bed and peeled off his clothes. 

“You’re so fucking hot,” you blurted out, making Mingyu laugh. 

“Ten years and you still think I’m hot?” Mingyu asked, and you smiled fondly at him. 

“You’re always the most handsome man to me, doesn’t matter how many years,” you admitted, making Mingyu smile at you. 

“Lie down on your back, princess. I need to show you just how much I love you,” Mingyu instructed, and you nodded, quickly adjusting yourself until you were lying down on the bed, head on the pillow, making Mingyu grin at you as he crawled between your legs. 

Mingyu leaned forward, wrapping his lip around your nipple while his other hand massaged your other breast. Mingyu moved his mouth to your other breast and flicked and licked your nipples until they were hard. 

Mingyu gave them a final flick, earning a whimper from you.  “Oh, the sounds you make for me. I like them,” Mingyu praised as he reached for your panties. Mingyu pulled them off and threw them across the room. Mingyu rolled his eyes and parted your legs, and placed a soft kiss on your clit, making you buck your hips into his mouth. 

Mingyu ran his tongue along your slit. He wrapped his arms around your thighs, interlocking them at your stomach. Mingyu smirked against your pussy, knowing that he could eat you out for ages in this position, and you wouldn’t be able to move, and all you could do was fall apart on his tongue repeatedly.

This is precisely what Mingyu intended to do as he flicked your clit with his tongue, then wrapped his mouth around your clit, his tongue tracing circles along the swollen nub. Mingyu kept licking you, his pace never faltering, and his rhythm never changing. 

“Fucking hell,” you moaned as you threw your head back in pleasure. 

“So good,” you praised, making Mingyu smirk, continuing his movements, making you shake in his grip. 

“Mingyu,” you cried out in pleasure as you fell apart on his tongue, but Mingyu didn’t stop just because you came. He kept going, sucking on your clit as you rode your orgasm on his tongue. 

“Fuck, Mingyu,” you whimpered as he kept licking you, you were sure you were wailing, but you didn’t care. 

Not when you were on the precipice of your second orgasm. Your second orgasm hit you harder, and your hands moved to his head as you gently pushed his mouth away from your cunt. Mingyu smiled at you, taking in your fucked out expression.

You sat up abruptly, reaching out to touch his hard cock, but Mingyu stopped you. 

“Not tonight. I need to feel you, my love,” he said as he took his cock in his hands and moved to line it up along your pussy. 

“Fuck,” you gasped out as he entered you. It had been, so you two had sex, so the stretch was a slight shock but one you’d gladly welcome.  “Baby, you’re so tight, fuck,” Mingyu hissed as he pushed in further, making you clench around him immediately. You moaned as Mingyu bent down to pull you into a kiss as he started to thrust into you. 

You groaned and babbled nonsense as Mingyu pounded into you, moving his hand down to rub your clit as he fucked you. 

“Fuck,” you choked out, holding onto his toned arms. 

“Cum, pretty girl,” Mingyu encouraged as his fingers moved faster against your clit, making you shake and tighten on his cock. 

You held onto his muscular arms, “cum, baby,” Mingyu spoke breathlessly, making you shake and tighten around him. It felt incredible, making Mingyu groan as you came around him. 

“Fuck, fuck,” Mingyu chanted as he pounded into you, groaning as he buried his head between your breasts as he came. Mingyu placed a soft kiss on your lips, slowly pulling out of you. 

“That was amazing,” you muttered. Mingyu smiled as he laid down next to you and pulled you into his toned chest,

“I’m not saying this to avoid anything, but I know I skipped every step to make things right,” Mingyu said, pulling away gently from you.  

“Look, you’ve had a long journey home and a shitty welcome back. I ordered dinner. It should be here soon. Help yourself. Why don’t we chat tomorrow?” Mingyu offered, and you nodded at him. 

Mingyu smiled softly as he moved closer to you and kissed your forehead softly. 

“We’ll be okay,” he said with a smile, except you didn’t know if you could believe him. 

Despite the mind-blowing sex, you had just opened a bandaid that held in ten years of hurt. 

Now it was open. You would have to feel every burn and sting before you two could heal, and what if that wound was too far gone to recover?

 What if there was no saving you two?

~~ You Were My Crown  ~~

“Morning,” you mumbled to Mingyu the following day when he walked into the kitchen, hair wet, fresh out of the shower, handsome as always. 

“Hey,” Mingyu replied, walking over to kiss your forehead, smiling fondly at you as he sighed, sitting down on one of the counters by the kitchen island. 

“So, I was thinking that after last night, as amazing as it was, we should talk,” Mingyu said, and you pouted, nodding. 

While you did want to just bask in the bliss and romance of last night with him, you knew if you kept pushing your feelings down, then there would be no saving you two, so you decided to sit across from him, making him grin as he placed a business card on your lap. 

“A divorce attorney? Hate to break to you, but we aren’t married,” you joked as you picked up the card. 

“Oh, couples counselling?” You said aloud, reading the card, and Mingyu nodded at you. 

“I got this from one of my Hyung. They said that when they were about almost to call it quits with their partner, they went here, and even if it was painful and made them feel vulnerable, it’s the only thing that kept them together,” Mingyu explained, placing a hand on your knee. 

“You think we’re that far gone that we need professional help?” You asked with a dry laugh, and Mingyu shrugged. 

“I don’t think we’re too far gone, but we’ve been together for so many years that I don’t think it’d be too shocking if we’re both holding in a lot and not being straight up with each other, at times and I don’t want what happened last night to happen again. I don’t want us holding things in and exploding,” Mingyu answered calmly. 

“Even if the sex was amazing,” Mingyu added, making you smile at him. 

“Okay, shall we sort out an appointment or what?” You asked, making Mingyu smile sheepishly at you. 

“I kind of already sorted a slot out for us. They open early. They got us a slot today at 4 pm. Is that okay?” Mingyu asked, and you nodded at him. 

“Should I take it as a good sign that you’re so eager to fix us? Or a bad sign that you’re so ready to vent about me?” You joked, making Mingyu pout at you. 

“A good sign; I love you so much, and I’ll be damned if I let you go without a fight,” Mingyu answered. 

“Let me go?” You repeated.

“I mean if you want out and realise you deserve better after all this, I guess I’ll let you go,” Mingyu mumbled, unable to look at you. His answering, albeit genuine, made you scoff at him. 

“Wow, nice to see your resignation already,” you muttered, making Mingyu sigh deeply. 

“I’m not giving up, but tell me you don’t already have one foot out the door?” Mingyu asked, making you baulk at him. 

“Why would you even think that?” You asked, and Mingyu rolled his eyes at you, letting out a humourless chuckle. 

“You weren’t here, but a gift hamper did arrive from your boss, and while I never snoop, the card was stuck on the hamper. It was a card nudging you to take the plunge and be a manager. Across the world. Might I add? When were you going to tell me?” Mingyu asked, and you sighed. 

“You said you didn’t want to hear about work at home, remember?” You fired back, and Mingyu groaned. 

“I told you that five months ago when I had just lost my job, I wanted you to be able to speak to me. I don’t want surprises like that,” Mingyu gritted, and you sighed. 

“So I’m meant to be able to read your mind?” You asked, and Mingyu shook his head. 

“It’d be so much easier, wouldn’t it? You never give me a warning ever. You just fucking blindside me, you did this with this apartment, and you did it with this possible promotion,” Mingyu fumed, making you blink at him. 

“Look, can we just save this for the therapist?” Mingyu said, inhaling deeply, and you nodded at him, unable to speak. 

The apartment? You thought to yourself. Mingyu was elated when you brandished the new keys three years ago. Just how much had he held in, and for how long? 

You were ignoring Mingyu for the rest of the day. Even when he came to get you to go to the therapist’s office, you glared at him, ignoring his outstretched hand, walked past him to your car and waited impatiently for him to get in so you could drive to the therapist’s office. 

“Can you at least wait for me to put my seatbelt on? Before you start driving?” Mingyu asked sarcastically, annoyance lacing his words. 

“Not my fault you’re fucking slow,” you bit back. You weren’t even sure what you were mad about, the fact that the gift ambushed him and didn’t give you a chance to explain. You felt guilty, and instead of speaking to him about that, you thought it’d be best to mask your hurt with insults. 

“So, fucking slow,” Mingyu muttered, buckling himself in, and you started to drive once he was safely fastened. 

“So, fucking slow, I’m always behind, aren’t I? I never know what you’re up to, or maybe that’s because you’re too fast,” Mingyu spat out in annoyance. 

“I waited for you to put your seatbelt on, right?” You retorted weakly, making Mingyu scoff at you. 

“That’s the only time you’ve waited for me, and if killing me wasn’t a crime, then I’m sure you would have driven off without a care for me,” Mingyu fumed, making you cower in your seat.

Is that what he thought of you? 

You tried not to let it show. You tried not to let the hurt show, but you couldn’t hold it in once you were in the parking lot of the therapist’s office. 

“We can get out, you know?” Mingyu sassed, earning a choked sob from you. 

“Is that what you think of me? I’m so busy trying to move ahead that I’d leave you for dead?” You asked, staring at Mingyu; your eyes blurred with tears, and your heart ached at Mingyu’s words. 

“Y/N, I’m sorry, I just fuck. I got frustrated,” Mingyu started to say, earning a glare from you.

“I get frustrated too, and you know, especially with you and our situation, but I have never once wished that you were dead. I wish we’d stop fighting and we were on the same page, sure, but dead? Fuck you, Mingyu,” you cried out, making Mingyu frown as he reached over to undo your seatbelt and pulled you across the console onto his lap. 

“I hate that you even could think of that. How could you think I would even want you dead?” You asked, smacking your fists childishly against his chest, making him pout as he took your hands into his. 

“I’m sorry, I am. I did misspeak. In some shitty way, I feel like if you do ever leave me, then it sure as shit will feel like death,” Mingyu admitted making you frown. 

“Why are you so hell-bent on the idea that I will leave you?” You asked, annoyed at his rhetoric, that you’d leave him. 

“I don’t know. After last night, the way you lost it, I don’t blame you, but damn, can you blame me. As I said, the way you reacted last night hurt. While I’m not shocked, I can’t deny that it hurt, but that wasn’t an excuse for what I said,” Mingyu answered, and you nodded at him. 

“You’re damn right it wasn’t,” you choked out, making Mingyu smile softly at you. 

“How’s this when the therapist asks what my downfalls are? I’ll explain that I’m not great at filtering my thoughts?” Mingyu offered, cradling your face, and you pouted, nodding at him. 

“No, that’s unnecessary, just don’t say stupid shit like that,” you pouted, and Mingyu nodded, kissing your lips. 

“I won’t, I promise. Now shall we go before someone thinks that we’re fucking in the car?” Mingyu asked, a smile creeping onto his handsome face, and you nodded, giggling at him. 

“Would that be so bad?” You teased, and Mingyu smiled as he pulled you in for a kiss. 

“No, it wouldn’t, but our appointment is in ten minutes, so shall we?” Mingyu asked, and you nodded, placing a final kiss on his lips. 

“Let’s go,” Mingyu said, sneaking another kiss as you finally climbed out of the car. 

“Please make yourselves comfortable, and Doctor Kwan will be out to see you both in a minute,” the receptionist at the therapist’s office instructed you and Mingyu, and you both nodded before plopping onto the sofa. 

“This is so oddly comforting. I mean, the room, I thought it’d be like a doctor’s office, but it has a sofa and tissues and flowers on the wall,” you rambled nervously. 

“Yeah, I guess therapists want you to be comfortable, especially when you’re about to be very vulnerable for them,” Mingyu offered lamely, unable to come up with a proper answer. You saw him fidgeting and took his hands in yours. 

“Breathe. We’re here to work on ourselves. We’re going to be okay,” you said calmly, not entirely sure if what you said was a lie, but right now, you didn’t care if you had to lie to him. He was too jumpy.

“Mr & Mrs Kim, please accept my apologies. I just wanted to prepare the notes before we begin our session,” Dr. Kwan said as he sat across you two. 

“Well, you might want to apologise again. We aren’t married,” Mingyu said with a smile, but his voice had no real humour. You were prepared to ignore Mingyu’s quip until you saw him shoot a glare in your direction. 

“Oh, but we would have been, but tell me, Dr Kwan, am I meant to say yes when someone tosses a ring at me?” You shot back, and Mingyu scoffed, letting go of your hand and sinking into the couch. 

“We need your help because nothing I do is ever enough for her,” Mingyu spat out, making you groan. 

“Well, good to know what I’m walking into, Mr Kim. I should tell you that I most certainly knew you weren’t married. Often, couples hide their pain from their therapists, pretend it’s all good, and then tear each other apart behind closed doors. It was, hmm, call it a trick? This way, I can understand how temperamental and fragile this situation and I can provide and facilitate a safe space for you, too,” Dr Kwan explained, making Mingyu glare at him. 

“So, you made me insult my girlfriend for science?” Mingyu mocked, and you sighed. 

“No, he just pushed a button that I’d push, and you’d do the same behind closed doors, too, so instead of embarrassing me further, can you please shut up and let him work?” You asked curtly.  

“Okay, let me set a few ground rules before I get to work,” Dr Kwan started to say as Mingyu shot you a sad look. You immediately felt bad for snapping at him, but you couldn’t forget how ridiculous he was. 

 “Y/N, is it okay to address you by your first name?” Dr Kwan asked. You nodded.

“Mr Kim, is it okay to address you as Mingyu?” Dr Kwan asked, looking at Mingyu, and he hummed in response. 

“Perfect,” Dr Kwan said, leaning back. 

“As I was saying, rules. While I’m giving you guys a safe space to work things through, you must also be committed to ensuring this space stays safe. I appreciate anger, annoyance and frustration, but snarky, underhanded digs will not be tolerated or helped. Telling the other to shut up won’t help either. You can disagree and provide your perspective, but you will not interrupt or ignore each other and talk over one another. Can we agree to that?” Dr Kwan asked, staring at you both, and you nodded immediately.

“Good, now, let’s start. What made you fall in love with Mingyu?” Dr Kwan asked, immediately jumping into the session. You found it a little unorthodox but liked that he didn’t waste time with small talk. 

“We started dating in high school, months before graduation. He was a kind guy, and while he could have fit the bill of a stereotypical jock, he didn’t. He was humble, kind and grounded. I guess he was a jock with a heart,” you smiled softly, recalling that Mingyu was indeed just that. 

“He and I were paired up for a project, and I guess after we got our grades, I gave him a big hug, and somehow that hug turned into a kiss, and I guess, ten years later, here we are, in therapy,” your sweet tone fading and turning into a biter tone as you looked at the floor. 

“See, this is what she does, thinks of something nice and then fucks it up by following it up with some realistic bullshit. You were doing so well just reminiscing, and you couldn’t just stick to it?” Mingyu asked, his voice rising. 

“Another rule, no yelling,” Dr Kwan warned, making Mingyu groan. 

“She never lets us be happy long enough. She must always bring up something that kills the moment,” Mingyu added bitterly. 

“Then why are you with me if I’m such a killjoy?” you taunted, making Mingyu wipe away a tear. 

“Because I fucking love you because you’re so amazing and sure you’re persistent. The need to always think about the future is a pain. But I’m okay with it because I assumed I was part of that future, but I’m not sure if I still am recently,” Mingyu mumbled, making you groan. 

“You two need to hit reset. There’s a lot here, I want to see you both separately and together, but I need you two to try something for now. Throughout therapy, we will uncover a lot, a lot of love that you two have for each other, but we will also uncover a lot of pain and hurt, and I don’t want either of you not to have a space to cry it out, so can I suggest that for the next three months, we try something?” Dr Kwan offered, and you both nodded. 

“Anything to save us,” Mingyu mumbled, and you scooched over closer to him, placing your hand on his thigh, making him smile sweetly at you. 

“Ten years is a long time, and sometimes, you become accustomed to each other, which is wonderful, but it also means you hold in a lot. Anger, resentment and hurt, but because you’ve been together so long, you often suppress these emotions and hope they’ll go away, but they don’t. Instead, they linger like bad perfume, and it gets too much, and that’s where you two are now. I can see you are trying your best to hold onto the relationship, but you’re also scared, to be honest, for fear that it’ll go away, so here’s what I suggest,” Dr Kwan explained, pausing to take a sip of his water. 

“So, here’s what I propose, separate bedrooms for the next three months. You two can talk and kiss and be cuddly, but no sex because sex, as good as it may be, undoes a lot of the work, so if you two slip up, I won’t be mad, but it’s more work on your end. This process will take a lot out of you both, therapy, and it’s going to be new adjusting to a new dynamic, but it’s to allow you both a safe space to vent and to be you two have been with each other you’ve lost yourselves along the way, it’s time to find what you two are as individuals before you two can be a couple again,”

 “We never broke up. You know that, right?” Mingyu said, glaring at Dr. Kwan. 

“I’m aware, but you two are also just holding on, and I’m guessing that’s not enough?” Dr Kwan challenged, and Mingyu huffed out. 

“So, what we move out? Or one of us does?” Mingyu asked, continuing to glare at Dr. Kwan. 

“We have three bedrooms; we can just separate our stuff. We can each move into one of them for now,” you suggested, placing a hand on Mingyu’s thigh and making him look at you with sad eyes. 

“I just, I get that this is therapy, but why does it feel like you’re making us break up before we even have a chance,” Mingyu answered sadly, making you smile softly at him. 

“I’m telling you two to hit reset. You both need a fresh start, not away from each other, but you two need a break,” Dr Kwan answered softly, and Mingyu sighed, nodding. 

 “It’s three months, and we will evaluate every week. Is that good?” Dr. Kwan asked, and you nodded, noticing that Mingyu nodded slowly. 

“Three months, and we’ll be, okay?” Mingyu asked, turning to face you. 

“Yeah, we will,” you answered, unsure if you two would be, but you had to try.  

You had to try for him. 

For you.  ~~ I’m Not Your Problem Anymore  ~~

“So, that went well?” Mingyu said slowly, making you roll your eyes at his words as you kept driving. 

“The digs, the underhanded comments, you think that went well?” You asked, and Mingyu frowned. 

“You weren’t exactly a saint either,” Mingyu mumbled, and you sighed deeply. 

“Can we deal with this once we get home? I don’t fancy fighting while I’m driving,” you asked, and Mingyu hummed in response as he stared out the window, trying to pinpoint where it all went wrong. 

“Talk,” Mingyu practically demanded the minute you shut the front door behind you. 

“Why the hell are you speaking to me like that?” You asked, and Mingyu groaned as he kicked off his shoes before sitting on the couch. 

 “You said some shitty things, and while I admit so did I, you acted like a child,” you started to say, stopping when you saw Mingyu’s hardened expression. 

“What is it with you calling me a child? May I remind you that we’re the same age?” Mingyu asked, glaring at you. 

“Then act like a fucking adult, you don’t talk, you lash out, and you just hope that love fixes everything, but it doesn’t. It’s not enough to keep two people together when they’re breaking apart,” you exclaimed, frustrated at yourself for being unable to maintain your calm and at him for never being realistic. 

“You always said that love will keep us together, that our love was stronger than anything out there. What happened to that girl? What happened to the girl who made wishes upon stars, kissed me goodnight, and hugged me whenever I was down? I fell in love with her,” Mingyu lamented, making your heart drop. 

“So, you don’t love me anymore?” You whispered, afraid of his answer. 

“I do, my love, but I’m just not sure you do,” Mingyu said, moving to wipe away a tear that fell down your cheek. 

“Why do you keep suggesting that?” You asked, shrugging his touch off, making him pout. 

“Well, you just moved away from my touch, in general, over, I don’t know, the last two years you’ve been in the future, and you’ve left me in the dust; you left me all alone. I mean, hell, I was the happiest when you told me you wanted to move in with me, but you didn’t even bother asking me to view a place. You just got the keys and showed up at my doorstep. Don’t get me wrong, I’m grateful, but it always felt like you’d cut me out of the process whenever you could,” Mingyu explained, his eyes getting glossy. 

“I know you wouldn’t intentionally make me feel unwanted, but that’s what it felt like. I felt like an understudy, waiting in the wings for you to consider my opinion,” Mingyu said. 

“I didn’t know,” you said lamely, and Mingyu nodded. 

“You wouldn’t, I never told you, and you’re not a mind reader, nor do I expect you to be. It would have been nice to know that you still cared for me even if everything went bad. Hell, the night I lost my job, you just kissed me and told me it’d be alright, and I get it, it’s a hard thing to comfort someone about, but my love, you didn’t even try, and granted, I’m sure there have been moments where I haven’t done my bit. Still, we were the couple that annoyed others with how mushy we were and how much we adored each other. Now it just feels like we tolerate each other,” Mingyu finished standing up, and you stood up and reached for his wrist, making him turn around to look at you. 

“Can you not walk away?” You asked, not a shred of anger in your voice. You just wanted to hear him. 

“I’m not. I am, however, getting some wine because I think we’ll need it,” Mingyu replied, pulling you into his chest and placing the softest kiss on your forehead. 

“Okay, so let’s talk,” you said, not wasting a second as Mingyu returned to the couch with two glasses of wine. 

“You waste no time, do you?” Mingyu asked, chuckling, and you shrugged. 

“I’d rather fix us sooner than later,” you commented, and Mingyu shrugged.

“Don’t good things take time? Besides, this isn’t something you can rush; didn’t you always tell me that patience is a virtue and that all good things take time?” Mingyu mumbled as he sipped his wine, making you glare at him. 

“What is with you and reminding me of everything I once did? Is that what you want? The ‘old’ me? The one you fell in love with ten years ago?” You snapped, making Mingyu frown. 

“You keep missing the point, I don’t yearn for the ‘old’ you, but I yearn for your love. It just seems like you’re putting up with me. I only remember the ‘old’ you because no matter how much we fought, I at least knew that you loved me,” Mingyu mumbled, making you frown at him. 

“Don’t fix it by saying that you love me. I know you do, but I wonder if you’re still in love me because that’s a big difference. I mean, some I know you do, but other days I feel like I’m watching you, unsure if I fit anywhere in your life, but what scares me most is that I’m not so sure I fit in your heart any longer,” Mingyu admitted taking a deep breath, before looking at you with teary eyes. 

“Can you tell me when I’ve hurt you? I’m sure it must have been many times with how you feel, but maybe the most recent example?” You asked, unsure how to respond to the fact that Mingyu poured his heart out to you, and all you could do was make him relive a moment where you had hurt him. 

“Not hearing about the promotion, that sucked, like I had to find out because of a present. Why didn’t you tell me?” Mingyu asked, nothing but hurt and genuine curiosity etching his features. 

“I guess when you told me you didn’t want to hear about work, I just stopped telling you. I didn’t want to make you upset,” you admitted lamely. 

“My love, I got over being let go. If I’m not wrong, I said that once, and a month later, I remember being fine and asking you to tell me about work and the hardships or the bad days at work, but you never did. You decided you wouldn’t share that part of your life with me. While I can understand why you thought I would continue holding a grudge, do you think I’d hold it until it broke us in two?” Mingyu asked, and you shrugged. 

“Would you have taken the job?” Mingyu asked, and you shrugged. 

“I don’t know,” you admitted, and Mingyu nodded at you. 

“Well, for what it’s worth, I’m over it, and if it’s something that’s in the past, I’m okay never to bring it up again,” Mingyu offered, and you smiled at him. 

“I’d like that a lot,” you answered. 

“I acted out of line with what I said in the car, and you’re right. I did act like a kid at the therapist’s office, but it’s just when it comes to the idea of possibly even losing you? Then my ability to think straight and act rationally goes to shit because there’s nothing rational about love, but you find that balance, and I’m willing to work on myself but wait for me? While I try and catch up?” Mingyu asked, making your lips tremble, and your tears fall. 

“I think for so long,” you started to say, pausing to wipe your tears away. 

“For so long, I thought you didn’t care. I thought you got comfortable, wanted to leave, or be comfortable enough to stay but not be with me. So I kept pushing on with my life because I didn’t think you wanted me to be in your future,” you admitted, staring into the wine glass. 

“Y/N, you and I. I guess we’ve both been living in different tenses. I’ve been too busy reminiscing our past, and you’ve been running into the future. It’s left our present a fucking shit show,” Mingyu observed, making you giggle at his description. 

“Let’s try? I want you to have the most amazing future, but can I ask you to slow down? Ever so slightly? To let me find my footing. I want to catch up with you so we can have a future. Together?” Mingyu asked, pulling you closer to him. 

“I can, and I’m sorry,” you apologised, and Mingyu shook his head. 

“It’s okay, from here on out, what we’ve both done, it’s forgotten and forgiven these next three months. Let us make a real go at this? At fixing us?” Mingyu asked, and you smiled in agreement. 

Mingyu grinned, pulling you into the softest kiss ever. 

“I know we are meant to separate rooms and all that, but can I just have you in my arms tonight?” Mingyu asked, kissing your forehead, and you nodded at him. 

You agreed because you didn’t know what the next three months would bring about, so for tonight, you just wanted to lay in his arms and forget the hurt and the reality because you’d never admit it like Mingyu would. Still, the thought of living in a world where he was no longer yours was enough to make you break your heart into a million pieces. 

“We’ll be okay,” you mumbled into Mingyu’s chest as he held you, and he responded with a kiss on your forehead. 

You frowned into the embrace. You just hoped it would come true if you said something repeatedly. 

If you kept saying that you and Mingyu would be okay, you would be.  ~~ Balancing on Breaking Branches ~~

“Moving day, huh?” Mingyu joked, making you grin slightly at him. 

“Barely, we’re just diving up rooms and our stuff. It’s just three months,” you answered as you walked over to your closet and mentally sorted out what articles you wanted to take.

“Actually, you can just stay in this room. Besides, I don’t have much stuff anyway, just some clothes and my computer has always been in a separate room,” Mingyu offered, and you smiled at him. 

“Thanks, it’d be a nightmare if you made me move all my things out,” you laughed, making Mingyu smile. 

“Besides, it’s all temporary, three months, and I’m back to cuddling you every night and sleeping,” Mingyu smiled. 

“What are you smiling about?” You asked Mingyu as he grinned to himself, looking around the room. 

“Just kind of thinking how we broke into this room and every other room and surface in this apartment,” Mingyu said casually, a blush creeping onto his face as he recalled the memories, making you smile shyly. 

“Sex in every corner of the house. I still can’t believe we did it in a storage closet, of all things,” you recalled, smiling but shaking your head at how you and Mingyu had really come through on the idea of breaking into every part of the house. 

“But the sex was pretty good, wasn’t it? A tighter space meant that I had to hold you closer to me and fuck you harder,” Mingyu teased, his voice low, dangerous and teasing. 

“Mingyu,” you warned, unable to keep the smile off your face, as you moved away from the closet and sat on the bed. 

“Besides, I’m just recalling fond memories, especially when we have a sex ban placed on us for three months,” Mingyu explained with a pout, making you smile. 

“Anyways, do you know where I keep my phone charger? I usually use yours, so,” Mingyu trailed off, and you nodded at him, knowing that he never bothered because you were always there, and it just wouldn’t be the same for the next three months. 

“Yeah, this drawer,” you gestured to the bedside table beside you. Mingyu nodded, rummaging through the drawer, and you noticed he kept searching for a while. 

“Did you not find your charger?” You asked, turning to face him, your eyes widening when you saw what he held in his hand. 

“Mingyu,” you started to say, making him smirk at you.

“Is that what I think it is?” Mingyu asked, and you groaned, cursing yourself. Mingyu walked over and grabbed the device. 

“A vibrator in plain sight?” Mingyu teased.

 “Can you give it back?” You groaned, and Mingyu grinned at you.

“Is this the one we bought and took with us on our trip to Bali? Where you couldn’t get enough of me?” You gulped, and you felt your mouth water.

“Not my fault you were shirtless for the entire trip. It’s hard to behave when you look like that,” you huffed out as Mingyu walked back to the bed with the vibrator in his hand. 

“So I’m hot?” Mingyu asked with a smirk. 

“You know you are,” you mumbled, and you knew you were about to undo all the therapist’s work with your one movement, but you couldn’t help yourself. 

Not when Mingyu was looking at you like that, wetting his lips as he caressed the vibrator in his hand. 

“Oh, do I?” Mingyu asked, making you glare. 

Instead of answering, you grabbed him by his shirt, pulling him into you. Mingyu pulled you into a kiss and pushed you down, one hand moving to your jeans and undoing them. 

You kicked off your jeans and panties, and Mingyu’s knuckles met with your wet folds.

“You’re soaking wet,” Mingyu muttered against your lips, and you nodded.

“Wait,” Mingyu instructed as he pulled your shirt off, 

“Beautiful,” he praised as he took in your nude state. 

“Pretty,” Mingyu muttered, moving his mouth along your body as he ran the vibrator along your folds. 

“Fuck,” you hissed as the cold metal touched your swollen cunt. Mingyu pushed two fingers into you and switched on the vibrator. You felt your eyes roll back as he started thrusting his fingers in and out of you. While the vibrator constantly pulsated against your clit.

 “Fucking hell,” you groaned, grabbing his muscular forearm. 

“Good girl, you take my fingers so well,” Mingyu moaned, praising you as you fell apart under his touch. You let out whimpers, biting your lips to stop yourself from screaming in pleasure. 

“Fuck,” you groaned, and Mingyu smirked at you, pulling his fingers out of you and bringing them to his lips. 

“Can’t we just, I guess, call that goodbye sex? Or something,” Mingyu asked as he stared at your fucked out expression.

“We could, but I think we need to tell our therapist,” you breathed, making him pout, “as good as that felt, we just took a few steps back,” you added, making Mingyu sigh as he leaned over to kiss you. 

“Three months, and we’ll be okay,” Mingyu claimed before placing another kiss on your lips. 

“This is just a little mistake. You wanted to honour his wish, but you also knew that lying would do you two no good. No need to tell the therapist,” Mingyu repeated, making you nod slowly at him. 

So, you did what was right. 

“Okay, Y/N, what you did wasn’t odd or unusual. Maybe couples slip up, especially when it comes to sex and trying not to have it, and I get it. You two have been together for ages. Giving up sex isn’t easy, nor exactly is it meant to be,” Dr Kwan clarified, but you couldn’t help but feel like you were undoing everything. 

“You’re human. It’s normal to slip up, but being honest and working from that is important,” Dr Kwan added. You nodded. 

“Well, still, I’m sorry,” you apologised, making Mingyu scoff. 

“You kissed me; may I remind you that? So, stop acting like you’re wronged or something. You make me sound like a dick,” Mingyu spat out, and you were about to respond when Dr. Kwan cleared his throat, stopping you. 

“Well, Mingyu, you might have just given us the material for our first session. When do you two think it all went wrong? Between you both? Mingyu, I’d like to hear from you, and then you, Y/N,” Dr. Kwan suggested.

“Y/N’s been gifted, so good at everything she does, and I guess I’ve gone with the flow, but being an adult in this unforgiving world, that’s not enough. Not even, and it seemed like every time she was successful or achieved something, it made me feel smaller and like I wasn’t enough,” Mingyu rambled, making you look at him. 

“I know she never did it on purpose, but that’s how I felt, and I guess I stopped trying to be better for her because it always seemed like she was too far away for me to catch up to, and so I was just happy being in her life, as a spectator,” Mingyu finished letting out a deep exhale. 

“I don’t begrudge her for succeeding. I wished that sometimes she could look away from the blinding lights of success to notice me, just for a second at least,” Mingyu added, shrugging. 

“Did you ever wish for her success to go away?” Dr. Kwan asked, and Mingyu shook his head. 

“Never, I only wished that maybe I could do half of what she did, maybe then I’d be enough for her, but I know that’s not what she ever thought, but I internalised her success as a sign of my failures,” Mingyu answered.

“Y/N, is there anything you’d like to add?” Dr. Kwan asked. 

“I don’t know what to say. I didn’t realise he felt like that,” you answered lamely. 

You didn’t realise that Mingyu felt the way he did. He was always so guarded with his response and just quiet and silently supported you no matter what you did.

“I never told her to be fair,” Mingyu interjected, and you sighed at him. 

“I can’t read your mind. How do you expect me to understand if you don’t tell me something?” You asked, and Mingyu stared at you in disbelief. 

“The way I read your mind about a proposal?” Mingyu asked, and you groaned. 

“Okay, you two, we need to hit pause. There’s too much here to not cause a massive fight,” Dr. Kwan said, interrupting you two. 

“She didn’t even tell me that she got an opportunity for a promotion or anything. She keeps so much to herself and then gets mad when I can’t read her mind,” Mingyu added, and you sat in annoyance, but you stayed quiet, knowing that he wasn’t wrong with his judgements. 

“I lost my job five months ago, and since then, she’s never really told me about her success and in her defence, I did tell her not to talk about it, but I know that after a week or so, I told her that it was okay, but she just kept everything to herself,” Mingyu added. 

“I didn’t want to hurt you,” you started to say, turning to face Mingyu.

“I know you said it was okay, but you always put others before you, and I didn’t want to be another reason for you to suppress how you felt,” you explained, placing your hand on his, and he responded in kind, moving his hand to lace them with yours. 

“I see that love is not lost between you two. You need to figure out how to communicate. In a relationship as long as yours, it’s easy to assume that the other party knows or should know. Still, the truth is, all the familiarity and knowledge in the world is never enough to predict how humans will behave,” Dr. Kwan said wisely. 

“I went to visit my mum; the night before, we had a huge fight which led us here; she kept pushing and asking if something was wrong with us because it had been ten years, and there was no proposal. So, I kept trying to diffuse the situation, but unfortunately, her words sowed a seed of insecurity in me. I lost it and snapped at Mingyu, which caused him to reveal the fact that he was going to, in fact, propose to me that night,” you rambled, explaining what you thought was the final breaking point. 

“I see, Y/N. Mingyu, is being married something you two have always wanted to be? Or is that something that you two have never discussed?” Dr. Kwan asked. 

“We discussed it, I think, after our first year together. Mingyu brought it up,” you recalled, smiling at you fondly and starting to explain the memory.  ~~

Nine years ago

“In my defence, their vows were touching, and that’s why I ended up crying like a baby,” Mingyu defended, making you laugh as you wiped his teary eyes and kissed his red nose. 

You both were in the powder room, helping Mingyu look more presentable after he cried his eyes out at your cousin and her husband exchanging their vows. 

“But I also started to imagine, what if it was us up there? One day? Look, I always found weddings boring in the past because I was like fuck this. I’m always watching other people find their ‘happily ever after,’ but I have wanted that for us since you came into my life. Our happily ever after,” Mingyu declared, making you smile at him, your eyes holding but love and fondness for your boyfriend.

“Okay, I know we’re only 19 and legit, maybe way too young to decide the future now, but I know this for sure, regardless of when that moment happens. I just know that there is no one else I want to spend the rest of my life with; only you complete me, and a life without you, well shit, that’s just miserable, isn’t it?” Mingyu spoke, making you swoon at him. 

“How’d I get so lucky?” You asked as you pulled him into a soft kiss, making him smile into the kiss. 

“I think it’s me. I’m the lucky one,” Mingyu mused. 

“How about we’re both lucky?” You added, and Mingyu smiled. 

“Lucky to have found a love like this; yeah, we’re pretty fucking lucky,” Mingyu agreed as he pulled you into another kiss. 

~~

“Huh?” You asked as you felt Mingyu’s fingers on your face and realised he was wiping away your tears. 

“It was so much easier, and I just want that back,” you cried, and Mingyu, out of instinct, moved closer, pulling you in closer to him. 

“Y/N, you two were younger, and the world is kinder to two kids in love than adults in love. Nothing like taxes, societal expectations, or work threatens the tenderness and beauty of love. Still, with patience and dedication to fix the relationship, you can get through it, and it doesn’t seem like Mingyu wants anything else but the same thing as you,” Dr Kwan explained, making you smile through the tears and placing a kiss to Mingyu’s cheek, making him blush. 

“I’ll schedule you two for a week later, but let’s keep up the same routine. No sex and kisses are fine, but keep it to that. When you two filled out the form, I think you mentioned that your first date was at a dive bar? Why don’t you two, over the weekend, go to one, not as a date, but go and maybe rekindle the memories, remind yourselves that the pain of therapy is worth it,” Dr. Kwan suggested, and you both nodded. 

“We can do that,” Mingyu answered, and you smiled at him. 

Maybe this is why you two needed someone to guide you both through all the pain, and today felt like a breakthrough, and perhaps that’s what you both just needed, someone to help you get through the shitty parts to get to the good part. 

You two weren’t broken but bent, and someone needed to straighten you out. 

“We can. We can be okay again,” you mumbled, but you knew Mingyu heard it with the way he squeezed your hand softly. 

“We will,” he whispered in your ear. 

~~ Never Learned to Read My Mind ~~

You and Mingyu really did try hard. The kisses were kept to a minimum, almost so much that Mingyu got frustrated with you. He eventually pouted enough one evening. It ended up in you two having a thirty-minute make-out session. 

“We shouldn’t,” you mumbled as you continued to kiss him. 

“See, you say that, but you’re kissing me,” Mingyu replied, moving his lips away to speak, only to place them back on yours within a second.

“Mingyu,” you warned, pulling away and making him sigh at you. 

“Fine, but can you blame me? This is the first time you and I have spoken and kissed in two weeks, and no, that goodnight kiss three nights ago doesn’t count. I just get that Dr. Kwan said we should try to find ourselves and all that, but it feels like you’re acting like we’ve already broken up or something,” Mingyu admitted, frowning. 

“I’m giving us space to grow,” you defended, and Mingyu nodded. 

“I get that, but shouldn’t it foster an environment of encouragement? The space you’ve created is cold and uninviting, like hell. Your room door is always closed,” Mingyu added, making you pull away from his touch and sit next to him instead of on him. 

“I’m working, Mingyu. I don’t have as much free time as you, so forgive me if I want some peace and quiet while I work,” you sassed, and Mingyu pouted. 

“Free time? You mean unemployed?” Mingyu joked, but you glared at him. 

“Stop putting words in my mouth. You know that’s not what I meant to say,” you huffed, and Mingyu nodded. 

“Okay, forget it. I only say that because I wanted to show you something the other day, and your door was closed,” Mingyu explained, and you nodded at him. 

“So, show me now?” You suggested, and Mingyu nodded, pulling up yet another photo he took of a cake that served as inspiration–he’d been taking pictures of cakes, cookies and many other baked goods for the last few months, telling you it was for something unique. Still, to you, it just seemed like he was building up his ‘cakes I like’ Pinterest board.

“See?” Mingyu asked excitedly.

“What am I meant to be seeing? Another cake? All you do is take pictures of the cake. Where is this going?”

“You could have bothered to ask more about it instead of dismissing it entirely. I don’t dismiss things that excite you,” Mingyu mumbled. 

“Fine, show me,” you asked, and Mingyu shook his head at you. 

“No, because you’re asking because you feel bad, not because you care, forget it. You’re right it’s just cake. How would you notice? How would you notice when you haven’t noticed anything about me in the last few months?” Mingyu spoke, making you groan in frustration. 

“Sorry, that was unnecessary. Look after work tomorrow. I made reservations at a dive bar for us, I’ll send you a location, and you can head over after work?” Mingyu asked, and you nodded at him. 

“Night,” Mingyu mumbled, kissing your cheek as he got up and sulked as he walked to his room. 

You felt terrible. Since when did you stop caring about the little things, especially him? He was always doing much more, but you didn’t know why. It never felt like it was enough for you. 

“Hey!” Mingyu greeted you the following evening as you approached him at the dive bar. 

“This place is quite nice,” you commented, and Mingyu nodded. 

“Are you drinking?” Mingyu asked, and you shook your head. 

“I drove here,” you replied, and Mingyu pouted. 

“Let me drive and have a drink. I have a scratchy throat, so I can’t really drink,” Mingyu offered, and you looked at him in shock. 

“When did you get a cold?” You asked, had you really been so unkind and caring to not even ask your boyfriend if he was unwell. 

“Nah, just a tickle, don’t worry, I got meds, and I’m on the mend,” Mingyu added, ushering you away, and you frowned at him but decided against pushing further. 

You were glad you were tipsy, but you weren’t exactly happy at the scene unfolding in front of you an hour later. 

A random girl decided to approach Mingyu to gush about how handsome he was and how incredible his biceps were and even went so far as to trace his arms, and that was it: you saw red. 

You hated how he didn’t stop her, either. Instead, he giggled and flexed a bit more.

“Miss, do you always with other people’s boyfriends?” You spat out, and the girl stepped back in fear upon hearing the venom in your voice. 

“No, oh my god, I’m so sorry. You just didn’t look like you were his girlfriend. You just sat there, far away from him, and you two barely spoke, so I thought it was okay to appreciate it, but I’m so sorry,” the girl apologised, but you couldn’t help your anger. 

“So even then, you just flirt with anyone you see?” You asked, embarrassing the girl, and Mingyu turned to face you with a hardened expression, apologising to the girl first. 

“What the hell was that?” Mingyu 

“Home, now,” you answered, and Mingyu sighed as he paid for the bill while you stormed out of the bar. 

You stormed into the house, and Mingyu followed you into your room. You saw red. There was no other colour in the world, only red. You couldn’t believe Mingyu giggled and smiled at the girl like he did. 

The way he would with you.

“That was so uncalled for,” Mingyu started to say, making you whip your head to look at him. Your eyes were red and watery, and Mingyu immediately wanted to put the fight to bed and hold you in his arms. 

Mingyu mentally slapped himself, but all he did was laugh and smile at the girl. She complimented him, and for a second, he lost his mind and indulged because it had been so long since he felt good about himself. So long since someone called him handsome, and hell, you stopped acting like you were interested in him, but it was wrong and stupid, and he caused you to cry. 

“Right, me telling a girl to back off my man is wrong and pushing her away was uncalled for? Did you like it then? The way her tits pressed up against your chest. Is that why you didn’t pull away when she wrapped her arm around yours? Would you have backed away if I didn’t push her away, or would you have gone home with her?” You accused, ranting and firing away accusations at Mingyu, who paused to frown at you, but he knew he didn’t have a reason to defend himself. 

“I’m sorry I didn’t stop her, but I would have never cheated. I just got caught up in the attention, it has been so long since you ever showed me any affection, and I liked it, thinking that, oh, I don’t know, at least I’m not chopped fucking liver,” Mingyu fired back, making you shrink. 

“You couldn’t tell me that? You had to get some leggy chick to get your validation?” You asked, your voice trembling. 

“You don’t make it easy to speak to you. You’ve taken this ‘break’ so seriously that I feel like you’re just practising for the real thing. Last week, I got a new cookbook, and. In the past, you’d always be excited to see if I could replicate any recipes, but now? You didn’t even care to see it. I got a new shirt for our date night, and you didn’t compliment me. I’m not saying I need to be coddled, but you act like my presence is a bother, so forgive me if I wanted to seek out someone’s compliments because you know what? I can’t recall the last time you ever said I was good at anything,” Mingyu scoffed, making you standstill. 

“You have so many cookbooks; how is it different from the dozens you have? How was I meant to notice just one?” You asked, and Mingyu stared at you. 

“That’s not the point. Whenever I want to share anything with you, you act like it’s the biggest inconvenience or you don’t care. Either way, it doesn’t make me feel good about myself,” Mingyu sputtered out, his anger bubbling, and he knew he had to stop this fight before he said something he regretted. 

“Look, we’ve both had a lot to drink. Maybe we should talk about this later?” Mingyu offered, as he tried to guide you to the bed, to help you sleep so you wouldn’t continue this drunken rant. 

“So, you entertained her because she gave you attention, or was she prettier?” You asked, immediately feeling your eyes well up. You tried not to break in front of him. He was the one flirting with another woman, not you, but you couldn’t help how insecure it all made you. 

Was he done with you? Was this his subtle way of telling you he wouldn’t care?

“Hey, no, don’t you dare,” Mingyu interrupted your thoughts as he cradled your face. 

“No one is more perfect than you. I’m sorry for giving in to the attention. No matter how bad we are, it’s not an excuse,” Mingyu explained as he wiped away the tears that fell down his face. 

“But she noticed what I didn’t. Maybe deep down, that’s all you want, and I wish I were better for you,” you replied tearfully, making Mingyu’s heart ache with how you tore yourself apart. 

“Mingyu!” You squeaked when you felt him carry you and sit on the bed. 

“Take this off,” you mumbled, pointing to his shirt, and you stared at him for a second as he peeled his shirt off. 

You leaned down to kiss his shoulder, then another, until you reached his neck. 

“Y/N, baby, you’re drunk,” Mingyu groaned, trying to suppress a moan, hoping his body wouldn’t betray him as he melted under your touch. 

“We’ve had sex drunk before. I’m pretty sure our first time was when we were both drunk,” you spoke as you moved to kiss his jaw, making him wrap his arms around your waist. 

“Baby,” Mingyu groaned as his hands moved to rest above your ass. 

“Hm?” You asked, looking at him, pausing before your lips connected with his. 

“Let me show you just how much I love you,” Mingyu said, giving in to your touch as he stood up and swiftly placed you on the bed. Mingyu usually would at least take some time peeling your clothes off, unravelling each bit of your body to him, but he couldn’t wait tonight.

“So fucking pretty,” Mingyu praised as he laid between your thighs, your dripping cunt at his face. 

Mingyu slowly moved his finger inside you, “do you want to cum? You’re already clenching my finger so nicely, baby,” Mingyu praised as he rolled his thumb over your clit. You nodded. Mingyu pulled his finger out of you, making you whine. 

Mingyu smirked at you before latching his lips onto your clit. 

“Fuck,” you moaned at the contact.

“Mingyu, wait, stop,” you said, making him sit up immediately. 

“Did I go too far?” Mingyu asked, worrying, lacing his handsome features. You shook your head and moved your foot to his growing bulge. 

“Please fuck me, just I need you,” you begged, and Mingyu wasted no time in peeling off his clothes and positioning himself between your legs and pushing into you, making you moan and hiss at the stretch.

Mingyu placed your legs on either side of his shoulder. He pushed in and fucked you hard and deep. His pace was relentless, and you whimpered at his pace.

“Fuck, Y/N, baby, I’m so sorry, but I need to cum,” Mingyu moaned as he pounded into you.

 “It’s okay, fuck me, Mingyu.”

Mingyu removed your legs from your shoulder and flipped you onto your hands and knees. He pushed into you, his hands gripping your hips. You nearly collapsed at how deep he was hitting inside you.

“Fuck, more, please. Mingyu.” He bit down on your shoulder then kissed and ran his tongue over the area.

 “Fuck, fuck,” Mingyu cursed as he came inside you, moaning as his cum filled you. You felt him flip you over again, his mouth latching onto your cunt again, licking and cleaning you, making you cum again in the process, and you pushed his head away gently as you came again. 

“No more baby, too sensitive,” you moaned, making Mingyu smile sweetly as he placed a soft kiss on your trembling pussy. 

“Wait, stay, please,” you asked, pouting at him, making him smile. 

“I will. I was just going to clean you up properly and give you a shirt. You always get cold after sex,” Mingyu said, making you smile. 

“Stay here,” Mingyu said, kissing your forehead as he headed out to grab you a shirt. He returned with a wet towel and gently pressed it against your throbbing pussy, smirking at your reaction. 

A few minutes later, you were clean and dressed in one of his shirts. 

You were already nodding when Mingyu’s arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you into his chest. Mingyu moved his hand under your shirt and placed his arm around your waist. 

You moaned softly as he drew small circles into your skin. You gently pushed his arm away and turned to bury your face in his chest, making him smile.

“I love you,” Mingyu mumbled, and you weren’t entirely sure if you heard it, but for a while, you didn’t mind falling asleep in his arms, pretending that you two were alright.

~~ I Think I’ve Seen This Film Before ~~ 

“So, you two had a fight and fixed it with sex,” Dr Kwan summarised, and you and Mingyu looked to the ground. 

“Look, we’re barely three months into this, and while I like that you both love each other enough to be intimate, it seems like you use sex as a coping mechanism to put actual issues on the back burner until they inevitably blow up in your face,” Dr Kwan added. 

“It was a misunderstanding,” Mingyu defended. 

“A series of misunderstandings has brought you two here, and right now, you two are giving in too quickly,” Dr Kwan added. 

“Maybe three months is too long. Can we try a month, no intimacy, nothing, please? Then we can revisit this issue?” Dr Kwan suggested, and you both nodded. 

“Dr Kwan, can I request one thing, though? Can I ask that my lovely girlfriend and I go for one more date, like a proper one, the way we used to be before we tried the full-on ‘break’ thing?” Mingyu asked, and Dr. Kwan nodded. 

“Y/N?” Dr Kwan asked, and you shrugged. 

“I don’t see why not,” you answered, making Mingyu smile, and you noticed how his smile reached his eyes for the first time in so long. 

“We’re here!” Mingyu announced as he parked the car outside a carnival, helped you out of the car, and held your hand like he always did, complimenting you from home to the carnival gates. 

“It’s crazy empty?” You asked him, and he smiled.

“It opens next week, but I pulled a few strings; I wanted to enjoy this with you and only you,” Mingyu admitted, a blush creeping onto his face, making you smile at him. 

“Shall we?” He asked you nodded. 

He took you to nearly every booth, and with each new game, your smile grew, as did his. You didn’t think it was possible to fall in love with him all over again, but here was proving you wrong. 

“Hey, you okay?” Mingyu waved his hand in front of your face. You were both finally back in the car after a night of kisses, jokes and games, and you smiled at him. 

“Yeah, just thinking,” you answered. 

“About?” Mingyu asked, and you turned to face him, 

“I didn’t think it was possible to fall in love with someone again, but tonight, with you. I think I may have just fallen in love with you all over again,” you admitted, making Mingyu smile as he leaned over to pull you into a kiss. 

“I love you,” Mingyu said as he pulled away from your lips. 

“I love you too,” you answered, making him grin. 

“We’re okay, we’ll be okay,” Mingyu assured as he took your hand and drove home. 

However, when he said it, you didn’t find any comfort in his words because you knew that you were about to hurt him, not because you wanted to but because you had been reflecting and noticed that all this time. 

Mingyu had been bending backwards to become the version of a man you supposedly wanted. Still, all this time, you only complained and poked holes and found flaws; he loved you despite all this. His love for you was too forgiving, too great, and one you didn’t think you deserved any longer. 

So you could only do what you did best, and that was to hurt him before he broke himself trying to fix the both of you.

~~ You Were My Crown  ~~

Mingyu was fuming. Well, not even raging would do justice to how angry he was. It was almost comical. He thought smoke would come out of his ears like a cartoon character. It would have almost been funny. 

Almost. 

However, nothing about this moment or the letter in Mingyu’s hand was funny; none of this was funny. 

“Hey,” you chirped as you walked into Mingyu’s bedroom. He was late for dinner, and your smile dropped when you saw his face and then recognised the paper in his hand. 

“Mingyu,” you started to say and stopped as he held a hand up to stop you. 

“Dear Y/N, you’re incredible, and I want you to consider this position again. You have insights that set you apart from everyone else. I think you could do an amazing job helping us set up our offices in Japan,” Mingyu read out the letter, his voice fading into a whisper at the mention of Japan. 

“I thought we were past this?” Mingyu asked, and you immediately felt yourself become defensive.

“No, I only said that to calm you down, but Mingyu, this is my career,” you protested, making Mingyu scoff. 

“I’d never stop you from pursuing your dreams. I know you’re good at your job. I’d encourage you to take this position, but you lied, and you got this three days before the date night and didn’t bring it up? It fucking hurts, and when I asked you if you were happy, you said yes? But kept this from me? What were you going to do, just fucking pack up and leave me?” Mingyu asked, raising his voice, making you roll your eyes at him. 

“Don’t you dare give me an attitude! You hid this from me. Why?” Mingyu asked, tossing the letter onto the floor. 

“We can still talk about it, and then we can figure out a way with schedules, and maybe I can save and fly out and visit you,” Mingyu rambled, making you bite your lip as you knew what you were about to say next would break him. 

“I accepted the job,” you whispered, but Mingyu heard you clearly. Your voice rang in his ears, four words taunting him, haunting him. 

“Mingyu,” you said, trying to approach him, and he moved away from you. 

“You did what?” Mingyu asked, not wanting an answer. 

“I just didn’t think us doing these three months did us any good, yes we got to get our issues out in the open, but Mingyu, we still broke the main rule, we had sex, we couldn’t be bothered to make it work without fucking,” you defended, each word piercing Mingyu’s heart deeper and deeper. 

“Doesn’t the fact we couldn’t stop loving each other show you how tethered we are to one another? How much we need each other?” Mingyu asked, and you shrugged. 

“Yes, a crippling need,” you answered, making him breathe deeply, trying to hold back a sob. 

“So, you just decided to do what you do best? Hurtle into the future without a fucking care for me? I gave up everything for you to make you happy, and you’re fucking running?” Mingyu taunted, making you snap.

“I never asked you, but you were so fucking stupid to have walked away from friends. Friends who could give you a job or something, and now, you’re here begging me to stay because you didn’t get your shit together,” you spat out, knowing that none of your words held any truth. 

Still, you needed him to stop fighting because you weren’t sure if you could anymore. 

“You didn’t ask me because I thought it was you and me against the world,” Mingyu yelled. 

“Well, it’s not! Grow up! Get a job, plan your future instead of ruining mine just because you don’t have a planned future,” you fumed, stopping yourself, but you knew it was too late. 

“No, you’re right. I don’t because I thought you were my future, but now, you’re gone, so I guess you’re right. I don’t have a future, so please leave,” Mingyu asked. You couldn’t help yourself, but you knew if you comforted him now, you’d give in, and you couldn’t. 

“Mingyu, this is my apartment, so why don’t you step right out?” You mocked, making Mingyu let out a broken sob. 

“I can’t waste my time and cry for you any longer. There’s no more crying that I can do for you,” you added as Mingyu pulled out a suitcase and started to throw his things in. 

“You can leave in a week or something. There’s no rush,” you mumbled, feeling nothing but shame and guilt. 

“You were my homeland. You were my safe space, and now that you’ve gone and thrown me out, put me in exile, what’s the point? This isn’t my house anyway, and clearly, I’ve overstayed my welcome,” Mingyu answered tearfully as you watched him pack. 

You stood and watched him pack and remove the necklace you once gave him and place it on the bedside table. 

Mingyu took another look around the room and then wiped his face before grabbing his passport and documents out of a drawer and stuffing them into the suitcase. 

“Where will you go?” You asked, and Mingyu shook his head. 

“That’s none of your concern, I’ll be fine, but you,” Mingyu paused to steady his voice. 

“You’ll be fine, excel at everything, and do so well, my love, shit sorry, Y/N. You’ve always been amazing, so thank you for the last ten years of my life, and oh, when you fall in love again, tell him to be good to you,” Mingyu rambled, pausing to smile at you through his tears. 

“But please apologise to that guy because if there’s a weepy guy at your wedding, oh fuck, never mind, why would you invite me. Fuck I’m babbling. You don’t want this. I’ll be on my way,” Mingyu paused his ramble to kiss your forehead. 

“Please stay safe,” Mingyu said before practically running out the door. You waited for him to leave until you couldn’t hear his footsteps in the hallway break down. 

“Fuck!” You cried out, you felt so much pain engulf you, you felt as if someone had snatched your heart out of your chest, you felt as if you had a thousand cuts all over your body and that each second, someone was pouring salt into every wound. 

You didn’t know pain like this. You fell to the floor sobbing, unable to withstand the pain, letting it engulf you. So, you let it. You did this, and you deserved to be hurt. 

“I’m so sorry,” you apologised to the empty room. You broke him and yourself, but you weren’t his problem. You lost the right to care when you threw him out. 

So, you’d do what you do best, push through, ignore the pain and push into the future because if you ran fast enough, you might forget the present and perhaps the pain wouldn’t catch up to you any longer.  6 Months Later

Your method wasn’t foolproof. 

Simply running away from your problems only brought you temporary comfort. 

It allowed you to plaster a fake smile and get things done. It brought you false hope when you told your mother that you had let him go. 

Your method was like a ticking time bomb. You’d hold off only for so long. You knew your pain and your actions would catch up to you. 

Eventually, you took steps to prolong it. You had blocked Mingyu on every possible social media site. You even put all his things in storage and scrubbed the apartment clean, and when you were done, there was no proof that he ever existed in your life. 

You acted like he was a ghost because, somehow, it was easier believing that in some twisted way than picking up the phone and apologising or checking in. 

It was easier this way. You put a bandaid on a wound that had cut through every part of you, foolishly hoping it’d be enough. 

That stupid bandaid got you through your life in Japan. You’d find moments where you’d think of Mingyu, wondering how he’d love certain foods and sights, but you would push any thought of him away, and you were doing a good job. 

Until you were going through your things and found a black journal. You were familiar with it the moment you opened the journal. You wished you could have gone back in time and undid everything because opening up the journal made you feel like you just ripped open the bandaid. 

It was Mingyu’s journal. 

A journal dated the day you two started therapy. You knew it was wrong to read his innermost thoughts, but maybe you’d get closure. So, you got a bottle of wine and began to read.

Most of the entries did nothing but break your heart repeatedly until you came across the last one. 

It was dated the night of the date, your last date with him. 

“I can’t wait to surprise her tonight. I think we’re going to be okay,” Mingyu wrote. 

Your heart stopped. 

A surprise, he was planning something that night. 

What was it? 

You had to find out. 

You had planned most of your life down to the last detail, so randomly catching a plane, after calling your boss and randomly quitting, and landing back home after six months felt odd. 

This was home, so why did it no longer feel like it? The way you had shut your heart to Mingyu, had this town also shut you out, decided that someone as heartless as you didn’t deserve another chance?

You had unblocked Mingyu on socials in a feeble attempt to try and find him, and you saw that he frequented a bakery often. It was a shot in the dark but your only shot. You hailed a taxi from the airport and gave him the address to the bakery. 

You ran into the bakery, huffing as you lugged two suitcases. 

“Can I help you, miss?” A beautiful girl asked you, and you stared at her. 

“No, but you have a frequent customer, Mingyu?” You asked, causing the lady to laugh. 

“Customer, honey, he’s the owner? Do you have an appointment with him, or would you like a consult? He’s got a free evening, so I can pencil you in. Just walk all the way, and when you see a white door with golden roses on it, you’ve found it,” the lady instructed, and you just moved on autopilot as you reached his door. 

Your knuckles trembled as they knocked against the door, his door. 

“Come in!” A cheery voice you yearned to hear for so long, a voice you missed every day and every night replied. 

You pushed the door open and noticed that Mingyu was too busy sketching to look up, and he continued drawing. 

“Just take a seat, make yourself comfy. Sorry, just finishing up a sketch,” Mingyu said mindlessly, and you stood still. 

Taking him in, his hair was longer, he’d coloured it too, a light brown, and he looked handsome, but also he looked healthy like he was sleeping and resting and happy. 

You noted how focused he was on his work. Mingyu was always handsome to you, but even more so when he was doing something he loved. 

“Seriously, it’s okay. Make yourself up at home,” Mingyu started to say as he got up from his chair. 

“Y/N?” Mingyu asked as he finally noticed you. 

“Oh my goodness,” Mingyu broke into a broad smile as he rushed to hug you, and you could feel the tears pooling in your eyes. How could he? 

How could he look at you with so much kindness after what you did to him?

“Oh my gosh, how are you? You look well. How’s Japan, and how’s the job?” Mingyu asked a question after making you stare at him. 

“I found this,” as you moved away from his embrace, practically slapping the journal against the chest. 

“Oh, I’m guessing you read it?” Mingyu asked with a smile. 

“What did it mean, the surprise?” You asked, and Mingyu smiled at you. 

“Can you spare me some time? I don’t want to have that conversation here, but if you can wait a few minutes, we can return to mine, and I’ll explain every word you read?” Mingyu offered, and you nodded at him. 

“Babe!” The same girl from the front desk walked into Mingyu’s office. 

Babe? 

You felt your blood run cold. It made sense for him if he moved on, but her? The woman who looked like she was everything you weren’t, maybe that’s why he wanted her. 

“Sorry to interrupt, but I just wanted to check what you wanted to do for dinner tonight. If you want, I can make pasta?” She kept speaking, each word twisting the knife in your chest deeper. 

“Yuna, this is Y/N, a good friend,” Mingyu introduced, and you forced a smile for her. 

That’s all, but what would he introduce you to her? A friend? His ex, the one who broke his heart? 

“Oh, you guys were friends in school, right? Nice of you to visit, so I guess raincheck on dinner? Oh, babe, please don’t forget we must go to the dress store. I need you to pick out the suit for the wedding,” Yuna said as she gave him a peck on the cheek, shot you a smile and left the room. 

Mingyu had moved on so quickly? A wedding? He waited ten years to propose to you—sort of—but with Yuna, only six months, maybe he wasn’t the problem. You were, you saw her, pretty, friendly, and she seemed to make him smile. Something you failed to do for so long. 

So, it made sense that he’d see a future with her and not you. 

Mingyu could hear your overthinking, and he wanted nothing more than to comfort you right now, but he’d do it the minute you two were in his house. Alone and in a safe space. 

“Shall we?” Mingyu asked, and you nodded, following him, not saying a word during the entire car ride back to his apartment and the walk to his apartment. 

“I’m going to take a shower and freshen up. If you want, you can use the guest room. I can grab you some clothes,” Mingyu offered, and you followed him into the guest room, not saying a word. 

 Mingyu poked his head into the bathroom when he noticed you hadn’t emerged in a half-hour. Worried, he entered, and his heart broke when he understood what you were doing. 

“Hey, no, stop that,” Mingyu said, poking his head in at first and then entering the bathroom when he understood what was happening. 

“Just wanted to see what I was missing,” you admitted, making Mingyu frown as he helped you sit on the countertop. Mingyu grabbed a towel, wet it, and gently wiped your face with it. 

“She’s pretty.” You muttered, and Mingyu sighed, placing the towel on the counter.

“She’s got a nice body,” you continued to speak as you were apart. Mingyu stared at you in disbelief, and he hated how you were tearing yourself apart. 

“Can you shower? Or manage on your own?” Mingyu asked; he didn’t want to leave you, but he was very aware that you were naked and crying, and he didn’t want to upset you any further. 

“I guess you found the one you love, and I’m here like a moron because I thought you still loved me. I selfishly thought you still loved me,” Mingyu shook his head and snapped, and his hands found your face and pulled you in for a kiss. You gently pushed him away. 

“Don’t pity me,” you muttered Mingyu glared at you. 

“None of this is out of pity.” Mingyu moved his hands to your neck, gently tracing your skin until he reached your lower back and pulled you closer to him. 

“I’m going to ask you again; can you manage to shower alone. Or do you need me to help you?” You sighed and pushed your body against him.

“I need you,” you answered. Mingyu nodded before moving away and stripping. 

“Fuck, see, you have a nice body,” you said to Mingyu, making him glare at you as he helped you into the shower. 

“So do you, and fuck, I’ll be damned if you don’t feel the same by the time I’m done with you,” Mingyu said as he turned on the shower, and you sighed in relief as the warm water poured over you.  

Mingyu reached over for the shampoo and moved his hands into your hair. You moaned as he massaged your scalp, and for a second, you stopped thinking about how crap you felt. You allowed Mingyu to wash you, and you were ready to leave the shower when Mingyu gently pushed you against the wall. 

Mingyu moved his lips from your forehead until he reached your lips and captured them in a sweet kiss. 

One which had you swooning. 

It was so soft and yet deliberate. You moaned as you felt him deepen the kiss with his tongue. Mingyu kept kissing you until the need for air became too urgent, and he gently pulled away. 

Mingyu moved his lips to your neck, slowly sucking and gently nibbling the skin there. He left a trail of marks on your neck, all shades of purple and pink. Mingyu moved his hands to your breasts, massaging the soft skin, tugging and pinching your nipples, making you moan. 

Mingyu pulled away from your body and got down on his knees in front of you. He dove into your cunt, licking your folds, and your hands moved their way into his wet hair. 

Mingyu didn’t move a muscle, only his tongue as he glided it up and down your cunt. He moved slightly and pushed his tongue into you, making you gasp in pleasure. Mingyu groaned as he tasted your arousal, pushing his tongue in further. Mingyu moved his tongue back to your clit and flicked the now-engorged nub while pushing two fingers inside you. 

You were whimpering and gasping in pleasure as Mingyu fingered you until you came. Mingyu held your thighs in place as he continued to lick you through your orgasm. He was focused on making you cum as many times are he could with his tongue. You shuddered when Mingyu continued, never stopping. 

Mingyu moved his hands to grab your ass and pulled your ass cheeks apart, making you groan. 

Mingyu’s lips never left your clit. You could only mewl and let out sobs of pleasure as he licked you. You were gasping for air as you reached your second orgasm. Mingyu’s mouth never moved from your clit as he licked you through your orgasm. 

Mingyu moved his lips away from your cunt, and moaned when he saw your state. 

“You look so fucking good like this, swollen pussy, mouth open. You look gorgeous when you cum,” Mingyu praised, and you clenched your thighs together at his words. 

“Turn around, face the wall,” Mingyu instructed, and you weakly turned around as you trembled. 

“If anything is too much, tell me, okay?” You mumbled a yes, and Mingyu pushed his fingers into your cunt.

“Good?” You choked out a yes. The new angle with which he entered your cunt had you seeing stars. 

“Fuck, I’m going to cum.” You mumbled as your legs started to shake, Mingyu simply hummed against your wet folds, and that’s all it took for you cum again. 

“Please, fuck me,” you begged, and Mingyu slowly got up, held your body close to his, and pulled you in for another kiss; you were so immersed in the kiss that you failed to register him lifting you in his arms and aligning you with his hard cock. 

“Can I?” Mingyu asked, and you nodded at him.

 “Fucking hell, you’re so tight,” Mingyu groaned as he pushed himself into you and started to pound into your cunt. 

 “Fucking hell,” you groaned as you bit down on his shoulder as fucked you into your fourth orgasm. 

“Fuck, I won’t last long,” Mingyu choked out.

“Cum inside me,” you begged him.

Mingyu smiled at you, “gladly,” he said as he thrust into you harder, making you shake and clench around him each time. You moaned when you felt him finally still and cum inside you, his warmth coating your walls. 

Mingyu slowly placed you back down, “fucking hell,” you groaned, grabbing Mingyu’s forearm as he started fingering you hard. 

“One more baby, one more,” Mingyu coaxed as he fingered you to another orgasm. You nodded as you felt yourself cum simply based on his command Mingyu didn’t stop until you came again. This time he finally moved his fingers away from your cunt. 

You were so fucked out. All you could do was hiss slightly when Mingyu finally washed you up, wrapped you in a towel, and carried you to his bed. He towelled your hair dry, put his shirt on you, and pulled you into his arms, wrapping the blanket over you two. 

You turned in his embrace to place your head on his chest, “cuddly,” Mingyu noted with a soft smile on his lips, and you returned a smile back to him, making him bend his head down and capture your lips in a gentle kiss. 

You opened your mouth to speak, and Mingyu held a hand out to stop you. 

“Tomorrow morning, please,” Mingyu pleaded, and you nodded. 

You could do that.

Pretend for one more night.  ~~ Second, Third and Hundredth Chances  ~~

“Morning,” Mingyu greeted you as you entered the kitchen the following day. He stood by the kitchen island, poured himself a cup of coffee and another one, and pushed it across the island, nudging you to sit and face him after six months. 

Six months. That’s how long you went silent on him, blocked him out, and suddenly showed up at his door because of a journal. 

All his life, Mingyu knew you as a planner. You always had a backup plan, so for you to show up unannounced seemed so odd. Maybe you were passing by. Or you just wanted the last word, but after six months. 

Seeing you again, Mingyu felt pain, anger, and hurt, but more than anything, he still felt love. No matter how badly it ended, you were so much more than his ex-girlfriend. You were the woman he once wanted to spend the rest of his life with. It didn’t matter what would transpire; you would always be unique to him, and he could only hope he held a similar position in your heart. 

“So,” Mingyu started to say as you sipped the coffee. 

“I made you cheat. I’m so fucking sorry,” you mumbled, making Mingyu laugh. 

“Right, I didn’t cheat when I was with you, and that’s not something I’m going just to start doing because I’m with someone who isn’t you,” Mingyu said, and you stared at him, confused. 

“But Yuna?” You asked. 

“When you threw me out, I couldn’t find a place that late at night, so I ended up at a bar and cried my eyes out to Yuna. She ran the bar that night and felt sorry for me, so she took me home,” Mingyu explained, pausing to gauge your reaction. 

Mingyu felt slightly cruel for testing you like this, but with the hell, you put him through for six months, this was nothing, and he wanted to see if you still loved him or just got upset because you thought you had some right to him. 

“Yuna and her fiancé, they both, I guess, let me crash and nursed me back that night and just let me mope in their house for a solid month,” Mingyu explained, making you exhale. 

“She calls everyone babe and kisses everyone’s cheeks but only kisses her fiancé’s lips,” Mingyu elaborated, making you sigh in relief. 

“I think it was month two of moping over you, and I was, you know, useless and jobless,” Mingyu continued to speak, hurting you, knowing that you used the exact words when you broke his heart. 

“I was baking a lot, and Yuna’s husband is a famous pastry chef, and he saw me swiping through my Pinterest board and asked if I wanted to do something with my life or just cry over you,” Mingyu chuckled, recalling the memory. 

“So, for four months, I poured all my efforts into my craft, and I picked up everything quickly, and I guess I’ve been lucky, and the bakery is doing well and honestly. I thought I was finally moving on, but then, you showed up at the place I created to get away from the hurt you caused me,” Mingyu finished, his tone now serious and stern. 

“So why are you here, after all these months, and don’t tell me it’s because of a fucking journal. You wouldn’t randomly get on a flight and show up without a plan, so tell me, did you come here to reopen all the wounds I tried so hard to heal?” Mingyu asked, and you fumbled. 

“Do you know what you did to me? That night, you not only assumed that I was an unsupportive boyfriend, but you equated my ability to love you down to the fact that I was unemployed and directionless, and that is fucked up. Like beyond fucked up. So when you threw me out, I honestly believed I was worth nothing. I didn’t think I was enough. While I still want the best for you, you broke me when I needed you most, and seeing you here now, when I’m just getting my shit together, it fucks with me because a part of me wants to kick you out the way you did to me, but a part of me wants to kiss you and try again so tell me Y/N which part should I listen to?” Mingyu fumed, making you cry. 

“Why did you do it? Because what we kept breaking the ‘no sex rule’ or did something else happen? After that date, you said you fell in love with me again, and three days later, you did that. Was it because you accepted the job offer and you felt guilty? I know I’m not perfect, but I broke myself trying to be the man you deserved, and it still wasn’t enough, so I think I am at least owed something, some explanation,” Mingyu implored, his voice softer, and you couldn’t stop the tears from escaping. 

“Fucking speak, will you? You had no problem tearing me apart, so why are you quiet now?” Mingyu asked, frustrated. 

“Because you were bending over backwards, you did so much, and I did nothing. Mingyu, I got mad at you because another girl gave you the attention I didn’t. You were focused on fixing us, and I was focused on just fixing you, and yes, you’re right. The fact that I accepted the job without a second thought for you made me realise what a selfish person I was. I was ashamed, and then you took me out on that date,” you paused to take a breath before continuing. 

“I felt like a failure. I failed you because I was so willing to fix us. Still, I didn’t want to go through the pain because I was scared that at the end of it all, you’d realise that you were better off, and I couldn’t deal with that, so I thought it’d be easier if I made you hate me,” you blubbered out, and Mingyu looked at you in disbelief. 

“I ran away because it was easier. I took the easy way out because the tables had turned. You were succeeding in fixing us, doing the work, and all I could do was watch you put in so much, never expecting anything in return. I couldn’t do that to you, so I just let you go in the worst way possible,” you explained through your tears. 

“I know what you wanted to do the night of the date. I found a velvet box, and I just wanted to confirm that when I flew down here and walked in, it didn’t feel like home. It felt cold and distant, and I didn’t fit here anymore. I saw you happy, glowing, and you had started fresh, and me? I’ve been on autopilot, working, coming home and trying so fucking hard not to think about you, and that journal was an excuse because I couldn’t stay away anymore,” you sputtered out. 

“I knew you wanted to propose, and I ran because while it was everything I ever wanted, I wasn’t the woman you deserved, and I don’t know what I’m doing here because I’m certainly not the woman you deserve now. So, thank you for last night, and I’m sorry that I rehashed old wounds, and it was because I was selfish. I was selfish that night, and I’m still the same,” you cried out. 

“Selfish?” Mingyu repeated as he walked over to you, holding your face. 

“Scared, not selfish,” Mingyu said with a sad smile. 

“How do you not hate me; how can you still be so kind and loving after everything I did to you?” You asked as Mingyu wiped your tears away. 

“Because I still love you, hell you fucked with me, but when I saw you yesterday, it felt like a missing part of me was found, and while it hurt, because I got used to that missing piece, I felt alive, seeing you, and I know that the last time I gave up because I thought that’s what you wanted, but after last night. I know it’s not; it can’t be. So, tell me, did you come back to ask me about a journal entry or because you love me?” Mingyu asked, and you sighed. 

“I left everything. I was looking for something to bring me back to you because, after I left, I didn’t think I had a right to face you again, so the journal was my excuse,” you answered, and Mingyu stared at you. 

“Everything?” Mingyu asked. 

“I quit and packed my shit and came here and handed over the keys to the apartment in Japan to my landlord, and I guess I came here, hoping to come home and selfishly hoping to come back home to you,” you answered, biting your lip unable to look at Mingyu. 

“But your promotion?” Mingyu asked, and you shrugged. 

“It took me six months to realise that no promotion, no success in the world meant anything to me if you weren’t by my side, and it felt hollow. Every applause and pay cheque felt worthless because, in a room full of praises, I only ever wanted to hear your voice and come home. I always hoped that you’d be there, and I’d run into your arms and kiss you, and we would both sit and tell each other about our days, and then at night kiss each other and make love to each other, but all I got was an empty house,” you rambled making Mingyu smile tearily at you. 

“Can I ask you for a favour?” Mingyu asked, and you nodded, looking at him. 

“This time, I don’t care how difficult it is, how serious it is, how big or small the issue is, you come to me, no matter if it’s a small issue or a big issue, you’re coming to me, you don’t kick me out, and you don’t fight with me, but you fight for us,” Mingyu explained making your eyes widen. 

“After all I did to you. You’ll take me back?” You asked, and Mingyu smiled at you. 

“I was always going to come back to fight for you. I just needed time to be strong enough to do so, but yes, because if there’s anything these six months taught me, it is that I’d rather spend six months going through this pain a hundred times over, provided that each time the outcome was the same, you back in my life,” Mingyu explained making you cry even more.

“How can you love me so much?” You asked, making Mingyu laugh. 

“You stole my heart in a science class when you threw a paper at my head for being too loud in class, I was yours then, and I’m yours now, so tell me, my love, will you be mine again?” Mingyu asked, and you cried, nodding. 

“If you can forgive me?” You cried out, and Mingyu smiled sweetly at you. 

“I forgave you long ago. I was hurt, but my love for you is paramount, and it’s easier to love you than to be mad at you,” Mingyu explained, hugging you. “The perk of knowing you for so many years is that I know, despite your harsh words, you get defensive and deflective and often, what you do instead of saying the truth is act and lash out.”

“I don’t deserve a love as understanding as the one you have for me,” you admitted, and Mingyu shrugged. 

“We didn’t have the most perfect few years, but maybe that’s what we needed. Maybe Dr Kwan’s separation therapy worked because six months of radio silence was more painful than when we were fighting. After all, at least I could see you hug you, and talk to you, but not hear a word from you, not knowing anything that was nothing short of torture. I don’t want to go through that again,” Mingyu explained.

“It took me losing you to realise how much I love you,” you answered, pausing to wipe your tears, “and if you let me, Mingyu, I’ll never let you go again. I’ll love you the way I always should have, and I’ll never let you go because losing you was like I lost my ability to breathe, but here in your arms. I feel safe, loved, and at home, and I don’t want to lose my home again, and I-” Mingyu’s lips cut off your speech on yours. 

“Sorry, but I had to,” Mingyu said sheepishly, making you smile. 

“This will sound weird, but Y/N, will you go on a date with me?” Mingyu asked, making you smile as you burst into a wide smile and hugged him tightly. 

“I’d love to,” you answered. 

“Good, Tuesday night? I’ll pick you up. It’s a surprise,” Mingyu asked, and you nodded furiously. 

All those times you thought it’d work, you always were still unsure, but today, right now, you knew that you’d love him because loving him allowed you to see the world in colour and losing him took away all the colour and joy in the world and this time you didn’t want to fix it for the sake of it. 

You wanted to fix it because you loved him. 

The Finale: What I Should Have Said

One Year Later  

“Oh, for the love of God, please do not break,” Mingyu muttered as he set up the decorations for  your anniversary date on the balcony. At this moment, he was yelling at a bouquet to stand still. 

“Mingyu? What is so urgent? I’m home?” You called out, and Mingyu pouted, glaring at the faultless flower bouquet. You were back and early, 

“In here!” Mingyu yelled out. 

You walked into the house, noticing all the lights had been dimmed. There were flower petals everywhere. You smiled. You knew Mingyu was going to do something for the anniversary. You just weren’t entirely sure what. 

“Hi,” Mingyu looked up to see you, smiling at the decorations. He walked over to you and kissed you. 

“Happy Anniversary.” He mumbled against your lips.

“Happy Anniversary to you, too,” you said. You smiled as he held your hand and pulled you to the sofa. 

“Ooh, cake!” You exclaimed, making Mingyu roll his eyes at you.  

“I’m a three-course meal, and you are salivating over a cake?” Mingyu complained, but you laughed.

“Oh, get over it,” You kept laughing, and Mingyu sliced a piece out for you. He was oddly precise and took a long time to slice the cake. 

“Dude, just give me the cake,” you muttered, and Mingyu scowled.

“Did you just dude me?” Mingyu asked dramatically. You smiled at him as you took the cake from him and immediately scooped a piece into your mouth. You felt something sharp in your mouth; you tasted blood and metal and glared at Mingyu. 

“What did you do? Accidentally leave a fork in the cake?” You glared, and Mingyu gasped in an attempt to bite back a laugh. 

“Why don’t you get cleaned up and find out?” Mingyu offered, and you looked at him strangely. However, it was your turn to gasp as you ran to the bathroom and pulled a ring from your mouth. 

You washed the ring and returned to the balcony where Mingyu was frantically pacing. 

“Mingyu?” You asked, holding out the now-washed ring in your hand. Mingyu took it from you and knelt down. 

“I waited too long last time, I waited for a sign, the right time, all that bullshit, and I’m not saying that if I had done it earlier, our problems would have never occurred, but I know waiting sure as hell didn’t help. I know I wanted to marry you when I was 19, and now, more than ten years later, I still want that, except this time, I don’t want to wait to find the right time, place or anything. I don’t need any of that. I just know that I need the right person, and I have that with you, my love,” Mingyu declared, making you tear up. 

“The last year has been a lot for us. We found each other again and worked together to fix ourselves, and you know what? I’d do it all over again if it meant fixing us, and if it meant that a year later, I’d be here proposing to you, so what do you say, Y/N? Will you be mine forever, and will you love me forever the way I know I will love you?” Mingyu asked, and you nodded, unable to say much but give him a muffled yes. 

Mingyu slipped the ring onto your finger, pulled you into his arms, and hugged you tightly. 

“When I said we’d be okay, this is what I meant, I knew it’d hurt, and it’d take fucking a lot of time and patience, but I’d do it all over again a thousand times even if this is the ending, I get each time we’re done,” Mingyu spoke, and you looked up at him smiling. 

“Me too. I’d lose you a thousand times over if it meant being back in your arms at the end,” you replied, making Mingyu smile. 

“I love you,” Mingyu said, and you smiled at him, “I love you too, so much you loved me despite all my flaws and imperfections”, you replied.

“I saw those ‘flaws’ and ‘imperfections,’ and I fell in love with every part of you. We’re both imperfect, but the way we love each other, now that’s fucking perfect!” Mingyu replied, holding you tighter. 

You knew this was your home; with him in his arms, that’s where it was no longer cold; it was warm, safe, and it was home. 

He was home.

[gyuiebabie]

cried for an hour..

the biggest must read ever

[belovedgyu]

LOST SAINTS (part nine)

PART 1 -> PART 2 -> PART 3 -> PART 4 -> PART 5 -> PART 6 -> PART 7-> PART 8 -> part 9

part 10 coming soon

⚬ pairing: uni au! kim mingyu x fem! reader ⚬ word count: 11k ⚬ warnings: smut, innocence and possession kink, fingering, oral (f. receiving), mentions of smoking and weed MDNI you will be blocked for this one.

song recommended (highly): closer by nine inch nails

author's note: the chances of you getting ambushed by a lost saints smut update are low but never zero.

check out this bollywood playlist sent to me by this lovely anon <3

Mingyu said he had wanted to talk. 

The evidence of talking is the movement of the mouth and the exchange of sounds. 

Your mouths are moving—just at a very close proximity to each other. 

There are sounds—incoherent moans do classify as sound, right?

Maybe this is just your body talking to his. 

It had been begging to do so ever since you straddled him on your tiny bed—how you had felt his warmth buzzing underneath every inch of you and how his breath had licked your skin. 

The want in your heart had matured into this utter need that made every single inch of your body ache and cry for his touch. 

“Mingyu…” you chant his name like a prayer when his lips graze the edge of your jaw. 

He peppers your cheek with soft, tiny kisses. 

The two of you had barely made it out of his car and into the elevator before he captured you in a corner, your back pressed against the slick mirror and chest mashed against his hard abs as he made out with you like even a single inch of your face left unkissed is punitive. 

Your fingers dig into his biceps as he lifts one of your legs and hooks it over his hip. Another leg follows suit. And just when the elevator pings, signalling your arrival at his floor, he steadies you in his arms and carries you to his flat, lips still latched onto your neck. 

Your head rolls back, a slew of breathy, broken moans spilling out like pearls of a tattered necklace when he traps you between the front door and his hard body and types in the passcode. He almost gets it wrong when you plead—no, when you beg him with his name. 

“Shhh, baby, you’re gonna wake the neighbors up.” he hushes against your lips softly, forgetting to type the final digit to give your hungry mouth the attention it demands. 

When he’s finally able to push your entangled bodies into the warmth humming in his apartment, you give yourself a moment to breathe. 

The gravity of the moment sinks in your gut heavier than you anticipated. 

You are in a guy’s apartment.  

It is almost midnight. 

You like the said guy so much to a point where you’re putty in his hands, pliant and melting. 

You should…think this through. 

Your lips on his neck stutter until they come to an awkward pause, a familiar ache of shame and hesitation clawing up its way from your gut all the way up into your head until it throbs. 

Gingerly, you unknot your fingers from behind his neck, a wave of doubt weighing down your limbs until they loosen around him. The sudden distance that you etch between your bodies is small, yet it burns him like an inferno. 

But he lets you go, sighing so soft that it is a lick rather than a kiss on your skin. 

You clear your throat, gaze falling down on the faint smudge of dirt under your feet the moment they press down on the ground. 

“I, uh…I should wash up.” 

Your meek voice settles in Mingyu’s heart like a delicate hush, slowing his heartbeat down into a more humane rhythm. The gravity cracks something behind his ribs, the lavender haze that he has concocted around your physicality clearing up, bit by bit. 

He sees you now, truly sees you—hair mussed up in wild waves, half of the body glitter on your collarbones smudged over his clothes while your lipstick stains the skin beyond the edges of your lips. Your chin is wet and red from his licking, cheeks blooming with splatters of scarlet from when he nipped at them. 

His jacket that he wrapped around you is nowhere to be seen, he has no idea where you lost it—the car, the parking lot, the elevator, the hallway? 

All he knows is that your little body—devoid of a covering—is shivering against his, clinging onto whatever little heat his own emits. 

Your glassy eyes are as wild and frantic as they were earlier, but there’s a hint of apology glossing those dark, big orbs. 

Trying to mask your nervousness under the cloak of an excuse to clean up, you look so ruined and defeated—it wrecks him. 

“Sure, baby.” he cups your face like he is trying to memorize the lines that make you, you. He kisses your forehead, feeling how your fingers tighten over his biceps like you’re apologizing for a moment you promised him but couldn’t deliver. 

He shakes his head, resting his forehead against yours. 

“Don’t think about it, okay? I wasn’t lying when I said there are no ulterior motives, I just wanna spend time with you tonight.”

Your mouth falls open, but no sound comes out, just an embarrassed, hitched breath that shatters the silence. Your fingertips curl over the fabric of his shirt like you’re afraid that if you let go, some trance might break. 

But his warm eyes ground you in the moment, thumbs rubbing over your exposed shoulders ensuring you that this isn’t some daze, this is him taking care of you like he has always wanted to—in the safety of his house, in the possession of his arms. 

He kisses you once again, this time, on the tip of your nose, before taking your hand and leading you further into the house—slowly, carefully, like he doesn’t want to overwhelm you with anything unfamiliar furthermore. 

Mingyu’s flat isn’t as big as you had anticipated. 

Humble, clean and homey, smelling like fresh linen and soap…you prefer it that way. 

Out of the neatly stacked journals and papers on the mahogany coffee table, he points out to the one you might like, pulling a smile out of your apprehensive lips. 

Finally, he shows you to the master bathroom. 

“Uh, wait a second,” he lingers over the doorframe just as you’re about to shut it off. “Just wait here.”

He disappears down the hallway to what you assume is his room. Confused, you bite your lip, your eyes roving around to take a good look at the space you’re in. Just like the rest of the place, the bathroom is spacious, tidy and basked in bright, golden lights. 

It isn’t picturesque—but messy in that lived-in kind of way. A stack of clean towels folded pristine in a corner, but one of them is knocked off the pile like he bumped into it in a hurry while getting ready for the night. The otherwise neat countertop of the sink has two opened bottles of cologne—one is a sharp citrus while the other sports a light musk of old leather and wood. You can picture him debating between the two and then going with a tried and trusted third option, his signature bergamots and oakmoss. 

You’re still cataloguing the space—an expensive looking watch left beside the handsoap dispenser, a clean hairbrush resting teeth up; there’s a slight knock at the already opened door. 

“Hey,” he says, looking suddenly sheepish, like a trespasser in his own home, “I figured you might want this.”

He extends a delicate clump of fabric, what you assume is his hoodie, towards you. The tassels on your dress clink slightly when you take it from him. The thick cotton is soft in your hands, worn and warm. His scent captured between its folds hits you ever so lightly when you clutch it closer to your chest. 

It is such a small gesture, but it makes your chest ache. 

“It’s clean,” he clarifies almost too suddenly, “just did my laundry yesterday.”

He doesn’t disclose the fact that he wore it once this morning. 

A short titter escapes your throat. 

“Thanks, Mingyu.” 

You have no idea why your legs are pressing tight under the dress—is it the cold in the air or the heat in your abdomen surging at the new territory of intimacy being crossed at this moment?

He nods once, a short smile tugging at the corners of his mouth before he steps out. 

The door shuts with a soft click. 

In his kitchen, which still sports the smell of burnt sugar and buttery cocoa from the failed baking attempt with his friends this morning, Mingyu’s fingers tremble as he seeps two bags of sweet tea in separate cups.

The night is as unreal for him as it is for you. 

Even more so because he can see exactly what’s happening with you. 

The evening, the party, the dress, the kiss—it all got you so worked up. You proved to yourself just how good it is to act on pure instincts, to just take that risk. 

But now, he can feel that same instinct slowly flickering out in you, like a fire on its last legs craving oxygen.

Mingyu sighs, dragging his hands down his face as the kettle whistles softly behind him with a clear curl of fresh steam. 

He knows the look you gave him at the door—the kind of distant, spiraling focus of someone trying to will themselves back into their own skin. Your words stuttering and stumbling like someone trying to walk bare-feet on cold grass.

You’d gone all in tonight. Stepped miles out of your comfort zone wearing shoes that bit your legs, dragging yourself to a party full of people you didn’t really know, dancing on him with an unabashed claim, holding your drink a little too tight like if you let the passion slow down even a bit, you’d shrivel up from the loss of its heat.

And then you kissed him.

Straddled him. 

Moaned for him.

But now that the apprehensions of your mind are slowly catching up with your body’s desire, he can see the exact moment where the need to shrink, to stabilize, to cling onto something familiar grappled you like an old friend. 

He doesn’t complain about it. God, no. Never.

He is already too proud of you for trusting him with your rendezvous. And now, after you've weathered the chaos and noise of the night, all he longs to do is carve out a quiet corner—in his home and in his heart—where you can finally rest.

So he prepares the same tea that you always order, gives you his softest clothes and his warmest slippers, fluffs up extra pillows on his bed and puts on some old music of Sade’s that is always filling your playlists. 

It is so you. 

Soft, warm, slow. Familiar. 

The tea splashes over the saucer as he momentarily loses his control when you step out of the bathroom in his clothes. 

His hoodie swallows you—reaching mid thighs, engulfing your fingers and hiding the pink blooming on your collarbones from when you must’ve scrubbed the skin there to get all the glitter off. 

The only makeup on your face is the faint lick of mascara over your lashes which must’ve refused to come out in the shower but smudges liquid-black over your eye when you rub it with the heel of your palm sleepily. 

“Sorry for taking so long,” you mumble, wrapping your hoodie clad fingers around the cup that he slides towards you over the counter, “the water was too warm.”

“It's okay, I freshened up in the other bathroom,” he replies, offering you one of the only edible cookies which could be salvaged after the morning’s disaster. 

Of course there’s an ‘other bathroom’ where the water runs warm even at this hour, you think.

The lights in his kitchen are much more mellow than the ones in the rest of the house, the sweet aroma of the space and the soft notes of jazz slowing down your blood even more. 

Before you even realize it, you’re almost slipping off the stool you’re seated on, barely catching yourself at the last moment by gripping the marble. 

“That’s it,” Mingyu announces, grabbing your cup in his other hand, “we’re going to my bedroom.”

“But I don’t wanna sleep just yet.” you whine a little, dragging your feet reluctantly behind him. 

“We don’t have to, but at least you’ll have a place to sit where you don’t smash your head on a hard surface if you doze-off.”

There’s something about the way he talks to you that never makes you feel like he’s ordering you around, or chastising you. Just aiding you. But there’s always that slight edge of something bigger than just care or possession. Belonging. Like you’re not someone he needs to look after to prove something, but someone he needs to look after to breathe. Almost as if you’re an inherent part of him. 

Mingyu’s bedroom is even cozier than the dining room, washed in low amber night-lights pooling between the limits of smooth, navy walls. It is so evident that unlike your bedroom—which serves as your study, office, closet, rage room, personal concert arena and more—he only uses this place to sleep. 

There’s that nagging voice in your head again, the one that reminds you that just his bedroom alone is almost as big as your entire apartment. The space stretches out almost unendingly, vast yet crushing with the weight of your differences at the same time. You draw in a breath. Just one. To take it all in. But when it leaves you, and Mingyu smiles at you from over his shoulder, it all becomes bearable. Inviting even. Calling you to look beyond the material of it all, at the soul that lies here, the humanity of it. 

You notice how the walls are otherwise bare, leave for a few expensive looking oil-paintings of sunsets, mountains and things that don’t matter. 

“Not a huge ‘photographs on walls’ guy?” you ask, a bit hesitant.  

He snorts, placing the tea cups on his bedside table. 

His shoulders lift in a half shrug, “When I was growing up, there were these giant family portraits hanging on each wall at home. The smiles looked so fucking creepy especially when you know just how much everyone hated each other.”

He takes a seat on his bed, flipping the duvet open and inviting you in. You follow, exhausted limbs humming when they sink down in the comforting warmth laced with his scent. 

“So when I got my own place, I decided I wouldn’t hang up anything that lies to me.”

“That’s kinda bleak,” you admit, but not unkindly. “But also, fair.”

You sit there in silence for a while, trying to settle between this insistent tug of  comfort in a room where not everything is covered by some band poster or merch. The room isn’t sparse—it takes up space, breathes with this inherent ease that its owner embodies. 

Your living spaces are, indeed, perfect replicas of who you both are. 

There’s a clink of china as he sips the remainder of the tea and places it back on the wood. 

“Y’know, growing up my biggest fear used to be that I’d turn out just like them. Superficial and cold. Conniving. Smiling only when it is convenient or for the show,” he rests his elbows over his knees.

You look up. “What about now?”

You can see his fingers tighten around each other. 

“It still is, somewhat,” he answers, his voice cracking around the edges, “but now, instead of ending up like someone else, I’m more afraid of not being seen for who I truly am.”

Something behind your ribs twists. 

“There are times where I feel that I am no longer human, but a body made of flesh and clay that people can mould into whatever they want me to be. An ideal heir, the golden boy, a ticket to fame.” you watch how Mingyu visibly crumbles under the weight of a shame that isn’t even his to bear. 

“Just a name–-fit for headlines, perfect for tags… like whatever soul lies behind these illusions they have of me is too boring, or worse—too crooked.”

Your teeth chatter around the tea-cup, fingers trembling. You clench your eyes and gulp it down in a go, hoping that the burning concoction would also drown down the dam of tears which threatens to burst. 

Once you’re able to look at him, you clutch one of his palms between your smaller ones, thumbs rubbing soft circles over his cold knuckles. 

“Mingyu, you won’t turn out like your family,” you tell him, “and I am saying this because I see you.”

His eyes lift up and he nods, or at least, tries to like he is desperate to believe you. 

“I mean look at me.” You press further, “I couldn’t be more different than mine.”

You almost falter, a shame you know all too well beginning to nip at your skin, but Mingyu squeezes your hand and brings you back to the room. 

“My mom had me when she was very young, barely sixteen,” you continue, “she never knew how to stop at one place for more than three months—we were always on the move as she would try to chase down her next dream. I remember being so exhausted all the time, I’d beg her to just stay whenever I made a new friend. All the yelling, the anger, I guess it started there.”

You laugh, “I finally put my foot down, telling her I’d rather live with my grandparents. And since then, I got so sheltered, I began despising changes or movements or risks. Last time I heard from mom…she was in Barcelona, playing the bass for some band. And I am here, still the same student, the same waitress—nothing like her.”

“You don’t have to be.” he shakes his head.

“Neither do you.” you say, bringing his hand up to your lips and pressing a soft kiss on his knuckles, “I’m here, Mingyu. And I want to see what you show me. Not what the media prints, or what the people on campus say…because I know the soul that has held me the way yours did, isn’t crooked in the very least.”

A broken breath hitches in his throat, his eyes shining clearer than ever. You press his palm down in your lap, shifting on your hand and knees and crawl up to him until your chest mashes with his. 

And then, you kiss him, tasting the residue of the sweet tea on his lips. 

Your hands tighten around him until your syrupy perfume bleeds into the collar of his shirt. 

You kiss him until you memorize his breaths like your favorite song. 

You sigh in his mouth until he can feel the faint quiver of nerves alive beneath your blushing skin.

He matches your fervor with even more passion. 

While you lightly scrawl your fingernails across the defined veins running along his forearms, he tightens them over your legs, jerking you closer until your knees are pressed on either side of his hips and you’re straddling him.  

“This is so right…” he whispers, voice gruff and muffled into your skin as his large palms roam all over your back as if he’s trying to map you out in his memory, “you, in my clothes, in my arms, in my house–fuck!” 

It doesn’t seem like an observation when he says that, but more like a retelling of a story he has written over and over again in his mind. Like he had dreamt of this night…the idea of your squirming bodies latching onto each other through lips and nails, buzzing with something deeper than just lust, something red-hot…something too big to name. 

While the kiss on the pavement was an inevitable confession waiting to happen, the one in his bed is more like an obvious stamp of claim being seared hot on your body. 

Like he is telling—no…like he is showing you how every kiss of yours is his to retain. 

Yet there is no entitlement in the way he looks at you. Just utter reverence and devotion. 

When his fingers start sliding over your body, grounding you with the warm pressure he applies over your midriff, you giggle, breaking the kiss. 

“What?” he smiles, watching you flush on his lap. 

You bite your lip, breathing in the air that’s heavier with his scent now that you’re pressed so close. 

“I…uh, I found something.” you say, reaching down in the pocket of his hoodie that you’re wearing. “I was looking for a cigarette to blow off some steam, but couldn’t find anything. I almost gave up until…”

You produce the small roll that has been weighing you down ever since you found it neatly tucked between the bottles of medicines in his cabinet. 

Mingyu eyes you inquisitively until it hits him just what it is in your hands. 

“Oh,” he laughs, “the guys must’ve left it this morning.”

He takes the blunt away from you.  

“We were baking cookies and Theo thought it would be a good idea to smoke some weed.”  He explains.

Mingyu intends to toss it into the bin, but your hand covers his just when he’s about to aim. 

You quip, too urgent for it to be the cool act you were anticipating it to be, “I wanna try it.” 

He hesitates, “you do?”

You nod almost eagerly, ears pinching pink. “Always wanted to.”

“You’re sure, baby? I mean, tonight has been too much already—”

You cut him off by leaning in for another kiss—this time, a hot, open mouthed one, the steam of which is enough to melt all his doubts away. 

“Too much?” you bat your lashes at him, detaching your lips from his with an audible wet smack, “we’re only getting started.”

Something darker swirls in his eyes, his heart hammering in his chest. He gulps down that raw hunger you’re pumping within him without knowing the true intensity of the impact that you have on him—it’s abrasive enough to burn a hole in his chest. 

He takes a slow, quiet sweep across your body. 

There’s a tremor in your curves—of need, of fear—yet the steel in your gaze is enough to convince him to shift and fish out a lighter from his bedside drawer. 

The flame flicks to life with a practiced snap of his thumb, he makes you hold the blunt as he lights it up. 

Once the tip of it sizzles orange, he puts the lighter back down. 

“I’ll go first,” he says, voice low yet commanding as he slides the blunt from between your fingers into his own, “watch.”

You hum in response, observing how he takes a slow drag, letting the burn settle down in his throat. There’s a pause, and you think it is almost wondersome how charm just drips off everything he does, because when he finally lets the smoke leave his lips, the tempo of the music in his room heightens in sync with his actions. 

Throughout this heady scene that is unraveling before you, he holds your eyes even through the veil of hot mist, searching your face for signs of apprehension as he lightly tips the blunt against the edge of the bedside table. 

But you don’t hesitate, not even for a beat. 

The moment he tilts the blunt towards you, offering you to take it, you grab his wrist instead. 

And then, keeping your gaze firm on the storm brewing in his irises, you dip your head and wrap your lips around the joint in his fingers—almost like you want him to be the one feeding it to you. 

The strain of his hold over the roll tightens. 

His voice drops an octave as he watches you suck marijuana from between his fingers. “Easy, baby.”

Despite your attempts at sensuality, the instant hit is almost violent because you ignored his warning and couldn’t control the intensity of your suction. 

It is hot and scratchy, like you’re inhaling a charcoal briquette. 

Your entire body jerks with the loud, brittle coughs that crackle out of your throat. It’s like someone has set it on fire. 

“Shit—baby, breathe.” Mingyu is already alert like he anticipated this, leaning forward and rubbing your back as he pulls the blunt away from you. “It’s okay, that’s how it usually starts, give it a moment to creep up on you.”

He winces when you cough again, reaching for the water bottle on his nightstand and twisting the cap off before offering it to your lips himself, his other palm cradling your neck. 

“Here, drink this.” 

His palm rubs your back as you take a long swig, eyes watering, lips parted around a half-formed breath. 

“You okay?” He asks again, once the red on your skin has faded into a pink.

You nod, wheezing a little as you wipe your mouth with the back of your hand. 

“Didn’t think it would feel like I swallowed a bonfire.” You look up at him, glassy eyes catching the way the freckle on the tip of his nose crinkles when he smiles at you. “Am I gonna get high now?”

He stiffens, and for a moment, something like exasperated affection flickers over his face before he breaks out into a low chuckle. 

“No sweetheart, it doesn’t hit in a single drag. Besides, this was just some cheap indica, it’ll only relax you.” 

“What’s indica?” you ask innocently, still gravely unaware of the impact of your wide-eyed questions on his self-control.

“Indica and sativa are the most common cannabis,” he explains, despite himself, “sativa gets you high. Indica just lulls you down. But you only took one puff, barely, so it’s not gonna impact you at all. Don’t worry.”

“Do you smoke often?”

“No,” he shakes his head, “only if someone offers and I want to. Usually, I don’t like losing control with substances, it makes you stupid.”

You nod, remembering how you didn’t see any alcohol in his house either. He takes a second drag, much shorter and insignificant than the last one, his cheeks hollowing out ever so slightly as the ember at the end of the roll beats like a heart. 

And then, he kills the joint altogether by pressing it against the saucer and tossing it into the cup, firm and deliberate. There was still so much of it left, but seems like he doesn’t want either of you to be acting stupid tonight. 

He exhales some of the remaining smoke in his throat through pursed lips, lazy and calm. A faint streak of smoke curls around your closely packed bodies like tension made visible. 

Before it can run out, you reach forward to catch his mouth, drinking the sweet, scalding smoke straight from him like he is the only source of elixir ever. 

He groans against you, clutching your waist to still your hips which have begun rutting over him under the duvet in a rhythm that doesn’t falter. 

“Gyu!” you exclaim, short puffs of the earthy smoke escaping your conjoined wet mouths in splutters when his fingers dig deeper into your skin. “Please…please let me.”

Your breasts are heavy and tingling when you rub them against him deliberately hard, straddling him tighter like you’re trying to convince him with your body. 

He grunts, a swirl of disbelief and desire hooding his eyes. 

“Baby?” he sounds breathless, his hands heavy over your waist as he attempts to find ground at this moment. A small, red bruise blooms over his lips from when you bit it too hard before demanding him to let you continue rubbing yourself on him, a fading imprint of your lack of control around him. 

You struggle to calm down, trying not to appear completely fucked out of your mind from all the thrill of this very, very long evening. 

And then, once your nerves are not jumping out of your skin, you look up at him, soft glassy eyes still apologizing in that quiet way. 

“Mingyu, I want you to know something,” you murmur, cheeks warming up, “I don’t want to give you any mixed signs but the reason why I stopped this from going any further earlier—”

“You don’t have to give me a reason.” he states, firm yet soft, just like his touch over you. 

Nothing about him falters—the warmth in the way he holds you, the endless adoration in his blown out eyes, that proud half-smile—its all there. 

“No please, let me finish.” you rasp, “it’s not what you think.”

His hand reaches up to tuck your hair behind your ear, and then he cradles your face, his thumb grazing your jawline. “Then tell me what it is.”

“I just want you to know…,” you crush your plump bottom lip between your teeth, it tastes of smoke and him. 

You whisper, almost shyly, “I’ve never done something like this before.”

Your lashes flick up to him, there’s not much change in his expression. Nothing explosive. Just that usual curiosity. Understanding and inquisitive, almost predictably kind. 

You think it is because he has misinterpreted your confession, maybe he thinks this is your usual ‘I don’t take risky decisions’ confession. 

So you clarify more and watch how his face morphs in real time as he is unable to hide his surprise with what you’re about to say next. 

Your voice shakes, bending in the middle with shame. The exhale that follows deflates you, your shoulders cave in. “I’ve never been touched before…not like that…I–uh, I am a v-virgin.”

Mingyu freezes. 

Not horrified. 

Not aghast. 

Just, seized. 

Like his body just abandoned him for a second there. 

There’s a couple of questions he could ask: 

‘What do you mean?’ But you just told him what you mean. 

‘Is Ethan a monk in practice?’ Ew. 

‘Why do you look so ashamed? It's nothing to be shy about.’ But he doesn’t want to overwhelm you more by pressing for additional information. 

“You’re telling me because you trust me, right?” is what he settles on, honeyed eyes brimming with hope and care. 

Trust. 

That’s what the whole night has been about. 

Over and over, with each hour that bled into the other, you stripped off every layer that concealed you from him—physical and emotional—just because you had begun trusting him. 

And now here you are, emotionally bare, waiting to see how he handles your nakedness as you nod slowly. 

He presses his forehead against yours. “We’ll take time to help you decide what you want, and then when you’re ready—”

“I am,” you interrupt, urgently. “I really am. I thought this through.”

Your fingers fumble around the collar of his t-shirt as you pull yourself closer to him until your abdomen is pressed flush against his abs, hoping that he can feel the heat curling in there, “I really want to, Mingyu. With you. Tonight. I promised myself I will not let any doubt creep in. I want to explore things with you, Gyu, I really do.”

Throughout the last few hours, all Mingyu had been waiting for was for you to ask him. 

But with the burnt smoke in your breath and the sheen in your eyes—of exhaustion and emotions—he can’t help but feel that you’re rushing yourself into a moment whose intensity you can’t quite grapple with. 

He had been wrong earlier, your thrill hadn’t died down. 

You were still riding that wave of something new, something brave, perhaps even overestimating your abilities to surf through it. 

So he gently tries to guide you down.

“Baby, listen to me,” he cups your jaw with both hands, his thumbs resting under your eyes, “I want this for us, more than you can even imagine. But not like this, not after all these heavy emotions and weed and party—”

“You think my judgment is frazzled?” you hitch for a moment, flustered and slightly annoyed, not wanting to back down just yet. “I wanted this before all the talking and the smoking, Gyu.”

He has no other way to ascertain your conviction. 

So you surrender to the last resort. 

Clutching his large palm with both hands, you shift it from your cheek and make him explore your body. His eyes widen when your entangled arms travel down from the slope of your throat, feeling the hard nipple that rests over your aching mound, down the smooth expanse of your abdomen all the way to your soft thighs, prickling with goosebumps. 

When his hand hesitates around the hem of his hoodie that you’re wearing, you jerk it up with more force. 

A pathetic gasp breaks out from his lips when his fingers come in contact with your nude core. 

You’re naked. 

Bare. 

Cold, yet buzzing with heat at the same time. 

You’re actually waiting to see how he handles your nakedness—not just on the emotional front. 

His heart slams against his ribs so hard that he’s sure it echoes. 

“See? Told you I’ve wanted this all night.” Something cracks in your throat as the tsunami of adrenaline slams against it, wavering your voice. 

You loosen your grip over his hand, careful to not force him into something he doesn’t want. 

But he doesn’t leave you just yet, not entirely. His fingers find purchase over the soft flesh of your inner thighs, warming the skin just near to where you need him the most. So close that you can feel the pulse radiating from his veins onto your folds, even when there’s no direct contact. 

His eyes go wild over you, the realization that you’re completely naked under his clothes seeping into his skull, drip by drip. 

He cannot believe it. 

Neither can you. 

But taking off all your clothes in his bathroom felt like the only right thing to do at the time. In fact, that had been the case ever since he held you on that dance floor. 

God, this urge to be naked in his arms…it had carved a cavity in your lower belly so deep and had been twisting your gut painfully all night. Like a relentless tide, it rose and fell, pulling at the very fabric of your being, each wave crashing against your ribs until you could almost taste the salt of desire.

And now that you are in the state you’ve been longing to be in for hours, there’s not even a single hint of regret or uncertainty that can hold you back from diving deep. 

You relax back on your haunches, or at least try to, thumbs fiddling with the large sleeves as you wait for the verdict of his contemplation. The cogs in your head stumble and screech as you try to come up with the worst case scenario in this situation and how will you ever save face after unabashedly undressing, begging and demanding his touch if Mingyu rejects you tonight. 

Mingyu’s fingers over your thigh flutter ever so slightly as he tilts his head like he always does when he’s trying to figure you out. 

“You’re so nervous,” he observes. 

“Shy.” You correct him, skin pinched pink. 

“It’s cute.” 

His hand slips up to run up and down your side, tentative and testing, his eyes, clear and assuring, watch you too closely. You can feel the need radiating off his chest against yours, it is evident in the strain of his palms occasionally twitching over you, like he’s fighting a losing war against some brute force within him. 

Deciding to put an end to whatever little doubt there’s left in him, you rest your head over his pecs, pushing your heat further into his embrace and looking up at him as you nearly pant. “I want you where it aches the most, Gyu…I want you to touch me.”

He breathes, ridiculously halting like someone just pressed a pause on his existence. 

And then: “I really want to touch you, baby. I’ve wanted to everyday since the moment I saw you…truly saw you.”

You push him over the edge when you slide your body up, catching his earlobe between your teeth to tug him closer to your lips. 

“Then take me, Mingyu, I’m here…I’m yours—”

That’s how you find yourself with your back pressed in the mess of sheets and blankets and duvets in a flash of seconds. 

“Mine.” He reaffirms, almost to himself. 

Mingyu’s arms cage you, not trapping, but not willing to let go without a fight either. 

“I wouldn’t give you more than what you can’t handle,” he says, “but I need you to be vocal through it. Tell me what you want, let me know whenever it's too much.”

“Yes,” you breathe, “yes, I will.”

That’s all he needs from you. 

His fingers are reverent and slow as they map out the skin of your thighs, soothing and caressing. For a few moments, that’s all he does, rubbing and feeling your pliant flesh fold between his fingers. 

You don’t miss the slight shiver in them when he leans down to place faint kisses over your knees before pulling them away just enough for you to feel the cold air of the room brush against your core. You gasp when you feel the wind glide over your damp skin. 

While clenching your thighs together all night, all you had felt was pure heat blooming between them, but now that he has made you aware of just how wet it got as well, you can’t help but feel astounded at how little you know about your own body.

Mingyu’s lips are parted, a shuddering sigh stumbling out as he takes in the reality of this moment unraveling before him. 

To him, right now, the rest of the world is suspended. It’s just you. Clothes rumpled. Hair sprawled over his pillow. Eyes wide and welcoming. There’s nothing but you. Only you. Ethereal…almost unreal. Too beautiful for him to not lose his god-damn mind. 

He looks awestruck, glazed by sheer surprise. 

You’re just as much, if not more, devastated as he is. But you steel your nerves, helping him course through it when you wrap your unsure fingers around his wrists and give him a light squeeze, encouraging him to touch you however he wants, wherever he wants. 

His eyes flick towards your anticipating ones. 

He watches you like he wants to burn this moment in his mind forever and revisit it in the depth of every night that follows. This monumental evening, this gift of your presence, this raw control that you’re shedding off and handing over to him. The movement of your chest, rapid and erratic, as you heave with more need than you can comprehend, below him. Scarlet taking over your skin like dusk returning home. The twitch in your curves, shy yet inviting at the same time. 

He drags you in like he did with the burnt cannabis—but unlike the elusive smoke, he doesn’t let you go. 

He asks you once again if he can take his clothes off of you. 

You squeal ‘yes!’ before he can even finish that question.

An expert twist of his wrists undoes his hoodie on you, and as soon as the fabric hits the floor, mortification strikes you like a forgotten familiar ache returning back into your bones. 

It had been one thing, taking everything off and boldly slipping bare into his hoodie in the privacy of his bathroom. 

But all your lifelong fears, insecurities and doubts creep back in when you’re lying naked under someone so fucking perfect. 

Your legs snap shut, twisting painfully to your left, and your hands fly up to cover your chest out of habit with a broken gasp. 

This is all you’ve ever known—hiding, shrinking, chickening out. 

This shelter of your arms away from the world is familiar, but the safety you’re craving doesn’t come when you clench your eyes shut. Hiding feels wrong for the first time…like you’re drained but refusing to sleep, thirsty but running away from what can quench you. 

“Baby,” you hear him call out, large palms smoothing over your ribs, “hey, don’t be shy now. We’ve come so far.” 

He doesn’t ask you to pull your arms away, not with words at least. 

But he does lean down, burying one of his palms in your hair while the other rubs over your hips, coaxing you to loosen up. His lips work against yours in soft, slow motions. Just tasting, appreciating, thanking. 

“You are the most delicate little thing ever,” he muses when your eyes flutter open, “let me take care of you baby.”

There it is, that safety you were looking for, nestled deep into his brown irises. 

It lingers in the way he holds you whole—never gripping, just cradling. 

It blooms in the way he looks at you…reverent, admiring, gutted. 

It leaves you with no choice but to surrender to him. 

“Yes,” you squeak, voice doused with tears accumulating in the back of your throat, “God, yes.”

You don’t fight it when he holds your arms pressed over your chest, squeezes them for a beat, and then moves them to either side of your head, planting his own above them to prevent you from hiding away again. Your fingers tremble under him, but he only laces them together with his own until your bodies are knotted together like they were meant to be.

He can’t help but swipe his eyes over your vulnerable figure quivering below him. The want in his gaze teetering on the edge of shatter. 

“You’re so pretty baby…so, so fucking pretty.” 

The fabric of his t-shirt is rough against your recently exposed and aching nipples as he leans in to worship your face, mouth slotting above yours, all consuming.

When his soft lips meet your cheek, a cold wetness jolts you—tears. You’ve been crying. And despite your honest attempts, you can’t suck them back in…stubborn, they keep on spilling out of your clumped up lashes, disappearing down in your tousled hair.

He kisses the wet trails on either side of your face reverently, tracing them up until he reaches to press feathered kisses on your lashes. 

Just like that, the tears halt with his kisses. 

“You have no idea what you do to me…” he says when you open your eyes again, the last, little hiccup departing your torn lips.

His face dips deeper, reaching the column of your throat. He spends some time there…nipping, kissing, sucking. You don’t realize just how much you’re reveling in the feeling of his mouth sucking at your bare skin until a groan rips out of his throat when you unknot your fingers from his captivity to bury them in his hair, bunch up a few tresses and tug. 

It only fuels him to go harder on the patch of skin he has been tasting. 

By the time he reaches your chest, you’re a buzzing bundle of nerves and anticipation. Your skin is damp underneath a soft sheen of sweat, yet you shiver like there’s frost in your veins.

At first, you brush this sudden cold dotting your physicality off as shyness chased with shame. 

But the way your nipples pucker up, even in the warmth of his room, like they’ve been teased with ice, and the way your arms, instead of trying to cover up again, just press closer to the pillow and on him—effectively thrusting your chest forward for him to feast…nothing about it is shy. 

Mingyu’s mouth slacks open for a moment, lips red and gleaming with wet hunger. He watches you twitch under him, shy fingers tugging at the fabric of his t-shirt like you’re urging him to join you nude. 

Eagerly, he complies by removing his t-shirt in a go, all while making sure not to detach his eyes away from you for longer than a second as he bares himself for you. The hard line of his abs instantly causes drool to gush in your mouth. Too visceral of a reaction for the display of a body you’ve looked at quite a few times now, but a totally justified one when you consider the fact that you’re truly seeing him, wrecked with need under the dimmed lights of his bedroom and not perfectly posing by some beach or pool, for the first time. 

Your eyes can’t stop roving all over him even when he hovers above you, closer, warmer, untamed. Like adrenaline refusing to settle. 

“You’re so irresistible when you look at me like that.” He whispers.

“Like what?” 

“Like you want me.”

“I do.”

“I know you do,” he smiles, placing a reverent kiss over your forehead, “so let me give you what you want baby…I need to give you my all.”

You brace yourself by finding purchase on his shoulders when he leans in to capture your nipple between his lips. The sound you let out is guttural, devastating and raw. 

“Mingyu!” your back arches off the mattress before you can hold your spine back, fresh tears spilling down your temples at his untamed ministrations. 

Unlike the rest of you, he doesn’t give your breasts a single warning before he begins worshipping…no—devouring them. 

No slow kiss, no hesitant exploration of fingers, no silent plea for a permission. 

Just straight up sucking, tugging and teasing, like his lips on your breasts alone can satiate the longing that has been brewing behind his throat for months now. 

He keeps on mumbling pretty compliments while flicking your pebbled bundles of nerves, his vocabulary seeming to be reduced to a jumbled mess of ‘sweet, soft, beautiful’ and the variations of it as he mashes his face into your chest, not caring about this thing called breathing. 

He doesn’t let your other breast feel lonely though, cradles it in his giant palm, switching between pressing and pulling. 

If by ‘let me take care of you?’ he meant, ‘let me suck your soul out of your fucking tits,’ then Mingyu, certainly, is keeping his word.

By the time he unlatches, you’re red, sweat soaked and heaving. But he stretches the sensation, doesn’t make you feel at loss at all. Because as soon as his lips leave, his thumbs are pressing over your nubs on either side. Soft circles gliding over the wet skin, spreading his spit mixed with tiny beads of your sweat further over the feverish mounds. 

And then, courtesy to a particularly needy moan of yours, a switch flips. 

Mingyu is deliberately pinching you now, the firmness of his grip almost unhinged. 

“If only you knew the amount of times I have wanted to touch you like this,” his hands become more deliberate over you, “gorgeous…fuck.”

Your cheeks burn up, a choked breath breaking apart in two at the darkness which takes over his eyes. You grab at his wrists, silently pleading him for mercy, or for more of whatever this delicious torture is—you’re confused.

“Too much?” he asks, slowing down to flatten his palms over your chest.

“I don’t know,” you admit, almost sobbing, “don’t stop, but also…stop, please…I don’t know, I’m losing my mind I—”

His hands instantly slide up from your chest to nestle your face instead, but the passion is still there. 

He hushes, “It’s okay, we’ll slow down babe.”

You try to force your watery gaze at him to test if you can look at him after what just happened, and your cheeks burn up instantly. 

His hair is falling in wild messes over his eyes, his lips parted in what seems like permanent wonder. 

There’s no hint of the earthy smoke on his breath anymore, he plastered it all over your skin instead. 

You’re faintly aware of his knuckles grazing down your ribs, but you’re more focused on his gaze dancing ever so slowly from your face, to the ruined skin of your chest, to your heaving abdomen, all the way down to your blushing core which feels too tingly and wet now. 

It takes everything within you to keep your thighs slightly parted even though every part of your skin is singing with the need to rub them together and relieve some tension. 

You don’t want to give him the impression that you’re hiding away from him, afterall. 

“You have such a beautiful body baby,” his words hover above you heavy before sinking down in your bashful form, curling into warmth and excitement, “too bad you never showed it any love.”

You flinch when Mingyu’s eyes meet yours, this time a little sharper. 

He rubs his palms over your folded knees, using them as a leverage to pull you closer down his bed and settle between your thighs before wrapping them around his waist, letting you feel the overwhelming length and hardness of him through his sweatpants for a moment too brief before shifting back slightly. 

“Come on,” he takes your hand, “I’ll teach you how to appreciate this art.”

You suck in a harsh breath, moisture accumulating behind your fluttering lids when he brings your hand to his mouth, wraps his lips around your fingers and drags his wet tongue over each digit like he’s savoring his favorite meal. By the time he lets go with a pop, your shivering fingers are glistening with a sheen of his saliva that he slathered deliberately over them. 

He doesn’t let go of your hand, doesn’t bring it to your lips like you expected he would. 

Honestly, you don’t know what to expect out of him right now…Mingyu is already so unpredictable, but in bed, like this, his spontaneity and raw impulse are heady enough to shut your brain up around anything that’s not him. 

Slowly, almost tentatively, he begins lowering your hand between your legs. 

By the time you realize what he means to do—wetting your fingers then bringing them down to your core—your tangled fingers are already hovering above your folds. 

Like an instinct, they recoil. 

“Mingyu!” you try to bunch your fist, nails of your free hand latching into his forearm, but his grip over your palm stations it in place. 

He tilts his head, “scared?”

You nod.

He presses, “of your own cunt?” 

A sharp gasp. “Don’t say that!” 

“Well, what do you want me to call it then?” he chuckles low, leaning in to plant his free hand by your head, his breath fanning over your face, his silver chain pooling down against your chin. “Your princess parts? Your peachy portal? Your kitt—”

Your free fist connects with his shoulder as you shove him with all your might. 

“What is wrong with you!?” you screech, cheeks flaming red and hot. 

He grins, eyes glittering with something wicked. “By the way, you should really start masturbating.”

“Wh-wha…how do—” you gasp, but he chooses that exact moment to tighten your fingers together and make you rub your clit with them in a firm, slow circle. 

Your jaw slacks like someone undid the hinges that kept it together.

“You can’t say the word, you’re always sizzling with stress, you’re so shy” he hums, tongue grazing your jawline with short kisses as a whimper slips past you, “too innocent for your own good, baby… but this will help you feel relieved.”

Slowly, you loosen the grip of your nails over his skin, letting him push your conjoined hands further down your aching bundle of nerves. 

He smiles against your cheek. Lips flushed, hair wild. 

“It’s not fair to expect someone to know what you want if you haven’t figured it out yourself yet.” He whispers, overtaking your fingers with his own as he makes you explore the slippery, heated slick.

The movement relieves a tension that seems to have been locked in your lower belly for ages, which now drips down in languid throes from your core. 

You sigh deeply, letting him make you touch yourself with whatever amount of pressure he wants to apply on your little fingers…handing him your body on a silver platter until boundaries cease to exist between the two of you. 

“For example, do you like it when you’re stroked like this,” he makes you rub your swollen folds once, flicking your clit with his thumb in this dance of a sweet collaboration between you both before proceeding to detach your hand from your core for a split second. 

You let out a garbled moan at the motion, and a devastating whine at the loss. But he only sits up further, eyes zeroed down to study you clearer.

“Or do you like it better,” he holds a singular finger of yours, softly dips your wrist deeper and cajoles you to push it inside your entrance with his thumb, “when you’re getting fucked like this?”

Your entire body shivers when the pad of your unsure middle finger slips inside your heat pooling with wetness, your walls instantly tightening when the slightest of pressure is applied on them. 

You’ve tried this before, you want to argue with him, but beyond just a few pumps that’d leave you dissatisfied, you never went through with it. 

He cuts your memories off, “Or are you a greedy girl who likes it both?” 

Right on cue, his thumb moves from keeping your quivering finger stuffed in your entrance to massage the clit the way he had made you do before. 

Albeit his movements are firmer, more determined, like he mapped it out before, like he has practiced this before just for you. What force to apply, what angle to caress more, what speed to start with and when to switch…God. 

He observes your reactions and adapts at such a frightening pace that leaves you a moaning, whimpering mess whose pleasure heightens with each passing second. 

“Tell me baby,” he whispers, “what do you like, hm?” 

You bite down on your bottom lip, trying to recollect the last few heated moments that have passed before coming up with an answer. 

When he touches your nub, you feel like you’ve been reduced to nothing but a bundle of nerves knotted together and ready to combust. 

But it is also so sensual to feel something slide in and out of your leaking valley, massaging your aching walls as they clench with this newfound thrill…

“Both!” you breathe. 

Mingyu halts. 

For a split moment, nothing happens. 

And then—you scream. 

Mingyu slides in one of his freakishly long fingers inside your tight, wet hole, almost disregarding your own finger that is still clogged in there. He begins pushing in, effectively sliding your hand deeper. Your palm flutters with shame over your crotch, but he pushes it away firmly to keep your clitoris open for his thumb which hasn’t stopped drawing those deep, stimulating circles as you cream more and more. 

“I knew it,” his grin turns lopsided, “under all that shy girl facade, you’re just a sex-bomb waiting to explode.”

With the amount of heat in your cheeks and the speed at which your blood drains out of your body to rush down south—hot and bubbling—you might as well just be on fire, his crude words only adding more fuel to it.

Your palm is useless under his bigger one. But he makes it work—literally. 

He forces your finger in and out along with his own, he motivates your thumb to join his rougher one to tease your petals and through it all, his lips never leave your face. 

You’re painfully aware of how unabashedly your body opens up for him—lips parting to welcome his invading tongue to fuck your throat, thighs sliding open to accommodate his large body more comfortably between your legs, even your cunt stretches beyond what you could ever imagine your limit was just to have him stay there snug. 

Soft. Stretched. Clenching. Ruined. Claimed. 

Your chest, heaving and slick with sweat and his spit slides against his taut skin. 

He looms over you, tying you down with his smoldering eyes and making you fuck yourself in front of him while fucking you through it as well, you realize just how vulnerable you are. How you have no place you can hide into. 

When overwhelm ties up your throat with a silken ribbon, it's like Mingyu senses it before you can, because he rests his head above your heart. 

“Let me make you feel good baby,” his tongue darts out to give a long, sensual lick to your nipple, “don’t shy away now.”

He emphasizes his point by deepening the thrusts of his finger, making your shoulders curl inward and closer around his head on your chest. 

The way his fist bumps against your bottom, you can’t help but moan at the realization that he’s digging in and out of you knuckles-deep. 

All through it, he doesn’t swat your arm away which, honestly, is uselessly idle under his expert flicks. 

You don’t even know why he insists on having you join him like that as he fingers you. 

But when he hits a certain spot that causes your entire body to lurch upward and the heel of his palm digs into your crotch, encasing your hand to expand the heat of it all—that’s when you realize that he’s doing this to try to make you share this moment with him. 

He tests out that specific spot—the one that almost levitated you off his bed—yet again.

“Fuck, Mingyu!” you whine, your entire body contorting further into him. 

He lifts his head, supporting his weight on his forearm by your head as you mewl into it, sinking your teeth deeper into his wrist while he watches your cunt spasm at the overuse of that angle. 

“This spot baby,” he says, even through clenched eyes you can hear the smile in his voice, “feels like magic, doesn’t it?”

You don’t know just where you learned how to animalistically rut like that into the roughness of his palm, but it's your body that nods to him in answer instead of your head. 

“Yeah?” he asks again, increasing his pace until another slew of fresh hot tears begin pumping down your cheeks and into his palm that cradles your face. 

“Yessss!” you hiss, remembering the promise you made to him about being vocal through it all. 

“Too bad your little finger can’t reach it.” 

He makes sure to emphasize his point by forcing your finger as deep as it can go inside of you—still not deep enough to touch what he touches. 

“Mine,” he whimpers, almost like he didn’t mean for you to hear it, “this…you-you’re mine…just mine.”

Your eyes fly open, you don’t know how to cope with the idea of there being a part of you—meant for your pleasure—that only he can reach…a sensitive spot nestled so deep in your core that only he can touch. 

When your gazes meet, they darken almost in tandem, like he just had the same realization as you. 

Your breaths are a heady mix of devotion, possession and heat. 

The band in your abdomen stretches and stretches until it teeters on the edge of collapse. And when it becomes unbearable, you rip your hand away from your cunt, letting him take full control of the moment and grab his face in both your palms to pull him in for the dirtiest, most needy makeout ever. 

Your groans synchronize so deep and chests smush so close that there’s no way of determining what heartbeats are yours and which ones are his. He moans like your pleasure only adds to his own, like watching you sigh satiated somehow fulfills him too. 

You’re not even ashamed of how your hips twitch wild in his palm, no longer bashful when he pinches your nipple and wipes his thumb rough across your clit at the same time. 

When your walls tighten impossibly around him, your legs locking behind his waist, something slacks within him…probably his self control. He breaks the kiss and babbles. 

“Be mine,” he rasps, “go out with me. Be my girlfriend. Please, just be mine.”

He instantly regrets asking you out like this when your eyes and mouth part wide—he can’t ascertain if it is because of your edging orgasm or because of his bold demand. 

Fuck, this isn’t how he planned it out…there should have been flowers that he offered to you, perhaps even a sweet little card!

“Are you serio…” your head falls back and you break into a moan when he slides another finger in your silken walls to distract you from the question he just blurted out. 

“Mingyu!” you yell out, shattering already, uncontrollably.

“I got you,” his words fall soft over your lips like the first snow as he guides you through your release, “let go baby, I know you want to. You’re so beautiful like this.”

He continues to press praises in your skin with his words and his touch, his fingers inside you turning more and more languid as your thick, glossy juices soak his palm, trickling down onto his bed. The squelching sounds and the smack of wet skin on skin, are divine and unholy at the same time. 

“Love…you’re so tight.” he gasps when you clench him tighter through the last waves of your high. “So perfect when you come undone.”

Your cries morph into moans into his mouth which reduce to sighs and ultimately, a string of whispers of gratitude. Your body melts against him slick and shy; sweaty and ruin-soaked skins trying to maintain hold over each other like the twilight on a sighing sky right before it slips off the horizon. 

Mingyu rocks your tendered body, easing his fingers out but not leaving—he continues to stroke your warm and worn out petals with his face buried deep in your hair. His chest is right on top of yours, and you hear it skip a beat every time you twitch under him from the aftermath of this storm that just swallowed you and spat you back. 

He turns his head slightly, kissing your ear before murmuring, “you’re alright?”

You turn your head too, nose nudging against his. Feathered words slither past your lulling breaths, airy and fleeting. “Never been better.” You gulp, then open your watery eyes to meet his ashen ones, “I think you just ruined me forever…in the best way possible.”

Mingyu flinches, or maybe it's just your heady imagination. 

His mouth parts like he is about to torture you with his dirty promises and observations yet again, but it is only a shuddering breath, almost timid. 

Almost. 

Because Mingyu is the type of person who recovers from shame within five seconds. 

“So,” he tormentingly slides his wet fingers from your core to your navel, swirling your wetness coating them on your skin, “what’s your answer?”

“To what?” You croak, unaware of how rapidly your abdomen rises and falls. 

He pulls up enough to turn to his side, his head resting over his fist and stares down at you with this specific kind of awe like he’s still figuring out the edges of this moment—trying to make sense of what’s real and what is his imagination. 

“To my offer of going out with me.” He clarifies, a slight sliver of possession that he tries to mask slipping out through him. 

You blink, allowing yourself to finish processing that question fully now unlike the previous time. A thrilling realization hits you: you are being chased for the first time. That too, by Kim Fucking Mingyu. 

And making his life hell has been a top skill of yours. 

You bite your lip, eyes glinting evil and with the way his smirk drops, you know he can see what you’re about to pull. 

“No.” 

You shake your head, rejecting him with the world’s cheekiest giggle.  

Oh. 

Quick-witted as ever, Mingyu re-strategizes and reallocates his resources. He brings his soaked fingers up from your lower belly, laces them with your own and then brings them into his mouth, making a show of licking what sweet gloss of yours remains on your skins. You try to muffle the sound that wants to leave your lips at the sight by biting your lips, but it only makes you look more turned on. 

“Really?” he asks in between the licks, making quite a compelling case on his boyfriend application. “Not even when I do this?”

He shifts back between your thighs, but lower this time, his shoulders lodging between them and pulling them further away as he begins kissing and licking your navel now. 

You try to get up on your elbows, but your body is still humming with the ache of your first, real orgasm. Your breath hitches, sharp and high, but he only moves lower until his kisses begin landing on your throbbing folds. 

Slow and delicate, but open-mouthed and hot. 

Mingyu shivers for the first time in the entire night when his tongue flattens over your red, thrumming folds and he gets to have a proper taste of you. Your hips jolt at the impact, digging deep into the mattress one moment then thrusting closer to his face the other. You can’t help it. 

“So sweet,” he moans like you’re the most delicious thing he has ever had in his mouth, “sweeter than what I imagined.”

You sigh, fingers getting lost between his tresses, tugging at the roots of them when he begins licking you clean down there. His motions are innocent at first, like he’s just using his tongue to relieve the ache, to calm you down after his fingers practically pounded inside of you. 

But then, he spreads your legs and shows you what it feels like to be eaten out. 

You’re screaming when his suction on your clitoris gets so precise that you can see actual stars over his dark ceiling. You feel something nudge against your entrance again, but unlike his fingers which were firm and hard, the feeling is soft, warm, wet. 

His tongue, you realize…Mingyu is tonguing you now, coating himself with your slick while his nose does the job of his thumb over your clit. Both his hands are curled around your thighs, keeping you in place—open, twitching and ripping for him. 

You see him through tears and soft cries, and for a moment, you can’t believe that there’s a wet sheen over his eyes too. 

Is Mingyu about to cry while eating you out?

Your chest hollows, like your heart has been swiftly snatched away from behind your ribs and now thumps in this man’s veins. 

But you’re the only one who’s dramatically sniffling, stuffing your face into your palms and sobbing his name like a broken record. By the time he rips apart another orgasm out of you, your head is light and damp over his pillow, your chest halting then heaving like it can’t decide between ending your life or rushing to survive this night. 

“Still the same answer?” He slithers back up, lips gleaming with you under the mild lights. 

“Yeah.” 

Miraculously, you still have the courage to test him out. 

“Why?” he chuckles, incredulous. 

Your legs stay spread, limp and listless. But you move one of your fingers—the one he had made you finger yourself with—to snake over his jaw sensuously, it takes whatever energy remains in you to do so. 

“I want to see you lose your mind, Gyu.” 

You sigh, not realizing that it is one of the last calm breaths he would allow you tonight. 

Before you can gauge the tension in his jaw, he has curled his arm under your waist. Then, he flips you around on your stomach.

“M-Mingyu…” you call out for him, turning your face to look at him over your shoulder, but he’s already there, cheek pressed against yours. 

His hand snakes back between your thighs, his chest curling against your spine as he pins you down with his body weight. His shoulders are almost twice as big as yours, caging you and slanting protectively around you at the same time. 

“I wanna see you lose your mind too, baby.” He says before his fingers are back to business with your princess parts.

You don’t remember much after that. 

Just him on you, pressed so tight, so close that throughout the night, you could feel the love rippling under his skin like wind through trees. 

To onlookers, it would have been unclear whether the two of you are making love or locked in some sort of mutual ruination. 

But you—the one going through that sweet torture—could feel it all too well, not just love…but the harrowing possibility of the eternity that follows it. 

Soul crushing. Mind bending. 

The type that humans are wired to never forget. 

The type that gives birth to the theories and myths about soulmates. 

And when your breathing turns ragged after your fourth…or fifth release of the night, he pulls away, adjusting you over his lap. Small and limp. Face tucked in the long dips of his collarbones, listless limbs gathered between his firm arms. 

With exhaustion hollowing your bones, you wanted to crash out right there on his soaked sheets. No complaints. 

But Mingyu carries you—steps faltering with sleep and a heady haze of pleasant disbelief—to the bathroom again and cleans up to tuck you in his fresh sheets like you were his most treasured secret. You let your body sink down in it with all your weight, like his bed is the safest place you had ever been in. You distinctly remember scooting to a corner to make space for him, but his heavy hand just winds around you, pulling you closer to his chest like he wants to fuse you with himself. 

The last thing you hear, before succumbing to the depth of slumber in his clean cotton sheets, is a whisper slurring over the shell of your ear: “I will never forget this, baby… I know I won’t.” 

You don’t mean to cry, but the tears are there…hot, and tired, and stubborn. Almost as if your body has no idea how to hold the amount of love you harbor for him, so it breaks apart to spit it out and leave a damp mark on his pillow, each drop falling with the weight of something it can never return to.

[gyuiebabie]

art. ART.

[cheollollipop]

false start. | kim mingyu

genre: fluff. angst. smut. (MDNI 18+)

wc: 18.2k

content warning(s): explicit sexual content, emotionally charged intimacy, light bondage (wrist pinning), hair pulling, lip biting, and heated power dynamics. also includes themes of emotional unraveling, betrayal, loud arguments, yelling, lying, marital tension, emotional manipulation, guilt, and heartbreak. mentions of parenthood and mental/emotional instability.

💍 author's note!

surprise! not going to lie and say i didn't start writing this as i was writing the last part and boy does it feel good to be back. there's no racing in this but there is tension. lots of it. felt the need to shake things up a bit. this one is HEAVY. i hope it lives up to your expectations... *PSA: the spacing is definitely off because it's so long. not really sure how part two is going to work yet because there is...SO MUCH to unpack.*

Racing has always been louder than life. Louder than grief. Louder than fear. Louder than the human body's instinct to survive. It's not just a sport. It's an inheritance. A curse. A devotion that devours men whole and still demands more. Some names never leave the asphalt. One of those names belonged to my father. His reputation stretched beyond the tracks, fearless in the rain, ruthless on the straights, elegant even in the chaos of overtakes.

A legend whispered about in paddocks, inked into record books, idolized by children who dreamed of one day feeling the same wind in their chest.

Among those children was Kim Mingyu.

Before the world knew him as a champion, before his name was branded on posters and trophies, he was just a boy at our prestigious school in Seoul. Too tall for his age, always hunched at the back of the classroom, his notebooks filled with corner speeds instead of equations.

I was eleven the first time I really noticed Kim Mingyu. We went to the same school, an expensive, stiff-collared place where legacy weighed heavier than the uniforms. My family had the racing legacy. His family had everything else. His father was a corporate powerhouse, his mother a real estate magnate whose face was plastered on billboards from Gangnam to Itaewon. Mingyu was supposed to be the perfect son, primed to inherit the kind of empire that can't be bought overnight. Except he didn't care.

While the rest of us sat through violin lessons and debate prep, Mingyu spent his free time drawing race cars in the margins of his textbooks, explaining aerodynamics with a stolen protractor like it was scripture. He'd press his nose to the library computer screens, streaming grainy replays of Grand Prix, whispering driver names under his breath like prayers.

"Do you ever think about anything else?" I whispered once, leaning sideways at my desk. Mingyu glanced up from where he was tracing tire lines on graph paper. His eyes gleamed, dark with a feverish kind of focus. "Why would I? It's the only thing that matters."

The other kids laughed at him for it. They said racing was a waste, that only rich Europeans made it anywhere near Formula 1, with the exception of my father. But Mingyu never faltered. Not even when his father called it childish, insisting law or finance would be a worthier pursuit for the son of a business mogul. Not even when his mother, graceful and calculating as one of the city's top realtors, told him dreams were fragile things.

Because Mingyu didn't just want the dream, he wanted to be great. And I, daughter of the very man he idolized, was the only one who didn't roll my eyes when he said so. I knew he loved racing before he even admitted it out loud, because his whole face changed when he talked about it, as if he wanted to set the world on fire and let the engines be the match.

"You don't get it," he told me once, eyes too bright for a boy stuck in a blazer two sizes too small. "I'm going to be the best. Not just good. The best." And every single time he said it, I believed him.

The week before Monza never felt like an ordinary week. At school, the other kids whispered about summer ending, about exam prep, about who would make the debate team. None of that mattered to me. I spent more time sketching cars in the margins of my notebooks than solving equations, even though I could do both without thinking. The teachers looked the other way. They knew who my father was.

Every afternoon, I'd bolt out the gates, blazer crumpled, hair flying, running toward the garage before my driver could even pull the car around. I liked being there more than anywhere else. The smell of rubber, the hiss of hydraulics, the sound of engineers cursing in clipped accents. That was home. "Slow down, kid," one of the mechanics would call, usually Marco, who always had grease under his fingernails.

"Slowing down is for losers," I'd shoot back, climbing up onto the pit wall seat that was too tall for me, legs swinging. They'd laugh, shake their heads, but no one told me to leave. Not when I could already read data sheets faster than half the rookies. Not when I rattled off tire compound advantages as if it were bedtime math.

My father never discouraged it. He'd watch me from across the garage, helmet in his hands, that proud little smile tugging at his mouth. "You're going to be a menace one day," he told me once as I tugged at the zipper of his suit.

"I'm going to build my own team," I said firmly. He raised an eyebrow. "Not drive?"

"I don't want to just be in the car. I want the whole thing. I want to run it. The fastest car. The smartest engineers. The best drivers. Mine." He chuckled, but it wasn't a mocking sound. "Ambitious."

"I'll call it YN Racing," I added proudly. "Or something cooler. Haven't decided yet."

"You'll need sponsors, factories, money."

"Then I'll get it," I said. "If you can, I can." He tapped my nose with his finger. "That's my girl."

I trained too. Not because I wanted to be a driver forever, but because I knew if I was going to lead, I needed to understand every gear, every corner, every scream of the tires in my bones. Karting came easy. Junior formulas even easier. Coaches muttered the word "prodigy" when they thought I couldn't hear.

But I didn't want trophies. I wanted knowledge. If I could beat boys twice my size into the braking zone, if I could understand why the car twitched under me in Eau Rouge, then I'd know how to protect a driver when the stakes were higher. I told myself one day, when I had my own team, no one would die on my watch.

The days leading up to Monza blurred together. School, garage, simulator. Meals with my father where he let me sip his espresso and taught me about downforce with salt shakers and forks on the table. Late nights in the study where I traced track maps while he reviewed data, my head resting on his arm until I fell asleep.

The night before we flew out, I stood in the garage long after everyone else left, running my hand over the smooth nose of the car. My father's name in block letters stared back at me. I pressed my palm against it and whispered, "We'll make history."

I can still feel the sun that day, sharp and merciless against the back of my neck as I stood on the pit wall, headset too big for my ears, the roar of engines rattling my ribcage. The grandstands were a blur of red. Ferrari country always was. But I only cared about one car. One number. One name scrawled across the side in block letters I knew before I could even read. My father's.

Mingyu was next to me, gangly and restless at twelve years old, his blazer already abandoned, the sleeves of his white shirt rolled to his elbows. He narrated every sector like the commentators on TV, hands flying through the air as if he could will the cars faster with sheer belief.

"Look at that exit out of Variante Ascari. Did you see that? He's gaining. He's going to take him into Parabolica, watch, watch." And then he did. My father slipped past on the inside, clean, ruthless, like the car was an extension of his body. The crowd roared. My chest swelled so full it hurt. This was who he was. Who we were.

Lap after lap, the race unfolded like a hymn. Ferrari in the lead. McLaren chasing. My father holding P3 with the kind of grit that made men legends. Every lap, he fought tooth and nail, brakes glowing, tires screaming, the world blurring into streaks of speed.

Mingyu never stopped moving. He jumped with every overtake, groaned at every yellow flag, muttered strategies under his breath like he was in the cockpit himself. I didn't tell him to quiet down. I liked the noise. It kept me from realizing how tightly my hands were gripping the barrier.

And then lap 42 happened. Parabolica. I still remember the way the air shifted. A strange stillness in the noise, like the circuit itself had sucked in a breath. My father came out of Ascari too wide. Just half a meter. That was enough for his rear tire to kiss the curb wrong. The car twitched. Corrected and twitched again.

"Come on," I whispered. "Hold it. Please." It happened in a blink. The back end snapped loose, the car fishtailed at two hundred kilometers an hour, and before I could even gasp, it was gone. Metal screamed. Carbon shattered. The nose slammed into the wall and folded like paper, sparks carving across the asphalt, fire erupting where fuel met friction.

The sound wasn't what I expected. It wasn't loud. It was hollow like the whole world had just fallen into silence and left only the echo of impact behind. Someone screamed. It might've been me. Mingyu's hand crushed mine, nails digging into skin, but I couldn't feel it. I couldn't feel anything. The monitors replayed it over and over. Slow motion. Different angles. Each one worse than the last. The car crumpled. The fire spreading. Marshals sprinting. Sirens cutting through the static in my ears.

I don't remember breathing. I don't remember moving. Just the sick, sinking certainty in my chest that fate had already been decided. Mingyu whispered something beside me, his voice breaking, begging, praying, but it didn't matter. Because I knew. In less than ten seconds, everything had changed. My father's race. My family's legacy. My entire world. And all I could do was stand there, frozen on the pit wall, as the smoke rose into the Monza sky.

We waited for hours in a hospital that smelled like bleach and dread. My mother sat stiff, hands folded so tightly her knuckles bled white. My brother paced, muttering curses at the FIA, at the team, at the universe. I sat in the corner with Mingyu's jacket draped over my shoulders, staring at the floor tiles until they blurred.

When the doctor came, he didn't need to say anything. My mother's face cracked. My brother punched the wall so hard his hand split. Mingyu pressed his forehead into my shoulder, whispering, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," until the words meant nothing. Home was worse. His helmet still sat on the counter. His coffee mug still in the sink. The house was too quiet, too hollow. I couldn't stand it.

So I went to his study. The smell of oil and rubber clung to the air. His race suits hung like ghosts in the closet. I replayed footage of Monza until my eyes blurred, freezing the moment before Parabolica, convincing myself that if I stared long enough, the car wouldn't snap. I told myself it wasn't fate. It was failure.

The team should've pitted him sooner. The FIA should've reinforced the barriers. The marshals should've been faster. Everyone failed him. And underneath it all, a whisper I couldn't kill: If I'd been in charge, it wouldn't have ended like this.

That whisper never left. It twisted into something sharper, heavier. A vow I couldn't shake even as the years passed. One day, I'll build a team where no one dies like he did. Not my drivers. Not anyone. Never again.

Dinner is quiet in the best way. The kind of quiet filled with clinking silverware, soft jazz playing from the speaker above the fridge, and our daughter making a mess of her rice because she's too busy telling us about a dream she had last night.

"And then the unicorn flew over the mountain, but it had like, engine wings, and it went zoom like Appa's car!" Mingyu chokes on his water. "Engine wings?"

She nods furiously, cheeks puffed like a squirrel. "Yeah! And the rainbow was a track! And you were there too, Momma. You were wearing the superhero suit. But like…pink."

"Well, obviously," Mingyu deadpans, setting down his glass. "She wouldn't wear red. That's my color."

"You think you own red now?" I ask, raising an eyebrow.

"Have you seen my race suit?" I roll my eyes. "Have you seen my closet? I own more red than you've ever touched."

"Yah," he says with a gasp, pointing his chopsticks at me. "You only wear red when you're trying to distract me on purpose." Our daughter giggles into her spoon. "Appa's cheeks are red now." Mingyu flushes even more. I laugh softly, dropping a piece of chicken onto her plate. "Eat your broccoli, superhero."

"Nooo," she whines.

"Yes," both Mingyu and I say in unison. We meet eyes over the table, and he gives me a soft, crooked smile, the one that crinkles the corners of his eyes and makes my chest hurt a little, because he's just so good. So present. Always. Too good for the lie sitting heavy on my tongue.

I stir my rice. "Hey," I say casually. "Courtney and I are doing a girls' day tomorrow. Just letting you know." He pauses just long enough for me to catch it. Then he nods, reaching for his water. "Girls' day?"

"Yeah," I say, keeping my voice even. "Just the two of us. Nothing major."

"What's on the agenda?" he asks casually. Too casually. I shrug. "Go with the flow."

"Uh huh," he says, taking a sip. "Tell her I want a rematch."

"A rematch?"

"At Scrabble," he says, deadly serious. "She cheats." I laugh. "You're still on that?"

"She spelled 'xanthan' on a triple word score, YN. Xanthan. And then acted like it was just something people know."

"To be fair," I say, grinning, "she does bake. Xanthan gum is a real ingredient." Our daughter is blinking back and forth between us, confused. "What's Scramble?"

"Chaos," Mingyu says. "It's chaos in board game form. Don't trust Auntie Courtney."

"I won't," she says solemnly, then sticks a chopstick in her juice like a sword.

"Well, have fun," he says. "You deserve a break." I nod, chewing slowly. Guilt lodges deep behind my ribs, sharp and constant. We finish dinner in a comfortable rhythm with clean up duty shared, our daughter insisting she help by drying dishes, but mostly just smearing bubbles on herself. Mingyu swoops her up with a towel and tosses her over his shoulder while she squeals. "Appa's got a baby burrito!" he declares.

"I'm a unicorn, not a burrito!" she shrieks through her laughter. We end the night tucked around her in bed, one story becoming three, our daughter finally knocking out mid sentence with her hand still clutching Mingyu's t-shirt. I brush the hair from her face. "She's getting so big."

"She's still tiny," he whispers. "She fits right here." He gestures to the crook of his arm. I smile. We leave the door cracked, as we always do, and slip down the hall in silence, our fingers brushing, not quite holding. Mingyu locks the front door and double checks the kitchen light. I take off my earrings. The routine is quiet. Thoughtless. Until he steps behind me in the doorway of our bedroom and wraps his arms around my waist.

"You seem lighter tonight," he murmurs, mouth warm against my neck. "You laugh differently when you're happy."

"Is that your way of saying I've been miserable lately?"

"No," he says, lips brushing the shell of my ear. "It's my way of saying I've missed you." I turn in his arms. He's close. His eyes hold so much concern, affection, want, but none of the suspicion I expected. Just warmth. His hands slide up, palms flat over my ribs. "I'm not trying to guilt trip you. Just… I really like you, that's all." I press my forehead to his chest.

"I'm sorry," I say quietly. His arms tighten. "Don't be. Just come back to me. Like this." He kisses me before I can respond. Slow. Sweet. The kind of kiss that makes the world fall quiet. His hands slide up my back, gentle, steady, and I melt into them. Into him. I cup his jaw, feel the soft stubble under my palm, the heat in his cheeks. He deepens the kiss slowly, like he's testing the water, like he doesn't want to spook me.

My fingers curl in the fabric of his shirt, tug it up over his head, and let his hands dip under my robe, finding skin. "I missed this," he whispers against my mouth. "You have me," I whisper back. He pulls away just enough to look at me, pupils blown wide. "Do I?" I nod, but it's shaky. My chest is full of things I can't say. So I kiss him instead. It shifts. The pace, the breath, the hands. It all shifts. His mouth gets more urgent. My robe slips to the floor. His hands find my waist, my hips, then lower.

We tumble onto the bed in a tangle of limbs and heat. He hovers over me, pressing kisses down my neck, over my collarbone, across the curve of my shoulder. "I love your skin," he murmurs. "Love how it tastes." His tongue traces the dip of my throat, and I arch, breath catching. My hands tangle in his hair. He trails lower, across my chest, suckles softly at one breast before switching to the other, his hands kneading gently. I whimper, thighs already parting.

"Mingyu," I breathe. "I know, baby," he says, kissing lower, across my stomach. His head dips between my legs, no hesitation. I gasp, fingers gripping the sheets as his mouth finds me. His tongue is slow, practiced, devout. He licks like he's memorizing me all over again. Gentle at first, then firmer, swirling right where I need him. His fingers slide in, curling, coaxing. My thighs tremble. I moan softly. "Yes, just like that."

He groans in response, and the vibration makes me see stars. I clutch the back of his head, hips rolling, chasing the pleasure. When I come, it's soft and quiet. My legs curl around him, my whole body fluttering with release. He kisses up my stomach, lips swollen and wet, and whispers against my skin, "Still mine?" I pull him up, kiss him hard, tasting myself on his tongue. "I'm always yours," I whisper. He groans, lining himself up, sliding in slowly. I gasp, legs wrapping around him, pulling him deeper.

He moves with purpose. Steady thrusts, forehead pressed to mine, our breath mingling, our mouths brushing. His hands cradle my hips, mine tangle in his hair. "I love you," he pants, voice thick. I nod, holding him tighter. "I know. I love you too." He loses himself in me as his rhythm stutters. I feel him fall apart, feel his arms wrap tight around me, hear the broken moan he presses into my neck. When it's over, we stay tangled. Sticky and warm. He kisses my forehead, my cheek, the corner of my mouth. "Don't go again. Not like before."

"I won't," I lie softly. He doesn't respond. Just pulls the blanket up and wraps me close, his body still molded to mine. I stay there in his arms, savoring it. Because in a few hours, I'll lie again and the truth will come for us both.

By the time the sky begins to pale, I've already slipped out of bed, quiet as a breath. I get dressed in the dark. I leave a note on the kitchen counter that says "early meeting, back later," and I don't look back. The drive to the office feels longer than usual. Monaco's skyline blurs by in morning blue, and I don't even turn the radio on. My phone buzzes twice. I don't check it.

When I step into the building, it still smells like fresh paint and possibility. Our floors aren't branded yet, just long halls with glass walled conference rooms, desks stacked with mockups and renderings, whiteboards half erased. It's all in motion. All is still forming. By the time I reach my office, the guilt is a second skin. I sit behind the desk, stare at the mockup sketches pinned to the wall. Red and black streaks, obsidian curves. My father's colors. My name on the halo.

The door creaks open. Courtney's standing in the doorway, arms crossed, eyebrow raised, coffee in one hand and something that's definitely not patience in the other. "Are you ever going to tell him?" she asks, voice sharp enough to cut through the air between us. "Good morning to you, too." She doesn't laugh. Just closes the door behind her, walking in like she owns the place. Her heels hit the floor in that deliberate way that tells me she's not here to chit-chat.

I click my pen twice. "Tell who what?" She scoffs. "Don't start with me. You know who. And you know what." I set the pen down carefully. The papers are spread across my desk like evidence: sponsor agreements, chassis sketches, mockups of our livery. They're all stamped and signed, sealed with enough NDAs to keep a war quiet.

"He'll find out eventually," I say. My voice comes out steadier than I feel.

"Eventually?" She steps closer now, her heels sharp against the floor. "YN, you're launching a whole goddamn Formula 1 team. Not a bake sale. You think he's just going to clap when he sees your rookies lined up next to him on the grid?"

I lean back in my chair, folding my arms. "He'll understand."

Will he? Let me break this for a second. You all probably think I've been transparent all along. That when I stood in Monza, I was there out of spite, that it was all about him, about Mingyu and the way his name made my ribs ache.

But that's only half the truth. I didn't go to Monza for him. I went for me. To see if the roar still shook me the way it had when I was a kid on the pit wall, headset sliding off my ears, watching my father carve through Parabolica. I went to measure whether the dream still burned in me. I wasn't just watching the grid that weekend. I was watching the feeder series. F2. Hungry kids with fire in their eyes, the same fire Mingyu once carried in his notebook margins. I wanted to know if I could stomach it: the politics, the pressure, the possibility of loss.

I didn't plan on falling in love out loud. Not with him. Not so quickly, not so ferociously. I didn't plan on being someone's wife or someone's mother. But life doesn't check with your blueprints before it detonates. So here I am. Married to the man who used to whisper sector times in his sleep, mother to the little girl who looks at him like he's the only star in her sky. And still hiding the fact that I've been quietly building the one thing I swore I would. My own team.

The blueprints are no longer sketches on a napkin. They're contracts spread across this desk. They're factories rented under shell companies. They're NDAs, sponsor lists, mockups, and one man who knows the truth. Marco. My father's engineer. Back then, he was young, still proving himself, always lingering in the garage long after the rest of the team had gone home. He was there the week everything fell apart. He's the one who pulled me aside at the funeral when everyone else was drowning in condolences and told me, very quietly, "Your father was let down. Don't ever forget that." I didn't. Years later, when I called him, I half expected him to hang up. Instead, he sighed, muttered something about "your father's stubborn blood," and asked when we were meeting.

Since then, Marco has been my co-conspirator. He scouts while I watch from the shadows. We compare notes over quiet dinners in cities where no one knows our names. He tells me which kids are reckless, which ones are teachable, and which ones remind him of my father. Sometimes he gets misty-eyed when he says it. Sometimes I do too. But there's something else in those talks. A softness. A weight shared. Marco knows what it means to lose a driver. We didn't say it out loud, but we both knew it meant the same thing: building this team isn't just about the future. It's about surviving the past. A secret, betrayal, and a promise, all wrapped into one.

"Will he?" she fires back. "Because last I checked, Mingyu's entire personality revolves around being the best. And this—" she gestures at the papers, the sketches, at me "—this makes you competition."

The word hangs between us like smoke. Competition. I don't answer. I can't. Instead, I laugh, but it's thin. "You think this is about beating him?" Courtney shrugs. "I think you've spent years pulling strings behind closed doors and haven't told the man who shares your bed. So yeah, part of me thinks this has a little to do with him."

Her bluntness scrapes at the truth I don't want to admit because she's right. Because every late night call, every sponsor meeting, every hour spent staring at budgets and aerodynamics has lived in the shadow of Mingyu's name.

"Do you know what they still call me?" I whisper. "Even after I've been in this sport my whole life? They call me his wife. Not my father's daughter. Not my own person. Just... Mrs. Kim Mingyu."

Courtney's face softens, but she doesn't interrupt. I swallow hard. "This team...it's the only way I know how to take that back. To finish what my father and I started. To follow the dream I had. To make sure the only thing they see when they look at me isn't who I married." Silence stretches between us, heavy but steady. Courtney sets her mug down and perches on the edge of my desk.

"You don't owe anyone an explanation," she says softly. "Not the press. Not the fans. Not even him. But YN, be honest with yourself. When Mingyu finds out, and he will, do you want him hearing it from you, or from the headline that drops the morning your rookie pulls into the paddock?" The question lodges in my chest like shrapnel.

Because I can already see it. The cameras flashing, the commentators screaming about a "new challenger," the stunned look on Mingyu's face when he realizes the woman he trusted most has been planning to line up against him all along. And still... I can't bring myself to answer her.

After Courtney leaves, I sit in the quiet. The contracts stare back at me, rows of black ink that cost me years of whispered meetings and calculated risks. I should feel triumphant. Instead, all I think is the weight of keeping them hidden.

The mockup drawings are still taped along the wall, curling at the corners. A sleek chassis outlined in graphite and steel, the livery painted in deep obsidian with streaks of blood-red across the nose. I press my hand to the desk, fingertips brushing over the embossed folder stamped with the FIA's seal. Confirmation. Approval.

Our first car isn't finished yet. The engine's still a skeleton, spread across a dozen crates in a quiet garage outside Monaco where the world doesn't think to look. I make the drive there once a week. No press, no entourage, just me slipping through an unmarked door to stand before the machine that will carry my name onto the grid.

It's not pretty yet. No slick bodywork, no gleaming sponsor decals. Just scaffolding and torque wrenches, the skeletal shape of a dream. But when I stand there, alone in the hum of fluorescent light, I can almost hear it breathing.

My rookie is raw but hungry. I found him in Formula 2. Fast, reckless, with a chip on his shoulder so sharp it might cut him before the world does. He reminded me of my father. He reminded me of Mingyu, too. But more than that, he reminded me of myself.

"Give me a chance," he said when I slid the contract across the table. "No one else will." So I did. And now his signature sits right beside mine. Months away from the new season, everything is still smoke and whispers. The press thinks I'm just dabbling in business, attending galas, and making appearances. Mingyu thinks I've been consulting on junior programs, lending my name here and there. No one knows the truth. That I'm about to become their competition. And God help me, I want it.

The first time I walk back into the garage after Courtney's visit, it smells like oil and ambition. The air is thick with the hum of power tools, the sharp tang of fresh paint, the clatter of someone dropping a wrench and swearing in three languages. And right in the middle of it all, leaning against the half-built chassis like he's already on a podium, is Elias.

"Boss," he grins when he spots me, pulling his fire suit halfway down to his waist. He's still in the underlayer, sleeves tied loose at his hips, dark curls damp from the sim session he just finished. "You're late. I was about to send a search party." I roll my eyes. "I'm not late, you're early."

"Details," he says, pushing off the chassis and striding toward me. His accent rolls smoothly, the kind that makes sponsors lean in closer than they need to. "Besides, rumor has it the great YN doesn't make people wait."

"Don't believe everything you hear." He stops close enough that I catch the faint scent of cologne under sweat, tilts his head like he's studying me. "You really don't play, do you?" His grin widens. "I like that."

"Careful," I warn, "I'm married."

"Ah, yes," he says dramatically, pressing a hand over his heart. "To the legendary Kim Mingyu. I hear he's fast on and off the track." I narrow my eyes, but the corner of my mouth twitches. "Keep talking like that and you'll find yourself back in Formula 2."

He winks. "Worth it." It's always like this with Elias. He's young, fearless, desperate to prove himself, but there's an edge of charm he uses like armor. The flirting doesn't bother me, it's not serious. It's his way of testing boundaries, seeing how far he can push before someone pushes back.

"Focus on your lines in the sim, not my marriage," I remind him as I brush past toward the engineers' table.

"Yes, boss," he calls after me, "But if you ever need a rebound driver..." I shake my head, hiding a laugh.

That night, I drive straight to my mother's house. Her kitchen smells like garlic and sesame, the same way it did when I was a child. She's at the stove, stirring soup, while my brother sits at the counter scrolling through his phone.

"You're late," he says without looking up.

"You sound like Elias," I mutter, dropping my bag by the door.

"Who's Elias?" he asks, finally glancing up with one eyebrow arched.

"No one you need to worry about." My mother hums knowingly. "That means someone I should worry about." I groan and sink into a chair. "He's my rookie. He thinks he's charming."

"Is he?" my brother asks dryly. I roll my eyes. "He's twenty-two and thinks calling me boss is foreplay." That makes my mother choke on her laugh, "And Mingyu?" she asks, turning back to the stove. "Does he know about this rookie?"

My throat tightens just slightly. "Not yet." She sets the spoon down, wipes her hands on her apron, and turns fully to look at me. Her gaze is sharp, steady, the kind that made me confess to broken vases and failed math tests as a kid.

"Secrets are heavy, YN. Don't carry them longer than you need to."

"I'm not—" I stop because I am. Carrying it everywhere. The contracts in my bag. The logo mockups still hidden in my office. The fact that every day, I step closer to building a team Mingyu doesn't know exists.

Chan tilts his glass of wine, "She's right. This isn't a casual secret, YN. This is... career-shifting. Marriage-shifting."

"I know," I whisper. My mother softens, but doesn't back down. "You can't blindside him. Not with this. Not after everything you two have survived." Her words land heavy, dredging up every rooftop argument, every pit wall breakdown, every whispered promise in the dark that we'd never let racing come between us. But this isn't just racing. This is mine.

I look down at my hands, nails bitten short from stress. "I just need more time." My mother sighs, long and low, the sound of a woman who's lived through too many crashes on the track, in life, in love. "Time won't make this easier, baby. It'll only make it worse."

Chan lifts his glass in mock salute. "And when you do tell him? Invite me. I want front row seats."

"Chan," my mom snaps.

"What? It's gonna be a bloodbath." I throw a balled-up napkin at him. He dodges easily, smirking.

But later, when the laughter fades and the soup cools, my mother reaches across the table, covers my hand with hers, and says quietly: "He loves you more than the track, YN. Don't give him a reason to forget that."

By the time I pull into our driveway, the sky's gone lavender and the house glows with the kind of warmth you only get from laughter leaking through the windows. The front door's unlocked. It always is when he's home. Inside, the living room is chaos. Crayons are scattered across the rug, construction paper taped haphazardly to the coffee table, and Mingyu is on all fours pretending to be a horse while our daughter shrieks with delight on his back.

"Appa, faster!" she yells, tugging at his shoulders like reins.

"Faster?" he gasps dramatically. "I'm not a race car, I'm a tired old man!" She giggles, high and sharp, until he collapses onto the carpet in mock defeat. She scrambles off, triumphant, and immediately spots me in the doorway.

"Momma!" I barely have time to set down my bag before she barrels into my legs, curls bouncing, eyes shining. She smells like soap and markers. I crouch to hug her, burying my face in her hair. "Hi, baby. Did you have fun with Appa?"

"She made me run a Grand Prix around the couch," Mingyu groans from the floor, rolling onto his back. "I lost. Badly."

"Loooser," she declares proudly, before darting back to her crayons. I look over at him. He's sprawled out, hair a mess, t-shirt clinging to him, grinning like the world's biggest kid. And then his eyes narrow just slightly.

"Didn't know you meant all day when you said Girls' Day," he says.

I slip off my heels and head toward the kitchen. "Traffic."

"Mm." He pushes up onto his elbows, watching me with that lazy, knowing smirk. "Smells more like engine oil than traffic." My heart stutters. I keep my back turned as I pour a glass of water. "Garages all smell the same. Must've been the valet."

"Right," he says, stretching the word out like he's testing its weight. When I glance back, he's leaning against the counter now, arms folded across his chest, dimples threatening. "You've been sneaking around a lot lately." I force a laugh. "That's rich coming from the man who once booked a surprise villa in Crete behind my back."

He grins, but his eyes don't lose that sharp glint. "Yeah, but I wasn't gone for hours smelling like burnt rubber and new paint." I take a long sip of water to hide my face. "Maybe I got into a fight with a street racer on the way home."

"Mmhm." He steps closer, dropping his voice. "Or maybe my wife is hiding something from me." I look up at him then, at the teasing curve of his mouth, at the way his gaze softens even as it searches.

And I smile. Bright. Convincing. "Maybe you're just paranoid." He stares for a beat too long. Then he bends down, presses a kiss to my temple, and murmurs, "We'll see." Before I can answer, our daughter appears at our feet holding up a drawing.

"It's us! Momma, Appa, and me. We're superheroes." Mingyu crouches instantly, scooping her into his arms and gasping like it's the greatest artwork he's ever seen. "Superheroes? That makes sense. Your mom's definitely been saving the world behind my back."

She beams, and I laugh, brushing a hand over her hair. But when Mingyu glances up at me over her head, the warmth in his smile is threaded with something else. Something sharp.

By the time bedtime is over, story, water, bathroom, another story, our daughter's finally knocked out cold in her pink fortress of blankets and stuffed animals. I tuck her curls back, kiss her forehead, and linger a little longer than I should. She always sleeps so peacefully, like the world isn't as heavy as it feels on my shoulders.

When I step out into the hallway, Mingyu is leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed. "You were stalling," he says quietly.

"What?"

"Three extra stories. Two songs. A full-blown puppet show with her stuffed bunny." His mouth quirks, but his eyes don't. "You're hiding from me." I brush past him toward the kitchen. "I just wanted more time with her. Sorry if that's suspicious."

He follows. Of course he does. His footsteps are slow, measured, and deliberate. By the time I reach for the kettle, he's already there, blocking the counter, his broad frame filling the space like he owns it.

"YN," he says, soft but firm. "What's going on?" I force a smile, reaching for the tea canister. "Nothing."

"Don't do that." His voice is low now, stripped of teasing. "Don't give me that polite, PR-friendly nothing. You smell like the garage. You've been gone for hours at a time. And when you come back, you look like you're carrying the weight of the entire world. Talk to me."

My hands fumble with the lid. "You're overthinking." He steps closer, crowding me against the counter. Not threatening, never that, but enough that I can feel his heat, the steady rise and fall of his chest, the way his eyes bore into mine like he's trying to peel me open.

"Baby." His voice cracks on the word. "You promised me no more secrets."

The kettle clicks as the water starts to boil. I stare at it like it might save me. "I'm not keeping secrets," I lie.

He exhales sharply, dragging a hand through his hair. "Then tell me why it feels like I'm losing you to something I can't even name."

I swallow hard, throat tight. "You're not losing me."

"Then what?" His voice rises just slightly, raw edges showing. "Is it work? Is it something with Courtney? Is it... God, is it us?"

"No," I say quickly, too quickly. "It's not us." He studies me, eyes dark and searching. "Then look me in the eye and tell me where you've been." Silence.

The kettle whistles. I don't move. Neither does he. Finally, I force out the words: "I already told you. I was with Court." Something flickers across his face, hurt, confusion, the sharp sting of betrayal he tries to mask but can't quite hide. He takes a step back, shaking his head.

"YN..." His voice is barely a whisper now. "Whatever this is, you don't have to do it alone. But if you keep shutting me out, you're going to make me believe the one thing I've never let myself believe."

"Which is?"

"That you don't trust me anymore." The whistle dies down, leaving only the sound of my pulse roaring in my ears. I want to tell him everything. I want to throw the contracts on the table, drag him into the garage, show him the chassis, the colors, the dream I've been building brick by brick.

But instead, I whisper, "I do trust you."

His jaw tightens. "Then prove it." I can't. Not yet. So I step around him, pour my tea with trembling hands, and murmur, "It's late. We should sleep." When I glance back, he's still standing in the kitchen, staring at me like I'm already halfway gone. And for the first time, I've pushed too far.

The house is still when I wake. Dawn barely brushes the curtains, the sky a pale wash of gray-blue. Mingyu's arm is heavy across my waist, his breath warm against my shoulder, but the weight of last night presses harder. I can't lie here, not with the echo of his words rattling in my chest.

Careful not to wake him, I slide out of bed. My robe, my keys, my bag. One last look at his sleeping form, lashes fanned, mouth slack, brow still faintly furrowed even in rest. I whisper an apology he'll never hear, and then I'm gone.

The garage is a different world in the morning. Fluorescents hum overhead. The air is cooler, still laced with the metallic tang of tools and rubber, but calmer before the day ramps up. Two of the engineers are already here, Jason, hunched over telemetry printouts with a coffee that looks like it's on its third reheat, and Mina, laptop balanced on her knee, hair scraped into a bun. They both look up when I push the door open.

"Morning, boss," Mina says, already grinning. "You're early."

"Couldn't sleep." I set my bag down, moving toward the chassis in the center of the floor. "How's the front wing coming?"

"Balanced now," Jason says, shuffling papers toward me. "But we need more stability through high-speed corners. Elias's feedback was that it felt twitchy in Sector 3."

"Elias always says something feels twitchy in Sector 3," Mina mutters. "It's his catchphrase."

As if summoned, Elias appears from the sim room, still in his underlayer, curls damp with sweat, a water bottle dangling from his fingers. He looks maddeningly awake for someone who's been driving virtual laps since before sunrise.

"See?" he says, tossing his bottle onto the workbench with a grin. "Twitchy. It's my professional opinion." Mina groans. Jason doesn't even look up.

I cross my arms. "It's seven-thirty in the morning. Do you ever sleep?"

"Sleep is for the weak." He flashes a smile, leaning one hip against the chassis. "Besides, figured I'd impress you. Show you how committed I am to the cause."

"By sweating through my simulator seat?"

"By giving you world champion feedback," he shoots back, playful. I shake my head, "We'll see if it's world champion material once we're on an actual track."

He leans closer, eyes glinting. "Careful, Boss. Keep doubting me like that and I'll have to make you eat your words at Silverstone."

"Silverstone's six months away."

"Then six months from now, dinner's on you."

"Dinner?" I raise a brow.

He shrugs, all charm. "Loser buys. Unless Mingyu gets jealous, of course." He tilts his head, grin widening. "What's it like being married to the legendary Kim Mingyu, anyway? Does he wake up reciting lap times? Dream in sector splits?"

The jab lands sharper than he knows. I force a smirk. "Focus on beating his lap times first, then you can worry about his dreams."

"Mm. You're tough. I like that."

Mina groans again. "God, you're exhausting."

"Exhausting wins races," he quips back.

I roll my eyes and step around him, crouching beside Jason to study the numbers on his printouts. "Show me the downforce adjustments again. Let's compare it to yesterday's run."

Jason launches into the details, his voice steady, methodical. Mina adds in where she disagrees, quick and sharp, her ideas sparking off his like flint. Elias hovers, tossing in comments that are sometimes insightful, sometimes just there to get a rise out of us.

And for a while, it feels good. Good to lose myself in the data, the language of wing angles and tire degradation, brake balance, and drag reduction. Good to focus on the numbers instead of the ache in Mingyu's voice. Good to forget that back at home, my husband is probably rolling over in an empty bed, realizing I left before sunrise.

By mid morning, the garage is alive. Jason's whiteboard is already covered in equations that look like another language, Mina's juggling two laptops and muttering about telemetry graphs, and Elias has decided the best way to help is to lean against the workbench and critique everyone else's coffee choices.

"Americano?" he scoffs, pointing at Jason's mug. "That's bean-flavored water. No wonder your downforce numbers look so sad."

"Go run another sim," Mina fires back without missing a keystroke.

He gasps like she slapped him. "Boss, did you hear that? She doesn't respect art."

I don't even look up from the printout in my hands. "If you spent half as much time studying your racing lines as you do your latte art, we'd already be two tenths faster."

Elias clutches his chest. "Brutal. I'm wounded."

"Good," Mina mutters. I can't help the laugh that slips out. The bickering, the noise, the ridiculousness, it's chaos, but it's our chaos. My phone buzzes on the table.

Mingyu 💍: Where are you?

My stomach tightens. I flip the phone face down and slide it away, forcing my attention back to Jason's scribbles.

"Anyway," I say, voice firmer than I mean it, "if we adjust the angle here, we can compensate for the instability in Sector 3. Elias, you'll need to test it in the sim again."

"Your wish, my command," he says with a lazy salute.

The phone buzzes again.

Mingyu 💍 : Call me.

Mina's explaining something about airflow, her hands sketching arcs in the air, when the phone buzzes a third time, longer, insistent. Incoming call. I curse under my breath. The others glance over.

"Sorry," I mutter, snatching the phone and stepping toward the corner of the garage.

I swipe to answer. "Hello?"

"Where are you?" Mingyu's voice is low, rough from sleep.

"Good morning to you, too," I deflect, forcing my tone light. "Did you eat breakfast?"

"YN." There's no humor in his voice this time. Just steel. "Don't dodge the question. Where are you?" I glance back at the garage, Jason deep in notes, Mina glaring at her screen, Elias leaning too far back on his chair, balancing like he's auditioning for a circus.

"I'm out," I say finally. "I had some things to handle."

A pause. Then, quieter, "You left before I woke up."

I swallow. "I didn't want to disturb you."

He exhales, sharp through the line. "You've been different. Distant. I, YN, talk to me. Please." Before I can respond, Elias's voice cuts across the garage, loud and dramatic, "Boss! Tell Mina her airflow model looks like a sad balloon!"

Mina immediately yells back, "At least I have airflow, asshat!"

Mingyu's voice sharpens instantly. "Who was that?"

"No one," I say too quickly. "Just, Courtney being loud."

"That was a guy's voice." I close my eyes, pressing my fingers to my temple.

"I'm with," I catch myself. "Courtney."

There's a pause.

Then Mingyu's voice hardens. "YN."

Panic spikes. My grip tightens on the phone. "I, look, I can't—"

"YN!"

"I have to go," I blurt, voice too fast. "I'll call you later."

"Wait—" I hang up before he can finish. The silence after is brutal, louder than the drills and clattering wrenches around me. When I turn back, Elias is watching curiously from across the garage. I force my face into something neutral, like nothing's wrong.

"Alright," I say, steady as I can. "Back to work." But my pulse is still hammering, Mingyu's voice echoing in my head. I shove the phone deep into my bag like distance will erase what just happened. My palms are damp, my pulse still tripping over itself.

"Everything okay?" Mina asks without looking up, her tone casual but not careless. She's sharp, sharper than most, and I know she caught the way my voice cracked at the end of the call.

"Fine," I lie, sliding back onto the stool beside her. "Show me the airflow model again." Her eyes flick to me briefly, curious, but she doesn't press. Across the garage, Elias spins his chair in a lazy circle. "Boss, you sound like someone just caught you sneaking out of curfew."

I don't look at him. "Focus, Elias."

"I am focused," he says, grinning, "on how red your ears just got."

"Sector 3," I snap, sharper than I mean to. "Pull your data." That shuts him up for a second.

The numbers pull me back in, drag coefficients, brake balance adjustments, notes on tire wear. I circle values, mark margins, and argue with Jason over whether a half-degree wing change is too aggressive. It feels good. It feels safe. Numbers don't demand explanations. They don't ask where you are.

But the quiet moments keep creeping in. The way Elias leans against the chassis, tossing a smirk my way like he knows something I don't. The way Mina's typing slows every time my phone buzzes faintly in the depths of my bag. The way my throat tightens every time I hear Mingyu's voice echo in my head.

"Let's run another sim," I say finally, my voice steady, authoritative. "Sector 3, high fuel load. I want to see if the adjustments hold under pressure."

Elias springs up immediately, cocky grin back in place. "Your wish, boss." He disappears into the sim room, and the door shuts behind him with a low thud.

Jason clears his throat. "You okay?" I glance up. He's not prying, he never does, but his tone is softer than usual.

"I'm fine," I say again, too quickly. "Just tired." He doesn't argue. Just nods, eyes dropping back to his notes. And I sit there, pen scratching numbers into margins, heart still racing like I'm the one strapped into the car. Because I know the truth. I'm not tired, I'm unraveling.

The house is quiet when I step inside. Not "asleep" quiet. Not "everyone's tucked in" quiet. But off. I lock the door behind me and slowly take off my shoes, letting the silence envelop me like fog. No flicker of cartoons in the living room. No soft thud of our daughter's feet padding across the hallway in search of another bedtime story. No kitchen sounds. No hum of the dishwasher. No music.

Just a single light spilling from the dining room. I inhale. Shaky. Exhale. Even shakier. My bag slips off my shoulder, and I walk toward it. He's sitting at the head of the table, still in his work clothes, sleeves pushed up, tie loose around his neck, one hand wrapped around a half-finished glass of whiskey, a bottle is within reach.

Mingyu doesn't look up when I enter the room. For a second, I stand there in the doorway, heart pounding, watching him in the dim light like he's a portrait. Still.

I take a step closer. "You're up."

"I couldn't sleep." His voice is quiet. Rough around the edges.

I nod. "Is she asleep?"

He finally lifts his gaze to meet mine. "Yeah." Something tightens in my throat. I try to swallow it down.

"She asked for you," he adds. "Before bed." Shame hits me like a sucker punch. I look away.

"I'm sorry I missed it." He hums. Not forgiveness. Not anger either. Just there. I pull out a chair slowly and sit across from him. The wood creaks faintly beneath me. The whiskey catches the light in his glass.

"You don't usually drink this late," I say.

"You don't usually lie to me." My heart stops. He doesn't say it with venom. Doesn't even look mad. But the words land hard like he's just now letting himself say what he's been holding all night.I open my mouth to deny it. Close it again.

He watches me closely, fingers resting lightly against the base of the glass. "It's not Courtney, is it?"

I hesitate. "What do you mean?"

He laughs once. Quiet. Disbelieving. "Don't do that."

He sits back in his chair, eyes tired. "I didn't want to think it. I didn't even want to ask. But you've been somewhere else for a while now."

My hands tighten in my lap. "I'm not cheating on you," I say quickly, urgently. "Mingyu. I swear to god. There's no one else."

"I know." He says it so fast it stuns me.

"You...do?"

He nods. "It's not that kind of lie." And that's somehow worse. Because he believes me. Because he knows me and he still knows something's off.

"Then why—" I start, but he cuts me off gently.

"Because you've been hiding something from me. And whatever it is... It's big enough that you're scared to tell me." I can't speak. My throat closes.

"I'm your husband," he says. "You don't have to protect me from whatever it is. I've seen you at your worst. I've loved you through hell. But this distance? It's not protection. It's punishment."

I shake my head. "It's not that simple."

"Then make it simple." The table between us feels like miles. He exhales, runs a hand through his hair, and downs the last of his drink.

"I miss you," he says finally, like a confession. Like a plea. The way he says it breaks something in me. Because it's not about sex. Or attention. Or even routine. It's about me. He misses me. My thoughts. My presence. My voice in the quiet moments when the world stops spinning and I don't know how to give that back to him right now. Not without unspooling everything.

I reach out, just barely grazing his knuckles with my fingers. He lets me. But he doesn't hold back. "I'm trying," I whisper.

He nods once. "Try harder." Then he pushes the chair back and leaves the room.

I wake up before the alarm. The room is still dark, the curtains drawn, but my body knows it's time. My body always knows. I reach out instinctively, fingers brushing empty sheets. Still warm. He didn't sleep long.

I stare at the ceiling for a while, heart thudding in the back of my throat. The kind of rhythm that sounds too much like guilt. When I finally get up, I move slowly. Shower. Moisturizer. Hair pulled back.

The kitchen smells like toast and silence. Mingyu is at the stove, flipping pancakes in a hoodie and sweats like it's any other day. There's a mug of coffee next to him. Our daughter is at the table, swinging her legs and humming to herself between sips of milk.

"Good morning," I say softly.

He turns and offers a small smile. "Morning."

She squeals when she sees me, arms up. "Mom!" I cross the room and kiss her cheeks, burying my face in her hair.

"You're up early, little bean."

"Appa said I could have pancakes."

"Did he now?"

"I made the batter," she announces proudly. Mingyu chuckles under his breath but doesn't look up. I move to grab a second mug and pour myself some coffee, my movements careful. Neutral. Practiced. Like we're coexisting. He hands me a plate wordlessly. I take it.

We sit. We eat. We talk to her. But not to each other. When she runs off to change for school, the silence creeps in again.

"I have a meeting this afternoon," I say quietly, just to fill the space. He nods, still chewing.

"Probably late. I'll call if—"

"Don't worry about it," he says. The words are polite. Dismissive. Like he's trying not to be hurt. I study him for a moment. The way his fingers tap against his mug. The tightness in his jaw. His eyes flick to the clock, not to me.

"I meant what I said last night," I offer. "There's no one else. That hasn't changed."

He looks up slowly. "I know," he says. "But that's not what I'm worried about." He stands and clears his plate before I can say anything more.

"Text me when you're done with your meeting," he says, rinsing his hands. "And tell Courtney I said hi." There's a flicker of something behind his words. Not sarcasm. Not anger. Just... patience. Strained, thinning patience.

I nod once. "I will." He presses a kiss to our daughter's forehead as she runs back in, backpack too big for her shoulders. He grabs his keys. Walks out the door and just like that, he's gone.

I'm already on my second espresso by the time I pull up to the garage. It's barely 8:15 and the lot is half empty, dew still clinging to the pavement. The hum of fluorescent lights filters out from the entryway, along with the scent of grease, fuel, and whatever breakfast burrito Jason is burning in the back room again. I don't pause. I don't wave at the front desk. I keep my sunglasses on even though I'm inside.

The air inside the garage is colder than usual, or maybe that's just me. Someone's running diagnostics on the power unit in Bay 3. I catch a glimpse of the exposed chassis, its skeleton sleek and sharp, before stepping past it without a word.

"Morning, boss," Jason calls from the tools cabinet, toothbrush sticking out the corner of his mouth like a cigarette. He's always brushing his teeth in here. It's disgusting. And familiar.

"Hey," I say, but it's clipped. Automatic. I don't stop walking. Elias falls into step beside me by the time I hit the central console.

He glances down at my heels. "You're dressed like you're going to a board meeting."

"I have one."

"Since when?"

"Since now."

He raises a brow. "Everything okay?"

"Just get everyone in the conference bay. Quick meeting. Ten minutes." He doesn't push. Just nods and peels off with a whistle that sounds more forced than casual.

The team is assembled by the time I step in. Jason, grease-stained hoodie and all. Junie from comms. Sofia. Three of the newer engineers. Elias leans against the wall with his arms crossed.

I grip the back of the closest chair. "I'm going remote," I say. "Effective immediately." Jason stops chewing his pen.

Sofia frowns. "For how long?"

"Until further notice," I say. "I'll check email, but don't contact me unless it's urgent. Engine updates. Media leaks. Contract issues. That kind of thing."

Junie's brow creases. "We're not done finalizing the run plan for Elias next month."

"You don't need me for that," I say. "Talk to Troy. He has my notes."

Elias raises an eyebrow. "You sure you're not just avoiding morning debriefs? I know you hate the way Jason chews on pens." A few chuckles rise. I don't laugh.

"You're not funny today," I say sharply. "Stick to racing."

He holds my gaze, smile fading. "Got it."

"Good." I turn on my heel, heels echoing on the floor.

I don't wait for follow-ups. I don't linger. I retreat into the glass office, close the door, and shut the blinds. I sit behind the desk I spent months designing to feel like mine and stare at the inbox I won't check again today, then I pack up my laptop and leave.

I get home earlier than I ever do on a weekday. The sun's still climbing the sky, pale through gauzy clouds. There's a grocery bag in my hand, full of things we don't technically need. More strawberries. A new coffee grinder. The fancy oat milk he likes but never asks for. I pick it all up on the way home as some form of penance.

The front door clicks open with a whisper. I set the bag down and slip off my shoes. There's a soft clatter from the kitchen. When I round the corner, I see him.

Standing at the counter in a fitted t-shirt and joggers, stirring something in a pan that smells like soy sauce and garlic. He's got one earbud in, probably listening to race data or an interview or whatever podcast he zones out to when he's cooking. His phone is facedown on the island. The TV is on in the background, muted. Some cooking show we always mean to finish.

He hears me before he sees me. "You're home early," he says, not turning around just yet.

"Yeah," I say, setting my bag down gently. "Office was quiet. Figured I'd finish things here." He glances back. Just a quick look.

Something flickers behind his eyes. Not suspicion. Not relief. Just... something. Surprise, maybe. But he doesn't question it.

He nods and goes back to stirring. "I was going to make lunch. You hungry?"

"Starving." I walk over and brush my fingers across the back of his arm as I pass, light and quick. He doesn't flinch.

Lunch becomes a performance. I set the table while Mingyu plates the food. Light jazz in the background, cloth napkins instead of paper towels, and a pitcher of lemon water on the table like we're hosting guests. I smile. I nod. I ask him about his morning, looping my voice in that soft tone that sounds like me, but isn't. He doesn't press me. Doesn't ask why I'm home. Doesn't mention last night.

Our daughter tumbles into the kitchen in her mismatched socks and a tutu skirt she refuses to take off lately, a plastic tiara sliding sideways on her head. I'm confused for a split second before reminding myself that it's a half day for her today.

"Mama!" she beams, running up to me. "You're here!" My heart squeezes. I bend down to scoop her into my arms.

"Of course I'm here, baby," I say. "Where else would I be?" She pats my cheek like she's trying to make sure I'm real. Mingyu watches us. Says nothing.

I seat her in her chair, tie her napkin around her like a bib even though she insists she's a "big girl," and carefully cut her food into tiny, even pieces. Half the bites go uneaten because she's singing to herself the whole time. But I don't mind. I keep smiling.

After lunch, I clean everything while Mingyu takes her upstairs for her nap. I wipe the counters twice. Load the dishwasher with military precision. I even polish the fridge handles and reorganize the spice rack in alphabetical order.

When I hear his footsteps coming back down, I'm already scrubbing the sink. He pauses in the doorway, eyes trailing over me barefoot, sleeves rolled, wedding ring glinting in the window light.

"You don't have to do all that," he says quietly.

"I know," I reply, still scrubbing. "But it was overdue." He doesn't argue. Just walks to the fridge, pulls out a bottle of water, and takes a long drink.

I dry my hands. "Do you want to go for a walk later? Maybe the park?"

"I have some prep to do for the sim calls, but maybe after that."

"Okay," I say quickly, "We can push dinner a little. I was thinking salmon. Or that miso soup you like. Oh, and I bought more of those sesame crackers—"

"YN." My head jerks up.

He's looking at me. "You don't have to-" he starts, but stops himself. "You don't have to do all of this."

A smile slips into place like a reflex. "I want to." He nods slowly, but his eyes say something else. Something I don't have the capacity to unpack right now. So I glide past it. I ask him if he wants coffee. I start a load of laundry. I go upstairs to fold the clothes that are already done.

The rest of the afternoon is one long act. We bake cookies and we play with Play-Doh. We color, and I let our daughter paint my nails with glitter polish that won't come off. I don't flinch when she gets some in my hair. Every time Mingyu passes by, I'm smiling. Present. Perfect.

By dinner, I've cooked enough food for six. I set the table with candles. I pour us both a glass of wine and wear the dress he once said was his favorite. He compliments it again, but it's absentminded, said while reaching for the salt.

Later, I do bath time, bedtime, and lullabies. I read the story twice. When I come back downstairs, I sit beside him on the couch and fold myself into his side like muscle memory. He lets me. I kiss his shoulder and murmur something soft. Something sweet.

He kisses the top of my head and pulls the blanket over our laps. We look like everything is okay and I make damn sure we feel like it too.

I wake up before my alarm. Not because I need to. Just because I can.

The house is still dark when I make coffee. I grind the beans by hand. Boil the water to precisely 96 degrees Celsius. Bloom the grounds, pour in slow concentric circles, let it steep. I hum while it drips.

By 6:45, breakfast is plated like it belongs in a hotel buffet: rolled omelets, sliced fruit in neat little rows, toast cut diagonally with butter already melting on top. Our daughter's cereal is in her favorite bunny bowl with a tiny spoon beside it.

She stumbles out in pajamas, rubbing her eyes.

"Morning, baby," I chirp. "Want strawberries or bananas today?" She blinks at the table like it's Christmas morning.

Mingyu comes down next. Shirtless, hair wild, eyes still half closed. He freezes in the doorway. "You made all this?"

I kiss his cheek on the way to pour his coffee. "You're always saying you miss real breakfast."

"I didn't mean...like this," he says, sitting down slowly. "YN, are you okay?"

I brush it off with a laugh. "You love breakfast." He observes me. I don't flinch.

After drop-off, I stop by the store for a list of things I already bought. I reorganize the pantry while on hold with the dry cleaner. I wash all the windows. Alphabetize the bookshelf. Rearrange the guest linens. I finally replaced the battery in the clock above the stove, even though I'd stopped noticing it was wrong.

Lunch is leftovers, eaten while scrubbing the grout in the master bathroom. I don't check my phone or my email. I don't even open the garage Slack channel. When Courtney texts, "Are you alive?" I reply "Absolutely thriving 😊" and toss the phone face down on the counter.

By the time Mingyu returns, dinner is half-prepped. The table is already set. He steps into the kitchen, loosens his tie, and stops in his tracks. "Is that... is that beef bourguignon?"

I flash him a smile over my shoulder. "Your mom's recipe."

He sets down his bag slowly. "I haven't seen you cook this in years."

"I figured you had a long day."

He steps closer, eyes searching mine. "You're doing a lot lately."

"I'm fine."

"Are you?"

"Do you not like it?"

"That's not what I said."

I turn back to the stove. "Then what are we even talking about?"

A pause. He sighs, quiet and heavy.

"Nothing, I guess."

On Friday, I triple-wash our daughter's clothes and hang them to dry. I steam the curtains. I sanitize the remotes. I reorganize the medicine cabinet. I schedule a dentist appointment I canceled three months ago and repackage all the meat in the freezer into neatly labeled vacuum-sealed bags.

Courtney tries to call twice. I ignore both. I sent a sticker of a waving bear instead. It feels like enough.

I missed two calls from Elias. One from Jason. One from the chassis team.

I don't check my email. The tab is open, but I never click in.

By Saturday, Mingyu starts to hover. I feel it. He watches me from doorways. Places a hand on my lower back when I cook, his fingers a question I don't answer. He offers to help with dishes, with laundry, with anything. I say no every time.

"I've got it," I say, always with a smile. "You should rest."

One night, he lingers longer after putting our daughter to bed. He finds me in the kitchen, bent over the dishwasher.

"YN."

"Mhm?"

"I'm worried about you."

I stand. Turn. Meet his gaze head-on. "Don't be." He doesn't move.

"I mean it," I say, quieter now. "This is all good. I like being home. I missed this. You. Her. All of it."

He takes a step closer. "But you're not resting. You're not present either. You're—" he pauses, struggling for the word. "You're sprinting."

I laugh, but it sounds brittle. "I'm just keeping things together."

He frowns. "You don't have to keep everything together." But I do. I really, really do. Because the second I stop, I'll fall apart.

Sunday night, the dishwasher hums like it's thinking too hard. I scrub the same plate for the third time before realizing it's already clean. The scent of lemon soap sticks to my skin.

Behind me, I feel him come in. Mingyu leans in the doorway, arms folded, watching. "You've been going nonstop all day."

I glance over my shoulder. "There was a lot to catch up on."

"You haven't sat down once. Not even when she napped."

I rinse the plate again. "I'm fine."

"You said that yesterday." The silence stretches between us.

He crosses the kitchen slowly and stops beside me. Gently, he takes the plate from my hands and sets it on the counter. His fingers brush mine.

"YN," he says. "Talk to me." I hate the way he says my name like it's glass.

I force a smile. "You said you missed me, right?"

"YN, that's not-"

"Well," I say, gesturing to the spotless kitchen, the prepped meals, the color-coded fridge calendar, the toy bins finally organized by category, "I'm here. I'm present. Why are you questioning it?"

His brows knit. "I'm not questioning you."

"You are."

"I'm worried about you."

"I'm doing what you wanted." My voice cracks before I can stop it. "You kept saying I wasn't home, that I was too distant, that you missed me, so I'm here. I'm all the way here. Isn't this what you wanted?"

He exhales slowly. "I didn't want you to burn yourself out proving something."

"I'm not," I snap, too fast. "I'm just... I'm just trying to be better."

His eyes soften, but I don't want softness right now.

"You don't need to prove anything to me. You never did."

I shake my head and reach for the sponge again. "Just drop it, Mingyu."

He backs away. "All right. Dropping it." He leaves the room, footsteps quiet.

The sponge slips from my fingers into the sink. I watch the bubbles burst around it, chest tight, throat burning. We don't talk after that.

I finish wiping down the already clean counter. Mingyu sets the glass in the sink without a word, rinses his hands. The air between us feels sticky, pulled too tight like we both said, too much and not enough at the same time.

We move around each other like we've done this before. Like silence is muscle memory. Like distance is normal. By the time we make it to the bedroom, the tension's gone taut. Not angry. Not cold. Just... dense. Breathing it in feels like swallowing steam.

Mingyu pulls his shirt over his head and tosses it toward the hamper. His eyes flick to me when I shut the door and lean against it like I need the support.

He doesn't say anything. He doesn't have to. I can see it in his shoulders, the tight set of his jaw. He thinks I'm unraveling and he's not wrong. But I know how to cover it.

I take one step forward. Then another. I watch him watching me. His brow furrows slightly, and it only urges me on.

I walk slowly until I'm in front of him. "You missed me, right?" I murmur, fingers brushing over his stomach. "You wanted me to be more present. I'm here. I'm present."

His gaze softens. "That's not what I meant, and you know it."

"Then what did you mean?" I ask, voice light, fingers trailing up to his chest. "Because it sounds like you want me, but now that I'm here, it's a problem." He shakes his head, but I don't let him speak. I push up on my toes and kiss him. Hard.

His hands come to my waist out of habit, grounding, but he doesn't pull me in the way he usually does. He's hesitant. I'm not.

I bite his bottom lip. He sucks in a breath. "Let me," I whisper against his mouth. "Please." He doesn't answer. But he doesn't stop me either.

I push him back gently until the backs of his knees hit the bed, and he sits. I crawl into his lap, straddling him, arms locked behind his neck. His hands hover at my hips like he's unsure of the rules now. So I set them for him.

I reach for his wrists and bring them up to the headboard, pinning them there. His eyebrows lift slightly. "Babe—"

"Shh," I murmur, kissing down his jaw. "Let me do this." He stares at me, chest rising and falling fast now, and nods once. Just once.

I kiss him again, deeper, slower this time, but still fierce. My teeth graze his lip again, and I hear the sharp inhale through his nose when I do it. I'm so far gone I barely realize I'm digging my nails into his wrist as I hold him there. His mouth parts. I take it as an invitation.

My hips start to move without permission in slow circles. I feel him hardening beneath me, and that only pushes me further.

I pull back and look at him. Eyes dark. Cheeks flushed. Mouth pink and kiss-bitten. Still confused. Still trying to understand, but not resisting. I let go of his wrists, only to run my fingers through his hair and tug. Hard.

His mouth falls open with a choked sound that makes my stomach twist. He swears under his breath, hands finally gripping my waist, fingertips pressing into skin.

"God, YN," he breathes, voice already wrecked. "What is this?" I kiss him again to shut him up.

I pull off my shirt. His hands reach instinctively for my skin, and I let him. I rock against him harder now, chest brushing his, lips messier, breathing heavier. The heat between us turns molten.

When I move to unbutton his pants, he tries again. "Baby, wait—"

I push him back with one hand and pull his bottom lip between my teeth again. "No more talking," I whisper. I take his hands and pin them again. This time, he lets me. No questions. No confusion. surrender.

I take my time peeling off the rest of our clothes. His eyes never leave me. Not even when I shift down and take him in my hand, stroking slowly until he curses and arches under me. Not even when I sink onto him in one long, desperate motion, and his head falls back against the wall.

"Fuck," he groans, hands gripping the sheets now. "You feel- god, you feel insane."

I ride him with single minded focus. Not fast. Just deep. Each thrust angled, controlled. My hands flat against his chest. His eyes search mine. And I don't give him anything but heat. No tenderness. No answers. Just friction and fury and closeness that isn't quite intimacy.

He catches on eventually. The way I chase release, like it'll fix something. The way I kiss him like I'm apologizing without saying it. The way I arch, move, and tremble.

His hands come to my thighs, then up to my hips. His eyes hold mine when he whispers, "Come for me."

It doesn't take long.

The pressure in my gut finally snaps, and I collapse against him, trembling, forehead pressed to his. He wraps his arms around me and whispers something I don't hear.

And when I try to move, try to do more, he flips us over and pins my wrists to the bed, still inside me.

"Stay," he says. "Just stay."

His forehead touches mine again. "Let me."

And this time, I don't fight him. I let him take it slow.

Let him chase it for both of us.

Let myself break apart underneath the weight of him, the feel of him, the love in his eyes that hurts more than it heals.

He finishes with a moan of my name, arms locking tight around me.

After, he doesn't ask questions. He gathers me close and pulls the covers over us, rubbing soft circles into my hip like it's a habit. And I let him.

The sunlight is soft when I open my eyes. There's a warmth behind me, Mingyu's chest pressed to my back, arm heavy over my waist. His breathing is slow, even, like he's still asleep. Like last night didn't happen. Like I didn't crawl into his lap with something desperate in my bones and try to drown it in skin and sweat.

I lay still for a moment. Long enough to feel the ache in my thighs. The scratch on my shoulder where I clung to him too tightly. The soreness in my jaw from biting my own tongue.

I'm tired. But not in the way that sleep fixes. Still, I shift carefully, lifting his arm and easing out from under him. He stirs but doesn't wake. I tuck the blanket back around him.

In the bathroom, I wash my face with cold water. My reflection looks a little more like a person again, not a perfect wife or a perfect mother or a flawless front facing lie, but I ignore that. I brush my teeth, tie my hair back, and get dressed in something casual and not rushed. Not messy. Pulled together. Present. Functional.

By the time I get to the kitchen, I've started humming. Not for any reason. To fill the space. The dishwasher is halfway loaded, and there are some crayons on the dining table from the night before. I wipe down the counters. Pack a lunchbox. Pour a cup of milk. Everything mechanical. Everything fine.

Mingyu appears twenty minutes later, still shirtless, rubbing the sleep from his eyes and yawning like it's any other day but he's quiet.

He watches me for a second too long as I slip our daughter's water bottle into her backpack. I feel his gaze but don't acknowledge it.

"Morning," he says finally.

"Morning," I echo, too brightly. "You want coffee?"

He nods, but doesn't move toward me. "Thanks."

I pour him a cup and hand it over. His fingers brush mine. We don't talk about last night. Instead, he sips slowly while I kneel to help our daughter with her shoes. She's humming too, swinging her feet and playing with the zipper on her jacket.

When we both stand, Mingyu clears his throat. "I'll get her dropped off," he says, voice light but eyes sharp. "You should relax a little today."

"I can pick her up," I reply smoothly, grabbing my phone from the counter. "I have to head out anyway. Just a quick stop."

He frowns. "It's really not a big deal. I can pick her up, too."

"I want to," I say. "Besides, you've got that sim debrief later, right?" His eyes narrow for a split second. Barely noticeable. But I catch it.

"I thought you said you weren't checking in on work anymore?"

I force a smile. "I'm not. I have to drop something off."

He looks at me like he doesn't believe me, but he lets it go. "Alright. Drop off's fine. You'll get her after?"

"Yeah. Shouldn't take long." He nods, still watching me like he's waiting for something else. I turn back to the sink and start rinsing a mug that doesn't need it.

Our daughter runs back in, backpack bouncing, yelling something about her plushie and that she left it by the stairs. Mingyu crouches to help her. I stay facing the sink. I wait until they're both out the door before I exhale.

By the time the front door closes behind them, I'm already moving. The house isn't dirty, but I clean it anyway. Vacuum lines become an art form. I rearrange the throw pillows three times before settling. The bathroom towels look crooked, so I fold them all again. I clean out the fridge for the umpteenth time. I even dust the fucking baseboards. Every corner has to feel like intention. Like effort. Like control.

Eventually, I'm back in the kitchen, scrubbing dishes that have already been rinsed. The water's too hot, but I don't care. I keep going. Plate after plate, mug after mug. And then one slips.

It happens in slow motion. The soap, the angle, the glass hitting the edge of the sink. It shatters instantly. A sharp, high sound like a warning bell. Pieces clatter into the basin and bounce onto the floor.

My breath catches. My chest goes tight. I stare at the broken mug like it's going to put itself back together if I just will it hard enough. But it doesn't. It just sits there. Broken. Sharp. Useless. And suddenly, I can't breathe.

There's a buzzing behind my ears, and my hands are shaking, and I can feel something coming up my throat, something thick and hot and terrifying. I grip the counter with wet fingers, chest heaving.

No.

No, no, no.

I press my lips together. Swallow it. Shove it down. I'm fine.

I'm fine.

The key turns in the door and I move on instinct, already gathering shards into a towel, ignoring the sting on my palm when I nick myself on a corner. I toss everything into the trash and rerun the water.

When Mingyu walks in, I'm facing the sink with trembling shoulders and too much soap in the water.

"Hey," he calls softly. I hear his shoes scuff the floor. "Everything okay?"

I keep my back turned. "Yeah. Just dropped something. No big deal."

I feel him pause beside me. "Your eyes are red."

Shit. "Got soap in them. I was scrubbing. It splashed up."

He hesitates. "Let me see—"

"I'm gonna go rinse them," I cut in too fast. "In the bathroom. Just to be safe." I dry my hands and bolt before he can say anything else, slipping past him with a smile that feels more like a crack in porcelain.

The second the door shuts behind me, I brace both hands on the sink and stare into the mirror. Red eyes. Redder cheeks. I splash water on my face. I wipe it all away. I go back out five minutes later like nothing happened.

I don't pick her up late. I don't pick her up early. I pick her up perfectly on time, waiting at the curb with a smile so bright it hurts.

She comes running toward me, backpack bouncing, cheeks flushed from the sun. "Mommy!"

I scoop her into my arms. "Hi, baby."

She wraps around me like she hasn't seen me in a week. And I feel it. That stupid ache. The guilt. The relief. The weight of it all.

"Guess what?" I say as I buckle her in, clicking the seatbelt like I'm not seconds from falling apart. "We're picking up Daddy next. I have a surprise."

Her eyes go wide. "Is it ice cream?"

"Nope."

"Matching shoes?"

I grin. "Better." As I pull away from the curb, I shoot off a quick text to Mingyu.

Me: Get dressed, nothing too casual. I have a surprise for us.

The typing bubble appears for a moment, disappears, then nothing

He's waiting at the door when we pull up. Button-down. Slacks. Confused. "What's going on?"

"You'll see."

We arrive at the luxury boutique thirty minutes later. It's sleek, tucked into one of those designer corners of Seoul that smells like money and minimalism. A private appointment is waiting for us because I made sure of it.

Mingyu doesn't say a word until we're inside.

The stylist greets us with a warm smile. "Welcome! You must be the Kim family. Everything's ready for the forever welds."

"Forever what?" Mingyu echoes slowly.

I turn to him with a smile that feels a little too big. "Necklaces. Matching ones. Welded on. No clasps. Just... permanent."

"You mean like... forever forever?"

Our daughter is already gasping in excitement, skipping over to the display tray of delicate gold chains. "They're so shiny!"

"I thought it could be our thing," I say softly. "A little reminder. Of us."

Mingyu's eyes flick between me and the stylist. "YN..."

"They're dainty, comfortable, totally safe," I push. "Symbolic, you know? Like anchor points. For all three of us." There's a beat of silence. He doesn't answer. The stylist looks between us, awkwardly.

"I want the heart one!" our daughter squeals, pointing to a charm shaped like a tiny lock.

"Perfect. Let's do it."

She goes first, eyes wide as they prep the welder. She watches, fascinated, as they close the chain with a soft flash of light and a puff of cool air. When it's done, she looks down at the shimmering gold and beams. "I'm never taking it off!"

I go next. Barely flinch. Smile like nothing's wrong.

When it's Mingyu's turn, he hesitates. "Babe," I prompt gently.

He finally sits. But his eyes never leave mine. And that's when I see it. The look on his face is no longer confused. It's fear. Worry. Recognition.

I force another smile, holding up my necklace next to our daughter's. "Look at us. Triplets." She squeals with laughter. Mingyu doesn't.

Dinner is usually my favorite part of the day. The table is small enough to keep us close, the light above us soft enough to blur the sharp edges of whatever we're carrying in from the outside. We play music sometimes, and pass around extra spoons when someone's too lazy to get one. She sings. He hums. I refill water glasses too often to feel useful. But tonight, the table feels like a stage.

Mingyu sets down her plate of rice and tofu, barely glancing at me. Not in that soft, half-smiling way that makes my chest flutter. Not even in that tired, I-missed-you-today way. Just... avoidance. A blank page. I stir the soup in my bowl. It's lukewarm.

He takes his seat. Straightens the napkin in his lap like he's buying time. Our daughter, oblivious in the most heartbreaking way, beams as she picks up her tiny silver fork. "You put the smiley carrots again!"

I smile, eyes fixed on my bowl. "Just for you."

"Mommy, can you tell the story again?"

"What story?"

She grins. "The silly one. About the spoon thief!"

"Oh," I force a laugh. "The criminal mastermind of our kitchen. Right."

I start the story, same as always. A spoon goes missing. One by one, others follow. Suspicion rises. I use dramatic pauses, silly voices. Mingyu doesn't so much as smirk. Just keeps eating, eyes on his plate, jaw tense.

My daughter giggles through mouthfuls. "And then the thief turned out to be—"

"The dog we don't have," I finish with a small smile.

She claps. "Again!" I glance at Mingyu. He still doesn't look at me.

The silence creeps back in. Heavy. Sharp.

I take a sip of my water and finally say, soft but clear, "It's quiet tonight." He doesn't answer.

"Usually, you have something to say about my soup."

"Soup's fine," he mutters, pushing rice around with his chopsticks.

I study his face. "You said you missed me." He pauses.

Our daughter doesn't notice. She's humming to herself, still caught in her own little world.

I repeat it. "You said you missed me." It's not just a statement. It's a challenge. A question. A plea.

He lifts his eyes to mine, finally, and they're darker than before. Not angry. Just... tired. "You said you'd come back different," he replies. Still soft. But there's steel under it.

"I did come back different."

"Yeah," he says. "You did." The tension thickens, syrupy and silent.

Our daughter chirps, "I missed you, too, Mommy."

I reach over and squeeze her hand. "I missed you more." Mingyu's eyes are still on me.

"You said you wanted me to be here," I say again, carefully. "To be around more. To be involved."

"I wanted you," he says, emphasis low but deliberate. "Not whatever this version is."

She frowns a little. "What version?"

"It's just an expression, baby," I say quickly, reaching to tuck her hair behind her ear. "Don't worry."

Mingyu goes quiet again, hands folded on the edge of his plate.

The conversation hangs in the air like invisible wires strung between us, taut and waiting to snap. We keep pretending our daughter can't feel it, but kids always feel it. She's too young to decode it, but not too young to feel the way our voices tiptoe around landmines.

I try again. "This version," I say gently, "is trying."

Mingyu's jaw clenches. He looks down at his plate, then back at me.

"You're not trying," he says, still coded, still careful. "You're covering."

"You think that?" He doesn't answer.

Our daughter is now distracted by her noodles, humming a melody from a cartoon she was watching earlier. She swings her legs under the table.

"You know," I say, keeping my voice even, "some people might say that buying matching necklaces is a pretty big deal."

"Yeah," he says, smiling tightly. "Big gestures are easy."

I bristle. "Excuse me?"

He leans forward slightly. "You've always hated performative shit like that. So yeah, it feels off."

"Language, Mingyu," I say firmly.

"It was for her," I continue.

He tilts his head. "Was it?" My throat goes dry and he says nothing else.

Dinner ends not with a bang, but with her fork dropping as she finishes the last bite, her voice sweet and innocent as ever.

"Can we read the snowman book before bed?"

Mingyu stands and picks up her plate. "Of course we can." He rinses it, dries it, and puts it away. Doesn't look at me. I sit there, soup cold, chest colder.

The house is quiet after bedtime stories. I tucked her in, just as I always do. Hair brushed, stars glowing on the ceiling, her tiny voice whispering, "Goodnight, Mommy. Goodnight, Daddy." I kissed her forehead, adjusted her blanket, and lingered too long at the doorway.

Now I'm brushing my teeth, just like it's any other night, like nothing is wrong. But the silence behind me is a storm.

Mingyu's in the closet, wordless. I hear the hanger squeak as he pulls something down. I spit, rinse, wipe my mouth, then finally glance back. He's holding a throw blanket. A pillow clutched under his arm.

"What are you doing?" I ask, voice carefully steady. He doesn't answer. Just walks past me, slow and purposeful, like he's already somewhere else.

"Mingyu." I follow him out of the bathroom, down the hallway. "Where are you going?" He doesn't even look at me.

"Mingyu," I try again, quickening my steps. "Can we please—" He stops and finally speaks, voice low and tired and heartbreakingly calm:

"I have nothing nice to say right now. So please... stop." The air leaves my lungs. He doesn't raise his voice. Doesn't curse. Doesn't flinch. But he closes the guest bedroom door behind him with a finality that leaves me standing alone in the hallway. Pillow. Blanket. Silence.

And me? I stay frozen for a beat too long, staring at the door like it might open again. It doesn't. The house is still. No footsteps. No apologies. No comfort. Just that faint glow from under the door where our daughter sleeps. And the door across from it now closed.

I walk back into our bedroom alone. Sit on the edge of the bed we picked out together. The one he's not sleeping in tonight, feeling the weight finally crashing down.

At first, I think it's part of a dream, the buzzing, the blue glow, but then I realize my heart is hammering. And I'm alone. The other side of the bed is still cold.

I blink at the screen. The brightness stings.

30 missed calls. My stomach drops. All from the team. Mina. Jason. Two from an unknown number. I sit up fast and swipe to redial, hands clumsy. My throat is dry. My brain barely registers what time it is.

Mina picks up on the first ring. "YN." Her voice is sharp. Tired. Shaken.

"What's going on?" I croak. "It's... it's the middle of the night—"

"Yeah. It is. And maybe if you had checked your email sometime this week, you'd know why that matters."

I freeze. "Mina—"

"We've been trying to get a hold of you for days. The leak we thought was nothing? It's not nothing anymore." My blood goes cold.

"What kind of leak?" I whisper.

"The kind that lands us on the front page of every motorsport outlet by morning. Possibly earlier." I swing my legs out of bed.

"We don't know how bad it is yet," she continues. "But we have a situation. And I need you. We all need you. Get here. Now," then she hangs up. My hands are shaking before I even realize I've started moving. I throw on the first pair of jeans I can find. Hoodie. Sneakers. I don't bother with makeup. Don't even brush my hair. My chest is tight with something I don't want to name.

Quietly, I open the bedroom door and peek into the hallway. Dark. I tiptoe past our daughter's room, past the guest room door that Mingyu closed behind him hours ago. I don't look back. Keys. Phone. Wallet. Gone.

I shouldn't be driving this fast. My hands are locked on the steering wheel, knuckles white. I keep checking the time, like that'll help. 2:41 a.m. Every second I'm not there is a second someone else finds out. Every second is a chance for something to explode. The highway is dead quiet, but my head is a war zone. How bad is it? What do they know? What did I miss? My emails. God, I didn't even look. Not once.

I squeeze my eyes shut for half a second and immediately regret it. My tires squeal at the edge of the lane. I jerk the wheel back, breathing hard. My pulse is all over the place. I turn off the exit and cut across three lanes.

I see the garage lights up ahead. Jason's car is already parked outside. Elias's, too. Mina's headlights flash as she swings around the corner just seconds after me, hazard lights on.

I pull up, slam the gear into park, and sit frozen for half a second. Then I throw the door open and run. My legs feel like they're moving underwater. My brain can't catch up with my body. There's already shouting inside, the clang of something dropping, voices overlapping in the upstairs meeting room. I can see them through the glass, frantic shapes pacing around the whiteboard like it's a war map.

Jason spots me first. He doesn't smile. He opens the door.

"You're late." I open my mouth to say something, anything, but nothing comes out. Mina doesn't even look at me as she turns the monitor toward the rest of the team and then I see it.

A blurry photo, a document header, my name, the team name, my father's name. Everything. Exposed.

The room is spinning. The screenshot on the monitor pulses like it's alive, every pixel dragging me under.

My name. My name next to his. Next to a team that wasn't supposed to exist. And the headline?

"Industry Rumors Confirmed: Underground F1 Team Allegedly Backed by Legacy Heiress."

No one says anything for a second. No one moves. Then Mina slaps her palm against the table so hard it rattles the glass pitcher in the center. "Are you fucking serious right now?" I flinch. She doesn't miss it.

Jason is standing off to the side, arms crossed, mouth in a grim line like he's holding something back that could burn the whole building down. Elias looks at me like he's seeing a ghost.

"Where the hell have you been?" Mina snaps, advancing toward me. "You ghosted us for days. We've been trying to reach you since Wednesday."

"I—"

"Don't even try," she cuts in, voice sharp enough to slice bone. "Do you have any idea how close we were to pulling the plug on everything? And not because of the leak. Because you vanished, you didn't answer your phone. You didn't respond to one damn email. And now this is out there, and you're surprised?"

I try to steady my breathing. My voice barely makes it out. "I've been dealing with things at home—"

"Oh, playing house, right?" Mina spits, tilting her head with a mocking smile. "Mommy mode in full effect?"

"Watch your fucking mouth."

Mina laughs, loud and humorless. "There she is. Good to know the team's fearless leader still has a pulse."

"That's enough," Elias says sharply, stepping between us. But I'm not done. Not even close.

"You think I've just been playing house?" I hiss, stepping closer. "I've been trying to keep everything from falling apart. I've been trying to juggle a husband, a child, a lie that's turning into a bomb, and a career that might end both of them. So excuse me if I didn't get to your goddamn emails in time, Mina."

She crosses her arms. "You think you're the only one with something to lose?"

"I never said that."

"No, but you're acting like it. You went AWOL, YN. This isn't just your name on the line anymore. It's all of us."

Jason finally speaks. His voice is low and dangerous. "We trusted you."

I turn to him, my throat tight. "And I never asked you to." His jaw clenches.

"Yeah," he mutters. "That's the problem." There's a beat of silence.

Elias is the one who breaks it. "We need a plan," he says quietly. "Right now. This leak? It's just the beginning."

"And what if it's not a leak?" Mina adds coldly. "What if someone on the inside gave it up?" Her eyes find mine again. And this time? She doesn't look mad. She looks scared. Like she knows what's coming and thinks I'm the one who invited it in.

I want to scream. I want to fall apart. I want to rewind to a week ago and open the damn emails. Take the damn calls. Show up. But I didn't. And now everything is on fire.

The room is quieter now, but not calm. Never calm. Anger still crackles in the air like static. No one's forgiven me, they've just remembered we have bigger problems.

Elias draws a deep breath, then plants his palms on the edge of the table. "Damage control. Now."

"First thing we need to do is find the source of the leak," Jason says, flipping open his laptop. His voice is clipped, business mode activated, but his eyes still flick toward me with every sentence like I'm a faulty wire ready to blow again.

"I already told you I don't know who—" I start, but Mina cuts me off.

"Let's assume the worst. Assume it came from inside. That it's someone who knows what this team is, who backs it, and who's been watching."

Elias nods. "We can run a trace on metadata, cross-check IP pings on the files we shared. The article cited 'anonymous internal sources.' That means someone talked."

"So we find them," Mina says.

"And then what?" I ask, voice low.

Mina turns toward me. "Then we shut them up."

Jason's typing furiously. "We'll need a statement. Short. Vague. Buy time."

"I'll write it," Mina offers immediately, and no one argues. We all fall into silence for a few seconds as the gears start to turn again.

Elias paces. "We stay ahead of it. Schedule fake interviews. Divert attention. Leak something bigger if we have to."

I nod, grab a marker, and head to the whiteboard. "If we flood the press with decoys—"

Bzzzt. Elias' phone vibrates. He glances at it, eyes narrowing, then sets it back down.

Bzzzt. Bzzzt. It goes off again. Then Jason's laptop chimes. Then Mina's phone buzzes. Then mine. Then the group chat lights up on the screen behind us, message after message flooding in.

Elias picks up his phone. And I swear, I watch the blood drain from his face. "Oh, fuck."

"What?" I ask, already reaching for my own. He turns his phone toward me. It's a news alert.

🚨 BREAKING: UNCONFIRMED REPORTS LINK NEW UNDERGROUND F1 TEAM TO Y/L/N SEUNGJIN'S DAUGHTER, YN.

Sources say the heiress has been funding the project in secret for years—

—Married to F1 world champion Kim Mingyu—

"Holy shit," Jason mutters, standing.

Mina is already scrolling. "It's everywhere. X. Instagram. Reddit."

"They posted photos," Elias says. "The garage. You. That one dinner with me and you—" I feel my stomach drop.

"No," I whisper. "No no no—"

Jason looks up from his screen, jaw tight. "It's real. It's everywhere now. There's no spinning this." I feel the heat rise behind my eyes.

Mina looks at me. "Does Mingyu know?" I shake my head and reach for my phone again. My heart pounds against my ribs as I pull up my texts. And there it is. 23 missed calls. All from Mingyu. I don't even open them.

Until Elias says, very quietly, "It's happening. It's really happening." The room erupts into motion, but no one actually moves forward.

"I'll call legal," Jason says.

"They're not going to be able to stop it," Mina shoots back. "It's already gone viral."

"We can threaten outlets with defamation if we deny the story," he insists.

"They won't care. They now have enough traction to run with it. Denying makes us look guilty."

"Then we confirm parts of it," Elias offers. "Control the narrative."

"No." Mina shakes her head. "Too risky. We confirm one thing, it opens the floodgates. What if someone out there has receipts we don't even know about?"

Jason slams his hand on the table. "So what do we do?!"

My phone buzzes again. I press my palm against it.

Mina points toward the screen. "We need to get ahead of it somehow. Flood the timeline. Use burner accounts to start rumors about a different team. Give them a tastier scandal."

"You think people are going to care about some random pit crew fight when this is trending number one worldwide?"

"This wasn't supposed to happen," I whisper, more to myself than anyone else. "Not yet."

"No shit," Elias mutters.

Jason's pacing. "We could pull up our investor list, try to isolate who might have leaked something."

"It's not going to help us now," Mina snaps. "Damage is done."

"We need to get YN in front of a camera. Craft a story. Play the legacy angle—"

"I can't," I say. Everyone turns.

"I can't go public," I repeat, louder this time. "It's not just about me anymore." Silence.

And then, another buzz. Then another. My fingers shake as I glance at the screen.

I suck in a breath and finally swipe to answer. "Hello?"

"Get home."

I close my eyes. "Mingyu—"

"I'm not asking."

"I can't." My voice breaks on the last syllable. "Everything is falling apart, I have to—"

"No. You don't. You won't."

"Mingyu, listen to me—"

"You told me once," he cuts in, voice suddenly rough, "that I chose my job over our family. That I abandoned you for something I thought mattered more." My heart stutters.

"So let me ask you now, YN," he continues, calm but deadly. "What are you choosing?" I say nothing. There's nothing I can say.

"Come home, now," he says again, firmer this time. "Or don't bother coming home at all." The line goes dead. I lower the phone from my ear and stare at the screen. Around me, the others are still talking, pretending not to eavesdrop. All I can hear is the sound of everything crumbling. And for the first time since this entire thing began... I don't know which version of me to protect.

Courtney picks up on the second ring. She doesn't ask any questions. Just listens while I try to explain through broken, whispered sentences in the stairwell, and tells me she'll pick up our daughter from school later if I'm not back. I thank her. Twice. My voice cracks the second time. She doesn't mention it. I hang up before I lose the ability to breathe.

Back in the conference room, the air is sharp and dry, and everyone's eyes cut toward me like knives. I sit down in silence and brace myself.

From the outside, it looked like a strategy. But the truth? It was panic with whiteboard markers and caffeine. Mina's up front, hair tied back, red under her eyes, scribbling timelines on the board like she's willing the damage to reverse itself. Jason's on the phone, walking frantic laps as he hisses into the speaker about breach clauses and sponsor reactions. Elias is glued to his screen, trying to reassure the drivers, but the bounce in his knee tells a different story. X is spiraling. Mentions are climbing by the second. He scrolls and scrolls and scrolls.

I try to write a draft statement, something preemptive, something safe, but every sentence sounds like spin. Even the truths feel tainted now. I delete the entire thing and start over. Again. And again.

Legal calls in. It's worse than we thought. If the leak includes our financial backers, NDAs are null. If any private testing data made it out, we're looking at full suspension from the FIA. I'm only half listening by then. My mind is split between the meeting, the time, and the sick twist in my stomach that hasn't gone away since Mina told me to check my emails. I want to be present, but I feel like I'm underwater.

The team fractures into pods. PR takes the war room. Logistics and digital spread out. I get pulled into a call with one of the overseas partners. They're blindsided and furious, demanding names, answers, backup plans. I give them none. I lie through my teeth in a steady voice I didn't know I still had.

I step into the break room around 5:30 AM to find Elias drinking coffee like it's water, his eyes dark and unreadable. Mina hasn't stopped moving since I walked in. She looks up just once when I put on my coat.

"You're leaving?" she asks, voice flat.

"I'll be back," I say.

Jason exhales loud enough for all of us to hear. "You better be," she says, still not looking at me. I don't say anything else. Just turn, walk through the doors, and step out into the early morning gray. The sky is soft and washed out, birds starting to stir against the hush of the city, and for a second, I want to disappear into it. I want to keep walking until my feet give out, until I'm somewhere else, someone else, anyone but the woman holding this grenade.

I get into the car, I start the engine, and I drive home to a husband who now knows everything.

The front door was already open when I got out of the car. The light in the hallway was on, but it wasn't warm. I heard the shuffle of movement before I saw him.

Standing by the entryway, jaw tight, shoulders squared, arms crossed so tightly over his chest it looked like he was holding himself together by force. Behind him was the babysitter. She looked up, startled, then glanced toward the hallway where a few bags sat upright by the shoe rack.

"What—? What's going on?" The second my voice cracked, Mingyu looked at me. Not with softness. Not even with anger, not yet. Just silence. Like he was cataloging my reaction and seeing if I'd admit it before he had to say it out loud.

When I stepped forward, he moved in front of the bags. "You should've told me." That was all he said at first. No yelling. Not yet. And maybe that was worse.

My chest collapsed inward. "Mingyu—"

"Get her outside," he told the babysitter without looking away from me.

Our daughter, who had been peeking over the sitter's shoulder with tired eyes, blinked at the sound of her father's voice. The babysitter nodded quickly, like she'd been waiting for the signal.

"No, wait, wait—"

"Go," he said again, voice low but firm. The door closed behind them. And then it happened.

"What the fuck were you thinking?!" The shout ripped through the house. His voice thundered in the foyer, echoed off the walls, sharp and gutting. I flinched. The bags. The door. The sheer volume of him.

"You built a whole ass team. You went behind my back, lied to me every day for God knows how long, made a goddamn fool of me, and I find out by a bunch of random people asking me how I felt?" He's shaking. Not with fear, but with rage.

"I can explain—" I start, stepping forward, hands up.

"You don't get to explain." His voice shatters like glass, loud and raw. "You had so many chances. All those nights you looked me in the eye and said everything was fine. All those mornings you kissed me goodbye and pretended you were picking up coffee. Do you know how stupid I feel?"

"Mingyu, please."

"No, no. You don't get to 'please' me right now. You don't get to play victim in the mess you made."

"I—I didn't think you would understand."

"Understand?!" His hands flew out at his sides. "You think I wouldn't have understood this? I fucking knew this was your dream! I knew it before we were even together. When we were just two idiot kids on a racetrack and you were pointing at your dad's pit wall like it was your throne. I would've STOOD beside you!"

Tears welled hot in my eyes as he steps closer. He stares at me like he doesn't know me. Like he never has.

"How long?"

I hesitate.

"Don't think. Say it. How long has this been going on?"

I take a breath. "Five years."

His face goes slack. "What?"

"Monza. You sent me that letter," I say, voice trembling. "The one that said, 'Come see what a real legacy looks like.' And I did. I went. I watched you qualify. And I felt... something break open."

He takes a shaky step back like I physically hit him. His jaw clenches. "You were recruiting at Monaco? While I was out there trying to prove myself to you, you were already laying bricks for your own damn team and didn't think to tell me once?"

"I didn't do this to hurt you," I plead. "I did it because I had to."

"God, it all makes so much sense now," he says, almost to himself. "You've been running around the house like a madwoman all week. Slamming cabinets, vacuuming the living room twenty times, scrubbing dishes until you saw your reflection on them. I thought you were losing it. But no, turns out you were just cracking under the weight of your own fucking lie."

I take a step forward. "Mingyu—"

He cuts me off with a yell. "I WOULD HAVE HELPED YOU!" The words echo and then collapse into silence. His chest heaves. His voice is hoarse when he speaks again.

"Don't you get that? You think I wouldn't have backed you? That I wouldn't have dropped everything to make this happen with you? You think I wouldn't have been proud of you?"

I stare at him, lips parted, and finally the tears fall. "Mingyu, I was scared."

"Of what? Me?"

"No," I say. "Of losing it. Of it all falling apart. I built this from nothing. After everything with my dad. I needed to prove I could do it."

His jaw tightens. "And you couldn't trust me enough to stand beside you while you did it?"

"You trusted Elias," he sneers. "Your golden boy driver who knows more about your life than I do, apparently."

"It wasn't like that."

"Wasn't it? Because it sure as hell looks like you built a life without me in it." That one lands.

I press my palms into the counter. "Please," I whisper. "Don't say that."

"Why not?" he growls. "You did everything else." I'm crying now. Quiet, hot tears down my cheeks. He doesn't look away. Doesn't soften.

"You hurt me," he says, barely holding it together. "You broke something in me, and I don't know if I'll ever get it back."

I step forward. "Mingyu—"

He raises a hand. Not to hit. To stop me. "Don't."

"I didn't want to lie—"

"But you did." His voice echoes.

"You lied to my face. Over and over. And now? I don't even know who the hell I'm looking at." And with that, he turns and walks out the back door. Leaving me standing in our kitchen, surrounded by everything I was trying so desperately to protect.

Alone.

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[gyuiebabie]

this is the content i wish to write in my life. like woah.

[retrorosieeee]

Soonyoung || Polar Opposites (Part III)

Part 1 || Part 2 || Part 3 || Part 4

Ship: bf!soonyoung x implied fem!reader Warnings: Mentions of childhood abuse and general insecurites. Genre: established relationship, golden retriever boyfriend, angst Summary: You and your boyfriend are polar opposites. After you lashed out at him, Soonyoung disappears in the middle of the night. The morning after, you talk about it - communication is key, after all. a/n: Please read the preivous parts before this for more context! loosely inspired by his appearance on nothing prepared. wc: ~2.5k

"You told me to leave you alone, so I'm not touching you!" His voice sounds bright and excited, a sharp contrast to the way that simple sentence seemed to stab you in the heart.

He sounded so... proud.

Even in his drunken state, he could still remember how you told him to leave him alone. Even when he's not fully... there, he still tries his best to respect your boundaries, not matter how hard it was for him.

"Come here, baby". You open your arms, inviting him to hug you, but he just stares at you.

"Me?"

You can't help but to smile at that. "Yeah, Soonie, who else?" You decide to slide into his embrace yourself, pressing kisses into his neck.

He giggles openly now, and it heals some of the guilt inside you.

"I'm sorry, Soonie."

He pulls back at that, looking at you earnestly. "Don't be sorry, I love you!"

You don't deserve him.

*recap from Part 2

------

3 hours later, you woke up feeling... cold. Empty.

Normally, a heavy arm would be draped around your waist, a warm, steady breath down your neck. Sometimes letting out tiny, incoherent mumbles whenver you would move that sounded suspiciously like a jumble of "stay" and "love you".

And even on the days when he has to leave early, he always makes sure the bed is warm before he leaves.

So weird was an understatement when the left side of the bed was cold when you woke up.

As yesterday's events begin to float back into your mind, you make your way into the living room. Surely, given how much he drunk, he wouldn't be able to function much without a massive headache. Hell, you didn't even think he would be able to get up this early to begin with.

But when you walked down the corridor, you froze as you made eye contact with your boyfriend. Rather than getting a glass of water, or rummaging the medicine cabinet for some aspirin, like you had expected, he had his bag on, and was standing by the door, struggling to balance and put on his shoes at the same time.

"Soonyoung? Where are you going?" He looked at you groggily for a few seconds, but snapped into it.

"Nothing! Nothing, go back to bed," Soonyoung tried to walk towards the door, only to trip on his own laces and almost crash headfirst into the door.

You make a rush forward to hold him steady, but to your surprise, he pulls away from your touch, and a weird sense of deja-vu from yesterday washes over you.

"I'm okay. Thank you." You have a lot of questions right now. Why is he speaking so formally? And why won't he let you touch him? Most importantly, why is he leaving?

"Soonyoung-ah, where are you going? It's so early, at least have breakfast first."

He looks like he's pondering your offer, but shakes his head. "No, no. I'm gonna go. You're not supposed to see me anyway."

"Soonyoung, don't be ridiculous."

At that, he simply lowers his gaze and goes to the door once more, and this was the moment when you realised you had to change tactics if you wanted to stop him from leaving, and probably tripping and falling to his demise before he even got down the block.

Recalling what seemed to work on him yesterday, you tried to soften your approach.

"Soonie, let's come back inside first, hm?" At the pet name, his gaze immediately shifts into something softer, and his eyes immediately find yours. You take that as the first step.

You reach out to gently take his hands in yours. "We can go back to bed, and maybe cuddle?"

He tries to pull his hand away from you again, but you anticipated it this time and refused to let go.

Soonyoung let out a quiet whine, but didn't protest further. You suspect he's barely sober anyway.

Taking his silence as agreement, you kneel down to help him out of his shoes, never letting go of his hand. This proved to be quite the struggle, but he patiently waited the whole time, eyes never leaving your body.

Once he's finally out of his shoes (why did he choose to wear boots, of all things?) and wrestled out of his bag, you start to lead him back into the bedroom. On the way there, you eye the medicine cabinet in the kitchen.

"Young-ah, how's your head? Do you have a headache?"

His voice comes out so quiet, you have to strain to listen properly. "I'm-I'm okay. Thank you."

You sigh.

Gently pulling him into the kitchen, you open the cabinet to dig out the aspirin. Moving to get him a glass of water, you inevitably have to let go of his hand. You ignore how empty your hand feels.

You turn around to give him the pills, only to find him still staring at you. His gaze is heavy, and you try not to do anything dumb, like blush, when your boyfriend is so clearly out of it.

You firmly place the pills in the palm of his right hand, and a glass of water in another. "Drink this."

But he only glanced at the glass of water before diverting his eyes right back at you. You sigh, then take the pills and water from him, gently guiding them to his lips, not letting go until he finishes everything.

"Drink all of it, okay Soonie?"

Once the glass was empty, he made no move to put the glass down, or even move it out of the way. You could tell he was starting to get sleepy, too, with the way his pupils were starting to disappear behind his adorable eyelids. The conversation will have to wait for another time.

You put the glass into the sink, and gently take his hands in yours, guiding him back towards the bedroom, reminiscent of what you had done yesterday. This time, he went willingly, letting you help him into bed. The only difference is, this time, he wouldn't close his eyes unless you were in his arms. You didn't mind, though.

-----

The next time you woke, it was to the heavy gaze of eyes on you, and to the soft touch of your boyfriend brushing the hair out of your face. You smile before you even open your eyes. This is what you have missed.

Slowly, you peek one eye open, but immediately, the hand on your face freezes.

"Sorry, I didn't know you were awake," he whispers.

You can't help but let out a small whine.

"Don't stop."

You swear you hear him let out a sigh of... relief? before the hand returns. This time, you shift so that he's properly holding you now.

"Sooo...about last night..."

A groan from behind you. "Do we have to talk about it?"

You turn around in his arms, facing him. He looks down, as if the buttons on your shirt are the most interesting thing he has seen.

"We don't have to talk about it..."

You ignore him, instead choosing to start with, "I'm sorry."

That makes him look up, panicked.

"For what? Don't be sorry. Why?"

"For being so mean to you yesterday, and for being so dismissive recently, and for hurting you even though I know you'll keep denying it."

His voice grows softer. "It's okay. I knew you were stressed and just wanted to work, but I still kept coming to bother you. It's partly my fault too."

The fact that he's being so understanding is making you even more agitated. Not at him, but rather at yourself.

"I know... but I still shouldn't have pushed you away."

This time, he doesn't respond. Minutes pass, with you still wrapped in his arms, unmoving.

Then, tentatively, you ask, "...Do you remember what happened last night?"

His arms stiffen. "A bit, but it's hazy. Why?"

You let out a sigh. It's embarrassing and scary to tell him this, but it's important if you want to work through this relationship with him.

"You were drunk out of your mind yesterday, so I wanted to help you get ready for bed, but the moment I tried to get close to you would pull away and refuse my touch. You were trying to avoid my touch so much that I think you had a panic attack."

There's a moment of silence before he says, "Ah... I just probably didn't want to make you uncomfortable. It's nothing, don't worry about it."

"But I worried, Soonyoung. I'm still worrying. Seeing my own boyfriend, who loves physical touch and hugs and kisses, shy away from the slight mention of physical contact killed me. Ironically, it made me realise how hurt you must've been all those times I pulled away in the past. And when you told me last night, it was so that I wouldn't feel uncomfortable; it broke my heart even more.

"So what I'm trying to say is, I'm sorry for not accepting your physical affection as much as I should. And not just yesterday, but for every time I stiffened when you tried to hug me, or when I pushed your hand off my thigh during dinner."

He takes a moment to process your words before lifting your chin gently to meet your eyes. "Everyone shows love a little differently, you know that. It just so happens that mine is physical touch, and yours isn't. I'm sorry for not being as considerate as I could've been. You're just not big on physical affection. I know that. I've noticed that since forever, and it's not fair to you that I keep trying to push it on you. I'm sorry if I crossed some of your boundaries as well. Like yesterday. Looking back, I should've given you more space and learned when to back off."

You can't help but butt in. Why is he so understanding? "But it's not that I don't like it. It's just... this is so, so hard for me. You know how I grew up, you know about my relationships before you. Before I met you, the only touch I've received from other people was associated with bad memories. People only touched me when they wanted something from me, or when I did something wrong. And so I tried to build a bubble around me. If they couldn't get to me in the first place, then I wouldn't be hurt. But sometimes, even that didn't work, and- " You take a deep breath.

His eyes are glossy now, mirroring yours. Sensing your hesitancy, he says, "My baby... I'm sorry, I didn't know. I'm so sorry. You don't have to tell me what happened." His voice has grown soft, so soft it envelops you like a comforting blanket.

But it's important for him to know this, so you soldier on. "So when you came along, and you started touching me 'just because', without a purpose, it scared me. Your touch was so different, and it scared me. Whenever I tried to rebuild the bubble, you would break through it straight away with a hand on my back or a back hug. I don't think you even noticed it, but every time you did that, I was so scared."

Immediately, the arms loosen, but you're quick to insert yourself back into his arms, wrapping them around your waist again, even tighter than last time. The concerned frown on his face relaxes the slightest bit at that. "Baby, I'm sorry. I would never, ever hurt you. I'm sorry I made you uncomfortable." He looks more emotional than you at this point, as if he's blaming himself for your thoughts.

You're quick to reassure him otherwise. "Soonyoung, I wasn't scared of you, or what you would do. I was afraid of myself. It's confusing. It scared me how much I loved it, how much I craved the next time you would touch me. It took me a while to learn that it was possible for someone's touch to feel so warm, so safe. It was the exact opposite of what I had known my whole life. But as much as I loved it, I found it so difficult to accept it, let alone ask you for more. It made me feel so loved, so wanted, I didn't want to get used to it, you know?"

His brows furrow at that, trying to make sense of what you just told him. "I don't, but wait. So you're saying that you don't hate it when I hug you?"

"I like it." You whisper, almost as if it's a dirty secret, something to be ashamed of.

You can see a smile tugging on the corner of his lips as he tries to focus on what he's trying to say, which warms your heart more than you realise.

"And you like it when we cuddle and kiss?"

You nod.

"Okay, but you refuse me because... you're scared?"

Another nod.

"Of what? That I'll stop?"

"I'm scared that if I start initiating, you might get tired of me sooner or later, and I'm scared that you're only putting up with me and you don't actually like it and you're only reciprocating out of obligation of being my boyfriend and you actually secretly hate it and you'll feel like how i felt all over again and I-"

You get cut off by Soonyoung pulling you into a tight hug, his entire body engulfing yours. Your face is pressed tightly into his neck, and his voice is muffled in your hair as he speaks.

"Please don't think that. Never think that. You have no idea how much that pains me to hear. I'll never get tired of you. I'm so obsessed with you at this point, it's probably unhealthy."

You let out a small laugh at that, and his grip loosens slightly at the sound.

You can hear a slight lilt in his voice as he mutters into the side of your head, "and for the record, every time you reach out to find my hand, or when you subconsciously move into my arms when you're asleep, my heart does a humongous flip and I forget how to breathe. So maybe for the sake of my health, don't initiate it too often, okay?"

How does he always manage to make you feel so loved?

"Jokes aside, please hug and kiss me whenever you want. I'll never be "tired" of you, baby. You can get used to physical affection; you don't have to be scared. But if you need some space and you need your bubble around you again, just tell me, okay? I understand, I promise. I swear on all my tiger plushies that I will never, ever do anything to hurt you. You know that, right?"

You don't know whether to cry at his sweetness or scoff at the last line. "I know, you goof. But I don't think I'll need to build the bubble again. Not with you, at least. It has a you-shaped hole in it now."

"It's tiger-shaped, I ho-" But he never gets to finish his sentence, as you suddenly lean in to press a quick peck to his lips. He froze in shock, eyes wide and lips still parted, as you watch endearingly as red flushes his face like a cartoon.

He recovers quickly, tackling you to the bed so that he's on top of you, effectively, trapping you in bed. Nuzzling his face into your neck, he whines, "I don't know if I'm gonna survive this new version of you. I think I'm going to have 10 heart attacks a day."

You press another kiss to his temple, drawing a happy gasp from him. "I love you too, Soonie. Thank you for being by my side."

A longer one to make up for the inexcusable long wait <3 Thank you for all your support during this series!

[gyuiebabie]

my fav series when i need ANGSTTTT and fluff 😩

cry me to sleep bruh anytime A1 yearned

[gyuiebabie]

Bandaids and Sunshine (Teaser)

Pairing: husband kim mingyu x wife fem! reader

Mentions: Smut, Rough(er) Sex MDNI

The sun was shining again. The warm glow and soft yellow shone on my tan skin as I lay in my cozy white sheets. Usually our room is pitch dark no matter how bright it is outside because one thing my husband and I agree on while sleeping is complete darkness. But we were too occupied last night to care about who would draw the curtains.

The other thing we can’t live without is having every. single. body part. touching. It’s something Mingyu was very adamant about, and how could I complain when a six foot piece of absolute beauty is begging to cuddle me to sleep. Which brings me to this moment, his warm arms sometimes feel like an anchor to me. The constant and unwavering pressure of his tight hugs grounds me from drifting to different places. Mornings like these are my favourite. All I do is stare at the sweet man next to me, his little pink pout and fluffy cheeks a testament to his deep sleep.

He is the true epitome of a positive mindset and a hardworker. I've never once seen him do anything without giving his full 1000%. Sometimes it scares me, most times it inspires me. That’s why when he sleeps way past his alarm, I let him. I ignore his rattling off on how he’ll be late for his schedule and will be scolded. I just watch him run around the house pulling on his pants and yet managing to make time to make me my morning coffee. However pissed he is that I didn't wake him up, he ignores it and gives me a peck on my cheek and a warm smile before leaving. Both of us know his grumpiness is a facade. He secretly appreciates me letting him get his rest before he starts his long day.

His broad shoulders carry so much so effortlessly and with such a bright smile that I always feel like breaking into tears when I see those very shoulders slouch. I try never to be overbearing because I know how hard his life is to manage. Yet somehow, I get scolded for not demanding more from him.

“I’m your husband baby, your support. I need you to lean on me more, you know I'm always here to catch you right?”

Looking into his eyes when he says sweet things shatters my heart into pieces. He’s always wondering if I’m pregnant because of the fat tears that roll down my cheeks after his little monologues. How should I explain to him that these tears aren’t hormones, it's just my overflowing, overbearing, unexplainable love and adoration for him.

I kissed his forehead and cuddled further into his warm skin. I felt a small smile growing near my head and a small squeeze of his hand on my hips.

He’s awake.

“Hiiii sweet girl..” He says, squeezing me tighter into him and turning me so I could face him.

“Hiiiii handsome…” I said with a wink.

I see his eyes move downwards to my shoulders and chest and see his pink lips turn downwards.

“Oh my god baby did I hurt you last night?”

I looked down too inquisitively. There were slightly red marks and imprints of his rough fingers on my shoulders.

“Hurt so good though” I whispered, giggling and winking like a fool.

There wasn’t an ounce of humour in his eyes. Oh fuck, he’s serious.

“It’s not funny you little loser” he said as he whacked the back of my head lightly. “Why didn't you tell me? I would've stopped. You know that. I hate when you get hurt like this because of me baby.” His fingers began rubbing soft circles on the marks.

I sighed. How can I give him straight answers when he calls me baby so sweetly. When he looks at me with such guilt as if he stabbed me by accident.

“Mingyu, baby, I was too busy getting railed by my absolute god of a husband to care. You’re acting as if you pushed me off a cliff, you just held me a bit too tight baby. You know I appreciate that more than feeling pain from it. Grab me harder next time.” I winked again, smirking.

He clicked his tongue in disdain, not even chuckling at my shameless sexual innuendos. My stupid smirk faded as I felt the clawing need to comfort him. He looked way too pained for my sanctity as he kissed the red marks on my shoulders and lay me down on the bed. I saw his eyes scanning my body for more marks.

As much as Mingyu loves seeing hickeys and marks branded over my body, he hates feeling like he hurt me. Such is the life of a softie who's a dom in bed. He kept running his hands over every part of my skin, checking for more to beat himself up with.

“Mingyuuuu” I whined. “Sweetheart you know I love it whe-”

“Why do you have such deep scratches on your hips?” He said, his voice stern yet wavering with concern.

He started checking his nails to check for even one long nail. I interrupted his thoughts showing him my slightly ruined manicured nails.

“It was me, baby. I got a bit carried away, as one does when their brain is simultaneously turning into mush. Can you please stop worrying?”

“WHY COULDN’T YOU JUST GRAB MY HANDS? You could've held literally anything Y/N.”

Oh damn. We on first name basis.

“You could've held my hands, the bed sheets, the pillows, the backrest, MY BACK?”

“I knowwww.. I’m sorry.” I pouted, trying to diminish the irritation that was growing in him.

He sat haunched on my hips scolding me as he rubbed circles on the thin scratches. His abs were hardening and moving as he spoke, his strong arms flexing in anger, while his deep brown round eyes glistened and his messed up hair stood straight. Oh! The duality of this man. I wanted to gobble him up and kiss his cheeks whilst wanting to suck him clean at the same time.

I also could not take him seriously to save his life. It was like a dramatic movie scene. All I could see was my sexy husband with a halo above his head, eyebrows stitched together, blabbing on about something that fell to deaf ears.

I jumped up suddenly and kissed him, catching him by surprise.

“Mph-No” He said against my lips.

I pulled away for a split second making a fake angry face and said “You, no!”

And pulled him closer, kissing him harder.

If you think I was about to make coherent sense, at 8 in the morning when someone as handsome as Kim fucking Mingyu was naked above me, scolding me for being irresponsible with myself… You were wrong.

I pulled him closer grinding my cold hips against his warm ones while he hissed, trying to peel me off of him.

No way in hell would I let that happen.

After last night and seeing him be so protective over me, all I could think about was pleasuring him.

“Stop Y/N. I’m serious. I need to put ointment on these cuts and bruises before they leave a mark. Are you sore?” He said as he placed me on the bed and sat up like I was some baby that had to be put to sleep.

“Ughhhhh i’m fine, i’m a tough girl. Can you please touch me, you look so fucking hot”

He whipped his head towards me as he looked me dead in the eyes.

“No.”

[hannieween]

sorry for bothering you, but do you or any of your followers have any idea what the fic series that had about 5/6 chapters currently was or who by in which mingyu is a vampire & reader is a detective? I saw it recently and was about to read it but didn’t save it, so now I’m searching everywhere & can’t find it lol

you're not bothering! it's okay nonnie!

a mingyu fic in which he's a vampire and reader a detective? huuuuh, no i've never seen it. but let's hope that someone sees this and knows!! good luck finding it nonnie!

[gyuiebabie]

it’s called litany written by super super talented @kimitations

here’s the link to the master list

Post by @kimitations · 2 images

💬 0  🔁 19  ❤️ 140 · litany 𓄧 k.mg | masterlist · summary 𓄧 every oath has a cost. every touch has a consequence. sent deep undercover into o

[gyuiebabie]

as an avid tumbler mingyu reader.. this is a very special day.

ALL THE WRITERS HAVE SEEN MINGYU CK DROP. THE FICS BOUTTA COME FLYING IN IM SO EXCITED BECAUSE LIKE JSISHSJSMAUSHAIWOWLKWIWJWJWIWKENNSNSJSN. WOW.

THERES NO WAY THAT MAN WAKES UP AND LOOKS LIKE THAT LIKE UGHHHHHH.